bakerstreet | taken from a prompt on rpanons

taken from a prompt on rpanons

TRAPPED TOGETHER
a fuck or die smut meme

You don't remember falling asleep, but now you're waking up, and it's nowhere familiar. The room is white from top to bottom, clean and sterile. There is no visible door or other means of escape. Fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling provide the only light.

The room is mostly empty, but not entirely. A large monitor sits recessed into the wall opposite you. A chest of drawers sits on the wall to your left, and a closet in the wall to your right. You are sitting on a large, white bed, and you are not alone. Do you know this person? Are they a friend, an enemy, a lover? Or are they a complete stranger, someone you've never met before in your life. There is a strange collar around their neck, and with a start, you realize you have one on around your throat as well. Try as you might, you cannot remove it.

Whatever the case, the person you are stuck with is awakening as well, but before you two have time to so much as introduce yourselves, the monitor comes to life, and text appears on the screen.

YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE.
THE GAMES WILL NOW BEGIN.
DO AS YOU ARE TOLD AND YOU WILL LEAVE ALIVE.
ONCE WE'RE DONE WITH YOU, THAT IS.
IGNORE YOUR ORDERS AND DIE.
DO NOT ATTEMPT TO CHEAT. WE WILL KNOW.
AND PLEASE, TRY TO HAVE FUN.

The message remains for a minute, just to make sure you both have time to read it, before fading away. Moments later, your first orders appear. Ignore them, and your collars will begin to constrict until you comply. Finish, and new orders will eventually appear. Between the chest of drawers and the closet beside the bed, everything you need is provided to you to perform, including toys, tools, special medications of various effects, and even food and drink.

Is your collar getting tighter? Better get busy. Remember, they're watching.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character information and preferences in the subject, as usual.
OOC communication is extremely important in this meme, the orders your characters are given are determined between the two of you. They can be tame, or they can be extreme. Plan out what you want to play ahead of time, or surprise each other, just get a feel for what each of you want! Leaving a kinks list and/or an example of what kind of orders you like in your comment is a terrific idea.
Keep on going as long as you please! If you really want, your characters can escape after a single smooch, or they can be going at it all day long.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[ Yeah... his bad on that one, though he feels wholly justified in his suspicion and doesn't apologize yet. He notes the odd clothing but doesn't ask about it as he waits, patiently, using the time afforded to prepare himself too. This is what the other boy likely went through before Miyuki had even woken, right? But all by himself.

He takes a moment before deciding to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, facing outward from it. And he remains like that, not really looking at the younger boy when he turns his head slightly toward him: ]

Sorry.

[ Miyuki doesn't make a habit of apologizing, but he truly is sorry — for what the other boy was made to do, for what he's being made to do. Would this be the first time this boy's been touched like this? Miyuki guesses so, just going by his apparent age, and it twists his stomach a little more. Miyuki wasn't even thinking about girls at that age (not that he does much now), but... maybe this boy has. ]

... Pretend I'm someone you like, if it helps.

[ Would it? Would it make this any better to candy coat it, close his eyes and imagine he isn't being touched by some stranger? Does the fact the stranger doesn't want to do it either make it better or worse? Miyuki doesn't fucking know. He just reaches his right hand out beside him to gently grasp at the other boy. He said he'd make it quick, but he's reluctant to be too rough, especially when the other boy looks so damn delicate. His stroking starts out steady and moderate, with a hand totally unlike that of whatever girl he imagines might be imagined. With movements too detached and calculated to be anywhere close to the fumbling exploratory first time he thinks the younger boy either could have, or has had. ]

[Unwittingly, not focused on his own behavior, aware of Miyuki just enough, mind occupied by everything else, he remains reticent. Uncharacteristic behavior, he's unhinged emotionally, but as it stands, deeply embedded survival instincts withhold him from his usual impulsive manners. It's such a fragile dam, though.

Miyuki had, however briefly, the shield of sleep to keep him relaxed, but Alois lacks this demented reprieve. He can't relax, and in the way they need him to react, he doesn't. But his breathing does hitch, starting to pick up speed, not arousal but an edge. It occurs to him that if he can't get aroused, their captor might kill Miyuki, or him, the both of them, and he fidgets, clutching Miyuki's wrist.

And behind this knowledge are many others: he didn't choose this, he didn't bat eyelashes, he has no real control here, and this is own fantasy that's always helped him endure before. The reality, being, that he never did, but he's so good at make-believe. It's not working this time. He didn't choose this, he didn't choose this, it's been years, this kind of life is over now, he doesn't have to do these things anymore, Miyuki won't even look at him, he's undesirable, what kind of twisted little shit cares about that sort of thing in this situation, why is he like this, why is he him—

When he pushes him away, it's only with enough strength to pull back, and he's closer to the middle of the bed, sitting on his knees, not quite hyperventilating but close, staring with saltwater brimming eyes at the other subject in that lost child way. His eyes flood, and then he's screaming, outright bawling, the name Claude coming out on pleading tones. He says it in full, then only half of the name escapes him, before he coughs wetly, eyes wide while he's silenced by the collar, his fingertips rushing to his neck. It curls, mouth open, small frame clearly fighting. This time lasts for longer than the first two times he was choked.]

[ He sees it coming — the signs that this isn't going to be as simple as Miyuki wishes it would be. He can hear his breathing, feel the lack of intended response, and when he looks out the corner of his eye just as the boy grasps at his hand and effectively halts him, Miyuki knows they're in trouble.

He's no stranger to monitoring the emotional state of someone else, making sure they get their job done under intense expectation, pressure from all sides. He's meant to be the one they can rely on to direct them, to keep them focused, calm them down, prevent them from imploding and taking out an entire team along with them. However, it's an imprecise science and Miyuki's had his fair share of mistakes. If nothing else works, the pitcher can always be taken out of the game.

But, while it may be for their captor, this is not a game. The rules they were given are not fair and nothing will feel like winning after this. Miyuki has mere seconds to act when the younger boy pushes him away and starts to break down, but he hasn't a clue what to do. He turns around on the bed to finally face him, though he stays an arm's length away suspended in indecision, eyes wide when the boy's screams are silenced.

One second ticks by, he shifts closer and still is reluctant to touch the other boy again. Another second, and Miyuki's collar begins to tighten just a bit, slight enough that it might be a warning or merely the way his own breathing has become so much heavier, heartbeat in his ears. He's going to watch someone die right in front of him and— and—

Miyuki's absolutely terrified. Of the collar threatening his own neck, of the possibility of seeing the younger boy's struggle suddenly ceasing, of what he might do if that struggling continues. Finally, he grabs the boy by the shoulders, trying to hold him up to face him. If playing pretend isn't going to work, then he has to face reality: ]

Claude isn't here!

[ Miyuki was never all that great with delicacy. His voice is loud and sharp and hard on each word, a verbal slap to the senses, much more stable than the terror trembling through his bones. ]

[Straining atop the bed, ribs swelling, and legs sliding, he futilely claws to loosen the collar, fights with their invisible assailant. Inly, unknown, he still begs for Claude, and their cruel captor must know what with the length of time it's taking for him to be forgiven. His mind is already beginning to fog by the time Miyuki's lifting him by the shoulders, and he goes easily, tense but weakened by lack of oxygen.

It's tone alone that distracts him from his private pleading, and he gazes, bleary-eyed and unfocused, at Miyuki, whose image steadily becomes crisper. Thinking of anything besides Claude is challenging, and in the technical sense, he's not sure that he's producing thought at all, it's more that his very blood runs in the direction of Claude, an automatic thing. So if new thought traverses the line of not pulling away, of staying put, of doing what he's told, or not being difficult for Miyuki, it's buried under the constant buzz of Claude's name.

But it must be enough, because in the next moment, he's gasping air, fresh tears dropping, his shaking little form tilting forward while he coughs and coughs into his own hand. Dizzy, the older boy's words find him, if delayed, and Alois mutters confession, damp in his recovering, into palm:] he always comes. He's always—

[He stops himself, because he'll get worked up again, but neither does he reiterate that he isn't there. It's just as haunting, and he doesn't want to face it. It occurs to him to apologize, the shame of what he must've looked like seeping into him, but that's just it: he's too ashamed by it, his quickness into panicking, his inability to keep level-headed, and so he doesn't say anything more.]

[ The sight of a good breath makes Miyuki's grip slacken as he moves to sit back on his calves. He stays near in anticipation of the other boy sending himself into another spiral of futile hope but thankfully, he seems stable for now. The situation is terrible and the other boy has every right and reason to be revolted by it — Miyuki forgives him, especially with him being younger, especially with how disgusted he feels at himself in the aftermath. ]

... You don't know that for sure.

[ He forgives him... But in order to get through this, Miyuki needs his cooperation. He wouldn't be so gentle under normal circumstances (as gentle as one can consider this). However, the younger boy has shown himself to be fragile, and with what's at stake Miyuki can't afford to let him fall apart. He was only just beginning to learn how to temper his words back home, and he makes an effort to do so while trying to motivate him.

Miyuki catches his gaze, no anger in his stare or his words. Only genuine gravity. ] But you want to see Claude again, right? Then you have to take care of yourself until he arrives.

[ Miyuki doesn't know who this Claude is in relation to the boy; all he needs to know is the way he'd been pleaded for moments earlier. With just this bit of information, perhaps he can set him on the right track. ]

We can't assume anyone's coming to help before then.

[ Before they see it with their own eyes.

They can't assume anyone's coming to help at all, actually, but that's where the prudent censoring comes in. In his own mind, Miyuki isn't waiting for anyone to come rescue him. He knows he has to fend for and protect himself, and that isn't so unfamiliar. He does have someone else here, but the younger boy is the opposite of a dependable partner in this as far as he can see. More of a liability to take into account than someone to rely on. ]

[Wrong. Listening with his far-away gaze, Alois stubbornly, silently, rejects what he's saying. You're wrong. Claude is always there, recent and accumulated memory reminds him; dependable Claude. And then Miyuki's eyes are holding his own, and the youth blinks at his fellow captive once, as if seeing him for the first time.

He wants to see Claude again.

He has to take care of himself. He's done this before, even after meeting Claude; he took care of himself while seeking a reason to make Claude stay. It's easy, it's really simple, nothing in his life has been as easy as taking care of himself, even when he didn't want to.

Composure returning, his gaze drops while he lets a breath, and he shifts to sit on his own calves, vision wandering for the moment to the monitor but it seems nothing's changed. All his worrying before—he hides his mouth against his wrist to kill a smile—didn't Father absolute detest him first, too? This circumstances really are unfortunate, but what chance do either of them have if Miyuki's going to touch him like he can't stomach it?

Hands flat just before knees, he leans toward him, small face tilted, deeply burying his every grievance.]

Then, you too, [deliberate, with contrasting allure to the frightened, desperate child a moment earlier,] if it helps, pretend I'm someone you want. [Fingertips scarcely touching knuckles, tentative.]

[ Good; this is good. He's calmed and they're both focused on the same goal now. The younger boy is even... leaning toward him. Miyuki's brows lift slightly for the change, not knowing him capable of being forward like this. Seeing such willingness is a big difference from how it felt before, like he was forcing himself on someone, even though his own hand was being forced. At the touch, Miyuki slowly turns his hand over, leaving it open and up.

He looks aside for a moment, obviously mulling over the offer. Someone he wants? There isn't anyone like that, he thinks, and has to look back to find something to work with. His very first crush in middle school: a boy a year older, a catcher like him whom he'd found to be amazing the very first day he met him, and still does to this day as they fight on the same side. Unfortunately, Chris Takigawa is and always has been bigger and broader than Miyuki, with a mature masculinity that makes him seem even older than he is — the complete opposite of the boy in front of him.

So he tries to think of another, and it's the other person he'd met the same day as Chris: an adult woman with painted lips and full curves and a mature femininity that this boy, for all his girlishness, can never hope to attain.

Miyuki gently clasps his fingers around the other boy's hand, his thumb idly tracing over soft skin as he continues to ponder. ]

It's fine. That's not gonna work, anyway. [ Besides, he was able to touch him without a problem (on his end) and he can make himself do it again. While it's nice that he's trying to help him, Miyuki finds it unnecessary to the point where he doesn't even realize the suggestion wasn't for his benefit alone.

He'd be willing to reach out and do it again just to get this over with, before their captor decides their time is up. But for now, he waits to see if the other boy will approach further or not while being more honest with him than he probably should. ]

You're pretty far outside my usual preferences, you know?

[Palm exposed, Alois' small hand slides into Miyuki's, going flat to allow skin to meet skin. He doesn't press or rush him, caressing wrist, letting fingertips nudge fingertips leisurely. Behaving as though their very lives aren't at stake, but instead they're two lonely boys with too much time to pass. It's a shimmering image, however, and while the older of the two ponders, the younger boy's eyes keep drifting anxiously to his collar.

His slow, but gently venturing hand stills only when Miyuki's closed his fingers around it. As he speaks, Alois looks up to give his attention, trying to obscure his doubts under a false but passive affability. If it won't work, it won't work. But before he couldn't even look at him. Alois knows he's being the troublesome one; none of that ought to matter. Sensation should be enough, but when one has nothing else to hold up their self-worth, already in shambles, it gets messy and mixed up. That is, even with the impending threat they're drenched in, he hasn't any idea how to detach himself from this way of thinking. He's built a whole life on it.

And what he hears is only confirmation for what he suspects. An indication of his insecurity is his fingers tucking away, retreating without fully pulling away—and he would, but he's trying to stabilize himself. He's no one's preference, so it isn't so new, but it doesn't matter: he's worked to become a favorite before. The worrying difference is that old men are easy: you've just got to make them think the whole world revolves around them. Miyuki's far from old, and he's good-looking, and he probably has no end to admirers who already inflate his ego. Maybe the odds are stacked against him.

What if he can't get hard, knowing Miyuki's grossed out by him? Would they be forgiven, both killed?

The truth is that he doesn't want to try. It's damning to be aware of how repulsive you are, but he supposes between the two extremes trying to gain favor, to convince Miyuki to consider another preference, would be worth more in the end. It should lead him back to Claude, if things go right.

Doing what he can to commit to the easygoing nature he's presented, a smile draws up, though it doesn't quite meet his eyes. First, he thinks about asking what his preferences are, and then of pointing out that when you're imprisoned by a pervert, preferences probably don't matter. Ultimately, he decides to act like his words don't affect him at all. Rising a little, if Miyuki will permit him, thin arms will find shoulders first, and dainty thing will slowly move to slip into his arms, seeking to settle lightly, almost casually into lap.]

Do you think it'd get mad, if I touched you, too? You made fun of me, [earlier, he means; and, the rest follows on amused, lilting,] but you were the one who got hard so fast. [Daring to touch abdomen, hand not quite sinking just yet.] Are you still? [He asks with mock curiosity.]

[ It was meant merely as a statement of fact to explain, but it could have landed as a mutually appreciated joke about how the younger boy is so obviously not what one would assume Miyuki would be interested in: i.e., some cute girl his own age. That isn't what happens and Miyuki feels it in the curl of those fingers within his palm.

Is he... insulted? By that?

... This boy wants him to like him. Miyuki's confused as to why, when he himself would be fine and dandy doing this with the least amount of emotion involved as possible, preferably. But that, too, is a product of his own modus operandi. Do what he has to, say what he wants, and whether people hate him for it doesn't matter as long as they don't impede him. The two of them may be in this together, but he ain't looking to make a friend.

And yet, he still allows him to move and get a bit more friendly, his own hands remaining casually down on the mattress. Being a nationally recognized athlete gets him some attention, sure, and his prettyboy face helps it along. However, he isn't used to this sort of intimacy at all. Someone crawling into his lap is a new experience, touching and teasing with intention, but Miyuki's a good Faker, too. He remains outwardly unaffected — visually, at least. The younger boy's confidence is making him reassess a few things, though...

He huffs out a bit of tension, ] Yeah, right. I think it went soft around the time I was getting strangled.

[ Gotta have a bit of humor when you're in mortal peril, right? The sarcasm of that part isn't really directed at the other boy. No — before that, Miyuki sits up straighter to lean in, hands flat on the bed and inner forearms incidentally brushing the boy's thighs, almost boxing him in as his abdomen presses into that small hand. This boy isn't the innocent little thing he'd appeared to be, and he might even be older than he looks (or so Miyuki hopes). Still young, yes, but Miyuki can recognize the fact that he's an adolescent boy now, with all that entails.

It's enough to have him momentarily invading his space to tease back, hair practically touching his as he stares him down. If this is the boy's attempt at working into a more amiable air between them for his own comfort or whatever, then alright, Miyuki'll go along with it. He needs him comfortable enough to actually react this time anyway. So there's a playful curve to his lips as he teases right back: ]

But I wouldn't brag about getting a sleeping guy hard, if I were you. It didn't know some kid was groping it.

[ Though there's also a bit of sharpness to his chiding betraying that, while he understands it had to be done, Miyuki may not be entirely over that involuntary show of vulnerability. ]

[His stomach is so firm, is initially his single thought as the older teenager leans into his hand, virtually caging him in with his own arms. Not that he expected it otherwise, but he's still quietly surprised by its toned reveal. And this is just through shirt. His knuckles bend to press fingers over fabric, down against skin, and at his non-serious, but prickly scolding, the little youth's pale blue-eyes lift to find his, practically sparkling with mischievous amusement.

There's even less mistaking it when he replies.]

No. [Seeking hand, now, ignoring the barrier of his trousers, slips in to brush fingertips only against the indention left over by boxer band.] I suppose it didn't. [Only barely does their exploring descend a bit further, but he's less unceremonious this time: if his hand comes into contact with cock at all, it's only knuckles bumping with conscious accident.

What he adds conflicts—by inflection in particular—with this idle, youthful teasing. Nonchalant, almost innocent in its simplicity and matter-of-fact stating:] Better hurry it up; I don't much feel like watching you die, and I want to go home. I probably won't cry this time. But if you're good, and get on with it, so we can leave, I'll reward you.

[ It didn't know it before, but Miyuki's sure aware now that this kid is coming very close to touching it again. The muscles of his stomach tighten in a bit and his brow raises as that clever little hand worms its way just barely into his pants, but otherwise, Miyuki doesn't give him the satisfaction of any greater fluster.

Yeah, he definitely needs to reassess his impression of this boy. Fragile as he seemed before, he's ready to get down to business now and Miyuki appreciates it, comfortable enough to ease into some light mocking when the boy all but asks for it. "If he's good" — really? ]

Yes, Sir~ [ If the little brat of a young master in his lap so wishes. He doesn't hold back the sarcasm, either, for that promise of reward: ]

With incentive like that, how can I resist.

[ Half of his tone is for the fact that, honestly, nothing can top their captor's reward of Not-Dying. But the other half is for the implication when that hand is still teasing him. Miyuki decides, then, that he'd rather not be touched if it's unnecessary and that he's allowed the other boy enough room to get himself comfortable. So at the risk of setting off the waterworks again, Miyuki grabs his wrist and pries it away at the same time as his other hand dives in between them. His fingers step over the already-opened edges of fabric and onto skin; enough of a warning, in his opinion. ]

Just remember what you said. No crying — you're a big boy~

[ He's not, and it's likely no amount of confidence he presents is going to change that for Miyuki. But he can recognize that and push past it, eyes dropping away from the younger boy's face but not as far as the hand that slips down to brush fingers along him, wrapping around to get a hold for a second go. ]

[To start, in reaction to Miyuki's sarcasm, he looks pleased with himself, he's so funny, tiny shoulders even quivering with unreleased laughter. But only a moment later the older boy is removing his hand, letting his free one drop between them, and just like that Alois' pretend confidence recedes. The bewildered and lost expression he wears once again, even if fleetingly, is probably the most genuine thing apart from his earlier panicking that's slipped away from him.

Miyuki will feel little wrist lock up first, body tensing, and he's all but ready to yank free or push Miyuki back again, but what if it kills him this time? If Claude wasn't someone to think about, he'd let it. Faking that you like someone, or want to fill them with desire is one thing, but it's a shaky foundation if the other person doesn't want to play back. Alois is too receptive of looks, or the lack of them.

He can't imagine Miyuki's perspective on where they've found themselves, what they're being made to do. It's possible that he's too selfish to consider it. But when he tries to think of letting himself be touched in a relaxed enough state that they'll gain the ordered effects, of doing these things for survival alone, he feels sick. And this leads into almost brutal recollection of every time Claude's been there before, and then that sick-feeling comes with hollowing out cold: he's been abandoned. The truth is that all of his effort is going into not losing it again; it's very different from how things have come to be back home.

It's not that he never was a good Faker, or couldn't continue to be so, but that he hasn't dealt with the lack of Claude in almost four years. Right now, he's utterly consumed by him. Right now, he's the result of what Claude's molded him into—not that he realizes it, or Miyuki would have any clue to this reality.]

Let me touch you, too, [he says at the bed beyond one of Miyuki's legs, flimsy voiced. Not much in the way of a demand, is it?]

[ ... so that's not enough. It's a balancing act, trying to weigh what the other boy seems to need against what Miyuki himself is willing to concede in order to get them through this. And with the tensing of the body in his lap, he feels that brief, blessed leveling they'd managed tip perilously to one side.

He tries to keep some of that air of levity, but it slips so fast through his fingers. ]

You already did. Remember?

[ He was just bragging about it. Miyuki sure remembers, and remains less than keen on allowing the boy to touch him again for no reason. But his hand momentarily goes still, gauging eyes rising to the boy's face as he explains the obvious. ]

It's my turn now. You don't need to do anything.

[ And he knows the other boy knows this. The quiet thereafter asks, then: why, exactly, he should be letting him touch again when there is no benefit. Why touching him would apparently make this situation any easier to take. Miyuki himself would think it'd be worse, having to not only be touched but also be touching some stranger. But then, perhaps it's from a sense of evening out the field or something — to not feel as vulnerable by making Miyuki vulnerable as well.

Ultimately, he can't be sure what's going on with the younger boy, only that it feels as though he may be on the verge of another breakdown if he doesn't get his way. They might not be able to afford it but Miyuki would rather hold off for a moment, hand still holding the other boy's wrist, and see if there's a possibility of compromise before folding for him. He can't just threaten a tantrum and expect Miyuki to give in, alright.

That sets way too dangerous of a precedent to allow. ]

[Peripherally, he knows the other boy is looking at him now, but this time his own gaze remains determinedly averted. He's a child, uncomfortable and not replying—not immediately, at any rate—shoulder drawing back, elbow lifting, wrist intending to pry loose, but he's not pulling back as hard as he could. No, even he's trying to prevent himself from freaking out. His other fingers fit themselves into the bed, pitiable prevention in pulling Miyuki's hand away from between his legs.

For a full minute or nearly, he's lost in his own world, deliberating with himself, looking as though he really may cry again and trying to fight it. And within that minute, he strains, and forces himself to stop.

But, finally—and this time the fogginess to his eyes does pool into saline, and droplets rush to the soft point of his chin:]

If I can do nothing else but let you touch me, all I'll think about is how Claude is supposed to be here, that he should've come much sooner than this, that I'm letting you do it, that he's left me here. And, then I won't— I can't...

Edited 2017-01-04 02:55 (UTC)

[ Miyuki steels himself, waiting patiently through the battle the other boy has with his emotions before impassively watching him lose it as the tears start tumbling down. He can tell he tried, and that counts for something. At least this time the boy remains articulate.

Still, Miyuki takes a moment to digest his reasoning. So his mind isn't fully focused here, or needs to not be when Miyuki is touching him, and requires a distraction from inevitably finding itself back on this Claude person.

He does not see why this means he should let the boy touch his cock.

However — ]

... Alright. [ The boy's wrist is let free, Miyuki's hand falling to his leg. ] Keep it above my pants, and you can touch me.

[ As he waits for a verdict on that, negative or positive, his thumb idly brushes up and down the younger boy's shaft. ]

[In their weighted way, his clamped lashes flutter when he glances up to his fellow captive's face with mild uncertainty. The tears still come. Residually, guiltily. He feels blatant and obvious now, no pretense to withdraw behind, and the awkward air keeps him reluctant a moment or more longer.

His motivation for pushing past it is Miyuki's hand, his thumb, running over soft, nervous flesh. No one's ever touched him while he wept sincerely—when he's produced crocodile tears, sure, but this is too honest, and he can hardly think of anything more humiliating. So as not to bare himself further, he opts to not look him in the eye or face again at this point. And then he's got to put himself in a certain state of mind, since he himself is definitely not worth saving.

If he doesn't look up, it can be someone elses trousers and crotch, right? With considerably less confidence, none at all in fact, he finally cups the older boy obediently over pants, only cradling doubtfully for now.]

[ He is worth saving, even if he's being a thorn in Miyuki's side. Even if his presence makes this ordeal more difficult than it already is.

Even when Miyuki feels that hand ensconced over his crotch. He pauses, bristling for what seems like a blatant denial of his proposition, before he catches himself. The other boy doesn't look like he's trying to refuse him. So then: ]

No- not... not over my pants. Above them.

[ He meant nothing below the belt, because he still doesn't see why it has to be there specifically. It's just a little miscommunication, an unanticipated stumble that, combined with that hand where it is and the boy in his lap crying with embarrassing honesty, has Miyuki stumbling too. But he's quick to try regaining his footing and getting them back on track. ]

You can touch anywhere else.

[ If he really needs to touch him intimately to be suitably distracted, Miyuki's only wearing a t-shirt up top. ]

[The second the boy on his lap realizes his mistake, his hand snatches back in an instant, widened eyes glued on the torso above him, pink rising to his cheeks.

It's not as though he can't touch him at all, just as Miyuki's said, but he's already made embarrassed by his inability to perform with only death as his encouragement, by being the smallest bit honest, and this error only adds fuel to the fire of his shame. Slowly, almost thoughtlessly, with only the objective of creating distance in mind, he's drawing away to sit on the bed instead. And still thoughtlessly, his knees have curled themselves up, wishing to shield him.]

It doesn't matter. It's not necessary. I was being... [scared? stupid?] Truthfully, I don't want to touch you at all, and I don't want you to touch me at all, but I want to go home... I want to go home, so could you quit derailing us and hurry it up?

[Just do what he has to, in other words, because while their first attempt has proven that it's quite the discomfort, maybe arousal will find him if they're patient enough. He can't say, since he's never been in a situation where whether he was aroused or not mattered much, it just happened to be an ego-boosting bonus for the men he was made to lie with.]

Knocking me out would've been the wiser choice, after all, it seems.

[ Miyuki lets him move away, but each inch he does makes something thick and boiling rise in his body, until ] — "Derailing us"?

[ Him? He's the one derailing them? Miyuki has to laugh, short and mirthless, because if he doesn't he might actually get angry at this difficult little brat that may literally be the death of him. It's... not his fault. He's just scared, confused, and yes, stupid. Miyuki would heartily and mercilessly agree with him there. But he takes a breath, lets it out, and follows his lead in laying things out nice and honest. ]

I don't want to touch you either, but I've been trying to get it over with so we can get out of here.

[ And the longer the pressure and the need to detach himself from the fact that he's violating some strange, young boy by threat of death stretches out, the quicker it's wearing down Miyuki's patience and willingness to coddle said boy. He stays where he's sitting on his legs, leaned forward with his hands on the mattress to either side of his knees, but he doesn't have the wherewithal to keep the contained wrath out of his expression, covered over with icy pragmatism. ]

Tell me right now if you think this is impossible, before that thing gets impatient and I have to knock you out with my hands.

[ It was meant as a joke, before. He has never actually done so, doesn't know how to technically, and would rather not go through the brutality of mistakes as he figures it out on the fly. But Miyuki was meaning to search the place anyway — just give him the word, buddy, and he'll do it: ]

I can go see if there's something in the drawers.

[ They were knocked out to begin with. Maybe there's chloroform or something... ]

[He breaks the newly placed rule for himself not to look at him again once harshly parroted words are thrown back at him. That's right; no, he knows this already, knew it before when he thought making pseudo-sweet would help things run more smoothly—he's the troublesome one here.

Miyuki leans forward with his crippling patience, and Alois leans back, almost flinches in expectation, feels his own heart thumping against his wrist. He stares back with his small self and big eyes, wholly nervous. If it's impossible? There his respiration goes again, too fast, heart transforming into a rabbit trying to kick itself out of him.]

I don't know, [flimsy, barely audible. He doesn't know if it's best, he doesn't know what to do now. If this was a different situation, he'd placate him. He wants to dig his own thumbs into his very own eye sockets for thinking this way, for being this way, he doesn't want to placate him or touch him and Miyuki doesn't want these things either, why has this sort of repulsive way of thinking have to be his mind's immediate go to.]

Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't know how to do this, without also— I. Whatever, w- whatever you think is best, I'll go along with it.

[ Miyuki stares at him for a long moment, the genuine fear he sees melting at the edges of his demeanor and making him ease back, despite himself.

Whatever he thinks is best, huh. No pressure there... ]

... I think you're too scared.

[ Of the situation, and possibly of Miyuki now, too. He could kick himself if he didn't think a breaking point wasn't inevitable, now. They couldn't keep up an unending cycle of trying and failing and if there's a better, faster way to finish this, then he'll do it. Miyuki shifts himself to step off the left side of the bed and heads for the drawers. Just the distance and movement helps him clear his head, and for the first few drawers he searches silently. ]

Do you touch yourself? [ He questions, finally. ] If there's something that usually gets you off, it could help.

[ Just in case he doesn't find anything. The drawers so far have been relatively empty and what he does find isn't anything the kid needs to know about. ]

[None of his anxiety exactly subsides as Miyuki deserts the bed to rummage through drawers. He's positive he intends to make good on what was supposed to be a joke from the beginning, and while the older of the two searches wordlessly, Alois internally justifies it for Miyuki. If he were to go on with it.

Upon his inquiring, he looks up belatedly, as ever like he's coming back into himself from some place else. If there's any hint of his not wanting to be there, even with the act he put on before, it must be this. He can't stop resigning himself to his thoughts, his private reasonings, what-ifs, doubts.]

Something... [gaze drifting away, while he seriously considers it. But all he can come with is something gruesome and frightening, even for him, and so deeply private he could never say it aloud. Any other time he remembers getting off, it was only frustrating, not-so-happy, happy accidents. He thinks he's filth, and won't touch himself if he can help it. He's still a healthy boy, though, and those times he can recall are when dreams probably conjured up something vulgar for him and he awoke in such a state, and had to urge the sensation away.

His expression morphs into guilt again, because if he could think of a lie, they could simply pursue this. But he doesn't know what to say. What gets normal boys off? Tits?

That must be it. Even Jim remembers seeing boys only a couple years older than him peeping at the town prostitute getting dressed.]

—T- tits? [It pipes out more earnest than he intends, and with a tone as though he's about to be graded.]

[ Miyuki stops entirely just to turn back to the boy and show him how little he trusts that answer, leveling the flattest of looks at him. ]

You sure it's not "lying"?

[ Ah, but then he'd be hard by now! His words cut a bit with obvious annoyance for the boy's insistence on making things difficult in a dire situation. ]

I don't care if you like guys, you know. [ Jeez, even if he was touchy about that, he'd have to abandon that mode of thought in the face of death. Miyuki turns back to the drawers with a muttered: ] I kinda figured.

[ Or at least that's how it seemed when the boy was trying to touch his cock voluntarily. No — he did explain he didn't truly want to touch him, didn't he. From what he'd said, it seems like some kind of weird coping mechanism. There was not enough time to care or suss it out, but now that Miyuki thinks about it...

He's still confused, and is unwilling to ferret out an answer from a source that might just lie to him again. But in case the other boy thinks he's abandoned the backup plan, Miyuki calls back over his shoulder as he opens another drawer: ]

Try again! It doesn't have to be something you think about. If you're sensitive somewhere, we could use that, too.

[ He's trying and mostly succeeding at being as matter of fact about this as possible, but still he has to frown to himself a little there. ]

[Doesn't care if he likes guys? What sort of person is Miyuki? Alois squints at him suspiciously, but his gaze sidles away soon enough, and while Miyuki goes back to looking, the younger boy on the bed idly moves to the edge of it. In his own small way, he tries to help from here, going onto his stomach to hang off the mattress and peer under the bed for a possibly missed escape.

Miyuki's telling him to try again by the time he sits up and onto his own calves, blowing his hair. Sensitive some— It's not the pleasantest of realizations, what occurs to him, and for a moment, he's left either staring owlishly with creeping humility at the back of Miyuki's head or perhaps his very own face if he's looked back. How can he put it where it isn't so... flagrant.

It could be that it's only a little addition, and not at all necessary, which would be, in this situation of no ideal outcomes, the most ideal outcome. This is too much. If Miyuki was a noble visiting the estate before Father's demise, he'd be a cool breeze, unflustered at all, trying to get under Miyuki's skin, if not to embarrass him, then to drive him to violence. Any reaction is nice. But that stupid... The stupid whatever-it-is that's imprisoned them here has left the spotlight on him, and he can hardly stand it. Why didn't they wake at the same time, so he could interrogate Miyuki for similarly shameful answers.

Going over all this in his head, he mechanically reaches over for one of the pillows, slipping the white case off, and then pulling it over his head. There. He can't see Miyuki, so he won't be able to see his expression when he surely says something that's bound to make him vomit.]

The only times I can remember it happening, [shares little Halloween ghost from the bed,] besides waking up to it accidentally, is when I was... very... um. I was overwhelmed, and— [The boy-shape under pillow case hunches, covering his mouth unseen, but must be heard by newly muffled voice:] not able... to think of anything else, because it was too much at one time... And I didn't even like it, it just happened! I didn't mean for it, so whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it right now, I didn't like it.

[ Miyuki hears him moving but doesn't look to see, focused on scouring each inch of each drawer as he moves down the set of them. But again, there isn't much there and it makes it all the more obvious when he doesn't see something useful, when he has to move to the next drawer, and the next, until they dwindle to the last.

Until he's crouching on the floor with nothing but his hands to help him.

Miyuki only looks back over at the sound of shifting fabric, with enough time to see the boy hiding himself. He creates an almost comical image, not unlike a child too young playing hide-and-seek that is unable to imagine the perspective of the seeker and see for themselves they only hide in their head.

It takes but a moment for him to realize the odd action is from embarrassment, and Miyuki allows him it as he listens to the attempt of an explanation. Now, it's all the more important to let him have his securities, as long as Miyuki can extract what he needs. It's not as though the way it muffles the younger boy makes his words any harder to understand than they already are as, for a moment, the vague language leaves Miyuki in complete confusion. But it continues and his brows furrow deeper, as though discerning an outline through a fog. Seeing the beginnings of something incredibly foreign to him, but which he can still recognize.

It was something... beyond the boy's control. Something he didn't want, that was too much for him. That overwhelmed him. ]

... What overwhelmed you?

[ Even his question pulls to free itself from the conclusion he's already drawn, mind lining it all up — the odd vacillations in the boy's behavior and snippets of his words. Though he desperately wishes it wouldn't fit so neatly.

Then he finds himself glancing to the thick words on the monitor again, and yet for the first time as he sees what it truly asks of him. He wasn't to cut a fresh wound, but to revisit one. The moment in which he waits for an answer, heat angry, sick, outraged boils up inside and all the logic of an analytical mind starts to fall apart. That can't be what the boy is saying, can't be what the monitor is ordering him do. This can't be happening.

He doesn't want to fucking believe. ]

Edited (:')) 2017-01-06 23:45 (UTC)

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sorry about the delay, christmas stuff. happy holidays btw!!

you're fine! happy holidays to you, too!!

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