Chapter Text
It was unlocked again today.
Akira let the doorknob return to its default position. Then, slowly, he twisted it again and pushed the door open this time. It moved with an eerie creak that made his spine tense and his fingers twitch. With just a crack open, a draft slipped in, and Akira shivered. He almost closed the door before realizing the mistake in such an action.
Giving the door a little push, he let it gradually swing open further on its own. The echo of its whine reverberated in the hall, sounding harsh to Akira's ears even though in truth, it hardly grated at all. It was just so quiet that each sound was amplified in this near-abandoned building.
The door was about halfway open when Akira inhaled, his whole body trembling as he took the first step past the door.
Shiki wasn't there; he knew. Even without glancing down the hall, even without hearing the man's confident footsteps, Shiki's presence would've been unmistakable.
Still, that fact did nothing to quell the unease rolling in his stomach. Just because Shiki wasn't here didn't mean he couldn't be walking up the stairs a few minutes from now, catching Akira in the middle of another attempt to leave, and subsequently dragging him back into the room for some "punishment" as he liked to call it.
Besides, Akira had only been checking the door to see if it was unlocked. Akira had gotten caught trying to leave yesterday, but Shiki hadn't locked the door again when he left this morning. Akira knew full well Shiki wasn't the type of man to make the same mistake twice, let alone make one at all.
Which meant he was deliberately leaving it unlocked.
Was this a test then? A trap? Akira didn't know; he couldn't get what was going on in that guy's head at all. If Shiki was doing this just to fuck with him, then it was working, because Akira had been racking his head all afternoon trying to find an explanation for his strange behavior yesterday. It had been a mentally exhausting endeavor to say the least, and his head had started hurting thanks to that. It pissed him off that Shiki didn't even need to be there to get on his nerves, and it aggravated him even more that he was thinking so much about the man in the first place.
Akira shook those thoughts off and let go of his irritation with an exhale. Mustering up what little strength he had left after being imprisoned and tortured for weeks, he took a few unsteady steps into the hall.
The floor was frigid against his bare feet and his footsteps sounded like light taps against the concrete. Akira shifted between balancing on his toes and the balls of his feet to keep the cold from seeping into one place. The air, although chilly, was more refreshing than the air inside Shiki's room, which often smelled of petrichor (and sex) thanks to the constant rainfall and lack of sufficient circulation.
Akira inhaled the crisp cool air, taking in enough to make his lungs swell. His chest tightened for a moment before he exhaled. Already he felt much better. Being locked in that room for weeks had seriously messed with his sense of surroundings, and because there was nothing to do except sleep around until Shiki came back, his body had gotten used to being lethargic.
Akira was shivering. The air slipped in through the openings of his shirt, biting his skin raw and making goosebumps pop out on his skin. He placed an arm against the wall for support but hissed and lifted his forearm off the moment he felt its icy touch, leaving only the palm of his hand planted against the concrete. He wasn't dressed up in his jacket since he hadn't actually intended to leave; just check the door.
The hall seemed long and foreboding. Akira wondered if he could even make it to the end of it where the stairs were. The more he assessed the length of the hallway, the more his throat clammed up at the thought of how many steps he'd have to take, and how long it would take him to leave. He didn't know when Shiki would be back. It could be a minute from now, it could be days. Shiki didn't seem to have any qualms about leaving for several days, letting Akira starve with only a few Solids to manage his hunger, or even denying him water outright. His absences were erratic though, and that was half of the reason why Akira had been hesitant to escape. The other half was because he figured Shiki would stalk him down and kill him if he ran away.
Being Shiki's plaything or being dead though… Neither were acceptable options, but the last thing he wanted to do was submit to Shiki. He'd told Shiki to kill him several times already, when the humiliation and despair had gotten too overwhelming to bear in the moment, but Shiki would just give him an amused look and continue ravaging him. He enjoyed prolonging Akira's suffering under his care—the sick fuck—and the whole reason he kept Akira alive was so he could keep tormenting him for his own entertainment. If the man didn't get off on murdering people on a whim just because he found them annoying, then he certainly got off on humiliating Akira and treating him like a pet.
"I want to crush you. Break you. Slowly."
Akira almost slumped to the ground, but he managed to stay upright with his hand on the wall, his legs trembling. He should've escaped when he had the chance days ago. Now it seemed like Shiki was taunting him by purposely leaving the door unlocked again. Akira had thought Shiki would bring back the handcuffs after that escape attempt yesterday, but Shiki hadn't done anything at all. By the time Akira had woken up, the man had already left, his scent barely remaining on the sheets.
It was like he knew. He knew Akira didn't have the resolve to leave.
Akira cast one last glance at the stairway at the end of the hall. Then he sighed and turned around, stumbling his way back to the door.
It wasn't fear that stopped him from leaving, but rather, a lack thereof. He didn't fear Shiki, at least, he no longer did. The man had, admittedly, frightened Akira at first, with his ferocious power and merciless approach. He killed others simply because they were unfortunate enough to be in the same place as him at the wrong time, and he'd spared Akira for no reason other than the fact that Akira had held his gaze in combat. It was a ludicrous rationale, Akira thought, yet he considered it a miracle he'd lived through all those encounters with Shiki. It was just that his luck had run out when Shiki had decided to abduct him and keep him as a toy to play with.
But that initial fear he'd had of Shiki was gone. He viewed the man more with loathing and contempt lately. Shiki really did play with Akira like he owned him, with no regard for Akira's feelings at all. In fact, he relished watching him struggle. His current conquest was to break Akira—to tear him down until there was nothing in his spirit left to resist. It made Akira sick to his stomach, how imperious he was, treating people's lives like playthings because he believed everyone to be beneath him.
When Akira reached the room, he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. It'd gotten chilly inside because he'd left the door open. Akira rubbed his hands over his arms before going over to grab his jacket on the bed. He put it on and pulled up the zipper, sitting on the bed afterward.
Most of his days were spent sitting or lying around on the bed. Shiki hadn't left him anything to preoccupy himself with, of course, and he supposed this, too, was part of Shiki's plan to make him waver in his spirit. Some days he'd be so bored of the inactivity and solitary confinement that he'd find himself anticipating Shiki's return, wondering when he would be back. And whenever Akira became aware of those thoughts, he would be horrified at himself.
It was just because his mind was slowly whittling down from the lack of social interaction with others that he found himself waiting for Shiki, that was all. There was no way he felt any real attachment to the man.
Akira sighed and flopped down on the bed, covering himself under the sheets. He was facing the windows, and it was the same gloomy, overcast view as always. Thick, ashen clouds veiled the sky, blocking sunlight from reaching the city. It had been pouring last night, but the rain had let up this morning. What remained was a city of dismality, the streets covered in cracks and dirty puddles, and dilapidated buildings as gray as the murky sky.
It looked like it was going to rain again soon. Which wasn't a surprise, given that it rained almost every day in Toshima. The longest the city had gone on without any precipitation was a few days at most. Akira knew all this because he had nothing better to do than to stare out the window whenever Shiki was gone, and so he'd gotten used to noting the rain and its patterns.
Akira wondered for how long this would go on. He slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket and felt the communicator in there. Shiki had never actually dug around or inspected his clothes, so he hadn't found the communicator yet. Or if he had, he just didn't care. It wasn't like a communicator was going to save Akira from Shiki's hold.
Akira pulled the device out and checked the screen. It told him the time—16:58—but as always, there had been no calls from Emma. No contacts list, either. Akira wanted to roll his eyes. So far, the only thing this device had done during his stay in Toshima was tell him the time, and it wasn't like time mattered to him that much anymore. Not when his days were spent entirely holed up in a room, at the complete mercy of a man who'd taken a disgusting interest in keeping him as a possession.
He shoved the device back into his pocket, feeling annoyed. If only he hadn't gotten framed for murder, then this whole shit wouldn't have started in the first place, and he would've never had to come to Toshima and subsequently get caught up in this mess with Shiki. Akira dug his face into the pillow, closing his eyes.
He was often tired lately even though he didn't physically exert himself at all. It felt like his limbs weighed more than they should, and whenever he stood or walked around the room for too long, his body would sag with a sluggish ache. To Akira, this was a blatant indication that he'd gotten weaker. The longer he stayed here under Shiki's command, the more his physical and mental states were going to deteriorate.
He knew that, and yet… the prospect of escape still didn't pull at him, even when he had the perfect opportunity to run away right now. To run away from the man he loathed more than any other.
Akira curled up under the sheets, wondering what was wrong with himself.
✝
♱
A day passed and Shiki hadn't come back yet.
Akira slipped out of bed. There were a few Solids on the table that Shiki had left before he'd gone wherever he usually went. Akira took one of the Solids and tore open the wrapper. He chewed mechanically, sitting on a wooden crate and staring out the window.
A drizzle showered over the city. The rain did nothing but amplify the futility Akira felt about his situation. It seemed that no matter what, there was no place he could escape to.
It wasn't fear that kept him here, but the lack of a clear goal in his mind. If he left, then what? Where would he go? He still had the objective Emma gave him to defeat Il Re and bring down Vischio, but that seemed like a faraway dream now. He'd been naive, thinking that it would've been easy, or at the very least, achievable for him to collect the tags he needed and challenge Il Re.
But knowing there was a monster like Shiki out there made him realize just how ignorant that mindset had been. He'd overestimated himself, having lived far too long in the comfort of victory. Countless times, he'd been warned that fights in Igra were nothing like those hosted in Bl@ster, yet Akira had still carried on in Toshima with an air of aloof confidence.
His win streak back at Bl@ster meant nothing here. Shiki had quickly pummeled that realization into his head with each encounter. He had overpowered Akira with ease, shoving him around and beating him relentlessly like he was a punching bag, giving him new bruises and cuts each time they crossed paths.
Shiki was by far the strongest person he'd ever met, and he certainly lived up to his reputation in Toshima. Wherever Shiki walked, death followed. He killed like it was breathing; slayed lives with his sword like they were bugs on the street he happened to step upon while walking. Akira couldn't hope to match his skill and prowess, not when his hands still shook at the thought of killing someone in combat.
There was nowhere for him to go. Not here in Toshima, and not back in the CFC. If he went back to the CFC, there was still that murder charge, and Emma wouldn't uphold her end of the deal if Akira didn't uphold his. Being imprisoned here by Shiki or being thrown into jail where he would be experimented on, tortured like a lab rat, and raped—he hated to admit it, but he would rather be with Shiki. At least Shiki wouldn't use him for some sick experiments and treat him as a statistic.
And Keisuke, the only person he knew from before he came to Toshima, well… he was gone. And it had all been Akira's fault.
He wondered, some days, what'd happened to Keisuke's body after their battle. The Executioners had probably found him and…
Akira crushed the wrapper in his hand as he swallowed the last bite of the Solid. He didn't want to think about it. He just hoped they'd done their job as they were supposed to do, and only that.
He tossed the wrapper into the small trash can in the corner of the room and walked around to distract himself from his thoughts. He'd been cooped up in this place for so long that it no longer felt foreign to him. It had become his new home, rivaling his old dingy apartment back in the CFC in terms of interior space and minimalism. Shiki did not have a penchant for collecting things, it seemed, unlike that creepy Arbitro. Though Akira supposed there wasn't any reason to have personal belongings in a lawless place like Toshima.
Akira was staring at the floor near the bed before realizing something. The pair of daggers Shiki had discarded on the floor two nights ago were gone. Akira glanced around the room and then walked over to the nightstand. It was the only drawer in the room, so it wasn't hard to figure out where Shiki might've put them. That was, unless, he'd thrown them away outright. But then there was no reason he would've brought them back here in the first place instead of leaving them at the scene where he'd killed the wielder of those daggers.
Akira's suspicions were confirmed right when he pulled open the drawer. The twin daggers were there, the steel blades gleaming even under the dim light in the room.
Under any other captor, Akira would've perceived this as a stupid oversight on their part to leave weapons in the same room as him where they were easily accessible. But all Shiki had to do was cut Akira down with a single stroke of his sword before Akira could even get in range. Akira had no chance of winning against Shiki, armed or not.
Akira lifted the blades, surprised by how polished they looked. Shiki had taken to cleaning the blood off the weapons. Whoever this person was, or had been… they clearly weren't a mere pest like Shiki had made them out to be.
Akira swallowed and put the daggers back in the drawer, adjusting them so they were laid just the way they had been before, and then closed the drawer. He wondered who it was that Shiki had killed that day. He'd tried to pry about it from Shiki, but it'd been clear from the man's ambiguous answer that he was disinclined to tell.
Akira was disgruntled to find himself thinking so much about Shiki again. He walked over to the bed and threw himself on it, the mattress giving a hefty creak under his weight.
Akira watched as the rain strengthened. Rumbles echoed in the distance. Water swathed the windows, blurring the view of the city beyond the glass.
Akira slipped his arm under the pillow, resting his head on top of it. When he was left alone with his thoughts like this, naturally, they drifted to Shiki. Ever since he'd been brought here, his whole being seemed to revolve around Shiki—his thoughts, feelings, and his body. It was just as Shiki had predicted. Akira's existence was slowly being consumed by him.
Akira's hand instinctively went to the piercing in his navel. He touched it a bit, finger sliding over the cool metal.
Shiki had called it proof. Proof that Akira was his.
"Everything you are belongs to me."
He hated how used he'd already gotten to the piercing. It had been an ever-present feeling in his navel at first; a dull ache that weighed in the back of his mind. Akira hadn't been able to resist constantly touching it the first week he'd had it, as though he couldn't really believe it was attached to his skin. But now the sensation was gone, and he hardly noticed it anymore unless his shirt brushed up against it, and even that was becoming less and less discernible as the days passed. As if it was a natural part of his body now.
The only time when the piercing's ache rang back full force in his body was when Shiki laid his fingers there.
Akira turned his back to the windows, facing the room. He fixed his gaze on his hand extended out in front of him.
Something had been different about Shiki during their last encounter. Shiki's behavior two days ago had been so uncharacteristic of the ruthless man he knew. The way he'd embraced Akira during that moment, it was almost as if…
Akira didn't let himself finish that thought. He buried his face into the pillow and brought the sheets up over his head.
Maybe Shiki wasn't the only one who'd been acting weird that night. After all, Akira had tried to make some small talk with him for some inexplicable reason. Usually, Shiki would leave right after they finished having sex, but if he stayed, Akira would be too humiliated and angry to speak a word to him, let alone face him. That night was the first time he'd spoken to Shiki and had a proper conversation with him post-sex.
As much as Akira wanted to deny it, he was curious about Shiki. There were so many unanswered questions about him. Akira had asked him why he was fighting people in Igra when he was clearly way out of everyone's league, and Shiki, in turn, had asked him if he'd ever seen true madness.
Akira hadn't understood much when Shiki had explained it, and he still didn't now, but clearly, it was a sensitive topic for Shiki. Akira had never heard the man sound so fixated on something before. What kind of madness had he witnessed; what kind of person existed that would affect Shiki so?
What was Shiki really doing here in Toshima?
Akira doubted he would ever know the truth.
✝
♱
It wasn't until night, when Akira was just about to go to sleep, that Shiki returned.
Akira heard his footsteps coming from down the hallway. Shiki always walked with a distinctive, confident stride, his steps even in cadence and almost melodic. By the time he'd reached the door, Akira's entire body had gone rigid.
Akira tried to ignore the growing tension in his muscles and the increased pounding in his chest, keeping still as he heard the doorknob being turned. Shiki was taking his sweet time opening the door. Or maybe the seconds just seemed long because of how tense Akira was.
Shiki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Then he turned on the light switch.
Akira tried to breathe slowly. He was facing the windows, so his back was to Shiki. He knew Shiki was going to catch on the moment he came closer to the bed, but Akira wasn't about to get up and confront him, not when he had no obligation to talk to Shiki in the first place.
He heard Shiki taking off his coat and hanging it. Then the hilt of Shiki's sword rattled as he set it against the wall.
Finally, Shiki started to approach the bed. His footsteps clicked louder the closer he got, making the hairs on Akira's nape stand, and by the time he'd reached the bed, Akira's heart was pounding. On the wall, Shiki's shadow was looming over him, looking sinister in the dim light.
Shiki said nothing. He simply stood there, waiting. Akira knew he was watching; he could feel Shiki's penetrative stare digging into the back of his head. His presence was overbearing, and Akira felt like his body might snap at any moment. Having his back toward Shiki was dangerous, he realized, and he suddenly had the urge to turn around and face him.
Akira did so and turned halfway, looking over his shoulder at Shiki. Shiki had an unreadable expression on his face, his gaze locked intensely on Akira. Akira's jaw tightened under the force of his glare but he didn't say anything. Instead, he raised his brows, as if to ask Shiki what he wanted.
"Why are you still here?" Shiki inquired.
That question stunned Akira. He propped himself on his elbows, the bed sheets rustling noisily around him, his face suspended in confusion. "What?"
Shiki sighed, taking off his gloves and laying them on one of the wooden crates in the room. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Just that haughty tone of voice, that dismissive turn of his head and the way he'd looked away from Akira as if he wasn't even worth regarding for more than a few seconds, was enough to set Akira ablaze with anger.
What the fuck did he mean why was Akira still here? He was the whole reason Akira was stuck here in the first place!
"Why? Bored of me? So you're finally letting me go after you've had your fill of toying with me, is that it?" Akira sneered. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was Akira still here, Shiki had asked, as if Akira was an eyesore on his bed; a bag of trash who should've taken himself out of the room long ago already to spare Shiki from his lowly presence. "If you want me to fuck off then just say so instead of being obtuse about it."
Akira swallowed afterward, loosening his clenched fists. His throat was dry and tight with a lump. Was that the reason why Shiki had been leaving the door unlocked? Because he'd been expecting Akira to leave? He was really setting Akira free, just like that, after all the pain and torture he'd put Akira through?
Akira scowled in disgust, both at Shiki and himself—himself for staying here and convincing himself that it would've been a hopeless endeavor to escape from Shiki. He'd assumed someone as possessive as Shiki would've hunted him down just for daring to run away, but he'd overestimated Shiki's obsession with him.
It was his own damn fault he'd remained imprisoned here the past few days. This whole time, the opportunity to escape had been right there within his grasp, yet he'd kept himself chained to Shiki without even realizing it. Humiliation rose in Akira as this revelation dawned on him. It was almost unbearable, and he wanted to lash out at Shiki. In fact, he was going to land at least one good punch on Shiki's face and give him a nice bruise before leaving.
Shiki had been awfully silent the whole time, but his contemptuous glare said everything. When Akira finally made a move to strike at him, Shiki caught his wrist.
"Let go!" Akira tried to shake him off, but Shiki's grip was painfully tight. He was squeezing Akira's wrist with immense strength, and Akira knew it would be swollen by the time Shiki released it—if he ever did.
"You want to be reminded of who your master is that badly?" Shiki whispered, suddenly close to Akira's ear. He strengthened his grip and Akira let out a grunt. "Then I'll indulge you."
"Fuck off!"
He aimed a kick at Shiki. Shiki caught his leg and Akira barely had time to react as Shiki slammed him back down to the bed.
"Quiet," Shiki commanded, pinning him down. His knee pushed into Akira's stomach, knocking some of the air out of him. Akira coughed and struggled to move, but Shiki didn't budge one bit.
Shiki's usual smirk was on his face as he lowered his head. "I don't let go of my possessions that easily." The words slid like poison over Akira's skin.
Akira wanted to spit in his face, but that might aggravate Shiki to murder him on the spot. Instead, he scowled and said, "So if I ran away, you'd hunt me down, is what you're saying?"
Shiki's smirk widened. "Who knows." He slipped his hand under Akira's shirt. Akira started struggling again, his hips almost bucking under Shiki's touch. Shiki's hand was cold on his skin, and his fingers spread across his abdomen.
"But even if you did, how long until you come crawling back to me?" Shiki murmured. Akira gritted his teeth and turned his head to the side when Shiki thumbed the piercing in his navel. "Your body already knows, doesn't it? Who its master is. Look at how well you respond to my touch."
Akira did his best to ignore the tugging sensation at his navel. Shiki was playing with the piercing again; the bastard liked to touch and marvel at it often since it was his own piece of work he'd carved into Akira. "I told you already, I don't belong to anyone," Akira retorted, but his voice came out weaker than he would've liked.
Shiki hummed, his flat expression saying he was entirely unconvinced. "If that's the case, why didn't you leave while I was gone?"
Akira's eyes widened and he stopped writhing. That was the question he'd been asking himself for days, and of course, Shiki just had to bring it up in a moment where Akira couldn't escape.
Shiki's gaze narrowed on him. "You must have noticed that the door was unlocked." The hand that was touching Akira's navel stopped. "Why did you not leave?"
The words lit anger in Akira like a match, but his normally intense fury was diluted with confusion at Shiki's words. He lowered his head and muttered, "I don't get it. You—you're not making any sense…" Shiki had been giving him the choice to leave?
"How so?" Shiki sounded intrigued. "I thought you would've been happy to escape." He paused, seeming to wait for Akira to give an answer, but when Akira didn't produce one, he gave a quiet scoff. "You're the one who's making no sense."
"Shut up…" Akira shook his head, raising his hands, but Shiki grabbed both his wrists and pinned them down again in an instant. Shiki just kept poking at the illogicalities in Akira's behavior; inconsistencies that Akira himself couldn't understand but hadn't wanted to confront for fear of admitting that some part of him had… grown used to Shiki's presence. Had gotten comfortable with him, even.
Akira was mortified when he realized this. Shouldn't he be happy to leave and escape Shiki's grasp? To hope to never see the terrible man again for as long as he stayed in Toshima?
"It's your fault," Akira said under his breath, his hands and arms trembling. There was no strength in his voice, nor were there any in his limbs. Shiki wasn't even trying to hold him down anymore. "What the hell's your problem?" Akira asked, flicking his eyes up at Shiki. "You're the one who said just now that you don't let go of your possessions easily, but you've been leaving the door unlocked because you want me to escape? That makes no sense!" Akira exhaled after he was done, overwhelmed by his own outburst. Why was it only Shiki that could aggravate him so easily?
"I never said I was letting go of you just because I gave you the opportunity to leave. You assumed that on your own." Shiki spoke with pointed disdain. "Even if you ran away, it wouldn't be difficult to find you again."
So this was all just a game to Shiki in the end. Akira wouldn't put it past him to find some sick pleasure in dragging Akira back to this room after letting him think he was free.
"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Akira snapped back. "Back then, you were always fucking showing up and picking a fight with me for no reason."
"Hmph. That's what I'd like to say. You were the one who was constantly getting in my way and being an eyesore. I almost thought you were intentionally seeking me out because you wanted me to kill you."
"Like hell anyone would wanna see you." Surely Shiki must've known about his reputation and how everyone would flee the scene or make sure to avoid him whenever a sighting of him was reported. Akira had hoped he'd never see the man again after their first encounter, but somehow, thanks to his awful luck, he'd just kept bumping into Shiki, at the worst times possible too.
"You're not very honest." Shiki brought his hand to Akira's chin, thumb resting below his lower lip. "You say that, but weren't you waiting for me to return?"
Akira made a face of disgust but didn't—couldn't reply. He looked away. Shiki chuckled.
"You chose to stay," Shiki continued, his voice quiet, "because you already know."
Akira challenged his gaze. "Know what?"
Shiki's smile widened, like Akira had just fallen into his trap. He lowered his mouth to Akira's ear, tucked a strand of hair behind it, and whispered, "That you're mine, Akira."
Akira flinched at the low tone of his voice and the warm breaths that trickled into his ear. That was the second time Shiki had called him by his name. Shiki's voice wrapped around his name like that of a snake with its prey—Akira didn't like the sound of it at all, especially not with Shiki breathing down on him like the way he was now.
Shiki's smile was cruel and devious. "You need me." His hand was touching Akira's piercing again.
"I don't need you," Akira snarled. Right now would've been the perfect opportunity to try and knee Shiki in the gut, but for some reason, he didn't. "Don't go deciding that on your own."
"Really?" Shiki didn't sound impressed. "Even though you can't even get yourself off without my help."
"It's not like I want to in the first place," Akira shot back, glaring at him.
Shiki chuckled. "So impudent." He held Akira's chin with his hand. "Admit it. Your body has already become addicted to my touch."
"Stop talking about me like I'm just a puppet!"
Those words only seemed to please Shiki more. "That's good. Defy me," he said. "Keep looking at me with those daring eyes. However…" He grabbed the front of Akira's shirt and pulled their faces close. Akira's breath hitched as Shiki's crimson gaze became the sole focus of his view. "I wonder how much it'll take to break you. Should we test it out right now?"
Akira clenched his jaw, choosing to keep silent. He knew Shiki was trying to provoke him. He couldn't stop himself from tightening his fists though.
Shiki narrowed his eyes and gave a "hmph" at Akira's quiet response. He let go of Akira's shirt, shoving him down as he did, and got up from the bed.
Akira frowned and propped himself up on his elbows, wondering what Shiki was planning.
Shiki was walking to where his sword was leaning against the wall. He took it before walking back to the bed.
"What are you—"
Akira was promptly shut up by a steel blade stopping short at his neck. The swift motion of Shiki drawing his sword had left him breathless; were Shiki not a skilled swordsman with years of experience and a mastery of control, Akira could have been decapitated right there.
"Take off your shirt." Shiki's cold tone, along with the threat of his blade, left no room for protest.
Akira glared at him but did as he was told. He turned away from the blade and pulled his shirt up over his head, tossing it aside on the bed. He ignored the chill that passed over his skin.
Shiki's expression didn't change, but he did give Akira a sweeping glance. "Not going to resist this time?"
"Just fucking get it over with already," Akira spat out.
"Hm." Shiki stepped closer to the bed, and Akira let himself fall onto his back to the bed to avoid the blade. Shiki was silent, but then a smirk crept up his lips, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. "No, I think I'll take my time playing with you."
Akira didn't have time to ask what Shiki meant. The swift swipe on his cheek was enough of an answer. Akira hissed and reflexively closed his eyes, grimacing.
Shiki had cut him.
Akira slowly opened his eyes again to see blood tainting the tip of Shiki's katana. It was dyed as red as Shiki's eyes.
Shiki wasn't fucking around, Akira realized as his breath hitched.
Shiki's knowing smirk seemed to settle deeper as he watched terror sink into Akira's face.
"It's not a bad idea, don't you think? After all…" His katana drifted from his cheek to below his neck, and Akira lay still. He used the tip to tilt Akira's chin up a little. Akira felt the wetness of his own blood smearing his skin. "You like pain, don't you?"
Akira couldn't mutter a response, paralyzed with fear that his vocal cords would get grazed by Shiki's blade if he talked. He could feel the sharp tip of the metal sitting against his skin.
Just a few nights ago, Akira had been observing this same sword with quiet awe, when Shiki had been holding it out under the moonlight. In Shiki's steady hands, the way he'd held it was serenely graceful, and Akira felt no fear of it then, even when Shiki had leveled it at his eye.
But now, at this moment, he was reminded exactly of the dread that flooded him whenever he saw that steel blade coated in blood. Shiki's grip was loose around the hilt, appearing deceptively casual. If he wanted to, all he had to do was thrust his hand, and the blade would plunge into Akira's throat, killing Akira almost immediately.
Shiki let a chuckle slip, moving the katana from Akira's neck to his shoulder. Akira let out a trembling breath as the pointed pressure on his throat finally eased up. When he looked up into Shiki's red eyes, all he saw was wicked delight gazing back at him.
Shiki dipped the blade to Akira's shoulder. Akira wasn't sure if he would've preferred the cut to be fast or slow. After the initial sting, he felt nothing for a few seconds, but then a twinge flared from the wound, and it began oozing blood.
Akira winced. He watched the blood trickle down in a line from his shoulder. Shiki gave him no respite, already making more cuts on his shoulder and arm.
Just how far was Shiki going to go? Akira turned his face away from his shoulder, his expression taut in pain. He heard Shiki laugh above him. The cuts traveled down his arm, creeping toward his hand. Shiki made sure to move slowly, prolonging the duration of each one. Akira forced himself to stay still under that sharp blade. Any slight movement in the wrong direction and Shiki's katana might lodge into his flesh.
A slice on the back of his hand cut into his thoughts. Akira gritted his teeth but refused to make a sound. He wasn't going to give Shiki the satisfaction of hearing him struggle.
"It's pointless to hold your voice in." Shiki patted Akira's cheek with his katana, leaving another small cut. "Let me hear you moan and cry. You can even beg me to stop if you want. I'll consider it depending on how well you beg."
"Shut up…" Akira responded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not going to do any of those things."
Shiki's lips were lifted into a smirk. He was clearly deriving enjoyment from watching Akira suffer. Whether Akira submitted or resisted, it didn't matter to Shiki. "Let's see how long that insolence of yours lasts."
He moved his sword to Akira's other shoulder, repeating the process on that side. The seconds seemed agonizingly slow to Akira as the blade slid across his skin. Heat shot up his arm, spreading like fire in his veins. Blood welled up with small clots along thin red lines. Akira bit down on his lip to keep quiet, but he couldn't quite hide the anguish in his expression.
As Shiki toyed with him, Akira lost track of the time, his thoughts blurring and becoming one with the pain. It felt like it had been going on for hours already even though he knew Shiki was just getting started.
Akira swallowed as the blade glided over his forearm. Shiki was an exceptional swordsman, and his skill with the katana was undeniable. Akira didn't want to admit it, but he almost felt reassured that Shiki was the one doing this and not anyone else. Not once did the blade sink beyond the surface of his skin, but Shiki still managed to accentuate the pain for him. It was just another testament to how adept he was with the sword.
Shiki's eyes displayed complete confidence as he marked Akira's body. The blade was steady and even in his hand; a mighty contrast to Akira who was trying hard to fight his own body's trembling. Each cut was no doubt done with deliberate and precise care.
Eventually, Shiki moved his sword back up to Akira's neck.
It was so close to his throat. Akira stared at it with hazy eyes. There wasn't much blood on the blade even though Akira felt like he'd been bleeding out so much.
Shiki hooked the tip of his blade under the chain of Akira's dog tag and tugged upwards. Akira felt the ball chain pull up into the back of his neck, its beads pressing into his skin.
"You don't need this silly little tag anymore, do you?" Shiki said. He lifted his sword higher, pulling on the chain. The pressure on Akira's nape strengthened for a few seconds—and then there was a snap.
The chain broke. Shiki took the tag from Akira's neck, and then, dangling it in front of him, let it drop onto the floor. It landed with a dull, metallic clatter.
Akira's eyes widened. He stared at the fallen tag with outrage and shock for a few seconds at first, and then… resignation.
Did he even need that tag anymore…? What good would it do for him to challenge Il Re and clear his name of a murder charge when Shiki was still there keeping him on a tight leash? Akira almost couldn't believe the irony of his situation. He'd left the CFC and had come to Toshima to regain his freedom, but he'd ended up getting himself imprisoned by a sadistic, twisted man who wanted nothing more than to see him struggle and suffer.
He didn't know what to do anymore. Was there still any point in fighting and collecting tags? Did he really want to go back to the CFC? It wasn't as though there was anything left for him there. He'd only come to Toshima out of necessity for his freedom, and technically… he'd already gotten it. He could just go AWOL and Emma would find someone else to replace him if he didn't defeat Il Re.
Relying on Shiki would be so much easier than constantly having to watch his own back in the streets and alleyways of this hellish city, especially with all the Rein users going around lashing out lately. Shiki was already providing him with food and water (he wanted to keep Akira alive, of course, despite all his tormenting of him), though he often forced Akira to drink and eat from his hand like a dog. But Akira would have a hell of a lot harder time getting pig tags on his own to buy provisions. He could barely hold his ground against Rein users without resorting to using his blood, and it wasn't like he even wanted to use that method.
…Shiki was right. Everything would be easier if he just gave in.
Akira was afraid, though, of what would become of himself if he let Shiki consume him.
"You're being awfully quiet," Shiki noted, his voice piercing Akira's thoughts. "Done struggling already?"
The arrogant tone sparked a fire back in Akira's spirit. Akira couldn't believe he'd actually thought about submitting to Shiki, even if it had only been for a second. "As if," he grumbled, almost spitting. He hated to fuel Shiki's ego.
"Good." Shiki's lips crept up into a smirk again. "It wouldn't be any fun for me otherwise."
Akira wanted to swing a punch at him. But with the katana keeping him in check, Akira could do nothing more than just swallow and glower.
Shiki's gaze lowered from Akira's face to his chest. He angled his blade again and pressed it to Akira's skin.
Akira grunted as a hot flash of pain bloomed on his chest. His heart was pounding wildly as his eyes followed the trail of the blade. A line of fire ran across where Shiki's sword was leaving a mark, so close to his heart.
How many did that make it now? Akira didn't know. He'd lost count. His body was still aching from the cuts on his shoulders and arms. All he could do was lay there and breathe raggedly on the bed as Shiki marked him.
The cuts on his body burned. Blood welled up and oozed at the slits, and the only thing Akira could focus on was the hot sting of each one. He felt like he couldn't move at all unless he wanted to agitate the wounds, but staying still was just as painful, too, as razoring heat etched into his skin.
The cuts weren't that deep—they were shallow if anything—but they still hurt. Akira tried to hold each breath in for as long as he could to remain still. His very life was in Shiki's hands right now.
Akira could tell Shiki was holding back, because if he wasn't, Akira probably would've had a few severed veins and tendons by now. Shiki's sword almost seemed to be caressing his skin rather than scraping it; naturally Akira got cut because of how sharp the blade was, but there was no pressure behind it. Shiki clearly had no intention of wounding him fatally, at least, not right now, acting like that of a cat that wanted to play with its prey after chasing it into a corner.
But… could he trust Shiki not to maim him? Did Akira want to trust him?
Pain shot up where his abdomen was. Akira cast his eyes down to look. His vision had gotten fuzzy and he was lightheaded, but he could see the blade cutting him there.
He shuddered and laid his head back against the pillow again. His own breathing had started to sound muffled in his ears and he could hardly focus on anything. Gazing up numbly at Shiki, he took in Shiki’s red eyes, unable to find the strength to look elsewhere.
Shiki withdrew his sword and planted one hand down on the bed, leaning over Akira. The bed creaked quietly under his arm. "Looks like you're enjoying this," he whispered. "Do you like pain that much?"
Akira shook his head, wanting to deny it. He knew, deep down though, that Shiki had seen right through him. Something had been stirring in the pit of his stomach ever since this had started, and Akira had been desperately trying to ignore it, hoping it would go away. The heat had only escalated as his body endured more of Shiki’s cruel treatment, though.
He couldn't believe it. Was it because he actually enjoyed something like this? Or… was it because Shiki was the one doing it?
Both thoughts mortified Akira, and he turned his head to the side, wanting to escape Shiki's penetrating gaze.
"What's the matter?" Shiki asked. "Where's all that noisy barking you usually do?"
Akira glared at Shiki out of the corner of his eyes, and he opened his mouth to retort, but what came out instead was a groan. Shiki's blade had grazed the piercing in his navel. Akira clammed up and went completely still, his breath hitching.
"Hmm." Shiki sounded intrigued. Akira could see in his eyes, the amusement that gleamed in them. "Here, then?"
"Stop…" Akira protested, dread creeping up in his throat.
Metal clinked against metal. Shiki played with the piercing using the tip of his blade. The tugging sensation that pooled in Akira’s navel was profound, and Akira felt himself going warm all the way up to his ears.
“So sensitive,” Shiki murmured. His voice was dangerously sharp amongst all the muddled sounds filling Akira's ears. “You haven't forgotten, have you? The meaning of this piercing.”
Akira closed his eyes and shut his mouth, trying not to writhe. There were too many sensations happening at once; pain and heat, and he was getting faint from the blood loss.
"Answer me," Shiki said.
"…How the fuck could I forget," Akira muttered, still keeping his face away from Shiki. There was no way he could. The piercing was a constant painful reminder that he belonged to Shiki.
"Good." Shiki moved the katana away from Akira's navel, and Akira finally let himself exhale a labored breath. His stomach was sore because of how tight he'd been holding it in.
Looking over to the side, he realized Shiki had moved away from the bed, and his back was to Akira. Akira watched dazedly, trying to figure out what he was doing. He squinted through the fuzziness in his vision before realizing Shiki was cleaning his sword.
Was it finally over? Akira continued to watch Shiki from the bed, unable to muster the strength to get up. He wondered if Shiki was going to leave and disappear for a few days again.
Akira looked away from him. He didn't even care anymore. He was just glad it was over. Whatever Shiki did now didn't matter.
He closed his eyes. A numbing ache racked throughout his body, his head heavy against the pillow. He heard Shiki sheathe his sword, and Akira couldn't deny the relief that rippled through him when it clicked into the hilt. He didn't realize how tense he'd been until his body reflexively slumped against the bed.
There were sounds of Shiki presumably propping his sword against the wall. Then he heard Shiki's footsteps approaching the bed, and Akira opened his eyes. He found Shiki's red eyes boring down on him.
Shiki didn't say a word, but there was something off about him. He wasn't looking down at Akira with disdain or amusement. His eyes were sharp and stony, not disclosing any hint of emotion. They vaguely reminded Akira of the incident from two nights ago. Shiki had been acting unlike himself then, too.
Shiki quietly crept onto the bed, situating himself above Akira. He planted his hands on the sides of Akira's head. Akira tilted his head up to look at Shiki, whose gaze had remained on him the whole time.
For a moment, time appeared suspended as Shiki did nothing, and Akira almost thought this was all a dream. Everything seemed hazy. The only thing he could make out was Shiki's red eyes, icy and imperial as always.
Akira felt something warm on his cheek. He looked to see. It was Shiki's hand.
Dazed still, Akira lolled his head to the side where Shiki was holding his cheek. "What…"
Akira’s eyes widened when Shiki’s tongue pressed to the cut on his cheek.
He hurled a punch out of reflex, but his strike was weak and all he managed to do was smear blood on Shiki's face. Still, it seemed his act of feeble resilience had only spurred Shiki on, as the next thing he knew, Shiki was pinning both his wrists down with a crushing grip.
Shiki lowered his head and licked the cut on Akira's cheek again, lapping up blood from it.
Akira hissed, closing his eye on the side where Shiki was licking him. "Stop… don't drink that." Shiki's tongue was warm against the cut. It stung, but it made him feel weird in the stomach, too.
Shiki ignored him. "…Sweet," was all he said when he lifted his tongue off the wound. He licked his lips.
Akira knew Shiki was fucked up, but he didn't think the man was into this as well. Cutting… licking blood… Akira should've found all this repulsive, but for some unfathomable reason, he only felt mildly uncomfortable. He'd probably gotten so used to Shiki's depravity that something like this hardly fazed him anymore.
Akira's breaths came out quietly as Shiki licked the other cut on his face. He writhed beneath Shiki, his muscles tense from the odd sensation, but his body had lost almost all vigor ever since Shiki uttered that single word about his blood being sweet. He knew it was just a provocation; there was no way his blood tasted anything like that, but his body seemed to sway and crumble the more Shiki lapped at his blood like it was actually something tasty.
Akira hated his blood. There was something wrong with it. What, exactly, he didn’t know, but it'd killed several people already. Whenever he thought back to how he'd held out his palm and let his blood splatter into Keisuke's mouth, an overwhelming sense of guilt would rack him. It should've been him who died that day instead of Keisuke.
Nothing good came out of his cursed blood. Akira wondered why it had to be him who had this.
Watching Shiki drink it was a dizzying sight though. Akira was almost expecting Shiki to have a reaction any moment now, but Shiki had already drank so much and nothing happened.
To Shiki, his blood was… normal.
Shiki didn’t have any Rein in him. Of course he didn't. The man was too confident to resort to using drugs and he was already strong without them. Even those who took high concentrations of Rein still fell like flies to Shiki.
But this proved his theory right that his blood only affected Rein users. It didn't make the circumstances any less shitty, but at least he knew his blood wasn't going to kill everyone that even tasted a drop of it.
Shiki's hand was caressing the side of Akira's face where he was licking his cheek, but then his hand dropped to Akira's shoulder, and his lips followed too. A quiet, unbecoming sound slipped from Akira's throat as Shiki's tongue slowly traced the cut on his shoulder. Akira tried to twist away from him, but he was too weak to push back against Shiki's weight.
"No…" Akira muttered, his only form of resistance left, but his voice didn't sound convincing, not even to his own ears. He squirmed. The flat of Shiki's tongue pressed against the wound, and Akira let out something that sounded embarrassingly close to a moan.
His shoulder trembled wildly. It hurt, but it was a different kind of pain. The stinging heat from the cut seemed to dull under the warmth of Shiki's tongue, and all that remained was a mellow fog in his head.
It wasn't until Shiki started sucking on the cut that Akira hissed and the protests resumed. Shiki's teeth grazed the hard flesh of his shoulder, and his wet tongue was pressed to the cut. Akira tried to push Shiki away with his hands, but it was like his stamina was being sapped away from him along with his blood.
The sounds that came out of his mouth were breathy and almost needy, and Akira closed his eyes. His hips nearly bucked but he ground himself down to the bed, not wanting to brush up against Shiki.
Just when Shiki lifted his mouth and Akira thought it was over, Shiki sucked on another cut. It seemed like he intended to give attention to every cut that marked Akira's body.
Shiki was licking the cuts on his arms now. Every cut, every drop of blood that oozed from these wounds—Shiki claimed them with his mouth, as if this were more proof of his possession over Akira; just like the piercing.
Akira was laying there panting by the time Shiki started licking the cut across his chest. His body was so sensitive; every stroke of Shiki's tongue sent him writhing. His body burned with heat and the thoughts in his head slipped away like sand falling through fingers, only the smothering sensation of Shiki's touch filling him.
Panic rose in Akira. He had to get Shiki off him or else… Shiki was going to notice.
"Get off…" Akira grumbled. He tried to bring his knee up to shove him away, but Shiki refused to budge.
He heard Shiki humming. "You're hard," he stated, pointing out exactly what Akira had been trying to hide and hitting him right where it counted—his pride.
"Shut up," Akira gritted out. He felt Shiki chuckle against his skin, and the gnawing feeling of shame made Akira's heart sink.
"Does this excite you that much?" he whispered. Taking Akira's hand, he pressed his lips to the back of it, his gaze never straying from Akira's. His lips were stained red with blood when he released Akira's hand, and he licked them clean. Akira averted his eyes, feeling heat spreading at his nape.
Shiki cupped Akira's chin with his hand, forcing Akira to look at him again. The bed creaked as Shiki moved back up, leveling his face with Akira's.
"Why not ease the pain?" he suggested in a whisper, his voice sounding soothing to a delirious Akira. "It's this easy…" He took Akira's hand and guided it down. His touch was hot against Akira's skin. Their fingers intertwined, and their hands slid over the tense muscles of Akira's abdomen, until they reached the tough denim of his jeans, and then Shiki palmed him once, his hand just over Akira's.
Akira exhaled a shaky breath. Shiki's hand was strong and warm over his. Akira gulped, his mind hazy as Shiki's expectant gaze bore into him.
Shiki wasn't making him do this. His hand was completely unmoving on Akira's.
Akira could feel the heat flare on the back of his neck and the remaining bastions of his will crumbling as he curled his fingers and then—slowly, shakily extended them again. He fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, pulling it down, and the sound was filthy to his ears.
Akira looked away, not wanting to see the knowing, satisfied smirk that was no doubt playing across Shiki's face.
It wasn't until his cock was fully out that Shiki moved to grasp him, forcing a gasp out of Akira.
Shiki was squeezing him. It was painful, and Akira couldn't breathe for a second.
Then Shiki started moving his hand. He was merciless in his tugging and teasing. With rough jerks, he dragged quick strokes up Akira's cock. Akira grunted at the pain and tried to pry Shiki's hand away, but Shiki's grip was firm.
Shiki leaned forward, laying his body flush to Akira's. His cross necklaces were cool against Akira's skin. Bringing his mouth to the crook of Akira's neck, he sucked on it, his hand keeping a steady pace.
Akira moaned, his head falling against the pillow. Shiki was biting and sucking hard. Akira panted through his teeth, one hand clutching the back of Shiki's shirt, the other clenched against the bed. He couldn't find the strength to retaliate, his body and mind crumbling under Shiki's touch.
Shiki was relentless with his hand; he squeezed and turned his hand around the head of Akira's cock. Akira twitched in spite of the abuse, and soon Shiki's hand was slick with pre-come. Akira almost whimpered into his moans as he held onto Shiki. He was throbbing so hard and he didn't even know why. He'd been writhing in pain for a while now, but now he barely registered it, a new kind of heat permeating his body.
The strokes started to feel good, and Akira moaned under his breath, the sounds of Shiki jerking him off sounding obscenely wet. His ears burned with muffling heat. Shiki's hand was rough and hot, and normally Akira wouldn't be able to get off with such a harsh grip, but Shiki had trained his body to respond favorably to pain, and the results of it were obvious from the way Akira leaned into his touch.
It was almost like Shiki knew his body better than he did himself. It couldn't have been more than a minute or two and Akira's legs and hips were already trembling, his abdomen clenching with intense heat. Akira crossed his arm over his face, hiding his eyes and blocking everything out. He knew Shiki was staring at him, but he didn't want to see it with his own eyes.
He lay there breathless on the bed, unable to do anything but moan as pain numbed into pleasure. His mouth trembled helplessly around his moans, saliva lining the edges of his lips. Shiki's touch was cruel, but it was exactly what he needed.
Just when his breaths were getting stuttery and he couldn't endure it anymore, the pressure eased off all at once, and Akira froze in shock. He lowered his arm from his face and looked at Shiki.
The confusion must've been apparent on his face because Shiki supplied, in a completely unaffected tone, "Do it yourself."
Akira's expression grew wide, clarity coming back to him. His body shook with unbelievable force as a torrent of emotions rippled inside him—rage, humiliation, and frustration.
Shame burned in him, fire searing up his spine. A heavy weight sank into the pit of his stomach, and it knotted in hard disgust. He hated Shiki for making him feel this way; for giving and taking everything away from him; for reducing him to the pathetic mess he was now. Akira clenched his fists, wanting to hide and disappear from all this, but he moaned lightly when Shiki suddenly dipped his head forward, dragging his tongue over the cut on Akira's chest, and the thoughts in his head became scrambled.
Akira looked down to see Shiki's tongue tracing a thin line of blood on his body. He shivered but couldn't look away.
Shiki's eyes were fixed on him, his gaze mesmerizingly cold. Akira flushed; Shiki was staring at him with such unfazed intensity, almost like he was seeing right through Akira.
"Well? Continue," Shiki said. His voice was domineering.
Akira was still overwrought and trembling from a disarray of emotions, but a pained breath left his throat when Shiki's tongue dipped and pushed right against the cut on his chest. Akira's view blurred and his head numbed as his gaze remained on Shiki. The hot ache in his cock was agonizing, and it was begging to be tended to, but his anger reined him in, stopping him from making a fool of himself once more.
He must've been taking too long to move because something flicked at his navel. A shaky breath spilled out of Akira's lips and he looked down, finding Shiki's fingers tugging at his piercing.
Akira gritted his teeth and let out a strangled cry, closing his eyes and covering them with his arm, shutting himself away from the world. Casting away what little pride he had left, he lowered his other hand and gripped his still-aching cock. He was already at the bottom; he had nothing left to lose. All his dignity had already been stripped from him, tattered to pieces by Shiki.
Shiki's deep chuckle resounded in his ears. He couldn't see, but he knew Shiki must've been smirking.
"Pathetic."
Akira clenched his jaw and tried to blot him out, thinking only about himself and his hand. He wanted to get this over with fast before he could humiliate himself in front of Shiki further. Breathing through his mouth, he dragged his hand up and down, quickly building up to a steady pace. Despite his efforts, though, he couldn't ignore Shiki like he'd hoped to; not when Shiki's tongue was trailing across his skin so intimately.
Akira shuddered and bit down on the moan in his throat when he felt Shiki’s warm tongue flicking over his nipple. Akira arched his back, digging his face deeper into the crook of his arm. Shiki licked it repeatedly in small strokes. Then he took it into his mouth, biting and sucking.
Akira's skin blazed with heat, his breaths shallow. He stroked harder, faster, his hand getting more slick as Shiki played with his nipple in his mouth, wet tongue licking back and forth over it. He was so sensitive there, and Shiki's mouth was rough and unforgiving.
Shiki brought a hand up to pinch his other nipple, twisting and tugging. Akira's body arched into the touch and his cock pulsed in his hand. Drool leaked out the corner of his lips. His mouth was hung open, filling the air with moans, and his legs trembled with each stroke. He panted, sliding his hand desperately over himself, tugging upward and circling around the head.
Shiki's mouth lifted off his nipple, and then his hands grabbed Akira's waist. There was a rustling of clothing and sheets as Shiki lowered himself to Akira's stomach. He licked one of the cuts there.
Akira's abdomen tensed inward. The drag of his tongue was slow and teasing. Shiki traced the cut, pushing the tip of his tongue against the wound.
Akira's voice turned pained for a moment, but then the sting seemed to melt into pleasure. He couldn't distinguish between the two anymore; both set his body alight with thrilling heat and ecstasy. Akira stroked himself rapidly, unable to stop or slow down, only the instinct of chasing pleasure driving his hand.
Shiki's tongue dipped to the piercing in his navel, and Akira jolted, messy moans spilling out his mouth.
"You succumb to pleasure so easily," Shiki purred, his voice ringing deep with amusement.
Akira didn't bother to retort, his head too hot with pleasure. All he wanted to do was just come. He writhed and stroked, hips bucking into his own hand as Shiki tongued the piercing.
He barely noticed when Shiki had moved back up, only realizing when he felt Shiki pulling his arm away from his face, forcing Akira to look at him. He saw Shiki's sharp red eyes in front of him, and Akira flushed hotter under that hypnotic gaze.
Shiki lifted something to Akira's face. There was a faint jingle of metal.
"Lick."
Blood—Akira's blood—was smeared on one of Shiki's crosses. Akira stared dazedly at it, barely making out the familiar shape of it.
He felt an intrusion in his mouth. Shiki was holding the cross to his lips, prodding them open.
Akira opened his teeth and let the cross slip inside his mouth. The thought of resisting didn't register in his mind at all. The heady taste of metal filled his senses as it slid onto his tongue, and Akira moaned around the cross.
Like Shiki had commanded him to, he worked his tongue around it, licking the metal. He could feel the embossed design on the cross as his tongue glided over it. His hand was still on his cock, but his focus had become more directed on the object in his mouth.
He wasn't sure if that was his blood he was tasting or the metallic flavor of the cross, but Akira continued to drag his tongue over and under it, even swirling his tongue around now and then. The cross was hard and rigid against the softness of his tongue.
Then he started sucking lightly on it.
He didn't know what had overcome him. It just seemed like the natural thing to do at the moment.
"What a lustful creature you are," he heard Shiki murmur, his eyes watching Akira with unveiled amusement, but Akira's mind was too clouded with heat to care anymore. Akira closed his eyes, warmth blazing on his cheeks. He tightened his lips and sucked harder, moaning when Shiki leaned closer to him and chuckled, his breaths tickling Akira's ear.
Akira's shoulders tensed and he squirmed as Shiki's tongue licked the shell of his ear. Shiki wrapped his hand around Akira's, helping him pump his cock. Akira's moans were muffled by the cross in his mouth but he was breathing desperately through his nose, overwhelmed by the sudden hot touch of Shiki's hand.
Shiki pulled the cross out of his mouth, and Akira gasped out with a heavy breath. There was a thin strand of saliva between the cross and his tongue. Shiki didn't seem to care enough to wipe it off as he let go of the cross, instead taking Akira's chin and tilting Akira's face toward him.
Akira still had his mouth open and he was panting. Shiki held Akira's chin in his hand for a few seconds—and then lowered his head and dipped his tongue inside his mouth.
Every muscle in Akira's body went still and the tension traveled all the way up his spine. His eyes were wide in shock, and he didn't understand the warmth that was inside his mouth.
Again.
Shiki had kissed him again.
The only thought that formed in Akira's head amidst the pervading heat overwhelming him was: Why?
Why had Shiki kissed him?
His hand had paused, but Shiki squeezed him and forced him to continue moving it while they kissed. Akira was faint and confused at first, but he eventually started pushing his tongue back against Shiki's. Shiki's tongue was hot inside his mouth, grinding over Akira's, and his breaths were warm on Akira's face.
Akira moaned quietly, closing his eyes. Shiki's grip wasn't as rough as before. His hand matched Akira's pace and he squeezed lightly. Together they pumped Akira's cock, their hands slick and steady.
Shiki slipped an arm under Akira, winding it around his waist and holding him steady. Akira gripped the back of Shiki's shirt with his free hand, his lips remaining pressed to Shiki's. Akira felt like his body was burning; he was sweating a lot even though this room usually had a cool draft.
And then he noticed Shiki was warm, too, even though it always seemed like Shiki's body would be cold to touch.
Shiki's tongue was soft and gentle in his mouth, moving slowly around Akira's. Akira wondered if this was real; if Shiki was really kissing him and holding him, or if the heat was only making him think this way. He clung to Shiki, curling his fingers into his shirt, and pulled Shiki closer to him.
It was different from usual. Akira's body quivered in Shiki's unexpectedly tender hold. He came after a few more strokes, his cock pulsing in his and Shiki's hands. Shiki was still kissing him and Akira almost couldn't breathe. His hips bucked up and his legs trembled as he came over himself, spilling all over his hand and abdomen.
Shiki's hand had still been gripping Akira, and he gave a few slow, squeezing strokes, milking the last of it out of him. When Shiki pulled his mouth and hand away from Akira, Akira moved to cling to him, almost missing the warmth already. There was a palpable hollowness to his lips.
Then Akira realized what he was doing, and he let go of Shiki, pulling his hands back to himself and slumping against the bed. Turning away from Shiki, he lay the side of his face on the pillow.
Akira closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath, wondering what the hell was wrong with himself.
He didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't think straight. All the blood had rushed to his head and his heartbeat was pounding so loud in his ears.
He lay on the bed, breathing raggedly for a minute or two and quietly catching his breath. The sound of his heartbeat eventually dimmed back into a soft thumping in his chest, and he heard the sounds of a faint pattering against the windows.
It had started raining again. When he opened his eyes and turned to glance at the windows, he found Shiki's red eyes staring down at him with a strange look; one that Akira had never seen from him before.
Akira couldn't tell what it was.