out of the frying pan
Title: Out of the Frying Pan
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kitajima Daichi/Tetsuka Yutaka, Rescue
Summary: Daichi needs help, Yutaka thinks.
Warnings: dubious consent, bloodplay
Notes: So I got ryogrande again (a different exchange though!) and this is what I wrote. Wasn't very ninja, of course. je_levy held my hand and beta-sticked for me, and also wintersdancer did a fair bit of hand-holding too. ♥♥♥
Originally posted here.
Yutaka was worried. It wasn’t just from the everyday stresses of being a Super Ranger. He was worried about Daichi. He’d been more and more withdrawn lately, and Yutaka had no idea why.
Daichi still partnered with him for training exercises, and still joined him in the communal bath afterwards. He still came along for pints after particularly long days. There was just... something off about the other man.
Daichi seemed closed-off, smiles never quite reaching his eyes. The only time he ever seemed to be truly present was when they responded to calls. His eyes lit up, especially eerie when fires reflected from them. It chilled Yutaka to the bone.
He wasn't sure if he should try and talk to Daichi about it; to the rest of their teammates, nothing seemed amiss. Yutaka spent many restless nights, tossing and turning-- it was beginning to affect his own performance. Finally, he had to talk to Daichi; it was the only way he could ease his mind and try to sleep again. They still had a few days on their current shift rotation, so Yutaka had plenty of time to try and work out what he'd say.
*
Yutaka watched Daichi, constantly. He seemed oblivious to all of the worried glances and lingering gazes, and their teammates began to rib Yutaka about it. How could they notice that, yet seem to see nothing strange about Daichi's behavior?
The two of them joined their colleagues at their usual spot. They had pints and traded stories, and Yutaka was challenged to a pull-ups competition. Daichi was silent the entire time. After the last call, Yutaka gathered his courage and asked Daichi to come home with him; the other man had had several beers, so it was logical for them to leave together. Besides, Yutaka's place was closer.
Daichi leaned on him as Yutaka unlocked his door. Maybe he'd had a few too many, but maybe that would loosen his tongue. Daichi was capable of being excruciatingly talkative.
That would be a welcome change from his recent silence.
Yutaka helped Daichi kick off his shoes before removing his own, and helped him stagger to the couch. He'd barely gotten into the kitchen to get them water when Daichi spoke clearly.
"The only thing that does it for me recently is danger."
Yutaka stopped in his tracks. Surely he'd misunderstood. "Wait, what?" he asked, thoroughly confused.
Daichi spoke again, slightly louder. "I only get off on danger."
Every syllable was clearly enunciated; Yutaka hadn't misheard. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to respond to that statement. His mouth was suddenly dry; Yutaka continued to the kitchen for the forgotten water.
“Really,” Daichi continued, voice slightly raised. “Danger, and sometimes when we return from calls I have to jerk off as soon as I possibly can. I’m glad our suits are kind of oversized.”
Yutaka returned, silent as he offered a glass of water to Daichi. When the other man looked up at him, he felt pinned, as if he were a butterfly on display. Daichi’s gaze lingered, roving up and down the length of Yutaka’s body. He felt a chill, and tugged his shirt closer around himself.
“Sometimes I even think of what you’d look like, covered in blood. Your own, of course, and not from any really life-threatening injuries.”
Yutaka swallowed. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. Daichi kept on.
“Sometimes I think of hurting you myself. You’d let me, right? We’re friends, have been for a long time.” He paused to laugh, the sound somehow flat. “Besides, we already know first aid.”
What Daichi said did make some sort of sense.
“You trust me, right?”
“Yes.” The agreement spilled from his mouth unthinkingly. Daichi smirked, a strange expression for him. Usually he was solemn, or wore a reassuring smile. This was nothing like him.
Daichi dug in his pockets, and pulled something out. He flicked it, and in the dim light shining from the kitchen, it glinted as it opened. A knife.
Yutaka stilled. He wasn’t sure what to do. Daichi began speaking again, words soft and enticing.
“You’ll be fine,” he whispered. “I’d stay away from major arteries and veins. I wouldn’t cut you deeply. Just enough to feel again. You’d help me with that, right?”
The near-pleading note as Daichi quietened broke Yutaka’s resolve. He’d really do anything to help his friend; surely Daichi would do the same for him. Yutaka couldn’t find his words, and simply nodded. It felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, anyway.
Suddenly Daichi didn’t seem anywhere near as drunk as he’d appeared when they left the bar. He rose in one fluid motion, naked knife blade still shining. The arm not occupied with the knife slung itself across Yutaka’s shoulders, and Daichi leaned in close, hot breath on his skin.
“Come on, Yutaka. Take me to your room. It’s the only way you can help me.”
Yutaka slowly nodded, gingerly wrapping an arm around Daichi’s waist. They walked slowly to the bedroom; this had to have been one of the longest walks through his apartment. Yutaka was torn between being completely terrified and completely turned on. What was wrong with him?
There was no more time for trying to rationalize things. Daichi pushed Yutaka toward his bed, not very roughly, but not very gently, either. The only light in the room leaked through the slats of the blinds, and Yutaka had never been more afraid of the dark.
“I’d suggest you get naked, Yutaka. I’d hate to have to ruin your clothes, you know.”
The veiled threat sent shivers down his spine, and Yutaka hurried to comply. He let his clothes fall in a pile next to the bed, and waited for orders. Daichi was silent as he closed the distance between them; he wrapped his arms around Yutaka in what would have been a tender embrace. It was marred by the knife edge being dragged down the center of his chest and Daichi's still-clothed erection rutting against him.
"Perfect," Daichi whispered against the nape of his neck. "Lay down now, on your back for me."
Daichi let go of him, and Yutaka crawled onto his bed. He moved slowly, afraid that showing his fear would make things worse, if Daichi wasn't already fully aware. The hammering of his heart against his ribs had felt very loud, and Daichi had been pressed flush against him.
Yutaka climbed up after him, the rough denim of his jeans grazing along his hips, and to his horror, his own erection. He hadn't been aware of it; Daichi chuckled down at him with a knowing grin on his shadowed face.
"Knew you'd be able to help me. It will be best if you hold still." Somehow, Daichi sounded dreamy as he spoke. Yutaka couldn't keep from moaning in response; the sound echoed in his head.
The tip of the knife returned as Daichi sat up and straddled Yutaka's hips. At first, it was a barely-there touch; the further up Yutaka's chest it got, though, the more firmly Daichi pressed down. It broke the skin, a pinprick jolt of pain, and Yutaka gasped.
Yutaka imagined he could feel the individual droplets of blood well up, and he tried to control his breathing. He risked a glance down, feeling himself blanch at the tip of the knife dragging through his skin. It didn't stop his dick from throbbing.
He wasn't sure if that was the most distressing part of his evening or not.
Daichi continued to drag the knife along his collar bones, and Yutaka imagined he had a good idea of what an autopsy would be like firsthand.
Finally Daichi seemed to tire of cutting thin lines into Yutaka's chest and abdomen. He dropped the knife on the bedside table. Then Daichi dragged his fingers through the still-seeping blood; Yutaka writhed against it. He tried not to think of how it felt, how soothing Daichi’s touch was, even when he paused to wriggle a fingertip against the deeper cuts.
That didn’t seem to hold his attention for very long, and soon Daichi leaned forward to drag his tongue along the center of Yutaka’s sternum. “Delicious,” he murmured, pressing his bloodied lips to Yutaka’s. He tried to shy away, but a hand held him firmly in place by the chin. “Ah, didn’t say you could go anywhere. You’re doing so well, helping me.”
The hand on his chin moved to his lips, fingers stroking before wiggling their way in.
“Suck.”
Yutaka did, earnestly dragging his tongue along the digits in his mouth. From the little light shining in the room, he could see how content Daichi looked, eyes hooded as he gazed down. Maybe this was what Daichi needed; maybe he’d be back to his usual self in the morning.
Daichi pulled his hand away, loosely wrapping his wet fingers around Yutaka, lightly stroking him. He tried to keep from arching into the touch, but it was unsuccessful. A chuckle from Daichi had him flush; he wondered if it was visible in the dim light. When Daichi pulled away, Yutaka bit back a whine of protest; when he realized that the other was digging in his pocket, his whines turned to moans.
A tiny click signalled that Daichi had opened something; his touch returned much cooler and much more slick. He completely bypassed Yutaka’s dick, fingers delving along his crease. The touch was almost gentle; it was almost as if this was how Daichi would do it under less-bloody circumstances. Yutaka shuddered as a single calloused finger circled his rim once before pressing in.
Once Daichi had worked him open, he sped up, fingers less gentle as he spread them apart. Yutaka gritted his teeth, unable to keep from thrashing. Shockingly soon, the burn had lessened and tipped from pain to pleasure, and Daichi looked satisfied. He pulled his fingers out of Yutaka, wiping them on his jeans before unfastening them and shoving them down his hips. He paused long enough to slick himself before grabbing and holding Yutaka’s thighs apart.
“You’ll want to take a deep breath and relax, I think,” he said.
Yutaka nodded, breath whooshing out in a gasp as Daichi pressed in. He paused for a brief moment, but it wasn’t gentle. Yutaka very nearly forgot how to breathe, unable to do more than hang on as Daichi fucked him.
Daichi’s rhythm became more and more erratic, though he seemed to have enough presence of mind to wrap a hand around Yutaka’s neglected cock. He grip was tight, palm almost too dry to be comfortable, and Yutaka tried to visualize what this scene would be like if Daichi was more gentle, touch softer and more lingering.
It was distressing to realize that it wouldn’t be the same, not as thrilling, and Yutaka cried out as his orgasm overtook him by surprise. He didn’t have time to try and rationalize those thoughts; Daichi was still fucking him, and it was overwhelming, to say the least, especially when Daichi abruptly pulled out. Yutaka gasped as he felt warm semen splash onto his thighs and lower belly.
Daichi flopped to the side, seemingly completely spent as his eyes fell shut. Yutaka tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing to a slower, less prone to hyperventilating rate, and slowly turned his head to stare.
Daichi seemed to be asleep. Yutaka waited until he counted to one hundred, and then got out of bed gingerly. He crept into his bathroom, leaving the door cracked and the light off as he showered quickly. The soap stung the myriad cuts on his chest, but he resolutely refrained from looking down at them. It wouldn’t do to dwell on them; he just needed to make sure they were cleaned.
Just as quickly as he’d showered, Yutaka dried off, still careful of his wounds. The glimpse he caught in the mirror wasn’t nearly as grisly as he’d expected, and Yutaka didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. He hung his towel up and crept to his dresser, pulling on a soft t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Then he returned to his bedside, staring for a moment.
He could leave Daichi as he’d passed out, dishevelled and bloodstained, or risk waking him up by wiping him clean and tucking him back into his pants. Yutaka couldn’t leave him a mess, and crept back into the bathroom for a washcloth. He wiped Daichi down and righted his clothes, carefully working the lube and knife into a pocket, and then crawled back into bed, huddling under his sheets.
*
Morning came, casting butter-yellow light across the bed. Daichi was the first to stir, and Yutaka was awoken by a gentle hand jostling his shoulder.
“Yutaka?” Daichi sounded confused. His eyes were wide, surprised a bit. “Did we...?”
Yutaka shuddered.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kitajima Daichi/Tetsuka Yutaka, Rescue
Summary: Daichi needs help, Yutaka thinks.
Warnings: dubious consent, bloodplay
Notes: So I got ryogrande again (a different exchange though!) and this is what I wrote. Wasn't very ninja, of course. je_levy held my hand and beta-sticked for me, and also wintersdancer did a fair bit of hand-holding too. ♥♥♥
Originally posted here.
Yutaka was worried. It wasn’t just from the everyday stresses of being a Super Ranger. He was worried about Daichi. He’d been more and more withdrawn lately, and Yutaka had no idea why.
Daichi still partnered with him for training exercises, and still joined him in the communal bath afterwards. He still came along for pints after particularly long days. There was just... something off about the other man.
Daichi seemed closed-off, smiles never quite reaching his eyes. The only time he ever seemed to be truly present was when they responded to calls. His eyes lit up, especially eerie when fires reflected from them. It chilled Yutaka to the bone.
He wasn't sure if he should try and talk to Daichi about it; to the rest of their teammates, nothing seemed amiss. Yutaka spent many restless nights, tossing and turning-- it was beginning to affect his own performance. Finally, he had to talk to Daichi; it was the only way he could ease his mind and try to sleep again. They still had a few days on their current shift rotation, so Yutaka had plenty of time to try and work out what he'd say.
*
Yutaka watched Daichi, constantly. He seemed oblivious to all of the worried glances and lingering gazes, and their teammates began to rib Yutaka about it. How could they notice that, yet seem to see nothing strange about Daichi's behavior?
The two of them joined their colleagues at their usual spot. They had pints and traded stories, and Yutaka was challenged to a pull-ups competition. Daichi was silent the entire time. After the last call, Yutaka gathered his courage and asked Daichi to come home with him; the other man had had several beers, so it was logical for them to leave together. Besides, Yutaka's place was closer.
Daichi leaned on him as Yutaka unlocked his door. Maybe he'd had a few too many, but maybe that would loosen his tongue. Daichi was capable of being excruciatingly talkative.
That would be a welcome change from his recent silence.
Yutaka helped Daichi kick off his shoes before removing his own, and helped him stagger to the couch. He'd barely gotten into the kitchen to get them water when Daichi spoke clearly.
"The only thing that does it for me recently is danger."
Yutaka stopped in his tracks. Surely he'd misunderstood. "Wait, what?" he asked, thoroughly confused.
Daichi spoke again, slightly louder. "I only get off on danger."
Every syllable was clearly enunciated; Yutaka hadn't misheard. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to respond to that statement. His mouth was suddenly dry; Yutaka continued to the kitchen for the forgotten water.
“Really,” Daichi continued, voice slightly raised. “Danger, and sometimes when we return from calls I have to jerk off as soon as I possibly can. I’m glad our suits are kind of oversized.”
Yutaka returned, silent as he offered a glass of water to Daichi. When the other man looked up at him, he felt pinned, as if he were a butterfly on display. Daichi’s gaze lingered, roving up and down the length of Yutaka’s body. He felt a chill, and tugged his shirt closer around himself.
“Sometimes I even think of what you’d look like, covered in blood. Your own, of course, and not from any really life-threatening injuries.”
Yutaka swallowed. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. Daichi kept on.
“Sometimes I think of hurting you myself. You’d let me, right? We’re friends, have been for a long time.” He paused to laugh, the sound somehow flat. “Besides, we already know first aid.”
What Daichi said did make some sort of sense.
“You trust me, right?”
“Yes.” The agreement spilled from his mouth unthinkingly. Daichi smirked, a strange expression for him. Usually he was solemn, or wore a reassuring smile. This was nothing like him.
Daichi dug in his pockets, and pulled something out. He flicked it, and in the dim light shining from the kitchen, it glinted as it opened. A knife.
Yutaka stilled. He wasn’t sure what to do. Daichi began speaking again, words soft and enticing.
“You’ll be fine,” he whispered. “I’d stay away from major arteries and veins. I wouldn’t cut you deeply. Just enough to feel again. You’d help me with that, right?”
The near-pleading note as Daichi quietened broke Yutaka’s resolve. He’d really do anything to help his friend; surely Daichi would do the same for him. Yutaka couldn’t find his words, and simply nodded. It felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, anyway.
Suddenly Daichi didn’t seem anywhere near as drunk as he’d appeared when they left the bar. He rose in one fluid motion, naked knife blade still shining. The arm not occupied with the knife slung itself across Yutaka’s shoulders, and Daichi leaned in close, hot breath on his skin.
“Come on, Yutaka. Take me to your room. It’s the only way you can help me.”
Yutaka slowly nodded, gingerly wrapping an arm around Daichi’s waist. They walked slowly to the bedroom; this had to have been one of the longest walks through his apartment. Yutaka was torn between being completely terrified and completely turned on. What was wrong with him?
There was no more time for trying to rationalize things. Daichi pushed Yutaka toward his bed, not very roughly, but not very gently, either. The only light in the room leaked through the slats of the blinds, and Yutaka had never been more afraid of the dark.
“I’d suggest you get naked, Yutaka. I’d hate to have to ruin your clothes, you know.”
The veiled threat sent shivers down his spine, and Yutaka hurried to comply. He let his clothes fall in a pile next to the bed, and waited for orders. Daichi was silent as he closed the distance between them; he wrapped his arms around Yutaka in what would have been a tender embrace. It was marred by the knife edge being dragged down the center of his chest and Daichi's still-clothed erection rutting against him.
"Perfect," Daichi whispered against the nape of his neck. "Lay down now, on your back for me."
Daichi let go of him, and Yutaka crawled onto his bed. He moved slowly, afraid that showing his fear would make things worse, if Daichi wasn't already fully aware. The hammering of his heart against his ribs had felt very loud, and Daichi had been pressed flush against him.
Yutaka climbed up after him, the rough denim of his jeans grazing along his hips, and to his horror, his own erection. He hadn't been aware of it; Daichi chuckled down at him with a knowing grin on his shadowed face.
"Knew you'd be able to help me. It will be best if you hold still." Somehow, Daichi sounded dreamy as he spoke. Yutaka couldn't keep from moaning in response; the sound echoed in his head.
The tip of the knife returned as Daichi sat up and straddled Yutaka's hips. At first, it was a barely-there touch; the further up Yutaka's chest it got, though, the more firmly Daichi pressed down. It broke the skin, a pinprick jolt of pain, and Yutaka gasped.
Yutaka imagined he could feel the individual droplets of blood well up, and he tried to control his breathing. He risked a glance down, feeling himself blanch at the tip of the knife dragging through his skin. It didn't stop his dick from throbbing.
He wasn't sure if that was the most distressing part of his evening or not.
Daichi continued to drag the knife along his collar bones, and Yutaka imagined he had a good idea of what an autopsy would be like firsthand.
Finally Daichi seemed to tire of cutting thin lines into Yutaka's chest and abdomen. He dropped the knife on the bedside table. Then Daichi dragged his fingers through the still-seeping blood; Yutaka writhed against it. He tried not to think of how it felt, how soothing Daichi’s touch was, even when he paused to wriggle a fingertip against the deeper cuts.
That didn’t seem to hold his attention for very long, and soon Daichi leaned forward to drag his tongue along the center of Yutaka’s sternum. “Delicious,” he murmured, pressing his bloodied lips to Yutaka’s. He tried to shy away, but a hand held him firmly in place by the chin. “Ah, didn’t say you could go anywhere. You’re doing so well, helping me.”
The hand on his chin moved to his lips, fingers stroking before wiggling their way in.
“Suck.”
Yutaka did, earnestly dragging his tongue along the digits in his mouth. From the little light shining in the room, he could see how content Daichi looked, eyes hooded as he gazed down. Maybe this was what Daichi needed; maybe he’d be back to his usual self in the morning.
Daichi pulled his hand away, loosely wrapping his wet fingers around Yutaka, lightly stroking him. He tried to keep from arching into the touch, but it was unsuccessful. A chuckle from Daichi had him flush; he wondered if it was visible in the dim light. When Daichi pulled away, Yutaka bit back a whine of protest; when he realized that the other was digging in his pocket, his whines turned to moans.
A tiny click signalled that Daichi had opened something; his touch returned much cooler and much more slick. He completely bypassed Yutaka’s dick, fingers delving along his crease. The touch was almost gentle; it was almost as if this was how Daichi would do it under less-bloody circumstances. Yutaka shuddered as a single calloused finger circled his rim once before pressing in.
Once Daichi had worked him open, he sped up, fingers less gentle as he spread them apart. Yutaka gritted his teeth, unable to keep from thrashing. Shockingly soon, the burn had lessened and tipped from pain to pleasure, and Daichi looked satisfied. He pulled his fingers out of Yutaka, wiping them on his jeans before unfastening them and shoving them down his hips. He paused long enough to slick himself before grabbing and holding Yutaka’s thighs apart.
“You’ll want to take a deep breath and relax, I think,” he said.
Yutaka nodded, breath whooshing out in a gasp as Daichi pressed in. He paused for a brief moment, but it wasn’t gentle. Yutaka very nearly forgot how to breathe, unable to do more than hang on as Daichi fucked him.
Daichi’s rhythm became more and more erratic, though he seemed to have enough presence of mind to wrap a hand around Yutaka’s neglected cock. He grip was tight, palm almost too dry to be comfortable, and Yutaka tried to visualize what this scene would be like if Daichi was more gentle, touch softer and more lingering.
It was distressing to realize that it wouldn’t be the same, not as thrilling, and Yutaka cried out as his orgasm overtook him by surprise. He didn’t have time to try and rationalize those thoughts; Daichi was still fucking him, and it was overwhelming, to say the least, especially when Daichi abruptly pulled out. Yutaka gasped as he felt warm semen splash onto his thighs and lower belly.
Daichi flopped to the side, seemingly completely spent as his eyes fell shut. Yutaka tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing to a slower, less prone to hyperventilating rate, and slowly turned his head to stare.
Daichi seemed to be asleep. Yutaka waited until he counted to one hundred, and then got out of bed gingerly. He crept into his bathroom, leaving the door cracked and the light off as he showered quickly. The soap stung the myriad cuts on his chest, but he resolutely refrained from looking down at them. It wouldn’t do to dwell on them; he just needed to make sure they were cleaned.
Just as quickly as he’d showered, Yutaka dried off, still careful of his wounds. The glimpse he caught in the mirror wasn’t nearly as grisly as he’d expected, and Yutaka didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed. He hung his towel up and crept to his dresser, pulling on a soft t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Then he returned to his bedside, staring for a moment.
He could leave Daichi as he’d passed out, dishevelled and bloodstained, or risk waking him up by wiping him clean and tucking him back into his pants. Yutaka couldn’t leave him a mess, and crept back into the bathroom for a washcloth. He wiped Daichi down and righted his clothes, carefully working the lube and knife into a pocket, and then crawled back into bed, huddling under his sheets.
*
Morning came, casting butter-yellow light across the bed. Daichi was the first to stir, and Yutaka was awoken by a gentle hand jostling his shoulder.
“Yutaka?” Daichi sounded confused. His eyes were wide, surprised a bit. “Did we...?”
Yutaka shuddered.