Thank you for your support Dextris, Keryous Seastryder, werewolf33, and blackwingsgreeneyes! Every review encourages me to write more ^_^
ALSO. I didn't mention it earlier but this whole kidnapping thing reeks of Oldboy (the lines about the TV were practically lifted from the script). Must give credit where credit is due. And Kasuka's psychological descent was inspired by a fantastic NaruSasu fic: words without thought never to heaven go, by gattypedia. I strongly recommend it though you may end up in tears at the end: gattypedia DOT livejournal DOT com/6365 DOT html
Finally, song mentioned is The Ebay Song by Weird Al Yankovic: youtube DOT com/watch?v=UW9bHDy5khQ. Heehee.
Morning silently dawned in Shinjuku, but in a certain apartment an informant was already up and about, singing badly in the shower.
"Got or Visa, whatever will please you," he pressed his fingers in crop circles on his scalp, lathering his hair with conditioner. Letting water run over his hands he then squinted to see his soap options.
"As long as I've got… the douuuuuuugh!" His voice flew high over the correct note and entered the realm of screechy falsetto. Izaya hummed the rest and reached out a hand. Though a casual observer would not know it, each scent had a corresponding mood. And today was most definitely a White Citrus day.
He poured some of the gel into his right palm and reveled in the refreshing, fruity fragrance. Today was a day of both beginnings and ends, his diabolical plan would be set into motion, while Kasuka's everyday life would stop tonight. Being the great Izaya that he was, all variables had been accounted for accordingly. He had a plan B, a plan C, a plan D and even a plan N, Namie's idea.
There was a single kink he still had not quite figured out. It was the damn brute. Shizuo would be desperate for information once Kasuka's disappearance had been leaked to the media. How could Izaya let such a golden opportunity slip through his fingers? The blond would be right where Izaya had wanted him to be for years: in a position in which he needed Izaya. He wanted to exploit it to its full potential.
His hand, slick with foam, trailed down his abdomen to his cock and Izaya gave it one long leisurely pump. He'd be lying if he didn't admit their fights turned him on, bad. They were so raw, visceral, primal. Shizuo's strength was simply out of this world, a level of supernatural bordering on demons and dullahans. And the anomaly was in a human, which made it even better. Except…
Izaya groaned, a mix of pleasure and annoyance. He would not waste his time musing over how irritating that protozoan was. Shizuo had nothing to offer but his body and Izaya planned to take full advantage of the fact. He ran a lithe finger down his backside and slowly inserted it in, just up to the first knuckle.
Concocting a lie that would satisfy Shizuo was easy. But it would be at odds with the grand finale he had planned, which included presenting the finished product to Shizuo. He mulled over this conundrum while simultaneously stroking his length and stretching himself out. He added another couple of fingers, gasping sharply when he found his prostate. Izaya had to plan his words carefully, he knew at times the blond showed surprising insight and it would not do at all for Shizuo to see through him.
"Mm… Shizu-chan," the informant half moaned as he rocked himself against his fingers, imagining a warm hard body pressed behind him, lips kissing along his neck. He angled in deeper, letting out a cry as various fantasies played out through his mind. Most notably he was thinking of how he would make Shizuo beg for the whereabouts of Kasuka. Force him on his knees to envelop his cock in his mouth, those amber eyes burning with hatred and lust…
He was now rutting frantically against cold marble, the sweet friction making his nerve endings tingle pleasantly. "Nnngh – ahh, faster!" He thrust his fingers in and pleasure overtook him as he came hard, splattering seed on his stomach and also some on the wall. Izaya sighed in post-orgasmic bliss and removed the showerhead, cleaning himself off and then washing the wall.
Wrapped in a towel Izaya stepped out of the bathroom. "Good morning, Namie!" he called out, then remembered she was currently in Nerima City. Padding to his computer, he logged on and pulled up some state of the art video editing software, news and sound clips and the many photos he had of Hanejima Yuuhei. It was time to create the false broadcast. Izaya's only regret was that by the time Kasuka was on the news, it would be too late to use these videos himself.
Ten hours and many breaks later the 'news' feed was completed. In a stroke of brilliance Izaya had also taken recorded calls from his cellphone to create an 'interview' with his former client, Kasuka's childhood acquaintance. He had enjoyed creating the more mundane incidents with news from five years back, and some unrelated entertainment such as music videos by unknown artists. But the real entertainment would be watching Kasuka through the camera buried in the innocuous-seeming SAMSUNG logo of the TV in the apartment next door.
Speaking of which, Izaya turned on the live video feed from Ritz-Carlton. It began with static but slowly evened out. As according to schedule, Kasuka was not there yet but would arrive in another ten minutes. Kiki would come and they would be presented with a package from 'the agency,' leather bonds and a ball gag. Apparently these boxes were common and Izaya giggled at that.
The package contained another, invisible gift – a special compound similar to valium, formulated by his assistant. It was sleeping gas that also had a 97% chance of blanking out memory.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. It was probably his present to the lovers. It rang another time and Izaya could faintly hear a voice: "Hello? I've got a package for Mr. Yuuhei." A final knock, and then retreating footsteps.
A few minutes later cued a soft click; the door opened and this time it was Kasuka, Kiki following closely behind. The actor seemed to have not noticed her presence yet and was now moving expressionlessly to his bed to open the package. Before he could do so, though, Kiki made herself known by softly nibbling on his ear.
Izaya watched Kasuka's body stiffen, then turn around, only relaxing once he recognized the female behind him. Kiki quickly turned to close the door and as expected the two immediately made for the bed.
The informant grabbed his cellphone, eyes not leaving the screen, and pressed '2' on speed dial.
"Namie-chan. It is time for plan A. Inform Noboru." Noboru was Shiki's grunt assigned to help Namie on this task.
"Kay." The dial tone sounded and Izaya closed his phone, satisfied. They had tore open the box and the effects would take place immediately. He watched Kiki first sag down mid-kiss, her arms going limp then frame crumpling on top of Kasuka, who had his hands inside her thong. He also followed suit, eyes drooping and finally slumping over.
Suddenly the hotel door opened once again, and this time it was Namie and Noboru, both wearing gloves and with large suitcases. The lovers' position was comical, and judging by Namie's raised eyebrows she also thought so.
The two quickly unzipped the suitcases, filled with bubble wrap and duct tape. Namie bound and gagged both of them, then took out a penknife to cut into Kiki's upper arms, letting the blood stain the sheets and Kasuka's shirt as per instructions. Noboru stuffed their bodies in and Izaya almost winced at the awkward contortions the lovers went through.
Finally the two left stealthily, Namie hanging the 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign on the door before locking it. The cameras in that particular hall had already been disabled, but here they needed to be careful.
It was time for Izaya to prepare his diversion. Quickly he inputted visuals of three cars being simultaneously hijacked in the upper west side of the parking lot to the camera feeds, which, as he'd suspected, had minimal security. The scene was from some drama and it looked extraordinarily realistic. Noboru would now take both suitcases down to a vehicle parked a block away, while Namie would continue to stay in the hotel for a couple more days.
It was done. They would still need to take pictures of Kiki and transport the bodies to Shinjuku. But for all purposes and intents the kidnapping had already been finished.
A familiar sensation washed through Izaya. It was twin gratification and pride at a plan well executed. He allowed himself a brief moment to revel in it. Getting out of his chair he went to the kitchen, reaching for a high shelf and taking out a thin bottle of champagne. With a graceful flip he landed back on the floor and ran to the TV, inserting a well-used disc into a slot. He pressed 'Play' eagerly and flopped down on the couch, preparing to laugh himself silly. The informant would celebrate this commencement in style: with alcohol and Oprah reruns.
A stray thought flitted through his mind before the opening sequence began.
I wonder when Kasuka will wake up.
Kasuka awoke in an unfamiliar bed. He lay there, processing this development, then re-processed it and his eyes flew open.
He had no idea where he was.
Quietly he sat up, wincing as he did so. His whole body felt sore, especially his left shoulder, which ached unnaturally. Kasuka assessed the situation. Fragments of the last day rushed back with no especial clarity. He'd done fan signings, practiced voice acting, returned to the hotel to meet Kiki. Kiki. Something rang in his mind but try as he might he could not pin down what exactly it was. The last moment he remembered was with Kiki, kissing her in bed and…
The rest was entirely blacked out, like a deleted still frame in the sequence of his life. And now he had been kidnapped.
He was unnerved but blocked out that emotion. If anything, now was the most important time to keep a calm grip on things. He could only rely on reasoning now.
A faint pang from his stomach told him he hadn't eaten, but for how long he had no idea. His captors would have to come in soon to feed him. Kasuka looked around for the first time, ignoring the crick in his neck. The walls were entirely white. A naked light bulb hung in the center of the ceiling, its light harsh and too strong on the eyes. A small metal toilet with a drippy faucet lay in the corner, and a largish TV had been installed across from him. Judging by that, his captors were relatively wealthy, as it was an expensive Samsung model. They had probably also schemed kidnappings before if they had the means to procure a cell like this.
His gaze landed impassively on a plastic chair in front of him. Like almost everything else in the room it was white. Kasuka began to feel a little suffocated by the monochrome scheme, but he stood up anyway and sat down on it. Nothing happened.
Of course not, he thought. Hesitantly he ran his fingers along the underside of the chair. It was bumpy and he could feel gouge marks left by nails, the crescent shapes sharp and smiling. Who else had been in this cell?
The thought was not a happy one and Kasuka quickly asked himself another question, telling himself that the past of the cell had nothing to do with his current situation.
What were the motives? Learning them could aid in bargaining his captors to release. Ransom money, his mind instantly supplied. He had heard tales of famous celebrities being held for ridiculous sums but it had never occurred in Japan. Or it could be a personal grudge against him. A crazed fan, even, wishing to keep him here.
His hand had trailed down almost unconsciously to his shirt, tugging at it. He trailed his fingers along the hem, then looked down and started.
It was covered in blood. Dried, brown blood crusted the originally white shirt in a haphazard pattern, fanning out almost like a butterfly.
A pang of worry jolted through him for the first time. The actor closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself, then stood up and examined his body. There were a few nicks here and there but no long gashes that would result in this. He lifted the shirt and looked underneath. His abdomen was completely unwounded.
Consciously he lowered his heart rate. Someone else's blood was on him. For now he was sure of that. But whose? How?
Suddenly it clicked. His temple began to pound as he put two and two together. It could not be Kiki's. It had to be from his captor's. Most likely Kasuka had resisted and his captors had used some kind of memory suppressant on him. Because he would never hurt Kiki. It just did not make sense. It was completely impossible.
But he did not have any evidence to prove it otherwise. With growing terror he closely reexamined his memory of that night. He came up with nothing. He didn't feel as though he had been in a fight – and more importantly there weren't even any visible injuries on his body that would have resulted from conflict. Nothing to prove… or disprove his conclusion.
He had to know. Anxiety, an emotion he hadn't felt in years, welled up deep inside him and thoroughly knotted his stomach. Kasuka didn't have any strong feelings for Kiki. It was the principle of the matter with bothered him. He had spent his life trying to repress his DNA and the unhealthy influence of his brother; fate would be too cruel to let his efforts go to naught.
Shizuo had told him often in high school how when violence overtook him: a stealthy shadow that left no traces behind but carnage. But Kasuka had never experienced such a shadow himself.
A cold foreboding settled on his shoulders like frost and Kasuka dusted it off. He would be okay. It was okay. He breathed and his features rearranged themselves to a mask of composure. He stood, eyes searching for a remote to switch on the TV. Finding none, he dropped on all fours and crawled underneath the bed. Ignoring the dusty smell he grasped unfoundedly in the dark, heart loosening a little when he finally found the smooth plastic device. The brunet seized the controller and sat up a little too fast, bumping his head against the bed frame, before pressing the power button.
It was him. He was on the screen.
Suddenly an immense urge to simply shut the TV off and go to sleep came over him. Kasuka wanted nothing more but to wake up and find this was all a horrible nightmare. In all his life he had never not been in control of his surroundings. It frightened him but he knew it was not the real reason he was so scared right now. He did not want to know the truth. If, in a fit of rage or passion, he had hurt someone – or worse –
Nausea ran over him at the thought. He could never live with himself. At the same time he couldn't bear knowing.
His index finger hovered over the remote, unsure of whether or not to press power. Before he could make a decision a voice broke through his thoughts.
Kasuka's head jerked up. On the screen was a vaguely familiar face and voice. For a second he couldn't place it, then he remembered. The man was an acquaintance from his elementary school days. Kasuka slowly stood up from the floor.
"…It was so surprising when I saw the news. To be honest, I had my doubts at first. You know what he's like… nice, quiet. Violent? His brother, maybe, but I've never seen Yuuhei flying off the handle."
"But when I saw the news I was blown away, I tell you." The man shook his head. "It's funny, because I wanted to see the movie, but then the murder was confirmed and, well, I couldn't."
Something iron and leaden pierced through Kasuka. His face did not change but his lips turned white and his knees gave way, like he'd been punched in the gut. The chair tipped over forcefully and he staggered to the floor, hands shaking. The TV droned on but the words were worlds away.
Mutely he raised his fingers, willing them to still. I am an actor, he told himself. Their twitching gradually ceased but they still looked strange. Too thin, tiny monsters with minds of their own. He stared at them. His palms stung as though he'd shoved them through ice.
Numbly he sank into the bed, blanket pooled around his feet. Some innocuous pop song was now on but the brunet didn't even notice. Gradually Kasuka became aware of a faint clacking noise; it was his teeth chattering. Words coalesced in his mouth and dropped out before he even realized it:
"See that guy? That's me. Hello sugar plum, Daddy's home now. Don't touch that box! I never thought I could do that."
Meaningless lines that did not change anything. Nothing he did now mattered.
Yet he kept reciting random dialogues as they appeared in his head. His voice was low and his cheeks felt slightly itchy. Kasuka reached up with his forefinger and traced a damp trail of tears down to his chin.
This terrible feeling of emptiness was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. It spread from his chest to his toes, his cuticles, the roots of his hair. He felt entirely vacant, drained of life and emotion, an empty shell whose soul had abandoned him. Sheer desolation pricked at his skin like needles. Lying in a cramped fetal position, the actor continued talking to the ceiling. There was nobody to hear him. Nobody…
Suddenly weariness seized him. Every event in this very short day had tired him out successively. He needed sleep and almost immediately after this thought, his eyelids closed of their own volition, and Kasuka toppled into restless slumber.