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Takumi has never felt fear like this before.
Sure, he’s been afraid for his life. He’s died countless times in battle, anyway. He’s been afraid to lose his friends, afraid to lose the planet to the invaders, afraid to lose Karua—and Nozomi. Never again.
Right now, though, Takumi is losing himself, to the person he hates more than anything in the universe—the boy he killed not once, but twice. Perhaps this situation is something like divine intervention; he’s being punished for committing the same sin in two separate timelines. Or maybe it’s just a sick joke.
Eito Aotsuki is slowly but surely taking control of his body. Takumi has all but resigned himself to the reality that he can’t win Eito’s challenge—from the beginning, he was never supposed to succeed. Takumi’s struggle against the inevitable was just a way to keep Eito entertained while he took over.
Takumi did the only thing he could think of. He killed himself over and over and over and over and over again, an endurance match to test the limits of their willpower. For a while, he really thought he could win like that. It’s almost laughable, in hindsight, because his theory did work—just not in his favor.
At some point, Takumi comes to, but he’s a spectator in his own body. Eito uses his mouth to greet his classmates, to reassure them that he’d won, and Takumi feels sick because they believe him so easily. There isn’t a single shred of doubt in their minds that the person they’re speaking to is Takumi Sumino.
Takumi tries to take back control, he really does, but for some reason he can’t quite remember how to control his arms or legs or mouth or eyes and all of it feels so foreign, how did he do it before? There’s a gap in his memory where basic bodily functions should be, and his head throbs every time he tries to remember how to move his fingers or even blink.
“Would you stop that? Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s not worth the headache… just give up already.” Eito’s disembodied voice echoes in his ears.
“I won’t let you kill them. I’ll get my body back.” Takumi isn’t even confident in his own words, but he needs to affirm this for himself more than anything.
“You said it yourself—the challenge was an endurance match, and I won, fair and square,” Eito taunts, “You failed, Takumi-kun.”
Takumi doesn’t respond—he knows, of course, that this is reality. He lost.
“Still, I won’t hold it against you if you try to take control back. I didn’t exactly play fair in my challenge, either,” Eito says. He’s a little too pleased with himself. “And it’s more rewarding if you keep struggling.”
Takumi grits his teeth. Something about Eito giving him permission to keep fighting him—which he did not ask for—is humiliating. He knows he only has himself to blame for betting the lives of everyone he cares about on a test of sheer willpower.
After all, hatred is all Eito’s ever known. Takumi feels love and hatred and anger and sorrow, his feelings always at war with one another. Eito won because he only needed to channel his willpower toward one thing: eradicating humanity.
Takumi doesn’t want to resign himself, he can’t give up, he can’t just leave his classmates to fend for themselves, he has to do something. But he’s so, so tired. The phantom pain from his streak of suicides still lingers and he faintly wonders if there’s any point in fighting back now.
“Hey, Takumi-kun.” Eito is once again interrupting his train of thought. He would probably never get used to that.
“…What?”
“Who do you think I should kill first? I was thinking about letting you choose.” Eito says this so casually, tapping his—Takumi’s—chin with a finger, as if he’s asking what to eat for lunch.
Takumi flinches. He refuses to grace that question with a response.
“You’re no fun. I’m being nice, aren’t I? I’m giving you a choice.” He feels his own lips turn upward into a grin. “I guess I’ll choose, then… how about Nozomi-san?”
He should have seen that coming. “No—you can’t. Please, not her.”
Takumi, who now has the privilege of hearing Eito’s thoughts, can tell he’s fallen for another dirty trick.
“So you do have a preference! I thought so… you’re so easy to read, you know that?”
Takumi stays silent.
Eito tuts, shaking his head. “I’m sure you realize that’s not an acceptable answer. I’ll give you one day. If you don’t decide, I’ll kill Nozomi-san.”
Takumi stays silent.
“It really gets on my nerves when you ignore me, Takumi-kun.” Eito must have a light bulb moment, then, because his face twists into an expression of manic glee. “Don’t you know by now that just makes me want to provoke you more…?”
Takumi panics, for a moment, worried that Eito has another trick up his sleeve, or maybe he planned to kill Nozomi then and there—
He gasps as pain sears through his wrist. He’s bleeding.
Eito used the knife to cut a long, thin line into his flesh. Blood oozes out of the wound, and Takumi is more than familiar with this feeling—Eito must have noticed the scars littering his body by now—but it’s not self-inflicted and somehow that makes the pain that much more intense.
“What the hell did you do that for?!” Takumi would be staring daggers at Eito right now if he could.
Eito shrugs. “Maybe I’m curious to see how you’ll react… or maybe I want you to feel the same loss of control, the helplessness I felt during your little tantrum.”
A pause.
“Or maybe… I just enjoy permanently disfiguring your body.” He chuckles lightly at his own ‘joke.’
Takumi can’t speak; even if he wanted to, he’s so astonished that words fail him. Eito, unsatisfied with the outcome, slices into his wrist a second time.
“Takumi-kun. I know you’re listening, Takumi-kun. If you insist on occupying space in my head, you should at least have the courtesy to be a good guest.”
“It’s my head. You’re in my body,” Takumi seethes, rage and something else burning in his gut.
Another slice. He’s bleeding a lot, now, isn’t he? The coppery scent wafts over Takumi and suddenly he feels a bit lightheaded, and he knows there’s no chance this will end positively for him, and the weak and selfish part of his brain is begging him to just give in.
Takumi is dizzy. The wounds on his wrist are deep and he’s losing blood quickly, but that’s the least of his problems because he can sense the familiar heat building in his stomach and he thinks he might burn up from pure shame.
He’s sick. He knows this. Takumi is rotten and vile and fucked in the head for getting off on the adrenaline rush he feels from slicing his own skin open and watching the bright red liquid spill out. Eito is going to see for himself how depraved humanity can truly be. He realizes, suddenly, that Eito hasn’t actually said anything a while, and it’s because he’s laughing.
He must have noticed the way Takumi’s body reacted to the pain, to the blood—even if he has no autonomy, his body remembers and betrays every ounce of dignity Takumi might have maintained. He’s wet, practically dripping, not just with blood but with his own arousal.
Eito calms himself after a few moments. “This is wonderful, Takumi-kun. I never knew you were such a shameless freak.” He’s practically shivering from excitement. “Is this where your scars come from, then? You need to slit your wrists to get off?”
Takumi wants nothing more than to kill himself and Eito another thousand times right now.
“Ah, maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to commit suicide so many times? Did it turn you on? This whole time, we were just fulfilling one of your twisted fantasies.”
Eito grabs the knife and carves another two lines into Takumi’s skin, the blood now dripping into a small puddle on the carpet. Takumi can’t look away—sure, he could close the psychological manifestation of his own ‘eyes,’ but he can still feel everything that’s happening and part of him wants to know how far Eito will take this.
“So what? Do you regret taking over the body of someone so perverted? This must be your worst nightmare.” Takumi’s comments are a pathetic attempt to make Eito feel just a fraction of the mortification he’s experiencing right now.
Eito cuts much deeper this time, involuntarily letting out a pained cry. He still has the audacity to sound smug through gritted teeth. “Of course, the sight of your disgusting body makes me want to hurl,” he emphasizes his point by fake-gagging, “but I’m truly fascinated by you, Takumi-kun. You’re so painfully regular, so dull, and yet I can’t seem to get you out of my head. It’s infuriating.”
“Right. My bad for asking.” Takumi hopes Eito can sense his desire to roll his eyes.
Eito ignores him, continuing, “Ever since you told me you’d gone back in time, when you had the gall to spare my life… I knew there was something special about you. I knew I would do everything in my power to ruin you, body and mind.”
Takumi’s cheeks are flushed, his heart rate spiking at Eito’s bold declaration. If anyone saw his face, they’d think someone had just confessed their undying love to him.
“Now that we’re one, I can’t do anything to permanently incapacitate you, but…” Eito drags the tip of the knife down Takumi’s clothed thigh, “I can indulge myself a little, can’t I?”
“You most certainly cannot—“
Takumi yelps, his protest cut off by a searing pain in his leg. Eito has cut through the fabric of his jeans, puncturing the skin and digging into his flesh. Eito twists the knife around for good measure.
“Don’t be like that, Takumi-kun. I’ll make it good for you, too.” Despite suffering just as much as Takumi, Eito sounds calm, and he brushes a hand over his crotch, eliciting a quiet gasp from both of them.
Takumi knows he’s powerless. He lost the moment he decided to kill Eito, back then—a choice that feels like a lifetime ago. Right now, all he can think about is the pungent stench of blood that seems to fill his lungs and how badly he needs this relief. He can’t think about what comes next—all he wants right now is to let Eito do as he pleases.
“…Please,” he whispers, barely audible.
To Takumi’s dismay, Eito doesn’t seem to get what he’s saying at first. “Please what? Please stop? Please don’t hurt me? Please let me have my body back? You’re going to need to be more specific.” On second thought, he's probably just toying with me.
Takumi hesitates, but he’s so far past the point of trying to preserve his dignity. “Please, touch me. Ruin me.”
The twisted, ecstatic expression that forms on their face almost has Takumi second-guessing his decisions, but he’s already so turned on and any feelings of regret are quickly replaced by need.
“I’m so glad we’re on the same page… I feel like you’re starting to understand me, Takumi-kun.”
“Whatever… just hurry up, you sicko.”
Eito obliges, surprisingly, without much resistance. Takumi wonders if his body isn’t as vile in appearance anymore, now that Eito has taken up residence in his head. Takumi bled so much more than usual, his wounds much deeper thanks to Eito. His clothing is soaked through.
Takumi faintly thinks that he wants to taste it, to lap up the blood from the gashes that litter his arm, and he’s shocked when his body actually seems to bend to his will—until he realizes that Eito is thinking the same thing, and the two of them are more aligned in their desires than he expected.
“It’s funny, isn’t it, that I’m so much less repulsed by the sight of you now that we’re one? Enough to want to touch you and taste you.” Eito’s—Takumi’s—voice is ragged. “You make me want to vomit my guts out. I can’t get enough of you. Is this how it feels to be in love?”
Takumi wishes those words didn’t have such a profoundly enticing effect on him. He should be creeped out. He should struggle more. He should be kicking and screaming. He shouldn’t crave the feeling of that blade carving into his flesh again.
And even though Eito can’t read his thoughts anymore, somehow he knows exactly what Takumi needs, dragging the blood-crusted knife along his thigh again and again and again. He realizes the newest set of cuts are placed in a particular pattern—they spell out “Eito.” They’re deep enough to leave scars that could last a lifetime, his name permanently etched into Takumi’s body in bright crimson ink.
They’re both numb to the pain by now, but the adrenaline still courses through their veins, and suddenly their vision blurs, and Takumi knows Eito has taken things too far—they’ve lost too much blood by now—and everything fades to black. Barely a second passes before Takumi comes to in that familiar, dimly lit blue room. Eito smiles from his usual spot on the sofa.
“You must be really desperate for my attention if you’ve brought me here while our body bleeds out in the real world. Aren’t you worried we’ll be too drained of cryptoglobin to be revived if we die?” Eito’s smug tone is evidence enough that he knows there’s nothing to worry about.
Takumi rolls his eyes. “You and I are both very familiar with my body’s limitations by now, don’t you think?”
Eito doesn’t respond; instead, he pats the seat next to him on the sofa: an invitation. Takumi never thought he’d see the day when Eito would be beckoning him to come closer, and much less that he would obey without hesitation. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the awkward situation he’s put them both in, and he squirms a little, unsure how to proceed. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up a bit and he’s certain that Eito is staring. Why is he staring?
“You look like a grade schooler about to be scolded by his parents,” he sneers, “if you weren’t so hideous I might find it cute.” Eito suddenly turns around and positions himself on Takumi's lap to straddle him, his hands pinned on either side of his head and boxing him in. Takumi can feel his breath on his neck and he shudders involuntarily.
“I’m at your mercy, remember? You control this space now,” Eito says, his lips brushing against his ear, “if you really wanted, you could have me on my knees.”
The idea of pushing Eito onto the floor and tangling his fingers through his hair and forcing him to eat him out is tempting. But Takumi’s still reeling from Eito’s gruesome treatment of his body, the delight in his eyes as he dug the knife in deeper, the pounding in his chest as the pain surged through his body, the terror he felt from losing even the ability to yell and cry out with his own voice. He hates how the best way to describe that sensation is thrilling. It’s intoxicating. He needs to feel that again.
Takumi inhales sharply and meets Eito’s gaze, his expression unwavering. “I want to pick up where we left off.” He hesitates before adding, “I won’t bleed out, or faint, and you won’t have to worry about leaving too many marks. I won’t die, so…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Eito’s eyes glint with understanding and something else—something predatory. Takumi doesn’t have a moment to react when he sees the flash of metal before a blade is being thrust into his abdomen, and he wails.
Where did he even—
He yelps again when Eito pulls the knife back out, slowly. It’s different from the one he used in the real world; its edges are jagged and razor sharp, and the handle is curved in such a way that it fits perfectly in Eito’s hands. Takumi almost wishes it were real so he could admire the craftsmanship before he dirtied it with his blood.
Eito’s voice is akin to a deep hum as he says, “I was really, really hoping you’d say something like that, Takumi-kun.” He drags the blade delicately along Takumi’s cheek, just enough to nick the sensitive skin there. “For some reason, although your voice is as shrill and grating as ever, and your appearance hasn’t changed a bit, I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.”
Eito grinds his hips down just slightly, but it’s enough friction to have Takumi instinctively lifting himself up to try to chase that brief moment of sensation. “I want to be the one to make you feel insurmountable pleasure,” he whispers, his free hand sliding down Takumi’s stomach and teasing at the waistband of his jeans, “and the most agonizing, unbearable pain you’ve ever experienced.” Eito makes his point by shoving a finger into the stab wound and twisting it around, the blood gushing even faster and staining his hand red.
Takumi is well past the point of trying to muffle his voice, a constant stream of whimpers and pained sobs. He knows this isn’t reality, but the sensations he experiences in this shared space might as well be real. It’s the only space where they can exist as two separate entities with different voices and different bodies, where they can see and touch and hurt each other. Takumi truly feels like himself again, and it’s almost ironic that he can only experience this feeling while Eito is present.
Eito pulls his finger out, and Takumi tries to scream, but he’s cut off by the bloodied appendage being thrust into his mouth instead. He wants to bite down, but he knows he'll have a much worse time if he tries anything while being held at knife-point.
Eito seems pleased with how pliant he’s being. “You’re so much more obedient now. Like a well-trained dog.”Takumi turns away from him, trying his best to hide the way his face flushes. Eito takes notice anyway.
“I figured someone like you would get off on being treated like a mutt. Now be a good boy and clean your mess.” He adds another finger and shoves them further down Takumi’s throat, making him gag. Still, he dutifully laps up all the blood, and Eito hums in satisfaction. He leans forward, and for a moment Takumi thinks he might be about to kiss him, but his tongue instead grazes a spot just beneath his lips.
“Looks like you spilled some. What a pathetic, useless thing you are,” he snarls. “You should get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.”
Takumi’s had just about enough of Eito’s smug act. He rolls his eyes. “What, like this?” He shoves Eito aside and kneels on the floor between his legs, looking up at him and batting his eyelashes in an exaggerated display of subservience. “Do I really need to spell it out for you, Aotsuki?”
Eito’s face contorts between disgust and hunger. “Of course not.”He leans forward, one hand reaching to grab hold of Takumi’s hair and yank him closer, the other pressing the knife against his neck. If Takumi so much as flinched he would risk slitting his own throat. “But you’ll do it for me anyway, won’t you, Takumi-kun? Tell me how desperate you are for me to have my way with you.”
Takumi must be going insane, too, because he puts a hand over Eito’s, pushing the knife harder against his skin, just enough for tiny pinpricks of blood to leak out. “I want you to hurt me more,” he breathes, “I don’t want to think about anything except the pain. I’ll take whatever you give me.”
Eito has a crazed expression on his face as he starts laughing, and this might be the first time Takumi’s ever seen him experience sincere joy. “I wish I’d known a long time ago that all I needed to do was beat you up a bit to turn you into a docile, mindless pet.” He discards the knife for a moment to unbutton his pants. Even through his underwear, Takumi can tell that he’s above average in size—anyone would have a hard time fitting that thing in anywhere. His mouth waters a little.
Still, Takumi is surprised at how… forward Eito is being. He hesitates before making any assumptions. “You really want me to…? Isn’t it gross—“
He doesn’t get a chance to wonder why Eito is willingly subjecting himself to extensive physical contact with another person, because he’s being yanked forward by the scalp until his face is pressed firmly against the bulge in Eito’s briefs.
“The sound of your voice is starting to give me permanent brain damage, so why don't you hurry up and put that vile mouth of yours to good use?” He sounds confident, but his breathing is shaky, and that’s all the confirmation Takumi needs. He pulls the waistband down just enough to free Eito’s cock and it springs out, slapping against his face.
His first instinct is to take it slow—he really doesn’t have much experience with these things—but Eito clearly doesn’t share the sentiment. He pinches the bridge of Takumi’s nose, forcing him to breathe through his mouth, and shoves the whole length in all at once. Takumi gags, trying in vain to pull away, but Eito has an iron grip on his hair. His airway is fully blocked up and he can’t breathe, he realizes in a panic, and he tries to communicate that by making eye contact with Eito and showing him a fearful, pleading expression.
Of course, this only encourages Eito to push him further, and he starts moving Takumi’s head up and down on his cock like a fleshlight—he probably wouldn’t even know what that is—and Takumi realizes in horror that if he was going to pass out, he would have already. But the two of them are already in a dreamlike state, their consciousnesses stuck in limbo between this head space and the waking world. Takumi could snap his fingers at any moment and put a stop to the abuse.
Instead, he whimpers around Eito’s cock, and takes what’s given to him like a good boy. He doesn’t think about why he’s here, or what happens next. None of that matters here—he’s safe here, with Eito. Tears blur his vision, but he likes it better that way; the temporary blindness is a comforting refuge from the ugly reality that awaits him when they wake up.
Takumi’s throat eventually relaxes, getting used to the intrusion, and he stops fighting against Eito’s movements. He bobs his head up and down attentively, even after Eito relaxes the grip on his hair. Now, though, he’s hyper-aware of the incessant throbbing between his legs, more aroused than he’s ever been before. He rubs his thighs together and rolls his hips in a desperate attempt to get himself off.
Eito takes notice immediately. He pulls Takumi off his cock, and the boy violently gasps for air, clutching his abused throat. “You ungrateful, pathetic, disgusting, repulsive, depraved brat,” the last word is accompanied by a swift kick to the chest, knocking the oxygen right back out of his lungs. Takumi falls flat on his back, but his knees are still bent upward and Eito takes advantage of the compromising position to spread his legs further apart.
"Ow…" Takumi props himself up on his elbows and glowers at him.
Eito raises an eyebrow, amused. "I stabbed you in the stomach, cut your face, your wrists, your thighs, your neck… and you can't handle being knocked around a little bit? Does that not do it for you, Takumi-kun?"
In an instant, his jeans have been pulled off and tossed aside, exposing the cute, blue and white striped panties underneath. They're practically soaked through; the dark spot in the fabric does nothing to protect his modesty.
"Your greed is showing," Eito scoffs. At some point, he had grabbed hold of the knife again. Takumi's heart flutters in anticipation. "Ugh, it's so horrendous to look at… you're lucky I'm so kind."
Takumi can't help but talk back, though he knows it's a mistake. "I don't remember asking you to expose me like this," he grins, "seems to me like you're the greedy one." His gaze shifts down to Eito's dick, still painfully hard, leaking, and red at the tip.
Eito scowls, but doesn't respond. Instead, he lowers the knife down until it's pressed against the thin layer of cotton protecting Takumi's pussy. He freezes—there's no way he's not bluffing, right?—and despite the alarm bells blaring in his ears, his cunt throbs, and he uses every ounce of self control to not lift his hips up in search of any kind of friction. "Y-you can't— that's too far…!"
Eito ignores him, and Takumi shuts his eyes, preparing himself to endure the excruciating pain that would follow. He's almost disappointed when it's only the fabric that tears. His face burns, horrified partially at the idea of that blade nicking his sensitive area, and partially because for a second he kind of wanted it.
Perceptive as ever, Eito hums, "Oh, are you disappointed?" He's still holding the knife just close enough to prevent Takumi from moving his lower half too much. "If you've had a change of heart, I wouldn't mind cutting that cute clit of yours off. I wonder what kind of sounds you'd make…" He has that familiar, crazed look in his eyes again, and Takumi knows he's dead serious.
He shakes his head furiously. "You're seriously insane if you think I'd agree to that." Not that I have much of a choice.
"You're the one who's insane, if you still think you have a say in the matter. Maybe if you beg me nicely, I'll reconsider." Eito presses the flat of the blade against the tiny, swollen nub, rubbing slow circles around the tip. Takumi lets out a moan more akin to an anguished cry; he's way too sensitive for this amount of stimulation so suddenly.
Tears prick at his eyes again and his entire body trembles. He's panicking, he knows it—nothing that happens here is permanent, it's not real, it's not real—
—pain shoots through his entire body, and he wails. Blood trickles from a small gash just barely missing his clit, and his muddled brain struggles to comprehend what just happened. Eito has withdrawn slightly, and he has the audacity to look surprised. Takumi pauses, the dots connecting in his head. He'd been squirming and writhing so much that Eito's handle on the knife slipped for a moment, and Takumi had cut himself. He wants to hurl every nasty insult in the book at Eito, but he's still disoriented, and as much as it hurts he can't help the needy whine that escapes his mouth from the loss of sensation.
Eito, who had stopped touching him altogether, snaps out of his daze. "You still want more? Your degeneracy truly has no bounds, Takumi-kun." He leans in, as if examining his artwork. "Still, I'll admit that your hideous body is prettier covered in blood. Red suits you."
Takumi despises how he zeroes in on being called pretty despite the backhanded compliment. "If I'm so pretty, how come you don't hurry up and just fuck me already," he pants.
Eito's couldn't hide his disgust if he tried. "Are you crazy? I'd rather you kill us another thousand times."
"Then I'll wake us up right now and we'll both be unsatisfied."
If looks could kill, they'd both drop dead in an instant. Eito hesitates, but he seems to make up his mind. "Fine. But you're not getting off that easily. You'll have to earn your reward."
Takumi is both relieved and apprehensive—he wouldn't have to wake up and relinquish his control just yet, but he's still the subject of Eito's whims, for better or worse. His skin prickles as a bead of sweat drips down his neck and he gives a slow nod.
"Good boy," Eito croons. He takes Takumi's hand and places the knife in his palm gently, closing his fingers around the hilt. "It's your turn now."
Takumi tilts his head, puzzled. "You want me to cut you? I mean, I'll do it, but—"
"I should have expected I'd need to explain every little detail so that your puny excuse for a brain can comprehend what I want from you," Eito sighs, exasperated. "I want to see you cut your own flesh open for me, Takumi-kun. You've never let anyone else watch, have you? I'll take that first from you, too."
Takumi mentally kicks himself for blushing like a schoolgirl at being asked—ordered—to defile himself in such a vulnerable way while the person he hates most watches. He imagines himself barely three months ago, on a particularly bad night, when the guilt of all his choices in the first hundred days became too much for him to bear. He used a razor blade, back then, to tear his skin open time and time again, and the gashes littering his forearm had taken weeks to heal. Before long, it became part of his routine, and he found comfort in the misery of it all. Even as his tears fell and mixed with the streams of blood on his skin, the sting was enough to temporarily distract him from the ache he felt in his chest.
He doesn't know when it became less about guilt and more about seeking that same high, that dizzying, intoxicating rush every time he broke skin. It was only a matter of time before the nature of his nightly activities became purely self-indulgent and perverted. If Eito had seen him like that, he probably would have looked at him like he was vermin and called him filthy, revolting, vile, repugnant, depraved—
Eito clears his throat. "Are you done zoning out? I refuse to stand here while you're thinking perverted things about me."
Takumi jolts back to the present moment, embarrassed that he'd let his mind wander in a situation like this. "I-I wasn't thinking anything perverted…!" It was an obvious lie, but he had to at least try to save face.
"You're a bad liar, Takumi-kun," he chides, "you can't hide anything from me anymore." He inches forward, not breaking eye contact as he hovers over Takumi and slides a hand under his sweater, fingers brushing along his stomach. The redhead shudders, goosebumps forming along the path he'd touched. Eito motions for him to lift his arms up. "The next part will be easier if you take this off."
Takumi does as he's told, and Eito pulls his sweater over his head, throwing it off to the side somewhere. The movement ruffles his hair a bit, and Takumi knows he must look like such a wreck, disheveled and messy with his eyes still red from crying. He grabs Takumi's wrist again and guides the hand holding the knife to his chest. "I'm curious—are your nipples super sensitive, too? Should we find out together?"
Takumi reflexively covers his chest with his other arm. "You can't be serious… at this point, you're just torturing me…!" His voice trembles.
"I'm so glad you finally understand, Takumi-kun!"
When Takumi doesn't respond, he sighs, disappointed. "Well, I suppose I can't force you."
Thank god he still has the ability to be reasonable.
"I'll just have to do it myself. Would that make you feel better?" Eito wears a sick, smug grin and Takumi wants to slap it off his face.
"Absolutely not," he says through gritted teeth. "I… I'll do it." Eito just makes a vague gesture with his hand, as if telling him to get on with it already, still wearing that annoyingly placid smile. His eyes don't leave Takumi's body for a second.
Hesitantly, Takumi brings the blade closer to his chest. He sucks in a breath before quickly swiping it over one of his exposed nipples, barely grazing it enough to draw blood. Regardless, he winces, the slight sting amplified by the sensitive nerve endings. Eito hums disapprovingly. "I expected more from you, Takumi-kun. You don't seriously think I'll be satisfied with a tiny skin prick?" He flicks a thumb over the reddened nub, causing Takumi to convulse and whimper pathetically. "Or maybe you're just trying to drag this out so it lasts longer."
"Ngh—! You'd like that, wouldn't you, Aotsuki?" he retorts. "Too bad for you—I'm going to end this quickly." Don't think about the pain. Don't think about him watching. Just get it over with. Takumi shuts his eyes, inhales, and drags the blade slowly, agonizingly, in a straight line across his chest, leaving behind a deep gash. Each time he crosses over one of his nipples, pain courses through his body, and worse, he feels arousal building up in his gut at the same time. In between his wails are high-pitched moans and breathless whines. He knows he's pushing himself past his limits, but it's exhilarating, and if he digs the knife in a little deeper toward the end that's no one else's business—except maybe Eito's.
"Is that—hngh—good enough for you, Aotsuki? Are you satisfied, now?" he pants, finally opening his eyes and looking up at Eito. The sight that greets him is worth every ounce of pain he'd endured—Eito's lips are parted, a red tint creeping up his cheeks and forehead as beads of sweat slide down his face. His chest heaves, his pupils dilate, and he looks like he's ready to pounce on Takumi. For once, he's struggling to keep his composure, and Takumi takes a sick kind of pleasure in the effect he's having.
"Not yet," Eito breathes, smearing the blood around with his fingers, transfixed by the deep red against the backdrop of Takumi's pale flesh. He leans in, and it really looks like he's about to bite down in the freshly wounded area, so Takumi panics and shoves him back—still holding the knife in one hand. It slices through his jacket, and Takumi flinches as a small splotch of red forms through the fabric. The cut must not have been very deep, since Eito barely reacts, but he still looks scandalized by the sheer audacity.
He grimaces and pulls off both his jacket and T-shirt. "Stupid, perverted Takumi-kun… if you were that desperate to get me undressed, you could have just asked."
Takumi knows it's not worth bringing up the fact that he was acting in self-defense, choosing to double down instead. "It's not fair if I'm the only one naked," he says, narrowing his eyes. He's never seen Eito with his jacket off, much less bare-chested, and he realizes the frail, lithe figure he'd been imagining is nowhere to be found. In its place is a perfectly sculpted and defined torso. That explains why he's able to push me around so easily.
"If you keep staring, I'm going to vomit all over you." Eito's tone doesn't match his face, and maybe it's because he doesn't realize that he's staring back at Takumi with intense, unmistakable lust in his eyes.
"God, you're annoying," Takumi sighs, and for once he takes some initiative, dropping the knife on the ground beside them and wrapping his arms around Eito's neck to press their lips together.
Eito makes a noise of discomfort and Takumi half expects him to wrench himself away, but instead he tangles his fingers in his hair and deepens the kiss. He bites down on Takumi's bottom lip and swipes his tongue over the area, delighted to find that he bleeds easily there, too. Takumi lets a breathy whine escape, and Eito takes the opportunity to shove his tongue past his lips and deeper inside, as if he's trying to choke him with it. There's nothing gentle or sweet about this—just pure, unadulterated hunger. Takumi isn't sure how the Eito who claimed to be on the verge of vomiting—who always complained about how disgusting he is—can handle this proximity, being able to taste his blood and saliva on his tongue. But he sure as hell isn't complaining.
Takumi feels like he's drowning, but he would welcome death with open arms if it feels like this. He's satisfying a craving he didn't know he had, and the more he takes the more he wants. He lifts his hips, trying to rut against Eito for any kind of friction against his neglected cunt. The bleeding down there has stopped, but the cut still stings, and all he wants is for Eito to finally touch him there. He longs to be consumed by mind-numbing pleasure—enough that he'll forget all the misery he's endured until now.
Eito reluctantly tears himself away from Takumi's mouth, a thin strand of saliva still connecting their tongues. "Takumi-kun… you really are a degenerate," he admonishes, "but I suppose you've earned your reward by now."
Takumi can feel himself throb at the mere implication of finally being filled. He's never felt this empty before, like Eito is the only thing that can make him feel whole again. He knows he must look absolutely pathetic right now, but he can't find the strength to care; all he wants right now is for Eito to satisfy his greed.
"Aotsuki, please…" he whines. He down to palm at Eito's clothed cock straining against his pants, eliciting a groan from him.
"Tell me how badly you need me, Takumi-kun," he says, guiding his aching erection to Takumi's entrance, slick and dripping with arousal.
"I need you…! I need your cock inside me, I need you to fill me, please, please—Hnngh—!" His pleas are cut off by Eito burying himself to the hilt all at once.
Takumi wails at the intrusion, clenching impossibly tight around his cock. His body is practically bent in half, but Eito somehow forces his legs back even further, pushing his thighs against his stomach. It hurts, initially; he feels like he's being split apart inside. But the pain soon switches to insurmountable ecstasy as Eito begins to move, slowly dragging his cock out until just the tip is still inside, before thrusting all the way back in with a force that makes Takumi let out a shameless, drawn-out moan.
"God, your voice is so—hah—annoying," Eito pants. "At this rate I'll go soft."
Takumi knows he's exaggerating, but the mere possibility of losing this sensation is enough for him to resort to anything he can think of to ensure that Eito doesn't stop fucking him. He knows he can't hold back his voice, so the next best thing is something he knows will satisfy Eito. "Nghh—! Please, I'll… I'll cut myself more, so don't pull out, okay?" His eyes and voice are pleading, desperate, and Eito stills for a moment, as if carefully considering the offer.
His lips curl into a vicious smile. "Do it. Make sure I don't get turned off, Takumi-kun, or I'll stop."
And Takumi doesn't need to be told twice; he fumbles around for the knife next to him and grabs it, immediately digging the blade into his wrist with reckless abandon. He's learned to associate the sight of blood with his own arousal, and it's almost addicting to watch the bright red fluid leaking from the fresh wound on his body. Eito seems to agree, because he starts fucking into Takumi's cunt like a rabid dog in heat.
"You're so beautiful, Takumi-kun." Eito's voice is a mere whisper, barely audible through Takumi's incessant moaning, but the words hit them both like a freight train. Eito, who didn't expect the words to leave his mouth, and Takumi, who never imagined he'd hear them—he almost believes it really was just his imagination.
"Wait, wh—"
Eito wraps his fingers around Takumi's throat before he can even begin to question his admission. He doesn't let up, even when Takumi starts choking and trying to pry his hand away. He only tightens his grip, all while continuing the relentless assault inside him. He doesn't let go until both of their consciousnesses start to fade, threatening to wake up their real body.
"Sorry, Takumi-kun, I just couldn't help myself! What were you saying…?" He smiles playfully, as if he hadn't just been strangling Takumi within an inch of his life.
Takumi wants to press him, but for once, he knows better. "Nnh, nothing… I didn't say anything at all," he mutters.
Eito rewards him with a particularly sharp thrust, slamming against his cervix, and Takumi thinks he really might break from this if it were real.
"That's what I thought. Don't think about anything, Takumi-kun. Just keep hurting yourself for me, okay?"
And Takumi wants nothing more than to do just that—the more I hurt myself, the more pleasure Aotsuki will give me… the more blood I spill, the more Aotsuki will want me… so he carves his skin open again and again and again, and his brain is too muddled to tell pain apart from the absolute bliss he's experiencing.
Aotsuki wants me.
Aotsuki thinks I'm beautiful.
We're going to be together forever, like this…
I'm so happy.
"Takumi-kun, I'm close… let's do it together. You can touch yourself now, if you'd like." Eito sounds almost gentle, and for some reason that has Takumi tearing up for what seems like the hundredth time in the past hour. He uses his free hand to rub circles on the sensitive bud between his legs, but he's so impossibly wet that he can barely control his fingers. He whimpers pitifully.
But then Eito is tensing up and his thrusts get more and more erratic and suddenly he's spilling inside Takumi while hitting his sweet spot so perfectly. That does it for Takumi; he frantically strokes himself in just the right way until he's clenching impossibly tight around Eito's cock, and his entire body spasms. His orgasm is like nothing he's ever experienced, in more ways than one. He realizes too late that his juices are spilling out of his other hole, all over Eito's torso and pooling on the ground beneath him. He's never done that before.
Takumi barely has time to process, still delirious from the most intense orgasm of his life. Eito pulls out with an expression that would make anyone else think he'd just been violated, leaving Takumi feeling empty, his hole twitching and clenching as if trying to suck him back in.
"You filthy…! Takumi-kun, how could you p—hurrk—how could you pee all over me?!"
He's not sure how to respond to that. Of course, Aotsuki wouldn't know anything about female genitalia. He stifles a laugh. "Aotsuki. That's not pee, it's… other stuff. It happens sometimes, when, you know…" He hopes Eito will just take the damn hint so he doesn't have to explain himself further.
"Other stuff?! That's even worse! Takumi-kun, I'll kill you!"
"Whatever… kill me all you'd like, Aotsuki. We're one now, aren't we?"
Eito's never looked this cute before. He's flushed and angry and on the verge of throwing a tantrum.
"I hate you, Takumi-kun."
Takumi smiles. "I think you're beautiful too, Aotsuki."
When they wake up in Takumi's body again, they're in the infirmary. The Revive-O-Matic must have come for them at some point while they were unconscious.
Neither one of them says a word, but there's an unspoken understanding between the two.
I don't want to fight anymore.
I don't want to think anymore, is the last thing Takumi thinks, before he fully relinquishes himself to Eito's control. Whatever happens next, he doesn't need to know about any of it. He doesn't want anything to do with the real world. He'll wait here, in their space, for Eito to come back to him.