Author's note: warnings for graphic non-con.
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"Saya. Open your eyes."
The darkness shifts. Above her, streaks of filthy light falls from the cracks in the wall and are interrupted by the slow turn of ceiling fans.
And then she sees his face, crouching over her.
"Fumito." A hiss, her eyes flashing red. But she's chained down, hands pulled roughly back and strapped against the bed. Fumito's mouth stretches-not quite a smile, but something close to it, knowing and cruel.
"Tsk, tsk, Saya," Fumito says, and Saya thrashes, hands and legs straining against the rusty chains. The bed creaks in protest with her movements. Fumito shakes his head.
"We drained you of your blood, Saya." He sounds bored. She turns her head and watches as he steps over to the window. She can see the motes of dust floating in the air.
"It was wrong of you, Saya. Trying to attack us like that." Fumito turns. "However, we have found ourselves with an opportunity. One that I promise I will not waste."
"Kisama," Saya says. Fumito sniffs.
"Do not flatter yourself," Fumito says. "You may be older than time itself, but we still have you. We still..." and he drags his hand up the side of her ribs, lets his fingers trace the scratches on her arms. "...have you."
The ceiling fans turn. Her heart beats. She can see the veins pulsing under Fumito's neck, can feel each beat of his breath and the heat from his skin.
"A monster," Fumito murmurs. "And yet so beautiful."
Saya strains. She feels his hand slide up her thigh and she jerks back, twisting her body. She feels his fingers brush her cheek and she screams, fangs out, eyes pulsing red like blood.
"What would it be to have you, Saya?" Fumito says. "My employers would not mind and you will not remember. Not after we are through with you.
Oh. What's this? You can't understand what I'm saying?" Fumito says, and she feels his hand slide up the inside of her thigh. "Any prick with a functioning dick can rape you, Saya. But not I. I will show you the things of which humans are capable."
She feels his thigh jam between her legs. Saya screams, thrashing her head. Slowly Fumito leans down, breathes into her neck and breasts. Saya's arms shake. She strains against the chains, trying to buck him off.
"Easy," Fumito says, and he takes out a knife. Saya's eyes widen. "Do not move, Saya. You don't want me to hurt you, do you?"
Her shirt, which is already torn and blood-stained, tears easily. Saya sobs. Her breasts are exposed to the cold air.
"Good girl," Fumito says, and he drops a small kiss against her collarbone. She can feel his hardness brush against her belly. She shakes, despite herself. "So small," Fumito says, and she feels the flat edge of the knife press against her nipple; the blade is cold and her nipple hardens, despite herself. Slowly, Fumito leans down and takes her nipple into his mouth, hardness scraping against her clit. Saya squeezes her eyes. His tongue rolls leisurely, moving from one breast to the other and drawing a moist wet line against her sternum.
"Does it feel good?" Fumito asks. Tears roll down Saya's face as she stares up at the ceiling, counts each whir of the fan above her.
He moves; she feels his weight shift away from her as he moves lower, lips skimming her ribs and her belly. He kisses her hip bones and the crease above her navel; her stomach quakes. She feels his hands grip her skirt, yanking it down.
"Stop!" Saya says. Fumito pauses. She can't read his eyes. "Stop, please-"
"So she speaks," Fumito says. He moves again, hand slowly tracing the hem of her panties. "I always wondered how monsters learned human speech," Fumito says. "Maybe if they are distressed enough, they will communicate."
And she feels his fingers press roughly against her clitoris. Saya screams, wracked with sobs.
"Oh, what's this?" Fumito asks. His brow furrows in mock concern. "Are you afraid? Have you never been touched by a man like this, Saya? I find it hard to believe, don't you?" and he begins rubbing her clitoris in hard circles. The fabric of her panties are damp and Saya squeezes her eyes, ashamed.
"I will make you come, Saya," Fumito says. "I will make it so you scream my name."
"No!" Saya says, and she feels the knife against her underwear. The sound of fabric ripping is louder than the beating of her heart.
The frenzy with which Ayakashi feeds: that's what Saya's reminded of when she sees the look in Fumito's eyes, blood-hungry and vicious. He grips her ass and his hot wet mouth smacks greedily on her clit, and Saya squirms, it's too much, too much pressure, she's too sensitive and she sobs harder, the sound of his tongue on wet flesh almost as painful as the chains on her wrists.
The skin around her wrists are raw. Her neck aches. Slowly the burning sensation in her chest recedes as Saya stares fixedly on the ceiling, the feel of Fumito's tongue turning into a dull ache. Everything around her is quiet. And then her body tenses. She feels him ease up on her body, and soon her eyes roll back. He's laving her in a way that starts to feel good.
She feels him nurse gently on her clitoris, can feel his hot breath from his nose tickle her skin. Saya's vision dims, then comes back into focus; she pants softly, her breath jagged and quiet.
She's about to come when he stops, pulling back upward. The sudden loss of sensation makes Saya cry out.
"Shall I go on, Saya?" Fumito asks. His hand traces a lazy circle across her clit before dipping inside her. Saya gasps. He pulls his hand out, slowly. "Do you want me inside you?"
"Leave me alone," Saya says, but Fumito grins, dipping his head lower and giving her a slow, luxurious lick upwards, tongue across her entrance and up to her apex. He gives her one small suckle and releases, making Saya shake. He moves again, and in the dim light Saya can see him start to unbutton his shirt. She can just make out the muscles of his chest; there is the scar from where she caught him, sword in hand, when he and his men attacked her. There is the flesh wound in his side when she fought him off.
The shirt falls. She hears the sound of his belt being unbuckled, the shift of his pants onto the floor.
He leans against her, and Saya flinches at the feel of him, the feel of his bare skin on hers and his hardness pressed up against her core.
"No," Saya says. She moves her head, squeezing her eyes. "No."
"Yes," Fumito breathes, and she feels the head of his erection slide up against her wetness, still not inside her. "You are aching for me. I can feel it."
He slides up again, purposefully missing her entrance and sliding up against her vulva. He rocks against her clitoris, making her thighs clench, involuntarily. He moves and she feels his mouth on her breast again, his hand kneading the other and his tongue swiping her nipple.
The pressure on her clitoris is too much; she feels herself on the cusp of orgasm again. He moves. Saya lets out a choked sob.
"Say it," Fumito says. He grips his cock in his hand and presses slightly into her entrance. "Say you want me. Saya."
"No," Saya sobs. He moves again and it feels good, everything feels good, the feel of his mouth on her nipples and neck, his fingers on her clit and his damp skin on top of hers. Tears roll down the sides of her face and she comes, suddenly, unexpectedly, the feel of her orgasm like a riptide through her body.
She falls limp; her heart beats in her ears. She feels him palming her arms and shifting her legs, but she doesn't move; she doesn't fight. The chains do not strain against her arms when he enters her with one harsh thrust, and she's only dimly aware of the tears that keep sliding down her cheeks. He feels good. She hates herself for it. The bed creaks and the only sound she's aware of is the heady sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the delicious feel of his hardness sliding up inside her in long, hard thrusts.
And maybe because he can't control himself either, but she feels him burrow his head against her shoulder. His eyes are squeezed shut and his hot breath fans against her skin. She feels his muscles shaking with every thrust.
"Saya," he says. She can see the top of his head, the blonde hair that falls like a mop over her skin. "Saya." He cups her face in his hands and his forehead presses against hers. He pulls her closer, the length of her body straining against the chains, and it's this new angle that makes her mouth pop open in a startled moan.
She comes, and her orgasm is like bullets ricocheting through glass, powerful and painful and bright. Her body quakes and she feels him spill inside her.
Everything is quiet. She feels the head of his penis still twitching inside her.
He moves. She feels the slick of semen roll from between her legs; her nipples twang in protest at the sudden cold air.
Fumito doesn't look at her. He moves and washes his penis at the dirty sink across the room before dressing, silently. Saya can't see his eyes.
"What we have is more powerful than love," Fumito says. He stands over her, shirt still unbuttoned, strands of damp hair stuck to his skin. "It is a shame you will not remember."
xXx
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Kisaragi Saya is happy. The sun is shining and her friends all laughed with her at school.
"Fumito-san!" Saya waves. Fumito stands at the door of his shop, watching her, quietly.
Saya stops. He is looking at her strangely today, but she doesn't know why.
"Fumito-san, what's wrong?"
Fumito shakes his head and smiles.
"Nothing," Fumito says. "I was just thinking you might want some coffee. Saya."