Hollow
Title: Hollow
Pairing: Koyama/Shige
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,977
Summary: (It’s AU because that makes me feel better about the whole thing.) They were fast, efficient, these men who poured out of the van into the dark street and grabbed them mid-laugh, wrapping gloved hands over mouths and dragging them into the vehicle before pressing foul-smelling cloths over their faces and everything went black.
Warning: Yes, this one gets a warning. Dark. Kidnapping, forced sex. I don’t know where these are coming from but I guess I said I wanted to write dark!fic on this pic and randomly got my prompt in a not dark conversation with budiamond . This is for her.
They were fast, efficient, these men who poured out of the van into the dark street and grabbed them mid-laugh, wrapping gloved hands over mouths and dragging them into the vehicle before pressing foul-smelling cloths over their faces and everything went black.
When Koyama woke, his eyes tried to focus blearily on the dim light of the ceiling fixture. He waited several minutes for the light to get brighter but when it didn’t he sat up to look around. It was a bad idea - he slumped back to the mattress, grabbing his head and moaning. At the noise, Shige woke up and Koyama turned to his side to lay his head on Shige’s shoulder while they waited for their heads to clear.
Hours later, some men came in with bowls of rice and paper cups of strange-tasting lukewarm water, no chopsticks.
“Who are you?” Koyama tried to ask. “Why are we here?” But they ignored him and he and Shige ate in silence.
At 2 o’clock, according to Shige’s watch though they didn’t know if it was a.m. or p.m., they didn’t find out who the men were, but they found out why they were there.
“Take off your clothes.” The two exchanged fearful looks before starting to strip down while trying to ignore the wicked-looking knife the speaker held. One of the men held a camera, the red light on. “Shut the hell up!” the man yelled when Koyama shakily tried to ask what was going on. They stood there, uncertain and naked and then the man with the knife came up fast, grabbing Koyama’s hair with the same hand that held the knife and shoving him down to his knees. A thick plastic ring was thrust into his hand and Koyama wildly thought it was a ponytail holder for a minute before his eyes went wide.
“Suck him,” someone said and Koyama shook his head violently, not caring about the pain as the grip on his hair tightened. Knife man casually lifted his free hand and slapped Shige hard, watching emotionlessly as Shige’s eyes filled with tears and he held his cheek.
“You don’t have to, Koyama,” he forced out. “It’s ok, you don’t have to.” The man slapped him again.
“Ok!” Koyama capitulated. “Ok.” He blinked uncontrollably and reached out to grasp Shige’s limp cock. He expressly refused to look up before leaning forward and licking experimentally. His thoughts were sluggish, half-formed snippets of God, why, Shige, wrong, don’t want but the reverberation in his mind of the ringing slap against Shige’s cheek, knowing it could get worse, kept him moving. Koyama slowly sucked Shige into his mouth and Shige groaned, embarrassed and angry at himself as his penis began to engorge.
“Put it on.”
Shige was confused until Koyama withdrew his mouth and fumbled the ring over and down Shige’s semi-erection.
“Go on,” camera man urged him and knife man pushed Koyama’s head forward.
Koyama swallowed, licked his lips, and then closed them over Shige’s erection, bobbing shallowly for a moment. He kept his eyes screwed shut and his free hand at his side until knife man started pushing him back and forth a little, forcing him to place the hand on Shige’s hip for balance. Shige was whimpering above him and Koyama breathed out hard, quick breaths through his nose, fighting tears.
“Deeper,” someone barked and Koyama tried to, but it wasn’t enough and he was shoved forward and held in place, his gag reflex working double time, saliva slipping down his chin, choking, and Shige making mutilated cries in the back of his throat as Koyama’s fluttered around him. “Damn, that’s pretty,” someone said. The men laughed and the hand in his hair released. And he fell backward, hand flying to his mouth and trembling as he tried to breathe and wipe his face as he coughed violently.
He looked up at Shige, then, and the man’s head was tipped back, his eyes and mouth squeezed tightly closed, fists clenched against his side. When he tried to sit up, a foot landed on his chest.
“Stay down there,” the man said with a smirk.
Shige’s eyes flew open at that and he was somewhat relieved when he saw that Koyama wasn’t being forced to do something else, just being held down.
“Please,” Koyama pleaded. “Please, just let us go. Please, just let us go.” He begged, over and over, voice high and frightened, Shige joining in until the foot on Koyama’s chest pushed hard enough to rob him of his breath and Shige was prodded from behind, toward Koyama, and knife man kicked apart Koyama’s knees.
“Down.”
Shige kneeled carefully between Koyama’s legs, panic mounting in his chest and rising to choke him when a small jar of something slick-looking was placed next to Koyama’s knee. He stared blindly at the object for several moments, trying not to throw up.
“Do it. If you don’t, I will, and I don’t care if it hurts,” the man with the camera threatened, his free hand moving to the button of his jeans.
Shige bit his lower lip to stop the trembling and looked at Koyama - saw his own horror and fear written in his eyes. But Koyama nodded once and closed his eyes, trying to relax against the floor. Shige dipped a finger into the jar and spread it over his fingers. But when he moved his fingers hesitantly toward Koyama’s ass, he was slapped in the head.
“No. Just you.”
Shige fought back a sob and moved to lube his stiff erection, avoiding the ring at the base. Guiding himself to Koyama’s entrance he paused just before contact and looked up to Koyama’s face again, pinched, with tears streaming, before pushing in as slow as he thought he was allowed.
~~~
Finally, the men left, tossing them an old t-shirt to clean up with and locking the door behind them. Shige didn’t know how long he sat there after getting dressed, hugging his knees and watching Koyama shudder, curled up on his side on the futon, back facing him. Koyama’s crying kept getting louder until he was outright sobbing and Shige wanted to hold him but was afraid to touch him. He stood up anyway. “Koyama,” he said hesitantly and moved to kneel next to him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He lay down carefully on his back next to his friend on the thin mattress, eyes wide. It felt like hours passed before Koyama rolled over to place an arm around Shige and only then was he able to cry, his sobs about as broken as he was.
After they were woken - booted toes digging into their sides - and ate, they huddled together in the corner of the room. Koyama was squatting, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes closed, and pressed up as close against the wall as he could get. Shige squatted half in front of him, carefully watching his timepiece.
“How long do you think,” Koyama asked thickly, “’til they start looking for us?”
“Twenty-four hours from the last time we were seen.” His voice sounded dead and he hated it.
“…How long has it been?”
“I don’t know how long we were out,” Shige said, shaking his head. “But at shortest, it’s been thirteen hours.”
Koyama nodded absently and shifted a bit.
They got rice and water every eight hours, sometimes cold miso soup, and Shige was going crazy trying to figure out whether it was day or night. Stupid, yes, but something to focus on. Twice a day the men came in, sometimes two men, sometimes three, sometimes more, with their camera, its red eye balefully staring at them as they did despicable things to each other in the dimness. For what it was worth, Shige was grateful none of them actually interacted sexually with them. He didn’t think he could take it if one of the men forced themselves on Koyama.
He sort of shoved it all into a corner of his brain and focused on everything else; the lumps in the futon, the slightly lemony scent that wafted in sometimes from the vent in the ceiling, the steady rise and fall of Koyama’s chest during the night while he slept but Shige didn’t. He worried, though, when Koyama stopped eating on the fourth day. That day he coaxed his friend gently, pressing rice-sticky fingers against the man’s mouth until he opened his lips or holding the bowl of miso soup to his lips until he drank. On the sixth day, Koyama refused to open his mouth and Shige’s nerves were so shot from five nights of no sleep that he couldn’t get his hands and brain to communicate enough to force him to eat and he cried.
On the next visit, Koyama surprised everyone, himself included from the expression on his face, when he rushed the man with the knife and started pummeling him. Kicking, scratching, biting until he was thrown off forcefully and kicked repeatedly before Shige lay over him and took the beating for him. They left them alone that time, but not the next.
“Do they stop looking, Shige?” Koyama rasped at him from where he was curled in Shige’s lap.
“No.”
“…Why don’t they ever turn off the light, Shige?”
“Go to sleep.” He ran his hands mindlessly through his friend’s hair.
“…You sleep.”
Shige sighed and stretched out next to Koyama, turning in to face him. He looped an arm over Koyama’s waist and Koyama flattened his hand against Shige’s chest. A tear trailed sideways down Koyama’s cheek and Shige leaned forward, mesmerized, and licked it off. Koyama let out a choked sob and lifted his head to press his lips against Shige’s. Shige felt like he should be feeling something specific about this but it was warm, so he pressed closer against Koyama and softly kissed him back.
On day eight the men came two hours early for food but they were different men and dressed in black and Koyama cowered back against the corner, Shige standing squarely in front of him. The men whispered among themselves and one stepped forward. “Kato Shigeaki?”
Shige nodded carefully and the man breathed a loud sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he said and pulled out his badge. “Thank god. Is that Koyama Keiichiro?” Shige nodded and stepped back to wrap an arm around Koyama. “It’s ok,” another man said. “We’ve cleared the building. You’re ok. Thank god.”
“Thank god,” Koyama faintly echoed, clutching Shige, but it sounded hollow to him.
~~~
Watching Koyama pick at his ramen, their feet touching under the table, Shige remembered how much the man had loved rice. Shoveling it in and eating twice as much as anyone else, talking around huge mouthfuls with a smile in his eyes. He wouldn’t touch it now. They spent a lot of silent time together, these days. In the viewing room, shoulders pressed together as they identified knife man and camera man and others behind the two-way mirror. In the courtroom, sitting close, hands overlapping between them. In the living room, on Koyama’s mother’s couch, Koyama would lay with his head in Shige’s lap and stare blankly at the variety show, missing all the cues to laugh but suddenly laughing mechanically at nothing at all. But it was ok; Shige didn’t feel like laughing in the right places either. Koyama couldn’t bear to be away from Shige and at night he would practically melt against him, fusing their mouths together. Shige knew he should be feeling something specific about this but it was warm, so he pressed closer against Koyama and softly kissed him back.
“It’s ok. It’s all over. They’re in jail,” people said, all smiles, when the case was over.
But it wasn’t, he thought, when he pushed carefully into Koyama that night and felt nothing but heat.
Pairing: Koyama/Shige
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,977
Summary: (It’s AU because that makes me feel better about the whole thing.) They were fast, efficient, these men who poured out of the van into the dark street and grabbed them mid-laugh, wrapping gloved hands over mouths and dragging them into the vehicle before pressing foul-smelling cloths over their faces and everything went black.
Warning: Yes, this one gets a warning. Dark. Kidnapping, forced sex. I don’t know where these are coming from but I guess I said I wanted to write dark!fic on this pic and randomly got my prompt in a not dark conversation with budiamond . This is for her.
They were fast, efficient, these men who poured out of the van into the dark street and grabbed them mid-laugh, wrapping gloved hands over mouths and dragging them into the vehicle before pressing foul-smelling cloths over their faces and everything went black.
When Koyama woke, his eyes tried to focus blearily on the dim light of the ceiling fixture. He waited several minutes for the light to get brighter but when it didn’t he sat up to look around. It was a bad idea - he slumped back to the mattress, grabbing his head and moaning. At the noise, Shige woke up and Koyama turned to his side to lay his head on Shige’s shoulder while they waited for their heads to clear.
Hours later, some men came in with bowls of rice and paper cups of strange-tasting lukewarm water, no chopsticks.
“Who are you?” Koyama tried to ask. “Why are we here?” But they ignored him and he and Shige ate in silence.
At 2 o’clock, according to Shige’s watch though they didn’t know if it was a.m. or p.m., they didn’t find out who the men were, but they found out why they were there.
“Take off your clothes.” The two exchanged fearful looks before starting to strip down while trying to ignore the wicked-looking knife the speaker held. One of the men held a camera, the red light on. “Shut the hell up!” the man yelled when Koyama shakily tried to ask what was going on. They stood there, uncertain and naked and then the man with the knife came up fast, grabbing Koyama’s hair with the same hand that held the knife and shoving him down to his knees. A thick plastic ring was thrust into his hand and Koyama wildly thought it was a ponytail holder for a minute before his eyes went wide.
“Suck him,” someone said and Koyama shook his head violently, not caring about the pain as the grip on his hair tightened. Knife man casually lifted his free hand and slapped Shige hard, watching emotionlessly as Shige’s eyes filled with tears and he held his cheek.
“You don’t have to, Koyama,” he forced out. “It’s ok, you don’t have to.” The man slapped him again.
“Ok!” Koyama capitulated. “Ok.” He blinked uncontrollably and reached out to grasp Shige’s limp cock. He expressly refused to look up before leaning forward and licking experimentally. His thoughts were sluggish, half-formed snippets of God, why, Shige, wrong, don’t want but the reverberation in his mind of the ringing slap against Shige’s cheek, knowing it could get worse, kept him moving. Koyama slowly sucked Shige into his mouth and Shige groaned, embarrassed and angry at himself as his penis began to engorge.
“Put it on.”
Shige was confused until Koyama withdrew his mouth and fumbled the ring over and down Shige’s semi-erection.
“Go on,” camera man urged him and knife man pushed Koyama’s head forward.
Koyama swallowed, licked his lips, and then closed them over Shige’s erection, bobbing shallowly for a moment. He kept his eyes screwed shut and his free hand at his side until knife man started pushing him back and forth a little, forcing him to place the hand on Shige’s hip for balance. Shige was whimpering above him and Koyama breathed out hard, quick breaths through his nose, fighting tears.
“Deeper,” someone barked and Koyama tried to, but it wasn’t enough and he was shoved forward and held in place, his gag reflex working double time, saliva slipping down his chin, choking, and Shige making mutilated cries in the back of his throat as Koyama’s fluttered around him. “Damn, that’s pretty,” someone said. The men laughed and the hand in his hair released. And he fell backward, hand flying to his mouth and trembling as he tried to breathe and wipe his face as he coughed violently.
He looked up at Shige, then, and the man’s head was tipped back, his eyes and mouth squeezed tightly closed, fists clenched against his side. When he tried to sit up, a foot landed on his chest.
“Stay down there,” the man said with a smirk.
Shige’s eyes flew open at that and he was somewhat relieved when he saw that Koyama wasn’t being forced to do something else, just being held down.
“Please,” Koyama pleaded. “Please, just let us go. Please, just let us go.” He begged, over and over, voice high and frightened, Shige joining in until the foot on Koyama’s chest pushed hard enough to rob him of his breath and Shige was prodded from behind, toward Koyama, and knife man kicked apart Koyama’s knees.
“Down.”
Shige kneeled carefully between Koyama’s legs, panic mounting in his chest and rising to choke him when a small jar of something slick-looking was placed next to Koyama’s knee. He stared blindly at the object for several moments, trying not to throw up.
“Do it. If you don’t, I will, and I don’t care if it hurts,” the man with the camera threatened, his free hand moving to the button of his jeans.
Shige bit his lower lip to stop the trembling and looked at Koyama - saw his own horror and fear written in his eyes. But Koyama nodded once and closed his eyes, trying to relax against the floor. Shige dipped a finger into the jar and spread it over his fingers. But when he moved his fingers hesitantly toward Koyama’s ass, he was slapped in the head.
“No. Just you.”
Shige fought back a sob and moved to lube his stiff erection, avoiding the ring at the base. Guiding himself to Koyama’s entrance he paused just before contact and looked up to Koyama’s face again, pinched, with tears streaming, before pushing in as slow as he thought he was allowed.
~~~
Finally, the men left, tossing them an old t-shirt to clean up with and locking the door behind them. Shige didn’t know how long he sat there after getting dressed, hugging his knees and watching Koyama shudder, curled up on his side on the futon, back facing him. Koyama’s crying kept getting louder until he was outright sobbing and Shige wanted to hold him but was afraid to touch him. He stood up anyway. “Koyama,” he said hesitantly and moved to kneel next to him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He lay down carefully on his back next to his friend on the thin mattress, eyes wide. It felt like hours passed before Koyama rolled over to place an arm around Shige and only then was he able to cry, his sobs about as broken as he was.
After they were woken - booted toes digging into their sides - and ate, they huddled together in the corner of the room. Koyama was squatting, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes closed, and pressed up as close against the wall as he could get. Shige squatted half in front of him, carefully watching his timepiece.
“How long do you think,” Koyama asked thickly, “’til they start looking for us?”
“Twenty-four hours from the last time we were seen.” His voice sounded dead and he hated it.
“…How long has it been?”
“I don’t know how long we were out,” Shige said, shaking his head. “But at shortest, it’s been thirteen hours.”
Koyama nodded absently and shifted a bit.
They got rice and water every eight hours, sometimes cold miso soup, and Shige was going crazy trying to figure out whether it was day or night. Stupid, yes, but something to focus on. Twice a day the men came in, sometimes two men, sometimes three, sometimes more, with their camera, its red eye balefully staring at them as they did despicable things to each other in the dimness. For what it was worth, Shige was grateful none of them actually interacted sexually with them. He didn’t think he could take it if one of the men forced themselves on Koyama.
He sort of shoved it all into a corner of his brain and focused on everything else; the lumps in the futon, the slightly lemony scent that wafted in sometimes from the vent in the ceiling, the steady rise and fall of Koyama’s chest during the night while he slept but Shige didn’t. He worried, though, when Koyama stopped eating on the fourth day. That day he coaxed his friend gently, pressing rice-sticky fingers against the man’s mouth until he opened his lips or holding the bowl of miso soup to his lips until he drank. On the sixth day, Koyama refused to open his mouth and Shige’s nerves were so shot from five nights of no sleep that he couldn’t get his hands and brain to communicate enough to force him to eat and he cried.
On the next visit, Koyama surprised everyone, himself included from the expression on his face, when he rushed the man with the knife and started pummeling him. Kicking, scratching, biting until he was thrown off forcefully and kicked repeatedly before Shige lay over him and took the beating for him. They left them alone that time, but not the next.
“Do they stop looking, Shige?” Koyama rasped at him from where he was curled in Shige’s lap.
“No.”
“…Why don’t they ever turn off the light, Shige?”
“Go to sleep.” He ran his hands mindlessly through his friend’s hair.
“…You sleep.”
Shige sighed and stretched out next to Koyama, turning in to face him. He looped an arm over Koyama’s waist and Koyama flattened his hand against Shige’s chest. A tear trailed sideways down Koyama’s cheek and Shige leaned forward, mesmerized, and licked it off. Koyama let out a choked sob and lifted his head to press his lips against Shige’s. Shige felt like he should be feeling something specific about this but it was warm, so he pressed closer against Koyama and softly kissed him back.
On day eight the men came two hours early for food but they were different men and dressed in black and Koyama cowered back against the corner, Shige standing squarely in front of him. The men whispered among themselves and one stepped forward. “Kato Shigeaki?”
Shige nodded carefully and the man breathed a loud sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he said and pulled out his badge. “Thank god. Is that Koyama Keiichiro?” Shige nodded and stepped back to wrap an arm around Koyama. “It’s ok,” another man said. “We’ve cleared the building. You’re ok. Thank god.”
“Thank god,” Koyama faintly echoed, clutching Shige, but it sounded hollow to him.
~~~
Watching Koyama pick at his ramen, their feet touching under the table, Shige remembered how much the man had loved rice. Shoveling it in and eating twice as much as anyone else, talking around huge mouthfuls with a smile in his eyes. He wouldn’t touch it now. They spent a lot of silent time together, these days. In the viewing room, shoulders pressed together as they identified knife man and camera man and others behind the two-way mirror. In the courtroom, sitting close, hands overlapping between them. In the living room, on Koyama’s mother’s couch, Koyama would lay with his head in Shige’s lap and stare blankly at the variety show, missing all the cues to laugh but suddenly laughing mechanically at nothing at all. But it was ok; Shige didn’t feel like laughing in the right places either. Koyama couldn’t bear to be away from Shige and at night he would practically melt against him, fusing their mouths together. Shige knew he should be feeling something specific about this but it was warm, so he pressed closer against Koyama and softly kissed him back.
“It’s ok. It’s all over. They’re in jail,” people said, all smiles, when the case was over.
But it wasn’t, he thought, when he pushed carefully into Koyama that night and felt nothing but heat.