Have the Pieces Doused in Blood

Chapter 1

Crack

Right femur.

Stomach.

Back.

The blows mostly aimed at bones and torso, where it would hurt most.

He got thrown into a wall before Busujima kicked his stomach again, earning a coughed up blood that stained his already soiled shirt. And then once more. And one more.

Furuichi felt a rough hand clutched at the front of his shirt and lifted him up. His eyes managed to crack open a bit to see Busujima's condescending gaze at his person.

"Weak." he commented. "How the hell are you friends with Oga?"

This time, he was thrown to the floor. It felt wet underneath his cheeks, and Furuichi absentmindedly noted that it's because his face was lying in his own puddle of blood. A foot flipped him to his back, getting his face away from the red stain. Now, it's his back that felt wet. Furuichi used the chance to lift his arm –the one that didn't feel like it was ready to fall off- to wipe away the blood from his cheek and lips.

It tasted disgusting.

Busujima snorted at his action, and Furuichi almost shuddered at the perverse amusement barely kept in check in his eyes.

The senior lifted his right leg and stepped on Furuichi's chest, causing the younger guy to curse under his breath in pain. It only made him add a little more pressure, a little more of his weight, amused as he watched the weakling pathetically trying to free himself. Those bony pale fingers would break before they could even lift his foot for even half an inch.

His ribs would break sooner, though.

"Don't kill him. He's still needed," Himekawa's bored warning cut through the relatively silent room, save for Furuichi's weak, pained curses. Busujima kept his foot on his victim's chest, though he did elevate the pressure – not enough to crush ribs, but enough to keep it painful-.

He turned his gaze to Fallen Angels' latest addition, and grumbled, "Trying to protect your friend, you shit?"

There was slight disgust in Himekawa's snort, veiled almost lazily. "If you want to kill him, do it in front of Oga. Otherwise, it's a waste of time."

Busujima's answer was silence. He was still wary of Himekawa, but acknowledged that Takamiya wanted to use the hostage as bait. So, he would wait.

Busujima kicked him again. Furuichi wheezed and curled himself in response, a defensive reflex. The next blow was harder. And the next one.

And the next one.

And the next one.

The last one was a little harder than the rest, but he would live. He could bear a few more hours with broken insides before Oga came, at least to inform the idiot of what he heard his captives said.

Furuichi gritted his teeth, preparing for the blow to come as Busujima switched his kicks to punches.


A.N.: I must confess that I don't really have a plot for this fic, so we'll see where this will go. This is an alternate plot to the Furuichi torture scene, and it will differ from the manga onwards.