When will I stop belonging to this hungry thing inside me?

[angelcage]

R-18. Non-Con.

After Tanabata, Eichi thinks a lot about Itsuki Shu. Trickstar is performing in the Summer Live, so fine gets to sit back and spectate, which leaves Eichi's thoughts to wander as he sits in the student council room, empty of anyone save him on his throne. Eichi absently checks the clock, and then his phonebook.

The thing about Itsuki Shu is this: he is only human. He can be killed with the flick of a circuit breaker hooked to a sound system, his unit chopped up, and the remains buried underground in the casket of a live-house. But even then. His corpse rose up and sang, the sound awful and more wonderful than anything Eichi has ever heard his whole life over, even after all the operas and symphonies he was made to sit through in his childhood. He hears it still, weeks after Tanabata— ta-ta-tan— the syncopated fall of Shu's footsteps to fine's own Tryst of Stars, remade darkly in Valkyrie's image.

What choice does he have but to kill him again?

The composer Eichi had hired had been no Leo, but he'd paid good money for Tryst. It had come with notes on timing and emotional swells, suggestions on imagery and a wealth of knowledge to bridge the gap between his level and Yumenosaki's geniuses. He'd taken all he'd got and bled it into fine's choreography, prepared the course in advance with all of fine worked to their limits, and it taken Shu all of . . . what? A short week, some prodding at old wounds and he had worked it over better than Eichi ever could.

It's talent Eichi craves. He's come this far on ambition, but there's an end to that— eventually, he'd reached the top. He stole Shu's throne, but he never was able to touch that ability of his, his boundless spite that spills out in melodies and new sharp movements. He'd stood on stage, a deposed Sovereign with hatred clear in the cut of his face, and when he'd opened his mouth wide to sing, he'd bared all his teeth to the heavens and audience both. Nothing shook him other than his own resentment and then the ka ka ka of his laughter as he'd stormed their stage. Fine lost then, even if the audience wouldn't admit it. But Eichi knows and he wants what Shu has, from the knit of tension in muscles, to his expression and will-power perfectly unyielding. Hunger for Shu's talent is messy inside him.

He wakes up some days and can only think of Shu, promising him nightmares. Eichi wants to put his fingers in his mouth and take out his tongue, stitch it in his own mouth to sing only songs of Fine's glory. He wants to put his mouth on Shu's and seal all up all complaints, to take that instrument of spite and turn it to his own pleasure, his own purpose. He wants to swallow him and make him his own. His eyes can forever burn with resentment, that's fine, but Eichi needs for Shu's wrists to write out fine's staging, creating costuming and lesson sets for Eichi's unit alone.

Eichi is weak. There are days he is scarcely strong enough to stand. He spends all his will-power on ruling his school, ruling his body and forcing it through performances and dance steps. He is not strong enough to stand up to temptation too.

His fingers finish flicking through the phonebook, and he opens a desk drawer, and feels for a compartment at the back. Inside are Keito's old contacts, one of the few documents of the war to not have mysteriously gone up in smoke in the year following. How many members of the old Ryuuseitai are in the school now, divided into lesser units?

Eichi hasn't forgotten their faces from the live house,when he'd been trussed up and tossed to the floor. It won't be hard to find them now that he has names to put to the memories.

He opens his lock screen, and dials the number of the first former member, cross-referencing the names with photos on the school's class rosters. A few rings and the call goes through, the number not yet changed or disconnected.

In the charcoal sketch of a dark room, Eichi explains what he wants done and how much he'll pay for it.

---

The door clicks locked with finality. Outside, Eichi has the hired ex-Ryuuseitai to stand by. Inside the student council room, it is just him and Shu with his desk between them. He studies him for a moment— Shu, blindfolded in his summer uniform, has a faint patina of sweat on his skin from the heat and panic. He's straining still against his bonds, the medical tubing that holds him fast to the throne. Leaning over the desk, Eichi has his face close enough to see the slight indentation and soft pucker of Shu's skin where the ties bite into his bare arms— his tense bare arms. Tense and utterly helpless, his back rocking against the throne he has no chance of freeing himself from no matter how he struggles.

It's heavy, high-quality. The Tenshouin family would have nothing less for their hier.

It will more than support Shu's weight and his own as he rounds his desk and slips into the gap between it and the pulled out throne, to settle in Shu's lap. Even as his human chair bucks beneath him, trying to unseat him, Eichi's fingers are practiced and steady as he takes a syringe from the surface of his desk, and a vial. It's simple routine to draw the syringe pull back, then into the vial— plunging upwards and then drawing back again, the liquid drawing back into the syringe. The syringe drawn out, he presses in, releasing the little air that might have been drawn into the void. His technique, he judges, is passable. It's been a long time since he's needed a nurse to do this for him, and he has no compunctions about doing it to someone else.

He shifts, twisting at the waist to face Shu.

It wouldn't do to leave track marks on an idol, so he puts his fingers up to Shu's lips and pushes past them, sliding to the gums but not past the teeth— as expected, Shu bites down a moment later. It is good he thought ahead, and kept them to the side. Shu's words are warped as he speaks, unable to fully pronunciate around the fingers, the needle. "I suppose you are the one that arranged this? What do you aim to do now, after having that farce of a kidnapping play out earlier? We are still on school grounds." He's regained his footing enough to keep his voice strong, but Eichi can feel him still shaking.

"Of course we are." Eichi's voice is mild. But Shu stills like it's a paralytic Eichi has in his needle, then sharply recoils with realization, head cracking against the throne behind him in his repulsion. "It isn't unthinkable someone might want to save an endangered species, is it? But no one is going to want to stick their head in the lion's mouth to pluck one from its throat, either." He licks his own lips, illustrating his metaphor for his blindfolded audience. "They know who's the king of this jungle, here."

Shu's eyes are hidden but Eichi can see tension in his brow, even as he tries to speak as though he's above all this, and especially above him. "Tenshouin. So Tanabata was not enough for you?"

Eichi dips his head near to Shu's, pressing in so the distance between them becomes so vanishingly slight that the contractions of soft laughter in his chest becomes something that shakes them both. Amused, voice warm, he says, "It's surprising you're willing to leave it that." A beat, contemplative for a moment before he speaks again. "Yumenosaki's proud sovereign," he pronounces, slipping his free hand around the back of Shu's throat, splaying it at the base of his skull to steady his head. The needle's position will stay true now, even as he breathes a barb in Shu's ear, "You're accepting that you lost?"

Shu's lips pull back in an animal snarl. His teeth and gums bare themselves in fury and his voice strips down to a growl. "That the masses in their vulgarity were not satisfied with it was their folly."

"So you do understand," Eichi says, settling down into the meat of the matter. "But they're who idols are for. And they've seen your defeat. . ." He leaves the statement there, between them for a moment, before crunching it to a dead thing between his teeth, "But I haven't yet. Let's settle this, Valkyrie."

The needle punctuates his statement, puncturing the gums and thrusting in deep. His thumb on the flange of the syringe plunges down and the fluid drains out as Shu attempts to buck his head back with strangled protest but Eichi's right hand catches the blow, between it and the throne's high back. With retreat backwards cut off Shu slumps forward, coughing wet coughs as if he could expel what's already inside him. He cannot, of course.

He must realize this too, because with a stiff inhale he prepares himself for the unpleasant future forcing itself upon him. Blindfold veiling his face, he can only curl his lip, glare stifled behind the bindings. "So… after all, you still are frightened, to go this far."

"Frightened? No," Eichi corrects, "Impressed. I know after the history between us you would never reveal your desires to me, but I wish to reward you. After all, I was unable to present to you with a hasenpfeffer banquet, after promising you your sweet traitorous Nito-kun's head." Shu's breath stops. "Akatsuki are my lieutenants so I'm taking full responsibility."

Eichi settles his back against Shu's chest, sliding his body to between Shu's legs and laps up the space between them with his own form, leaving no distance. He leans his head into the crook of Shu's neck, his ear at Shu's throat. His skin is such a fragile barrier, and it doesn't hide the sound of Shu's sped heart, his temporarily stilled lungs. Injection spent, he throws the needle aside— it cracks against the wall, out of reach, useless to him now— and his now emptied hand covers Shu's mouth to gag all words of protest.

He wants to hear this.

Just this, the sound of Shu exhaling through his nostrils, breath coming in quicker stacatto intervals in what could be panic but isn't. A wicked smirk is writ on Eichi's face as he wriggles in Shu's lap and the involuntary cry he stoppers doesn't sound like only indignance. Satisfied at Shu's sensitivity, he withdraws from his lap and slides from the throne back to stand on his own two feet.

With one careful finger, he hooks it behind the blood-tinged shell of Shu's ear and yanks the sleep mask clean away. The darkness is stripped from his dialated eyes in a single moment. His pupils are held wide by the drug poured into his nervous system; they swallow light and drink in the terrible glory of Eichi's altered shilouette.

"So," Eichi begins and runs his hands down his corset-cinched waist, "What do you think, Itsuki-kun?"

Below the corset, a delicate pouf of chifffon layers halo his thighs— Valkyrie's deep red a waterfall of petals in the back that open in the front over a hard central bud of black vinyl, a skirt that on Eichi's long legs has become scandalously short. On the pages of Shu's sketchbook, the design had been wrought in perfect sexless androgyny. On Eichi's body, however, the mere act of wearing it has brought it to life debauched. Velvet ties string up beyond knee-high leather boots, evoking ballet ribbons and bondage both. Above the corset, Eichi's face is framed by a high collar, frothy with lace, that hides his adam's apple. Layers of necklaces dangle and clink as he turns away, to let Shu be struck with awe at his illustration brought to life.

Shu does not take his time in beholding. He doesn't regard him longer than it takes for his mind to clear his light-blurred vision. In the same instant that he knows what he's looking at he commands, "You would dare defile what was meant for Nito!? Remove that at once!"

Eichi fiddles with one of his pearled chains, the dangling gear-charm within his hold. "Oh?" He breathes, playful in the face of Shu's fury, "You'd like me to undress?" He laughs, a gentle tee hee hee that clinks like the chains encircling his neck.

"Tenshouin!" Shu finds no amusement in his words.

"Oh, come on, now. Your doll abandoned you. He'll never wear this for you," Eichi brushes off Shu's rage, his face all sneering dismissal, incongruous above the fantasy of Shu's own design. "Really. . . you ought to thank me. I said I have an offer for you."

"This is not an offer! This is a mockery!"

Knees drawn demurely together, Eichi sidles back onto the desk and tips Shu's chin back up. His cheeks burn roseate, a reaction Shu has claimed with his anger— Eichi can't help but admire it. Shu's body is betraying him even as they speak, and he still won't submit to what his veins are telling him to desire.

He lowers his voice to a tone of quiet intimacy, "Can't it be both? I've given you my throne." He runs a hand over Shu's arms, still tied fast to the arms of the chair. Gooseflesh rises under the chill of his fingertips, and Eichi decides to imagine that shudder is not mere disgust. That Shu's revulsion is twinned with desire. After all, he does have a rather good offer to make him. "I could give you something better— the power behind it. You've always appreciated dress up, playing with dolls. . . Think of it! Your very own puppet emperor."

Shu's breathing come now only in harsh pants. His body is demanding attention, and he is visibly fighting through the haze of its distraction to focus on words, his eyes closing to shut out stimuli and then snapping open when Shu is left alone with those demands.

"Work for fine," Eichi ordains. "Be my power behind the throne."

Shu finds his voice, husky and dark, wrecked already before Eichi's even truly begun and grinds out words. "I would rather rot."

It wouldn't be like Shu to accept so easily. Eichi knew this before he stole the sketch, planned the hard sell. Hunger for what's denied him is a dark well in his stomach and it never runs dry. He's not presented this as a choice. It's just a matter of how far he has to go before Shu understands "no" is not a privaledge he can afford.

"Oh, Itsuki-kun." His voice is indulgent with pity. "You've been doing that! But I told you— I'm making it up to you." He tilts his head back and stands, drawing away but not terribly far. His hands skip down from where they rested on Shu's skin to the arms of the throne, and he drags it with him as he goes, turning it a heavy half-revolution and talking as he does. "Threatening Nito-kun was the wrong avenue before, wasn't it?" He wheedles, "You don't care for others, do you?"

They face the curtained windows now. Eichi gestures to the world beyond, the world where Nito is somewhere else. "He's doing well. I shattered you, your fragile ego. You thought the world existed as a puppet stage, and could scarcely imagine a factor beyond your control. But I see now—"

Eichi throws the curtains wide, and the summer beyond him is dazzling. Shu's drugged eyes cannot possibly take the sight of the world beyond. All he must be able to see is Eichi like a dark hole cut from the universe. "Raise the curtain, Itsuki-kun, to use your kind of metaphor. Start over! Stop behaving like a stubborn child at the dinner table!" Eichi looms over Shu now. "Open your mouth, take the world in your teeth, grind out sustenance from the gristle!"

Eichi is breathing hard now too, in anticipation and exertion from his frenzied monologue. "This world would chew you up and spit you out."

He drops to his knees, and reaches forward to the clasp of Shu's belt, and looks up at Shu's horrified ruddy face from beneath his lashes and says, plainly, "Itsuki-kun. I'll teach you to swallow."

His fingers are sure. He's hungered for months on end, he's dreamed and watched films and rehearsed with Wataru as his willing actor. The clasp, button, and zipper all part for him. Behind a thin veil of cloth, Eichi can see the stirrings of the arousal he'd injected into Shu.

His fingertips make contact and Shu screams. Not wordless, not an animal scream, but a man's plea and fury at his own helplessness. "Non! No! You cannot do this! Stop! Stop!" His voice shakes, the pathetic delusion not even convincing himself. Impatience bubbles up in Eichi. So, anger gives Shu strength to argue even now. "Someone will hear, and this time it is you who will be felled by his own hubris!"

"Oh, I have no doubt. Try it, then." Shu opens his mouth to scream again, and Eichi edges more words into the gap. "Beg for them to open the door. Plead for them to see you shamed."

Desperation has killed any objection Shu might have had. "Let me go! Open the door! Release me!"

Eichi slithers up Shu's lap, wrapping his arms around Shu's shoulders. "I don't think they can hear you."

"Get off me!" Shu cries, and realising the uselessness of addressing Eichi, he leans forward into his grasp for the little bit closer it gets him towards the window. "I'm being—" Eichi nips at his neck and Shu inhales sharply before finishing the sentence, "violated!"

Eichi speaks into Shu's neck, voice clear, "They're on stand-by, you know. Itsuki-kun, if you want it, I can have them fetch the one person who'd listen to you, before they'd listen to me. Your cute little stray."

"Kagehira?"

"Yes. Him. Though if I recall, he doesn't really listen to you, does he? I remember the shiner he gave me rather well. It's rare to meet someone so headstrong."

Shu holds his breath.

"I'm sure he'd come running. And do much worse than that, this time. Your vicious, poorly trained dog. He'd leave me a mess." Excitement thrumbs through his voice, like this is a joyous prospect. "And while your family might be willing to protect you… well, they're moving the age of adulthood down to eighteen soon. He's close enough to that, don't you think? I think so. I think a judge would too, once they see the family name of who your Kagehira-kun pulped. And there would go the rest of his life, just like that."

Tension holds them both still, silence a thread stretched taut and pulled near snapping. Eichi waits for Shu to call again, to try screaming and try his luck. The silence holds, frays, and Eichi hums now, satisfied. He reaches out, to take what he wants. He pulls Shu's underwear down his thighs.

Despite the fear and protests, Shu is half-hard in his hand.

He'd judged the dosage near-perfectly. He sinks down, back to his knees and with the soft touch of reverence, strokes. As if this common flesh was something precious in and of itself, not merely precious because he has transmuted it into a base tool for his bidding. Shu cannot help but respond, and Eichi loves the control he has now recaptured over someone who has defied him. He cannot help but squirm, aroused, and grow under his ministrations.

The only resistance Shu has left is silence, and even that will surely fail him now. How long can he bolster himself, a bulwark against the punishment his Kagehira will face? Will the idea, even now, of being a martyr punished in another's place and preventing their fall keep his jaw clenched shut? Or will his animal will dribble out in gasps and groans?

All of it delights Eichi. He leans in close, his fingers lose at the base of Shu's shaft now and eyes his quarry. There is nowhere for Shu to retreat to, but his thighs tense. If there was anywhere for him to move to, he would. Nontheless, he is now fully erect, Eichi judges with one last stroke, fingers circling and trailing following the trail of pulsing vein before he changes rhythmn to rough jerks.

Now, he is rewarded with a gasp, and the resistance that has been so steadfast finally breaks. Shu's limbs go loose, and he curls foward, his flat stomach hot up against Eichi's forehead, even from behind the thin cloth of his summer uniform shirt. Mischevious and intentional, he presses a quick kiss to it, knowing the lipstick he's wearing will stain and smudge, making a mark too indelible to remove easily. Shu will have to labour over it, leave the kiss, or find some explanation as to why he needs a new shirt.

Perhaps Eichi will buy him one, in the grand new future he is fucking into being.

The thought enchants. He peppers kisses, a line from the waist to the trailing ends of the shirt, where the last button is undone and follows it to his own clasped hands, Shu's prick starting to leak pre-cum. He has kept him waiting. Regardless of his mind, his body is wanting.

He drags his tongue over the fluid, the bitter salt taste in his mouth too viscuous to call to mind saline solution. It is like the bitterness of his own mouth, the after-taste of medicine and his over-worked lungs come each new morning. It tastes like something of him is already inside Itsuki-kun. He opens his mouth in full, and takes him in. While Eichi's tongue is not practiced in this, he is enthusiastic, and Shu has no basis for comparison, of this he is certain.

It's almost disappointing, how fast he gives in. As if the mere mention of his Kagehira had undone him, his mind and will crumbling and leaving him mere meat in Eichi's mouth. The flesh is warm and real, too good to be a dream and so the moment doesn't last. He opens wide, letting his dead gag reflex be a virtue as he takes all of him in. Shu rocks forward more than he bucks, giving Eichi all he desires for the brief moments he lasts before releasing swiftly, coming with a groan.

Eichi's eyes drift upwards, head leaned as far back as he can with Shu's prick down his throat. He wants to see his face. He wants to remember his moment of victory— but even in Shu's defeat, his pride has refused surrender. He has turned his head aside and buried his face in his own shoulder, angled as violently away from the scene in his lap as it could be. Eichi is left with nothing but the image of Shu's neck and chin, barely visible above his shirt ruffles.

Abruptly furious, he draws back and yanks himself up to be even with Shu's face and kisses him hard, mouth still full of Shu's own discharge. He keeps his eyes fully open as he finds his way to Shu's tongue, and shares the proof of Shu's surrender to him, that his body has already lost this war. He is breathing hard through flared nostrils when he finally draws back.

Itsuki Shu stares back at him through dead, lightless eyes.

And asks, finally, "What will it take to get you to stop?"