Bang Bang! To the Dust You Shall Return
Aoharu X Kikanjuu fanfic featuring Midori/Mattsun
Based on the events within episode 8 where Toy Gun Gun faces off with Hoshishiro (White Star) during the first round of the TCG championship.
Summary:
Facing off against the Hoshishiro team captain during the TCG Championship, Matsuoka becomes trapped in the woods along with the doctor vying for his complete and utter defeat.
Disclaimer:
This series actually bothers me: it's too cliché and Tachibana, though interesting, appears to be quite a flat protagonist. However, the side companions intrigue me, especially the continuous rivalry between the heads of each survival game unit. Matsuoka's initial reaction to finally confronting Midori at the tournament got my mind reeling with ideas due to his suddenly submissive and docile nature, as though he were an abused dog whose owner has just arrived and now he doesn't know how to respond to his master. Gosh, the poor boy was about to cry & it seems like he actually did! Like what is this? And then don't get me started on the load of fan service delivered in episode eight…ah well, that's what inspired this vignette!
Hope you like it and that it can help add to the meager supply of Aoharu x Kikanjuu fics I've seen online. Maybe that's because the series is still so new? I sure hope others see the tension rolling off these two because I can't possibly be the only one who wants to see more of Midori being a jerk to our precious leader! Okay fine, maybe I'm out of line but hey, if you're here you're probably here for the same reason why I wrote this trash in the first place.
Sidenote:
I do not play airsoft or tournaments like this so I simply googled and used terms of weapons and gear. If anything is incorrect, let me know. Also this was written prior to the ending of the series. Please offer me a little grace ;)
Copyright:
Aoharu X Kikanjuu © NAOE, Kenji Konuta and produced by Square Enix. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.
Dark clouds, heavy with moisture, lingered throughout the air. Their gloomy weight seemed to indicate an approaching storm. Panting, Mattsun lay sprawled on a bed of upturned wood shavings and damp earth. The musty smell of dotted toadstools and sage filled his nostrils. The earthy scent provided a refreshing distraction from the abject fear coursing through his prone body.
"Come on," Midori pressed a gloved palm harshly across chaffing lips, the fabric stifling the mouth of Toy Gun Gun's captain whom he slammed forcefully into the ground, "Don't get distracted."
The black eagle revolver slipped from his grasp as he tussled with the overbearing man whose entire hand covered his face as though it were veiled by a mask. Inwardly he calculated the dire predicament,
"Th-This is bad." Reaching outwards, his forearm quivered towards the pistol laying a minor few centimeters beyond his fingertips, "I can't reach." In a panic he froze. Strangely, the officer in the stark white military uniform motioned above the blonde's head and retrieved the remaining weapon concealed in the leather holster strung against his quarry's shoulders,
"Oh, is this the gun we bought together?" Blinking, Mattsun peered past the gap between the man's thumb and up at his stolen weapon,
"The other one was there?" He blearily thought yet the world spun too quickly. Without warning, Midori's teeth clamped onto the smooth Co2 cartridge of the gun and cocked the trigger with miraculous ease. The eerie darkness of the surrounding forest hemmed in on the captive's psyche, the imposing shadows from the boughs indicating he was truly alone with the deranged hunter.
"Those days were a lot of fun, weren't they?" Tilting the silver pistol upward, his captor's bright face illuminated a disturbing yet untraceable expression, "But, Masamune, I'm having so much more fun now."
Suddenly, cold hard metal dug into his upper thigh, the head exploding in a cloud of smoke that wisped up into the face of the one enthralled by exacting torment. A high pitched keen tore through his lungs as Matsuoka's mind processed that he had just been shot in intensely close quarters. Thankfully his screech was prevented from lingering due to the vicelike grip covering his face like a muzzle.
"So how was that?" The condescending voice dripped sarcasm as if it were honey. Again, the caliber of the spherical lead projectile fired directly from the barrel and into its intended mark excited the surgeon to no end,
"Even through your reinforced leather gear I bet the kickback is bone-shatteringly painful. Isn't that right Masamune? Tell me how it feels." The victim in question thrashed to slight avail while his ears faintly registered the muffled echoes of Midori's long-winded explanation carried on above,
"You must have trained quite hard over the past year just to reach this point. However, have you already given up on the contest then? I don't see you struggling much. You ought to start, otherwise I don't know where this trigger may wander. For example, in normal games, this is strictly prohibited." Digging the head of the revolver into his captive's side once more, the pressure suddenly lessened then returned immediately, as though the sharpshooter were seeking a better target,
"There's nothing like TGC." Straddling over his prey, the soldier abruptly glanced down at the tarnished fabric as if genuinely surprised,
"Huh? You got shot, Masamune." An alarming sensation wafted off the individual whose lips crested upwards into a wolfish grin, "You'd better say 'hit.' If you don't, I can't be sure that I shot you."
Wildly, Masamune grasped at Midori's arm, roving hands imploring the man to release the hold over his mouth in order to allow him to swallow his pride and submissively admit defeat. And yet the hand did not budge, or rather, Nagamasa purposefully refused to allow Mattsun the ability to speak as to prolong the agony he desired to bestow upon his former companion and Hoshishiro team member.
"You know, I might keep shooting…" With clear irises expanding in fear, Masamune's arms tightened about the stifling restraint while his open mouth dampened the glove stealing breath and liberation.
"Like this."
As the words tumbled, a myriad of bursts rang out in acute succession as his chest rose and fell along with the rhythm of the automatic rifle's discharge. Dry heaving, his form quaked beneath the ricocheting effect as pellet after pellet tore through his clothing, digging deeper as each blast lodged further into the exact location on his pelvis. Indistinctly his hips rolled, attempting to topple the aggressor yet the colossus was immovable.
The muffled condor glove over his mouth began to cause Matsuoka to hyperventilate. Tears welled up and threatened to spill. Consequently, the unintentional doe-eyed expression stamped onto his shocked face refused to allow the liquid to escape as he was forced to stare into the gloomy visage of his adversary. The sadist seemed to gloat, soaking in the elevated high accompanied by dominating victory.
With pain blooming across his hipbones, the lithe blonde host blacked out. The darkness allowed a brief respite that soon became implicated when unbidden reflections of past memories began to filter throughout the shattering mind. As he lay there, the unconscious Masamune Matsuoka saw the setting of a general store materialize. His subconscious remembered when he originally bought the prized dual trademark Winchesters; the right one silver, the left one black. He had been with Midori then when he first started out engaging in airsoft tournaments.
He recalled how excited he had been to purchase these impressive weapons, how determined he was to train extremely hard in order to obtain a second desert eagle just so he could one day wield them alongside Midori in the hopes that they would become the strongest dual-wielding duo in the entire TGC tournament. It was a glorious dream, one they would accomplish together.
How naive he had been. What a fool he was to have assumed Midori embossed a shred of sincerity within that blackened heart swathed by pristine cloth and carried aloft by deceitful smiles and kind assurances. However, nostalgia refused to be of comfort for the sound of a gun being discarded followed by nonchalant commentary pulled Mattsun from the childhood memory.
"Oh, looks like I'm out of ammo." The pause left Mattsun stunned, his body laying against crumpled moss and groundcover as he stared blankly into the space above the trees. A trail of saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth, the resulting trace of being prevented from the usage of his mouth or nostrils throughout the entire assault. Dazed, a hesitant word fell from an unhinged jaw,
"Hit." A warm smile broke upon the doctor's complexion as though he were proud of the response,
"Very good." Still lingering over Masamune with both knees driven into the ground on either side of his frame, the white team's captain pried,
"Hey, Masamune…why did you come alone? Did you assume you could take me on by your own strength?" Surprised by the question, Masamune was equally disturbed by how his old friend was now leaning over him on all fours, the weight of his being slanting precariously over his face,
"Have you always been this stupid?" The disappointed shake of sandy hair accompanied the insult, "Didn't I tell you that you shouldn't be arrogant? It doesn't suit you." Slowly, the accusation fell, pouring like cement yet piercing like steel,
"Don't you remember me telling you that no one can accomplish anything alone? Now look at yourself, utterly defeated. Do you simply yearn for abasement or did you somehow think you would win approval by cowering beneath my feet?"
Bright crystal orbs emerged deadpan with disillusionment upon acknowledging that his rash plan of vengeance had proven futile. Recognizing his opponent's rather unceremonious defeat, Midori's smile disappeared as his expression grew grave,
"Masamune, you don't even call out when I place you in pathetic states like this anymore. Pity. You used to be such a crybaby." The rustling wind bypassed the aspens and blew throughout the glade, signaling Midori that his mission had been accomplished.
Finally Mattsun inhaled, assured that Midori could no longer pry further mortification as it was apparent that he was incapable of producing tears as usual during their annual bout. He would accept his fate without resistance. All that the doctor required from him now was to trod dutifully back to the waiting area as the public trophy of the undefeated champion. However, a light chuckle disturbed his reverie,
"You're hopeless."
Bang! Metal sharply prodded again into his sore hipbone as ammunition imploded without warning. A bullet seared against tender flesh hardly protected by the outer lining of Matsuoka's campaign pants. Above his bound head he heard a cackle, the maddened eyes of his former comrade glaring maniacally down into his own which were spread wide in agony.
A gloved hand slipped over the dark beretta m9 holster slung about agile hips and past the belt buckle tightly encircling the navy uniform. Fondling the charred skin with a minute sense of appreciation, the doctor observed how the unwilling patient shrank from his touch.
"Tut, tut, Mattsun…how can you get well if you don't allow me to examine my handiwork?" Brusquely the renowned surgeon pummeled a fist into his victim's stomach until bile emerged, "There, that's better."
The unexpected onslaught landed to his unprotected abdomen produced excruciating groans. Soon grunting transformed without grace once those vile hands ghosted toward the exposed injury. Silver eyes flashed with renewed interest upon hearing the breathy whimpering elicited from toying with the scorched burn mark.
Snaking a hand down a twill camo jacket, Midori proceeded to rapidly grab at the space between his hostage's outspread legs. Mattsun instantly recoiled into a ball but the Hoshishiro captain prevented the retreat by using an arm, the one still preventing Mattsun from speaking, to bang the blonde's head back into the ground. His free one skillfully located and successfully managed to retract the slim zipper of Masamune's trousers. Adept fingers could now slip inside loose pants.
Hovering, palms concealed by sheer linen flitted over Mattsun's member which remained yet to be uncovered. Weighing the limp organ in his palm, Midori analyzed its shape and form as though performing one of his usual physical diagnostics all the while the blonde squirmed and protested with a heavy flush marring his light complexion. Lowering his head into the slope of Masamune's neck, the good doctor breathed as his grip tightened,
"You are a host, are you not? Why not then appease my appetite?" Dumbfounded, Matsuoka reddened. The innocent and bemused expression he bore caused the perpetrator to laugh outright and then chide him, flicking the tip of the trapped member; an action which received a wince from the captive.
Flowing from that reaction, the doctor's gloved hand and upper body weight secured Masamune's torso to the ground while he slipped the protesting man's member out from its confines so that the vulgar organ unapologetically hung from unbuttoned pants.
Shame coursed through Masamune, the sheer embarrassment of forcibly being exposed more than enough to cripple him. The victor cloaked in white scoffed as he surveyed his prize from above, noting how the pinned youth appeared to be paralyzed in shock due to yet another defeat from his abhorred nemesis, the very same man who, years ago, betrayed his trusting heart and blotted their friendship without regard. Truly, he delighted in the suffering caused to the one seemingly always below his vantage point. A disturbing bonus being, that as a medical practitioner, he knew full well the mental and emotional turmoil his actions stirred in Mattsun besides the obvious discomfort inflicted onto the damaged body.
Though he immensely enjoyed the grim satisfaction received from the grimaces and jaded blushes his actions garnered, Midori did not desire to distort the prized being's admirable features any further, seen or unseen though the evidence of his torture may be. Sagely nodding, the physician relented the direct assault, noting how physical agony is not always the most damaging. For after all, there are many ways to break a man.
Simply refocusing his attack, Midori craved to prolong such disgraceful means to the fullest extent as to glean the most depraved reactions Mattsun could muster. Oh, the impending horror and longing that would be etched on his porcelain face! The foreshadowed results forced him to stall his hand and select to savor the moment instead of rushing the type of revenge which ought not to be committed in haste.
Hovering along the bared neck, the captain dared to flick the dipping portion of his opponent's collarbone. Licking the clavicle, Midori playfully commenting on the sweat produced,
"Is that a sign of fear? Well no matter, I will not accept your submissive cowering. You once were so defiant and yet here you are, offering yourself up to me as a common whore. That's not the golden boy I used to know nor the one who would weep at the slightest advance towards your body, let alone your pride. Where is he hiding? Where did that good boy scamper off to, could he be in here?"
Those divisive appendages drooped to caress the uncovered member. The firm and unflinching vice caused a visible response, provoking moans stifled behind bleeding lips. Hissing, Mattsun was unable to maintain his composure though he valiantly attempted to prevent the unraveling of his dignity. Exposed by the likes of this creep, the blonde realized that Nagamasa's aim appeared bent on utterly twisting his reputation by crushing his spirit in more ways than through simple, competitive defeat.
Out of eyesight, the duo started at scuffling noises clamoring in the underbrush. Their heartbeats raced, one in anticipation as the other's titillated due to the worst of apprehensions. Matsuoka's lids slammed shut at the implication nearby movement brought. Shivers racked his spinal column as heated blood coursed through a nervous system drowning in a torrent of anxiety. How could he survive if those clashing in combat meters from their hovel were to come across his body horrifically lain bare? The prospect would be beyond undignified if one of the members of Hoshishiro were to glimpse their interlude let alone the agony he would experience if a member of his own gang were to see him in this precarious position.
Groaning in despair, his palms rushed to grip Midori's forearms, prying and pleading to be released from his hold. Yet the man curtly refused all the while beaming upon being assured that they were of the same mind: of all things, the worst humiliation would be for someone to witness this tangled transgression.
Though his breath hitched at the sight of those clear eyes brimming with the early formation of tears, Midori confirmed that the urgent tone issuing for release could only be undone in one way. Begging only increased the ravenous hunger pinioning from his deranged hypothesis to fingertips once again tampering with the revolver that had been momentarily abandoned.
Without warning, the silver-eyed beast proceeded to rut against his captive, firing round after round of pellets into the frame which was rocked by the gyrating movements of pelvic thrusts and revolving chambers which continued to click in rapid sequence until the ammunition expired.
Gurgling, Mattsun was finally allowed to slump to the side while Midori figured out what next would be done to his flailing prize currently sputtering on the ground. Admiring his creation, he spied the initial rise of a flaccid organ in addition to the visibly increasing amount of spattered bruises lining hips from which slackened pants still clung. But the sudden rustling movement of disturbed branches caused the captain to marvel at the renewed light of hope shimmering in Masamune's watery eyes.
"Ah it appears that your doting Yuki is approaching."
The query quipped in a brief statement as the doctor mused whether or not he ought to leave Mattsun tied like this for his ally to find. Truth be told, it would make his job easier to off the perverted artist as soon as he were to spy his fallen companion. Knowingly the shaggy individual decked out in his trademark scarf would race to his leader's side without a second's thought for his own safety. Surely seeing the crestfallen, violated and protesting man he so admired would distract the sniper from realizing that he had walked into a cleverly designed trap, one of which included an assailant with a cocked trigger waiting from behind an adjacent trunk for his query to come into view.
However, that conclusion was not at all satisfactory. Pondering this likelihood inspired Midori's pace to quicken. Yanking Mattsun's panting body onto its back, he leaned inward and used his stronger upper torso to press the blonde further into the earth as his hand resumed its unrepentant activity.
Masamune could only stammer in shock as his limp organ was coaxed into life. Without hesitation, fabric-encased hands taunted the natural reaction stimulation reaped. Instinctually Matsuoka shuddered, the foreign sensation overwhelming the host's usual poise. Towering over the victim of his game, a silky voice accompanied the motion pumping him off,
"I'm sure you're waiting for that scruffy four eyes of yours to protect you like the good guard dog that he is. However, you'd be wrong. Nothing and no one can save you Mattsun. You cannot escape. Not ever. After all, I'm the one who destroyed you and still currently holds you in the palm of my hand. Well, in more ways than one." The light squeeze to his member made Masamune yelp. The squirming responsiveness in the surgeon's palm inspired a new idea.
Amping the strokes with greater intentionality, Midori brought Masamune to the point of completion yet just as the quivering mass contorted in unwanted pleasure, his hands stilled. Chortling to himself while watching the conflicting sway between self-abhorrence and unfulfilled desire, Midori turned to attend to the pawn's chest. His mouth fell roughly to kiss and suckle through the material of the captive's dark shirt. Crystal irises flared. How dare this miscreant shamelessly press lavished kisses upon him as would a lover? They were not heartfelt, a scornful form of fondness, merely teasing reminders of his helplessness and lowly position. Additionally, the disturbing trail of saliva seeping across his chest further pummeled the restrained captain into disillusion.
Disgusted and wanting to escape, Mattsun careened his neck to the side as far as constricting arms allowed. Glancing from the corner of his eye, the doctor sneered upon seeing Masamune crumble at the painful twist he dealt the never-before-touched nipples.
"Mi-Midori!" Toy Gun Gun's leader stuttered from beneath the glove, confused and appalled for being so roughly handled, "Get off me." A shriek lifted into the musty air as teeth sank into the straining neck. Lapping at the emergence of blood, Midori snickered at the disbelieving blank look gazing back up at him.
"Hmm, did you like that? I had no idea you were such a masochist. I can oblige that sick interest of yours if you'd like." Contrarily, it was clear that the only presence enjoying this spectacle was not the one whose degradation gratified the vicious person imposing pain.
Thus teeth bit into lips already chaffed by the elements. In the vain chance of preventing further noise from escaping, Masamune gulped down the transitioning impulse burning in his loins. Light skin flecked by signs of his own assault, crimson mingled with his own substance, made him shiver in revulsion as the predator continued to have his way with him in the isolated woodland glade.
"Does it hurt? Hey, hey, tell me I'm right," Dr. Nagamasa probed, his hand prodding the sensitive burnt flesh of the injured thigh. The faint touch relatively close to his private region caused the weeping penis to start to curl. Consistent pressure finally provoked an admission. Immediately a finger twisted into the punctured wound, a darting blow which earned a bellowing scream followed by gleeful, child-like applause,
"Yes, I was right!" The hefty presence stifling his mouth elevated, the palm purely removed in order for the deranged doctor to hear his whimpers. Along with the stinging pain from fingers toying with the bloody gape in his leg gleaned from repeated bullet wounds, Masamune practically wailed as he was brought to completion. No longer could he suppress the quivering wines encased by teeth firmly lodged to seal the protrusions of his throat. Reluctantly a few moans exhaled after his teeth fell away from the cracked lips already stained by a trail of blood dribbling down his chin.
"Ah what a masterpiece you've become, I can't imagine a better look for you." A defiant glare revealed that the punished figure had yet to fully submit despite how Nagamasa abused the member. Upon the beading of an opulent substance coating the flat of his hand, gloved fingers more adamantly stroked the underside of the hot organ,
"I wonder when you'll yield…I hope this is not your limit."
Sideling up between clenched limbs, Nagamasa eventually used a knee to spread out Masamune's thighs. Eyebrows arching in confusion shot to high alert as a hand slipped past his underwear to skim over clamped buttocks. Freezing as the man jumbled his testes as though they were Chinese medicine balls, Matsuoka winced as a finger nudged against his entrance.
Stammered indignations amounted to naught. The pervert harassing the clenched anus caused a bellowing shout to erupt from the one pinned down by a mighty forearm while traces of saline liquid fell from blazing eyes,
"Have you no shame? How can you do this to me? We were friends!" Mattsun drawled, raving against his opponent through blinding tears. Gritting his teeth in frustration and embarrassment, the blonde clinched his eyes shut to the abuse as his derrière was exposed by obtrusive hands.
"Friends? What a joke." Nagamasa paused from licking at the unwilling entrance to interject, "You see, I feel no remorse towards what I'm doing to you. And do you want to know why? For one thing, you are a pathetic, incapable slob that doesn't deserve the title of captain. You don't even belong in this game. But more importantly, you have lost the will to fight. I will take advantage of anyone who shows that much weakness."
"You call this a fight?" The flaxen youth scorned, "This goes far beyond the allowances of this competition!" A crude, brackish splatter hit his rear, causing Mattsun to quiver all the more upon realizing that Midori was spitting at the hole to ready it for forced entry. Yet his increased whining and protesting limbs did nothing to slow the battering as his competitor expressed justifiable reasons for further means of humiliation with every stroke of his tongue.
"Ho, I'm not the one who broke the rules in the first place, or have you forgotten that juicy little tidbit? You're not exactly the beloved angel everyone thinks you are, now are you? Don't let the guilt beat you, weak leader." Tugging at the twin silver rings decorating a left earlobe while digging a finger into the sphincter muscle, he pushed sharply as Masamune's scream overtook the vicinity,
"Looks like your selfish obsession has proven unsuccessful. And what's more, I think I hear Fujimon taking care of that new recruit of yours as we speak. And here I thought you swore to be able to protect your team mates. Yet you can't even accomplish that. Phah, you can't even protect yourself! You're a bigger coward than I thought."
Muffling his anguish, pain wracked Matsuoka's body that contorted wildly, striving to eject the offending objects seeking to acquire further purchase.
"No need to get so flustered." And with that, intruding fingers departed yet remained to tap a warning along the area's periphery, "You know that I never leave marks where others might see." The doctor continued to nibble along an earlobe, letting his tongue play with the cold silver, heating metal and flesh alike. He breathed between lapping and biting into the exposed neck, tightly drawing pounding blood to the pale surface in order to form a symbolic mark of ownership on taunt skin.
"The evidence, these markers of my affection, are for your eyes alone. It'll be our little secret. Such traces seem to rot, like a gapping sore infested with no cure in sight. Except I hold the antidote. You know that the only way for your wounds to heal would be for you to return to these arms and allow me to break you again. However, you won't find me. No, not until I call for you." Slipping from the neckline, Midori replaced the rhythm of tapping fingers with his mouth, gliding the flat of his tongue against slim Venusian dimples prior to trailing the flexible and wetted matter along a slender crevice,
"You'll probably have to wait an entire year until the next tournament arrives. Will your stamina endure until then? Personally, I enjoy my time spent with my dearest Mattsun like this. Isn't it fun? It's a shame you don't think so. Breaking rebellious boys like you brings me so much pleasure. You should see what I do to my lieutenant. Now there's no reason to cry, I'll be seeing you again very soon. And if you can't handle the separation you'd be pleased to know I've been considerate enough to lavish you with parting gifts. You're right to assume that these bruises were intended to last long after I've left you." Suckling at the pink rim continued until Matsuoka broke apart, spluttering at the disturbing motion inching deeper. Incapable of tolerating another second of the grime coating of saliva accompanied by the hot tip of a tongue flickering against the puckered rectum, Masamune shouted,
"You are despicable! Absolute filth." A burst of laughter drowned out keening as the tongue inserted itself more intently as the man paused between laps to clarify,
"I never professed to be moral, unlike that new recruit of yours who consistently spouts off nonsense about being the defender of justice or something ridiculous like that. Instead, I thrive by feasting on carrion like you."
"You disgust me," Masamune spat. The collected spit actually struck against the captain's cheek. Instantly Masamune feared that the hand rising was poised to strike him, but instead, it came up to brush off the watery spittle. Sleepy blue-grey eyes gazed at the substance before emanating a joyous warmth mismatching his actions,
"That makes me so happy. My heart sings at the thought that Mattsun has finally glimpsed my true nature. Isn't the darkness lovely?" A gloved index finger extended, dragging the spit-dampened pad against Masamune's own lips. The declining mouth in turn tried to bite him which warranted a resounding slap and a quick overpowering bout by the captain who put all his weight atop the captive in order to rock up against jutting hipbones, dryly rutting as one hand fiercely pumped off the member freely bobbing about.
With the rough creases of Midori's tactical strike pants chaffing against his punctured flesh coupled with the intense hold on his member, Masamune's mind shattered. The devastating swelling in his lower region caused a deep haze to permeate his vision, as though he were on the brink of reaching enlightenment. However a sharp yank to the harness strapped about his waist jarred his focus and caused a horrid realization to be made known.
Amidst the friction-ignited heat pounding between their two forms, Midori's engorged member could be felt bulging against his field gear. Inflamed, it seemed to seek hot satisfaction, as though the sealed member were striving to escape. Masamune gulped, realizing fully that his frame was the procurement it sought. A renewed energy inspired him to throw the doctor, who in surprise, almost lost his balance. Yet at the last second the combat expert hooked the edged rim of his boots into the gritty turf. He gained enough traction to pivot and topple over the host. Stinging claps were dealt to unprotected ears before a brutal attack was launched which caused Mattsun to cry out in real pain until his breath stopped altogether.
Wheezing for air, Masamune's esophagus closed as Midori tightened the fastenings of the lancer carrier vest he wore across his throat to momentarily choke him. Winded and with vocal chords straining, tears of frustration slipped down his lower waterline, as he had been brought to suffocation along with the closer reality of a very unwanted and resisted climax.
"So how do you feel right now? What's going on in that thick skull of your's, hmm? Wait, don't tell me. What controls your mind now is nothing but loss, the sting of humiliation and utter defeat. If only I could put an idiot like you out of your misery. But I'm not that merciful. You're alive but you're dead. Who am I to prevent such a delicious sensation of despair from coursing throughout your being, one that'll stay with you every waking moment?"
Paralyzed, unable to move and frustrated beyond belief with his utter helplessness, the once proud leader climaxed into the relentless hand as his nostrils desperately searched for oxygen as a milky secretion poured forth.
"Yes that's a good boy, please cry. Let it out. I will not stop. I do not show weakness especially not to someone as undeserving as you. Isn't that right, Matsuoka? You're not worthy of that. You're just my dog." Throwing the vest away, Midori allowed the sorry excuse for an opponent to catch his breath as he mused aloud,
"Hmm, I'd like to hear you say that."
"W-what?" He sniveled to which Midori cheerfully patted his cheek, the nails scraping the bruising flesh,
"Tell me that you're my dog." The remaining shred of dignity alive within the brazen man's heart would not allow him to succumb; a fact he made quite clear by ripping the man's hand away from his face.
"I won't do that."
"Oh is that so?" A sly grin fixated on burning irises, pleased that not every spark of resistance had been extinguished. Sighing, he brushed off a smudge that had made its way onto his formerly pristine epaulette before hastily lunging forward,
"Well that means I'm in luck – I get to discipline you for a bit longer."
Without warning Nagamasa's yanked down unhinged pants and let threatening fingers press obtrusively into an unsuspecting rear. Kneecaps buckled with a lurch as the lithe officer finally dropped to his knees, begging Midori to stop.
"Nuh-uh, conditions have to be met. Not until you say it."
"I couldn't possibly…"
"Say it unless you want this to continue."
"Midori – ah – you can't be serious," Masamune practically wailed, "Do you mean to actually go through with this?"
"That's right little mongrel."
He gasped and flailed as the man fully delved a finger into his hole up to the knuckle. The mounting pressure and sharp burn of intrusion caused him to fall further to the ground. Unable to support his weight, the golden head wantonly came to rest against the leather sole of his captor's boots.
"I-I'm your dog."
Tears mixed with the blood and sweat rolling from blonde strands fell forward along with the heaving individual into a posture of utmost prostration.
"Hah...I-I said it. Stop. Stop already." Motioning with a hand cupped to an earlobe, Midori cooed downward,
"Sorry, couldn't hear you. What'd you say?" Disturbed by the lack of acknowledgement, Masamune's face scrunched up as he haplessly murmured,
"I'm nothing but a dog…" yet fingers mercilessly continued. Bloodied hands gripped violently to the military suit as he shook, pleading for the doctor draped in the white robes of a saint to end this.
"I-I forfeit." Matsuoka balked in disdain, "I realize now that I do not have the willpower to stand against you. I never did. So please….please just let me go." The air trembled as though embracing the one prone in shame up in a torrent to shield his lost pride.
Moments transpired as unabashed appendages thrashed back and forth amidst sobbing cries. As a current drifted through the thicket, the man retracted gloved fingers from a gaping arse and stooped. A hand almost lovingly caressed the battered and flinching jaw, tilting the blood-stained chin upwards to survey dampened cheeks and turquoise flecked orbs pleading to him as if to a deity for pardon,
"You know I can't do that. Brutally hurting one's opponents and crushing their spirit is all part of this cruel game we play. After all, it's just a game and a wonderful one at that. Now rise up and face me or forever cower like the loser that you are. You can do that for me, right?"
The snapping of bones reverberated in the grove as a heeled military boot dug painfully into a set of cracked ribs. Limply Mattsun panted under the extended combat boot preventing the pummeled figure from rising. Walloped hard by repetitive footfalls in the center of a concaved chest cavity, Matsuoka was left dry heaving and practically vomiting on himself and onto the spoilt ground.
"Hmm, it appears that you can't." Midori gave pause to afflicting torment when he first felt the sensation of moisture pattering onto his peaked dress cap. Deciding to lean up, he wiped off his brow and glanced appreciatively into the horizon,
"Ah the rain is coming. It'll soon wash away the filth seeping from your sorry carcass. Isn't that great Mattsun? Now no one will see how pitiful you look. No, that prize is reserved only for me."
Blinking into the haze, darkened corneas returned to the crumpled form laying at his feet. Appreciatively he watched the rewarding marks of their interaction take place in the form of a gasping torso rising and falling. Each raspy breath ghosting out signaled that his patient was yet alive and capable of enduring all that the doctor prescribed.
A warm and tender hand drew divinely downward to cup Mattsun's cheek affectionately. The boy winced as his sight traversed upwards. Grinning at the immediacy with which his thoroughly defeated enemy sealed his eyes shut, Midori calmly leaned into his neck and whispered serenely into a recoiling ear,
"I win."