[ Naturally, he has the reflexes to but doesn't react to the pillowcase, nor the first pillow that hits him in the leg. Only when the second sails toward him does his arm come up without thought to grab it tight with one hand, wide eyes stuck on the boy and staring unblinkingly at what is too much.
Even harder now he tries to hide, and Miyuki can see him all the clearer for it. The other boy's indignant denial makes it impossible for him to deny that this is a boy too young, who's gone through more than he should have, to whom Miyuki is being ordered to inflict even more. And it's not so surprising the second time the collar begins to tighten around his neck, how fast his mind recoils once more from the act he'd reasoned as necessary before.
His gasp is belated, cuts rough into the air as his chin jerks down and hand abandons its grip on the pillow to hover uselessly by his neck. Miyuki's face contorts, blood rushing and pumping and body vibrating with utter rage, so much that he can barely see anymore than he can breathe. It happens so quick, but is an eternity of pushing away and yanking forth the decision to save them and damn them at the same time. An eternity too short to think it through, to find some way to circumvent it all.
Until he's taking short breaths. Until he's coughing, choked noises he hears as he's staring dizzy at his own hand with fingers clenched down against the floor. There are no more options. He's with a boy who's been altered, who can only remember being aroused in one way, who can't take it when Miyuki has tried a different way. Would he be able to coax a reaction when so far he has earned absolutely nothing? Can they survive anymore failures, with no guarantee of success should they keep trying? When the boy's been rewired in a way he can't hope to understand and has even less hope of figuring out to trigger the desired reaction?
No — he knows what would do that. He knows he has the ability to save them, what to do. And Miyuki has never felt so utterly, pitifully powerless.
Finally, shaky and panting, he rises to his feet to walk a step. Another. To stride forward and lift his face to the boy on the bed with a speed that doubles every step, until he's easily stepping up onto the bed and grabbing the younger boy by the arms to bring him down.
It feels as though he's there, but he's not. His body is as it always is, with firm muscle that goes well beyond just the abdomen that had been felt before. He knows he's holding the other boy down, pinning his legs with his own and ultimately leaving one forearm pressed down across the other's chest to handle what struggle may come from the upper body. He knows he's yanking at clothes enough to grip him again, palming with roughened hand and pumping in the next second, tight and fast and desperate. But through it, he tries to stay focused on the goal.
Miyuki's head is bowed slightly, expression aimed to the boy's torso and still tight with an anger that doesn't match the fear, the dead sadness deep within his eyes that shows he's failing in that, too. ]
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Even harder now he tries to hide, and Miyuki can see him all the clearer for it. The other boy's indignant denial makes it impossible for him to deny that this is a boy too young, who's gone through more than he should have, to whom Miyuki is being ordered to inflict even more. And it's not so surprising the second time the collar begins to tighten around his neck, how fast his mind recoils once more from the act he'd reasoned as necessary before.
His gasp is belated, cuts rough into the air as his chin jerks down and hand abandons its grip on the pillow to hover uselessly by his neck. Miyuki's face contorts, blood rushing and pumping and body vibrating with utter rage, so much that he can barely see anymore than he can breathe. It happens so quick, but is an eternity of pushing away and yanking forth the decision to save them and damn them at the same time. An eternity too short to think it through, to find some way to circumvent it all.
Until he's taking short breaths. Until he's coughing, choked noises he hears as he's staring dizzy at his own hand with fingers clenched down against the floor. There are no more options. He's with a boy who's been altered, who can only remember being aroused in one way, who can't take it when Miyuki has tried a different way. Would he be able to coax a reaction when so far he has earned absolutely nothing? Can they survive anymore failures, with no guarantee of success should they keep trying? When the boy's been rewired in a way he can't hope to understand and has even less hope of figuring out to trigger the desired reaction?
No — he knows what would do that. He knows he has the ability to save them, what to do. And Miyuki has never felt so utterly, pitifully powerless.
Finally, shaky and panting, he rises to his feet to walk a step. Another. To stride forward and lift his face to the boy on the bed with a speed that doubles every step, until he's easily stepping up onto the bed and grabbing the younger boy by the arms to bring him down.
It feels as though he's there, but he's not. His body is as it always is, with firm muscle that goes well beyond just the abdomen that had been felt before. He knows he's holding the other boy down, pinning his legs with his own and ultimately leaving one forearm pressed down across the other's chest to handle what struggle may come from the upper body. He knows he's yanking at clothes enough to grip him again, palming with roughened hand and pumping in the next second, tight and fast and desperate. But through it, he tries to stay focused on the goal.
Miyuki's head is bowed slightly, expression aimed to the boy's torso and still tight with an anger that doesn't match the fear, the dead sadness deep within his eyes that shows he's failing in that, too. ]