Kyoya awoke to sore muscles and a hazy mind. The disgusting smell of the room had long since been shifted to the back of his mind, full of sweat and urine and faeces, but there was something sour now added to the mix. It wasn't overpowering, his sense of smell having died a while ago now, but it was odd. He was too far away from himself, too disconnected, to really understand it, however.
At first, it seemed like what had happened had only been a dream. It wasn't clear, like some terrible nightmare that ended up half forgotten when he woke up. However, the iron taste of blood in his mouth, and the pulsing pain in his broken teeth brought him back to reality pretty quickly. He groaned, pressing a hand to his cheek to find it slightly swollen from the traumatic forced feeding.
He let out a harsh breath, unsure of what he could even do in the dark, all alone. It was a race to keep his own sanity at this point, and the pain from his gut, his teeth, the bruises around his mouth… It wasn't helping. There was the feeling of grime on his skin, something that made him want to claw at it until the tracks of filth gave way to red lines – clean but sore. He could feel clumps of cold rice and the watery trails of the porridge streaked down his chin and shirt, and he almost vomited from how sour the taste in his mouth was. It didn't help that he'd been given no way to brush his teeth throughout his captivity, mouth fuzzy and near putrid as he caught a whiff of his own breath.
God, he wanted to be clean. To have a nice, hot shower, brush his teeth and hair, wrap up in a fluffy towel and fresh sheets. He wanted Tachibana to ruffle his hair, Hotta's jokes and Aijima's cooking lessons. He missed Yuuichi's newspapers, his father hovering over his shoulder and telling him the answers to the crosswords as he was about to fill them in. God help him, he also missed Akito's sarcastic remarks and their occasional rough-housing.
And then, there were the hosts. He missed every single one. He wanted to hear Kaoru's voice… He wanted the music room, the smell of perfume, the sugary cakes and flowers hanging in the air. He missed home.
He hated how the choked sob he made seemed to echo around the darkness, the loudest thing there.
That was until the heavy door creaked open once again, rusty hinges screeching, and Kyoya flinched back. His shoulders curled, knees pressed to his forehead; curled up in a little ball as if it would keep him safe. He wasn't safe, not at all; zip ties still around his ankles and wrists, his hopes of rescue dwindling dangerously low. He almost wished that the man's next plan was to shoot him in the head, a quick and painless end; but he knew that he was far too sadistic for that. The man wanted to watch him decay, in pain as he slowly withered away, quietly petering out of existence. This was for his pleasure and nothing more; no ransom, no material benefit. He found rot and pain beautiful, enticing; and Kyoya was only to sweeten the deal with his wide, tearful eyes.
"Hello baby boy," The man greeted, and Kyoya shuddered, swallowing down something sour that came to the back of his throat, "You really are dirty right now, aren't you?"
Hands raked across his scalp, making tracks in his greasy hair and causing his breath to stick in his throat like those clumps of rice. He wanted them off of him, the touch revolting and just plain bad. He wanted to rip his stubby fingers away, replace them with Kaoru's long, graceful ones. He wanted to hear praises and love whispered so softly against his skin, soothing touches and those that coaxed out his sweet, more pliant state. Kaoru would hold his wrists above his head as they lay together and say how cute he was with those flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips. Not for a moment could he pretend the man was Kaoru, even if it could give his mind a brief moment of respite.
He could never do that, the feeling of peril too strong.
"I bet you'd like a shower," The man cooed, Kyoya's instant reaction being the slight widening of his eyes. If he were a dog, his ears would have perked up. He was conflicted, desperately wanting to be clean despite the instinctual and logical feeling that this was bound to have a price. He didn't know how to react, what to say… Unease seized him around the chest and forced the air from his lungs.
"I…" He tried to begin, voice rough from disuse and thick from fear, "I would like… to…"
The lowlight cast a disturbing glow over the man's grin, making it seem almost inhuman. Kyoya swallowed down his fear with blood-tainted, sour saliva, and looked him in the eye. It was, perhaps, too bold of a move, as the lights he didn't even know existed came on with a painful intensity, the switch outside having been flicked. He gave a groan of pain, clenching his eyes shut and seeing the blotches of retina burns colouring the reddened darkness.
"Alright," The man agreed, so casually that it made every instinct Kyoya had scream. He tried to blink his eyes open slowly, but only whimpered when he did. It was much too bright, and he couldn't stand it; not after being in the dark for so long.
"Beg me."
The command was so sudden that Kyoya barely processed this, managing to open his eyes even if it was painful. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, not even knowing if he'd heard that correctly, unsure what to say. What do you say to that? Tachibana tried to teach him everything he needed, but this? This whole situation was some sort of hideous nightmare, something that couldn't have happened in real life.
"Please…" He began, voice unsure. He had come to terms with the fact that, due to his sheltered upbringing, he was something of a snob – not to mention naïve; begging wasn't something he'd ever had to do. When he was little, he only needed to flutter his long eyelashes, and what he wanted was given to him on a silver platter; within reason, of course. Most of the time. But the point remained; he actually had no idea what to do, without the added humiliation of the act.
"I can't hear you, baby boy," The man teased, a song in his tone, and Kyoya almost hacked up the vile clumps of porridge he had managed to swallow.
His mouth opened and closed, rough voice scraping his vocal chords as he tried to pull himself together. His broken, fuzzy-feeling teeth didn't clench together, they were too painful for that, but he closed his mouth for a moment, just to breathe. It's not like he had much, if any, pride left now, the temptation of the shower too much to exercise more caution. He needed to be clean, he had to be clean.
"Please, may I have a shower?" His voice cracked once or twice, which he'd swear was due to disuse, but he thought it was alright. Despite how it made his skin crawl, he looked up at the man with large, puppyish eyes and batted those long, pretty lashes. Alluring. Doe-eyed and innocent. Not broken, but submissive; a more equal ground, not that it made the situation anywhere near tolerable.
"That's a pretty face," The man chuckled. His heel hooked over Kyoya's shoulder before he could even react, the force of the man's heavy boot bending his back, crushing him down to the floor. His face pressed against the dirty concrete, and he struggled to breathe. It wasn't because of the boots, it was just the pure fear of what might happen.
"That's better," The man laughed, the thick sole of the boot pressing uncomfortably against his prominent shoulder blade, "Grovel. Toady. Make me feel good, pretty boy, if you want that shower."
"Please… Please let me shower…" Kyoya began once more, voice too broken and too thick with unshed tears; the thought of it grated against his skull like nails on a chalk board. So, this was what the great Kyoya Ootori, the shadow king, was reduced to? Well, if it meant surviving – if it meant clean – then he supposed he wasn't really allowed to argue about it. He wanted more than this, gone were the days of fantasising over bridges and knives and pills. He was happy, he wanted to live. People would find him.
… Right? It had already been so long…
"I really need a shower." Each word was like a knife in his gut, only causing his intestines to writhe and rupture, blood filling his abdomen with a vivid black, "Please… Please let me…"
The pressure on his back lessened, and he cautiously raised his head to see the man's eerily smiling face. This was either positive, or something very bad. It was like his nerves were stripped down completely, electrical pulses shocking his muscles painfully, tremors running along his shoulders, arms, and making his legs numb.
"Well, as you pleaded so nicely," The man grinned, leaning over him like a stray dog hunched over some discarded piece of meat, and hoisted him up by the armpits. He tried valiantly to not kick out, to not yelp, but there's only so much a teenager – hungry, sick, in pain, and scared out of their wits – can control the body's automatic instincts.
He was placed back on the cold floor once more, blue toes now scrunching against the concrete, too long nails scrapping almost painfully. His breath was still quick, not getting enough oxygen with how shallow they were. He was tired, he wanted to be home.
The man kneeled down, undoing the zip tie around his ankles, acting as if he were some sort of prince charming offering Cinderella her shoe. Now he could see the vividly red, raw band that cut through his pale skin; though it wasn't bleeding, it looked all too close to that. Like it'd would start bleeding any second, blood sluggishly trailing down bruised ankles and his cold feet.
His wrists remained bound together, hands behind his back, as he was shoved roughly, told to walk along like a prisoner to the electric chair. He stumbled, muscles weak and atrophied, but still kept going. He wanted a shower so desperately, and he was outside of his dark, foul little cell. He could almost smell cut grass, even if the damp and mould in the corridor's walls overpowered it slightly. It was better than urine and excrement. He wasn't in his own filth for the time being, and he'd never thought that he'd be in a situation where even that basic right felt like luxury.
The man kept a hand on his lower back the whole time, occasionally slipping down to rub over his hip bones. It was something that was so inappropriately familiar, all too close to intimate, and he just bit his lip. He was going to be clean, he couldn't spoil that for himself, and wasn't that just depressing? It wasn't like his house, a shower to clean and a lovely, hot bath to relax - but it was something. Right?
The bathroom the man took him into looked more like a wet room in an older person's home. There was a rusted, stained drain in the centre of the floor, everything looking much more like a scene from a horror movie than he hoped. Wasn't that apt? Still, there was a shower. It was limescale encrusted, and he was sure that he could contract some deadly disease from it, but he was in no position to be fussy about it. Situations were situations, even if the walls and floor had to be crawling with all sorts of bacteria. Still, it was better than his shit and piss-marked room.
"Strip," The man prompted, clapping him on the shoulder after finally removing the final zip lock, and Kyoya's sluggish mind stalled for a second as he processed it. He bit his lip, turning back when he heard a chair scrape along the dingy tile, the man sitting down and smiling at him. He always seemed to be smiling when he wasn't angry. It was far too unsettling, but this looked almost as if he were expecting to observe some sort of show. Like this wasn't a violation of privacy and several child protection laws. Not that the man was an upstanding citizen anyway, but this seemed like a different level of fucked up.
Or perhaps he should've expected this? After all, the man was obviously a sadist, and Kyoya knew he was pretty; he'd been told that all his life, after all. He took another shuddered breath, starting to undo the shirt's buttons, one by one. Despite having turned his back on the man, he could feel those cold, crow's feet bordered eyes burn against his back.
"Turn around, pretty boy," He cooed, and Kyoya swallowed hard against the wave of nausea, "I want to see you properly. All of you."
Would he be held down? Would he be restrained and gagged? Would he be raped?
All of the questions that Kyoya had actively avoided hit him at once, and he almost broke down in tears on the spot, but he didn't. He couldn't. Instead, he turned around to face the man, those hungry eyes looking his emaciated frame up and down. One button, then two, then three.
He shucked the shirt off his bony shoulders, and the man roved his gaze over every bone, every inch of pale skin Kyoya wanted to scratch and peel from his body, feeling utterly defiled despite the almost tame touches. This really was like some sort of horror movie, like this wasn't his life and someone was controlling him like a little marionette.
His thumbs hooked his boxers, and he froze. Here he was, stripping for a sadistic paedophile. It was fight, flight or freeze, and his body went with the only option available. There was no fighting, and no running. This was the only thing he could do for some false sense of self preservation.
"Pretty boy, if you don't take them off now, I'll have to do it for you."
Swallowing down the fear those words made him feel, Kyoya pulled down his boxers, feeling utterly exposed and pathetic. He shivered, mostly due to the cold in the bathroom - or so he told himself. He didn't want to think how easy it would be for the man to grab him like this, so instead he went over to the disgusting shower and turned it on.
He let out a yelp as icy water cascaded over his head and trailed down his back - biting his lip against the chill. It was a shock to the system, and his hands shook as he went to adjust it, the man's laughter as a backing track - like some sort of sick comedy on television. Water spotted his glasses, which he daren't take off in fear of the man not allowing him to have them back, leaving him blind.
Still, it was a miracle that this hellhole had hot water, steam starting to fill the room as Kyoya let out a contented sigh, forgetting about the man for a moment. He scrubbed the filth from his skin, bending down with his knees to avoid... presenting to the man, and thus making himself an easy target while he picked up the soap. One of those three-in-one body washes that were supposedly shampoo and conditioner also, but beggars couldn't be choosy.
He squeezed a generous amount on to his hand, rubbing it into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. The hot water felt good, burning his skin pink and removing all the grime. He'd thought about burning all that flesh off before, but this way the man didn't win. He'd be fine. If he was clean, it'd be okay.
He poured more soap into his hand, starting to lather it on his skin, dirty water and off-colour suds slipping down the drain. More soap, more scrubbing, the deeper his nails tracked against his skin. It left red lines across the sickly white of his skin, almost luminescent in the clinical lighting. He couldn't see, but he was sure the man let his eyes rove over those too, along with the curve of his spine leading down to his backside. He tried not to think about it, but as he imagined the man's lustful thoughts of bending him over, violating him against the yellowed wall, his nails dug ever deeper.
"You'll make yourself bleed like that, you know," The man piped up, almost as if he were concerned, "Although, judging by those scars on your thigh, you don't really care about that..."
His hand automatically covered the few straight, silver lines etched into his thigh, his lip between his teeth. Memories from middle school twined with what was happening now; the shame, the revulsion. How messed up he was. Nothing truly changed.
"You haven't cleaned all of yourself yet," The man pointed out, that overly happy tone mixing with something more impatient, "Go on. Finish."
Kyoya swallowed down that shame as he squeezed more soap into his hand, reaching to clean between his legs without sobbing. He turned his head slightly, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man staring with rapt attention. He wanted to see this, Kyoya touching himself, despite it not being sexual.
He just carried on, trying to retreat inside his own head. He wanted to force some sort of dissociation, not knowing what else he could do. He didn't want to be here, doing this.
"I wonder why you want to run that silly company so much..." The man wondered aloud, and Kyoya tried desperately to tune him out, with no success, "You'd make an excellent porn star."
He wanted this to just stop.
Nearly missing, the water droplets on his glasses distorting his vision, he shut off the water, quickly and with no warning, the shower stopping abruptly. A couple of droplets still fell, but he didn't notice the light drips against his scalp, wrapped up in those terrifying thoughts. He wasn't sure what was next, the chill starting to seep back into his steam-warmed skin, but at least he was clean. He could deal with things a little better now, hopefully, not driven half mad by the filth.
"Come on, dry off pretty boy," The man coaxed, holding out a thin, rough towel. Kyoya still took it - nearly snatching it from the man's grip and wrapping it around his torso. Water droplets rolled down his back, making him shiver ever so slightly, but he wanted to be covered. He didn't want the man to watch him when he was so exposed, vulnerable. Not that he was much of a fighter, but with the weight and muscle he'd lost, there was no chance of fighting him off if he chose to do anything.
With the man's hand nudging his shoulder, Kyoya stepped out from beneath the shower head, eyes cast down to the floor. He supposed, in this situation, he was lucky to still have his glasses; even though his sight was impaired for the moment, he wasn't completely blind. Or maybe it was more of a curse, considering the fact he could see the man's grin all too clearly.
"So, pretty boy, do you want some clean clothes?" The man inquired, as if the answer weren't obvious. Kyoya nearly leapt on the offer, but the faux-gentleness put him on edge, as most things about the man did.
"Yes please," He answered politely, gritting his teeth despite the pain of his broken teeth, the salty taste of blood filling his mouth once more.
"Then you know what you have to do, pretty boy," The man cooed, brushing back the wet, black strands of his hair. Kyoya repressed the urge to smack his hands away, unsure of the consequences if he did, "Beg me. You were so… beautiful, before."
Kyoya was too tired to fight anymore. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, but that was tough shit. He just wanted clean clothes that weren't covered in sweat stains and porridge. He didn't care. Dignity could go hang at this point, if he even had a scrap left. He wanted to be clothed also, the water rapidly growing colder in the cool air, ice settling against his skin and into his bones.
"Please can I have some more clothes?" He tried, dull eyes shifting into something dewier and more innocent - like a little china doll - before he knelt on the ground and bowed low like he'd been forced to before. It was on his terms, he tried to convince himself; there was no boot on his back, digging into the too prominent bones, so it was his own choice.
It wasn't, but denial was the only comfort he'd get without having to humiliate himself in return. It didn't hurt, pretending for a little while, even if the illusion would shatter into sharp shards, slicing his skin and spilling blood on the floor of the room. It would almost complete it, in some messed up way.
"Please, please; I'd like some new clothes, I don't want those dirty ones..." He sniffled, sounding much more genuine than he wanted to be, but it was fine. The man would like that. He'd give him those new clothes.
With a slasher's grin, as if he were the cat who caught the poor, helpless canary, he opened a draw in the old cabinet near the door, removing something that made his stomach do somersaults. There was baby pink and white lace, little diamantes stitched throughout. It was lingerie. Revealing, and it looked like it was meant to be worn skin tight. It even came with matching panties.
"Here we are. So cute, perfect for you, baby boy," The man breathed, and Kyoya turned away from him ever so slightly. This was twisted. He was seventeen, still a child, and here this man was; tittering to himself that he was going to spoil his dear baby boy. He was just... fucking deluded. Like he didn't think Kyoya would run if he were given the chance.
Unbidden, his mind replayed something Kaoru had said, not too long before he was holed up in what was essentially a dungeon, left to be this man's living sex doll.
"I really want to see you in some of those designs," His boyfriend hand murmured in his ear, fingers tracing over the glossy pages of the magazine, "You'd look so pretty in lilac."
He wasn't so sure now, seeing something so objectively pretty in the man's hands. Had this been Kaoru, he would have slipped it on without hesitation, hips swinging like one of those models, lips painted a matching shade of baby pink that would leave smudges on Kaoru's more tanned skin. However, the scenarios were just so... different. They couldn't even begin to be comparable.
He didn't want to put it on. However, the revolting boxers he'd been wearing for God only knew how long, paired with the porridge stained shirt... He couldn't wear those either. He was divided, unsure which option to choose, each equally hideous. He could either be clean or be somewhat modest.
"Three seconds to choose, pretty boy," The man smiled gleefully, holding out the little camisole and underwear, "If you don't want to wear it, you can wear those dirty things."
He didn't know.
"I bet you secretly like it, don't you? Being so dirty."
What was the right answer?
"Some boys even get off on wetting themselves. I bet you like getting humiliated like that, you'd love the attention."
He had to be clean...
"I'll... wear the lingerie..." He agreed, clenching his eyes closed as if he could shut out the world. As if his heart would stop hammering against his ribs and sternum. As if he could stop the sting of tears before they fell, "I'll wear it. I just want to be clean. Please."
The lingerie was pressed into his hands, the man not taking his eyes off him as he stood up and dropped the towel. He tried to get the poor excuse for clothing on as soon as possible, the lace scraping his skin like sandpaper, despite how soft it had felt in his hands.
He pulled up the little panties first, knees shaking, and had the sinking realisation of how revealing they were. There was a small, misplaced feeling of embarrassment when he saw the hair surrounding and poking through the skimpy underwear, acutely aware of his other body hair as well. Part of him wanted to ask if he could shave, but he knew that would only happen if he begged again. It was only a response to this horrible situation, his mind sticking to trivial things to avoid focussing on reality.
Shaving wasn't worth more of this.
The camisole slipped over his visible ribs all too easily, a little big, but it cinched in at his waist. There was a strip of his skin, sunken between his hipbones, which was visible. But this was better. This was some odd place on the spectrum between alright and not; clean but dirty all the same.
He didn't even know he was crying until the man nudged him towards the chipped mirror, hands on his shoulder, his waist, his bare skin. Kyoya's tears still slipped over now sallow cheeks, the man reaching up and taking his glasses, baring those teary eyes for all to see.
"There," The blurry reflection whispered, "You're so beautiful, pretty boy."