[1]
[2]
[3]
***
Part 1
Crawford looked up from his morning coffee to watch Nagi enter the kitchen. He allowed a small smirk to twist his lips as he watched the boy move with an admiring eye. He was walking with a delicate, pained, elegant grace that stirred an appreciative reaction in Crawford’s loins. He noticed Schuldig smirking at him knowingly and took a moment to give him a sharp glare before returning his attention to the boy.
Nagi stood at the counter, making himself a cup of green tea. He was dressed in his usual school uniform. Crawford’s eyes roamed over his body, admiring the slim build, the almost girlish curve of his hips, his slow, deliberate movements. Nagi turned to face the table, cup of tea in hand, and his eyes met Crawford and Schuldig’s briefly before dropping to the floor. He slid elegantly into the remaining seat.
"Ohayo," he murmured, before taking a sip of his tea. Crawford nodded, though the boy wasn’t looking at him.
"Good morning, bishounen," Schuldig sneered, and Crawford saw the boy almost imperceptibly flinch. Farferello merely grunted, his eyes never leaving his plate, where he was busy mutilating his scrambled eggs.
Crawford took a sip of his coffee and watched the boy’s face. The soft, thin lips, pressed into a firm line. The delicate, elegant features. The eyes like two fathomless pools of blue. The chocolate-brown hair that Crawford wanted to tangle his hands in. Nagi’s eyes met his briefly again, and then he quickly looked away, turning his head to the side as he took another sip of tea. Crawford took the opportunity to admire the bruise, which he now had an excellent view of, thanks to the angle of Nagi’s neck.
It was a dark, angry blue, tinged at its outer edges by sallow purple and yellow. It traced along the delicate line of Nagi’s left jaw. Crawford felt his groin stir again as he remembered the feel of Nagi’s skin beneath his fist, softly yielding under the impact. The small cry of pain that it had elicited from Nagi’s lips. He wanted to run his fingers over that bruise, to feel Nagi flinch under his touch. He wanted to trace a path down that elegant throat and underneath his shirt, where he knew more bruises could be found. Barely suppressing an audible groan, he shifted in his seat and took another sip from his coffee. He studiously ignored Schuldig, who was once again giving him a knowing smirk.
Good God, the boy was beautiful. He wondered at his good fortune, having him so near. At fifteen, the boy’s youthful looks meant that he could be mistaken for someone much younger, yet there was also something about him that seemed in odd juxtaposition to his youth. There was a… a sensuality about him, about the smooth, unconscious grace of his movements, about the carefully neutral expression on that beautiful face. And there was a coldness, too. Coldness in his elegance, in his reserved, stand-offish nature. Yes, Crawford thought idly, Nagi Naoe was in many ways a pedophile’s walking wet dream. And, after all, he should know.
He’d been fucking him for five years.
He shot Schuldig a disdainful glance. He knew he wasn’t the only one, either.
***********
Nagi all-but fled the kitchen as soon as he’d finished drinking his tea. He didn’t eat any breakfast. He rarely did. He rarely ate anything at all, in fact. It was hard to summon up much in the way of an appetite when those two were staring at him like they wanted to devour him with their eyes. He shuddered. That or jump him right then and there. And they probably would have, too, if not for each other’s presence. They didn’t like to share. At least not at the same time.
He made his way to the second floor bathroom, especially mindful of the sharp, aching pain at the base of his spine while climbing the stairs. He briefly pondered showering again. Their eyes had made him feel dirty. But he didn’t want to give Schuldig the satisfaction. And the redhead would know, he was sure of it. He stared at the reflection in the mirror, his jaw clenching.
Nagi hated his face.
It was too… pretty. It had been bringing him unwanted attention his whole life. The delicate features, the wide blue eyes. He hugged his arms around himself, feeling his lips twist into a grimace as he put pressure on his bruised ribs. He hated his body, too. It was also delicate, slim, pretty. ‘Bishounen’, Schuldig liked to call him mockingly. He wanted to smash the mirror, to take the shards to his face, to make sure no one would ever call him bishounen again. But of course he couldn’t do that. He forced his body to relax, for the cool, indifferent expression to return to his face. Such strong emotions were dangerous. They would only capture Schuldig’s attention.
Once again composed into his usual reserved demeanor, he stepped out of the hallway and made his way to the computer room. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace that years of experience told him would cause the least pain to his injuries. He closed the computer room door with a sigh, grateful that he had not run into Crawford or Schuldig. Not that it was impossible, or even unlikely, that one of them would come looking for him sooner or later. He fought back another dangerous surge of emotion, a horrible, all-consuming, pitch-black wave of utter misery and helplessness. It would do him no good to dwell on it. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done.
He painstakingly slipped into the chair in front of the computer, ignoring the pain in his body. And for several hours he was able to lose himself in the cold, comforting world of cyberspace. Clients to be researched, targets to arrange, business matters to be dealt with, it was all second nature to him, and he performed the tasks almost on auto-pilot, his mind comfortably blank from all unnecessary thought. It was as close to peace as he ever felt.
And then he heard the door open.
Nagi’s spine went ramrod straight, his breath hitching in his lungs. The clacking of the keys went silent under his telekinetic touch. The door closed again, and footsteps approached him. His face was a cool mask, showing none of his tangled emotions. A hand slid through his hair, and he knew who it was. Crawford. Crawford had always loved his hair. Suddenly the hand fisted and roughly pulled his head back, and he was looking up into Crawford’s face, his neck arched painfully.
"It is customary to greet someone when they enter a room," Crawford said before leaning down and capturing Nagi’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Nagi tried not to choke on the tongue that thrust into his mouth. When the kiss was finally broken, Nagi gasped for breath. The fist in his hair pulled upwards, and he was forced to rise to his feet. Crawford’s other hand started to caress his cheek.
"So beautiful…," the older man murmured. Nagi kept his face carefully impassive. ‘Nothing, I feel nothing,’ he told himself. Crawford smiled, and his fingers found the bruise he himself had given the boy the day before. He pressed on it until Nagi flinched. "Beautiful…," Crawford murmured again, and then brought his lips to the bruise. Nagi couldn’t help but flinch again as the man started to suck on his skin. Crawford’s fist curled tighter in his hair, pulling painfully on his roots. Nagi stared at the ceiling expressionlessly as Crawford’s lips traveled up and down his throat, sucking and licking and even nipping the skin on occasion. He wished fervently that he could fling the man away with a blasting wave of his power. But he couldn’t. Crawford was Authority. His training in Esset had been very thorough, and something deep inside of him wouldn’t let him lash out at Authority with his power, no matter how much he wanted to. He was helpless.
Crawford was propelling him backwards, even as he continued his ministrations on his throat. They came to an abrupt stop when Nagi’s hips dug into the table on the other side of the room. Crawford finally lifted his face from Nagi’s neck, and the fist knotted in his hair suddenly became gentle fingers running through the chocolate brown strands. The man was once again caressing Nagi’s cheek. Nagi kept his face unreadable, his gaze unfocused and trained on some indeterminate point in the room. He didn’t want to look at Crawford’s face, at the expression of admiration and lust that it bore. It would make it impossible to keep up the façade of being a near-lifeless doll.
Suddenly Crawford drew his hand back and struck Nagi across the face with enough force to snap the boy’s head back and to knock his body back against the table. Nagi yelped in pain and brought his hand up to the trickle of blood from his split lip. But the man snatched his hand away and replaced it with his mouth, sucking on the wound hungrily. Nagi’s stomach lurched, his breath once again hitching in his lungs, but he forced his face to remain passive and his muscles to remain as lax as possible. ‘I feel nothing, I feel nothing,’ he repeated to himself.
Crawford’s hands were now roaming up under his shirt, and the next thing he knew his shirt was undone and was being slid from his shoulders. It dropped to the floor. ‘I feel nothing! I AM nothing!’ Nagi’s mind screamed. Crawford’s lips trailed down his chest, his tongue darted out to lick a nipple, causing Nagi to flinch. Hands were working to undo his pants, were pulling them and his boxers down around his knees. Suddenly Crawford stepped back and raked his eyes up and down his body. Nagi’s face was a cold mask, his eyes glazed, even as his heart was a heavy lump in his throat. He was naked, exposed, ashamed.
"Why are you so beautiful?" Crawford murmured, and Nagi’s stomach clenched. And then the blows came. Crawford’s fists struck Nagi’s jaw, his eye, his already bruised ribs, and every time he elicited a pained cry from the boy, his smile grew wider.
Nagi clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see Crawford’s face while he beat him, and tried to keep his body as still as possible. The sickening sound of flesh striking flesh and his own pathetic cries filled his ears. ‘It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, I am nothing…’ The pain pounded in his brain, seeming to reverberate in his skull. Finally a blow caused him to fall back onto the table, and Crawford took the opportunity to flip his slight body over onto his stomach.
Nagi couldn’t suppress a groan at the pain lying on his stomach caused his aching ribs. He could hear Crawford unzipping his pants. For a moment fear choked him, but he forced it back, forcing himself to lay still when every instinct he had was telling him to run, to get away from there as quickly as possible. ‘Numb, numb, I’m numb…’ he repeated to himself. But it wasn’t true. He could feel every ache and pain in his body, and his stomach was a tight knot of dread. He turned his head to the side and stared dully at the wall, the surface of the table cool and unyielding beneath his cheek.
Strong hands gripped his hips, positioning them, and then he felt slickness at his entrance, rough fingers probing him. Crawford, at least, unlike Schuldig, always used a little lube, though he never did bother to stretch him much. Nagi tried to blank his mind out with white noise, to drift, to truly be nothing. But then his right arm was gripped with bruising force, and twisted up into the small of his back, causing him to give a shriek of pain. Crawford leaned down to purr in his ear.
"Your screams are beautiful, just like your pain, and your face, and your body. All so beautiful…." Nagi was just barely able to choke back a sob. ‘Nothing, nothing, NOTHING!’ Crawford’s free hand was once again gripping his hip, fingers digging into skin, adding to the numerous marks and bruises. And then the man’s length was pushing at his entrance.
Nagi sucked in a sharp intake of breath and gripped his teeth against the pain. He felt his abused flesh tear and give way under the assault, and he couldn’t suppress a whimper. His entire body was as taut as a bowstring, which he knew was only making it worse, but he couldn’t force himself to relax and allow the invader easier passage. Finally Crawford was seated fully inside him, but he barely even paused before pulling nearly all the way out and then plunging back in again. Nagi couldn’t help it. He screamed. The pain filled his senses, blanked his vision white. His body wouldn’t obey his command, seeming to try to squirm away from the torture of its own volition. But, pinned against the table as he was, there was nowhere for him to go. And his squirming seemed to be adding to Crawford’s excitement, even as he twisted his arm some more to remind him who was in charge. The man thrust again and again, building a steady rhythm. The force was brutal, slamming Nagi against the table repeatedly, the edge digging painfully into his stomach. He couldn’t stop screaming now, the pain overriding all of his control. He was being split in two, sawed in half, ripped open from the inside out. His cries of pain were intermingled with choking sobs, his free hand clenching and unclenching against the unsympathetic wood beneath his fingers. ‘Nothing, I am nothing…,’ he thought dully as traitorous tears slicked the table beneath his face.
He didn’t think it would ever end, but eventually Crawford’s thrusts built to a crescendo, and then he was climaxing, spilling his seed into the boy beneath him. He released Nagi’s arm and collapsed forward, draping himself over the boy in a mock-embrace with a satisfied sigh. Nagi tried to swallow back the last of his sobs, panting heavily, the pain in every inch of his body excruciating. He wanted to curl in on himself, but the crushing weight of the man on top of him made that impossible. Crawford was caressing the side of his face again, and Nagi wanted to flinch away from that touch, but he was trapped, helpless. Kisses were being trailed down the back of his neck. He felt sick with shame.
Finally Crawford righted himself, and pulled his softened length from Nagi’s body, one final lance of pain. The boy couldn’t help but grimace as he felt blood and cum start to run down his thighs. From the corner of his eye, he watched Crawford shuffle over to the computer desk, where he used some tissues to clean himself up before doing up his pants. One last appraising look in Nagi’s direction, and then he was gone.
Nagi shuddered convulsively. Suppressed sobs hiccuped in his throat. It was a long time before he could force himself to even try to stand up. Even then, his legs would barely hold his weight, the pain fogging his mind. He just stood there for another long while, supporting a great deal of his weight on his uninjured left arm against the table. He took long, deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. Blood trickled down his chin and he realized with some surprise that he must have bitten his lip at some point. Finally, when the tremors in his body were firmly under control and he felt able to stand without support, he let go of the table and pulled his pants and boxers up from where they’d pooled around his ankles. They were already stained with the blood running down his legs. He would have to shower, and then put on some fresh clothes. He would have to shower for a long time. The tremors threatened to overtake him again, but he forced them back. ‘I feel nothing…’ he thought, and the words once again held conviction. He retrieved his shirt as well and carefully shrugged it back on, the movement paining his bruises, both old and new. He gingerly wiped the tears from his face, and felt where his left eye was already beginning to swell from one of Crawford’s punches. He swallowed hard and composed his face into its customary stoic expression. Stopping to save the computer work he’d spent the morning doing, he left the computer room to go take a shower, moving slowly and deliberately, each step agony.
It was turning about to be the most horrible day. Schuldig was waiting for him in the hall.
[1]
[2]
[3]
***
Part 2
Nagi froze in his steps when he turned the corner in the hall and found Schuldig there, leaning casually against the wall. The German smirked at him maliciously. Nagi swallowed hard and forced his face to remain passive, though he knew it was a pointless gesture. The telepath would be able to practically smell his fear.
Schuldig moved toward him, reaching a finger up to trail down over the fresh, swelling bruises on Nagi’s face. Nagi couldn’t suppress a wince. Schuldig clicked his tongue in mock sympathy.
"My, my, it sure looks like Crawford has been playing rough. Such a shame that he feels the need to pound you with his fists before he pounds your ass. Poor, delicate bishounen such as yourself should be handled more carefully, don’t you think?" Schuldig purred, his voice dripping with insincerity. Nagi’s stomach twisted. ‘Not now, not now, please not now, not right after Crawford…’ He stared forward expressionlessly.
Schuldig made a ‘tch’ noise in the back of his throat. "Nagi-kun, why do you bother playing these games? You know I can taste your fear. It’s absolutely delicious." His hand was trailing down over Nagi’s chest, caressing firmly over bruised ribs. Nagi flinched away, gritting his teeth as a hiss of pain escaped from his lips. ‘This can’t be happening…’ Schuldig smirked. Nagi’s blood ran cold. He knew that smirk. No doubt remained as to what the man had on his mind. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to run… but he could do none of those things. He could only follow mutely as Schuldig knotted a fist in his collar and started to lead him down the hallway. His mind quaked with fear and his chest was painfully tight. ‘I can’t do this, I can’t do this, not now… Christ, I’m still bleeding from Crawford, I can’t do this now!’
The German led him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Without preamble, Schuldig started to strip Nagi of his clothes. Nagi couldn’t control himself. He was trembling. He couldn’t let this happen, he just couldn’t. Again, flinging the man away with his power was not an option. He’d tried that the first time Schuldig had come after him, five years ago. Infuriated, the German had retaliated by slamming into his mind with horrifying images of torture and sickening feelings of pain terror. Just thinking of using his power against him now brought on a fierce pounding in his temples. But he couldn’t play the lifeless doll, not when he was already hurting so badly.
Nagi pulled away from the hands that were unzipping his pants. His shirt was already discarded on the floor. "Schuldig…," he said, hating how thin his voice sounded. The man looked up in surprise, his eyes flashing at him angrily, and suddenly his wrists were seized and he was being slammed down on the bed. He gasped in pain and stared up into Schuldig’s face in a daze.
"What, are you suddenly too good for me? You only like getting fucked by that American hard-ass?" Schuldig snarled, his hands gripping Nagi’s wrists against the mattress with bone-crushing force. The boy grimaced in pain. Suddenly the smirk returned to Schuldig’s face, though his eyes remained ablaze. "Oh, I see, you’re concerned about your tight little ass, worried that I’m going to split you so wide open you’ll never stop bleeding. Bishounen, you should know better than that. Haven’t I always been gentle?" He laughed darkly, and Nagi could have wept.
One of his wrists was released briefly as Schuldig reached down under the bed and produced the handcuffs he liked to play with on occasion. He cuffed Nagi’s wrists around one of the rungs of the headboard, stretching the boy’s arms up over his head, the metal already biting into his skin. Pain shot down the arm Crawford had twisted such a short time ago. Schuldig wasted no time in removing the rest of the boy’s clothes. Nagi realized dully that he had been dressed for barely ten minutes.
Nagi tried to take deep even breaths, to not let panic take over. He had always survived this before by closing himself off as much as possible. But Crawford had hurt him badly, and now Schuldig was going to hurt him, too. He was afraid. Afraid of the pain, and of the damage that could be done. It had been a long time since he’d had to endure repeated assaults in such quick succession. Suddenly he yelped as fingers roughly probed his entrance. Schuldig was sneering.
"Crawford really did do a number on you. You’re still leaking blood and cum. I guess that means there’s lube, eh, bishounen?" he laughed. Nagi closed his eyes and turned his head away, his stomach twisting. A sharp backhand across the face elicited a cry of pain and returned his attention to the man hovering above him. "Don’t you dare look away from me!" Schuldig snarled. Nagi grit his teeth and swallowed the lump of fear in his throat as he watched the German unzip his own pants, revealing his erection. The man positioned himself at his entrance, pushing Nagi’s legs back and up over his shoulders. Nagi gasped at the pain in his ribs as his thighs were pressed up against his chest. And then Schuldig was pushing inside of him.
Nagi screamed, pulling reflexively on his bound wrists. The pain was unbearable. He was still somewhat stretched from Crawford, but it made little difference as ripped and abraded flesh was ripped further apart. Through pain-fogged eyes he could see Schuldig grinning as he pushed in to the hilt. The pain was so intense that it felt as if he was literally being ripped in two. ‘Oh God oh God oh God oh God, he’s killing me…!’ Nagi thought in blind panic. Schuldig began to thrust, taking advantage of the fresh blood to ease his own passage even as it caused the boy beneath him to sob and scream in pain.
His body was being driven back into the mattress repeatedly, pushing the breath from his lungs. It felt like a searing, white-hot rod was pistoning into him over and over again. The handcuffs bit into his wrists as his arms were jerked forward in time to Schuldig’s brutal thrusts, the skin breaking, blood running down to drip on the mattress. Nagi could feel the blood running down his ass, too. There was so much blood, even as the man on top of him continued to rip and tear into him. The pain was too much. His vision was swimming. He was sure he was going to die.
"Schuldig… please… stop…," Nagi managed to gasp between cries of pain. Schuldig was so surprised that his rhythm almost faltered. The boy had never begged before. He had always endured without a word. But first the protest when he’d been undressing him, and now this. Schuldig grinned darkly and began to thrust harder, satisfied as the boy’s cries rose in pitch. He was going to make him hurt like he’d never hurt before. He’d show him who was in charge here.
After a while, Nagi’s cries fell silent. He’d lost consciousness. Growling in annoyance Schuldig backhanded him. The boy’s eyes fluttered open, though the screaming did not resume. Instead it was replaced by hitching, pain-filled sobs as the boy starred dully at the ceiling.
Finally Schuldig was approaching his climax. He leaned forward and pounded into the small body beneath him with renewed vigour, hitting the boy again when his eyes started to roll back in his head. He came with a satisfied grunt, and lay gasping for breath for a moment before pulling out of the boy, letting his legs fall limply to the mattress. Nagi convulsed in pain, giving out a strained whimper.
Schuldig grimaced when he saw how much blood there was. He’d have to replace the sheets. His eyes traveled up to Nagi’s face. The boy was panting hard, his eyes lidded and glassy, sweat beading on his forehead. Schuldig’s jaw tightened. Even like this, he could not deny the boy’s beauty. The beauty that Crawford lusted after. The young, effeminate beauty that he’d wanted over him. Schuldig’s lips settled into a satisfied smirk. He knew that it irked Crawford to no end that when he had rejected Schuldig in favour of Nagi, Schuldig had started fucking the boy as well. At first it had been purely to get back at Crawford, but he had found that he enjoyed fucking Nagi, he enjoyed taking out his resentment and his anger on the boy. He enjoyed the sense of power it gave him, forcing his will on the smaller body, making him helpless, making him hurt.
Schuldig grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned himself off, then pulled up and zipped his pants. He unlocked the handcuffs, freeing Nagi’s bruised and bleeding wrists. The boy was barely conscious, his deep shuddering breaths the only sign of life. With a satisfied smirk, Schuldig turned and left the room.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Schuldig went down to the kitchen to get a drink, and found Crawford sitting at the table reading a newspaper. The American looked up at him with a disdainful expression.
"Enjoy yourself?" he asked dryly.
"Doing what?" Schuldig smirked nonchalantly. Crawford glared at him.
"As if I couldn’t hear what you were doing. That was quite the racket, Nagi screaming like that," Crawford retorted.
Schuldig snorted. "And I suppose you were quiet when you were fucking him earlier," he replied.
Crawford sharpened his glare. "Well, you better not have hurt him too badly, we have a mission tonight," he said icily.
"As if you never hurt him! You use your precious toy like a punching bag. If things happen to get a little out of hand now and then when I’m fucking him, you can hardly say a thing," Schuldig replied with a sneer. Crawford rose to his feet, setting his paper aside.
"A little out of hand?" he inquired coldly. Schuldig felt an evil thrill. Crawford was going to be pissed that Nagi was hurt. He just smirked at the American. Crawford’s eyes narrowed, and then he turned and headed upstairs.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Nagi lay unmoving on the bed. His entire body was on fire with pain. He hurt so much he was practically numb. And he could feel the blood. There was so much blood. It was staining the sheets beneath him, pooling around him, soaking into the mattress. He figured that he must be torn up pretty badly inside. Both of his rapists had been particularly rough, and his body could only take so much after days, weeks, months of the same. Maybe it would be too much this time. Maybe he really was dying. ‘And maybe that’s not such a bad thing,’ he thought, overwhelmed by misery. There was darkness encroaching over his vision, and he welcomed it. But before he could slip completely away, Crawford burst into the room.
The man took one look at him and started cursing under his breath. He leaned over the bed and gripped Nagi’s face, giving him a shake. Nagi couldn’t hold back a groan. Schuldig appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face.
"Nagi!" Crawford barked. "Get up! We have a mission tonight." With some effort, Nagi managed to focus his eyes on the man above him, giving him an incredulous stare. He couldn’t be serious, could he?
"Yes, bishounen, there’s important work to be done," Schuldig purred as he moved to stand beside Crawford, who shot him an evil glare. As Nagi continued to lie there without moving, Crawford gripped his upper arms and hauled him up to a sitting position. It was all Nagi could do not to scream. Agony shot up his spine. Fresh tears burned in his eyes.
"Now, you’re going to get cleaned up. This is a very important mission, and I will not tolerate any screw-ups for any reason, do you understand me?" Crawford seethed, giving him another shake. Nagi stared at him in shock, trying to wrap his mind around the man’s anger, around why he was acting like he’d chosen to be in this condition. Crawford frowned at his continued silence, and backhanded him across the face. Nagi cried out, reeling back, and it was only the man’s grip on one arm that prevented him from falling back on the mattress. Schuldig smirked.
"I said, do you understand me?" Crawford reiterated. Mutely, Nagi gave a quick nod, the movement causing the room to tilt and waver alarmingly. Crawford hauled him to his feet. His legs didn’t want to support him. It took great effort to keep from falling to the floor. He felt blood trailing down his legs, and his stomach twisted. Crawford pulled him out of the room, stalking down the hall, and Nagi had little choice but to stumble after him, his entire body protesting. They reached the open door of the bathroom and Crawford propelled him inside. He instinctively reached out to prevent his face from slamming into the bathroom wall, and his arm that had been twisted earlier took the brunt of the impact. He sobbed in pain, his body crumpling helplessly onto the floor as he cradled his throbbing arm to his chest. Schuldig’s laughter echoed dimly in his brain.
"Clean yourself up. We leave in less than an hour. Schuldig, keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t pass out," Crawford ordered, before stalking away. Schuldig swore, and then called out after him.
"Why do I have to do it? It’s not like you didn’t do your share of inflicting the damage!" Predictably, Crawford did not answer. Schuldig turned back to the bathroom doorway, scowling at Nagi, who remained crumpled against the wall in a daze. He sneered. He strolled into the bathroom almost casually, and nudged Nagi with the toe of his boot. The boy flinched, and his sneer widened into a grin.
"Come on, get your cute little ass up, bishounen, we don’t have all day," he drawled.
Nagi huddled in on himself. He hurt so much. Blood was still leaking from him. Things felt broken and torn inside of him. His arm throbbed, his wrists stung, his face ached. ‘If you don’t get up, he’s going to hurt you more,’ a voice in his head warned. As if in confirmation, Schuldig kicked him, and he hissed in pain.
"I said GET UP!" Schuldig bellowed. Nagi closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He summoned every ounce of his strength, and bracing himself against the wall, he managed to shakily rise to his feet. For a moment, he just stood leaning against the wall, forehead pressed against the cool tile, waiting for the room to stop spinning. There was no way he could move on his own. He summoned his power, using it to help support his weight. But he was disturbed by how difficult it was to concentrate hard enough, the power that normally came so easily taking great effort to maintain.
Under Schuldig’s watchful glare, he unsteadily climbed into the shower and turned on the water. He listlessly grabbed a washcloth and started running it over his skin. He stared down in grim fascination at the water swirling down the drain. It was dark pink with his blood. Pain hummed along his nerves, making the world fuzzy around the edges. His vision swam in and out of focus. Only his power was keeping him on his feet.
When he climbed out of the shower some time later, he saw that Schuldig had retrieved clean clothes for him from his room. The German eyed him critically as he dried himself with a towel.
"I suppose you can handle dressing yourself. I have better things to do than baby-sit you," he said with a smirk. He leaned forward and caressed Nagi’s bruised cheek, amused when the boy flinched away. "We’re leaving soon. Don’t be late, bishounen." With that he turned and left the room.
Nagi looked down as he felt wetness trickling down his leg. He was still bleeding. He wiped furiously at the blood with the washcloth. What was he going to do? It would stain his clothes. His stomach twisted at the thought of a telltale bloodstain spreading over the back of his pants. He looked down at the washcloth in his hand. Sighing in dismay, he wiped away more of the blood, and with great pain managed to pull on his underwear. His cheeks burning with shame, he stuffed a clean, dry washcloth down the back of them. He wanted to sob with the embarrassment of it, with the utter indignity of it, but he had little choice, unless he wanted to suffer greater indignity.
He looked at himself in the mirror after painfully shrugging on the rest of his clothes. The fresh bruises on his face were swelling, flushed red against his pale skin. By tomorrow, they would be shades of dark blue and purple. His left eye was almost swollen shut. He knew that similar bruises decorated the rest of his body. Not much of a bishounen now, are you? Every fiber of his being ached. His head was still swimming. The effort to keep upright was exhausting. And he had to go on a mission?
Using his power, he managed to get himself downstairs, where he found an impatient Schuldig in the kitchen. The German sneered at him.
"Crawford and the Farf are already in the car. Bradley’s very impatient. If I’d had to go up there to get you, I would have been highly displeased. C’mon," he purred, gesturing for Nagi to follow as he strode out of the kitchen and into the garage. Nagi couldn’t help but grimace in pain as he followed. He felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. He was filled with the dreadful certainty that going on this mission in such a condition was a very bad idea. But he knew trying to explain that to Crawford was quite pointless. The man was already angry with him for being hurt, conveniently ignoring the part he had played in causing the hurt.
Out in the garage, he gingerly slid into the backseat of Crawford’s car, wincing at the stabbing pain sitting sent up his spine. Next to him, Schuldig smirked. From the driver’s seat, Crawford shot him a baleful glare. Farfarello, in the passenger seat, ignored him, which suited Nagi just fine. He’d always been immensely grateful that the insane Irishman didn’t share his other two teammates’ interest in him. One could only imagine the horrific turn Farfarello’s sexual interests might take.
Nagi was not sure how long they were in the car. The smooth motion lulled his exhausted mind into a daze. He was only dimly aware of Crawford outlining the details of the mission as he drove. He gathered that Crawford and Schuldig were the active participants, obtaining some information from an ex-colleague of Takatori’s, while he and Farfarello were to be backup, as Weiss was expected to put in an appearance.
The mention of Weiss made Nagi’s muddled mind turn to thoughts of the Weiss member known as Bombay. Omi. His chest tightened. He found himself thinking of the young man more and more often. He sometimes wondered if Omi, the youngest member of Weiss, was subject to the same… treatment by the older members of his team as he was by the older members of Schwarz. The thought alone was horrifying. Omi was too… too innocent, too pure, to have to suffer through such shame.
The car stopped. They were at a high-rise luxury condominium building. Practically on autopilot, he followed the others inside. After a long ride in the elevator, Schuldig and Crawford disappeared into one of the units while Nagi and Farfarello waited in the hall, on lookout. Nagi leaned against the wall. He was so exhausted. He just wanted to curl up into a small ball and die. The wold was out of focus. Again, he was amazed that Crawford thought him fit enough to be on a mission. He lost track of time. There were muffled sounds from inside the condo from the ‘interrogation’. Farfarello paced the hallway, agitated, licking a knife. Suddenly there was a noise out in the stairwell. Nagi snapped to attention. Farfarello crouched to the ground, growling low in his throat.
The door to the condo swung open just as Abyssinian and Balinese appeared out of the stairwell. Schuldig swore. Then Balinese and Bombay appeared at the other end of the hallway. Nagi’s heart lurched when he saw Omi. He suddenly felt very dirty, and very ashamed of how he must look. As if it matters, he thought bitterly.
"Elevator," Crawford barked. "Nagi!" he added sharply. Nagi threw up his psychic shield around Schwarz. He’d forgotten. His head blossomed in pain. He was alarmed at how hard it was to maintain the shield. With Weiss unable to penetrate the psychic barrier, Schwarz was able to make it to the elevator. Schuldig had to drag a stumbling Nagi along, as all his strength was focused on the shield.
Inside the elevator, Crawford hit the button for the first floor. "They’re taking the freight elevator," he announced grimly. "It’s faster." The walls of the elevator seemed to undulate to Nagi’s dazed mind. He honestly didn’t know how he was managing to keep upright. The stabbing pain in his ass threatened to make him break down in sobs.
At first, there was no sign of Weiss when they reached the first floor. They headed for the car, with Nagi’s shield as protection. Nagi was certain that without Schuldig’s grip on his arm, pulling him along, he would have collapsed. His entire body was screaming with pain. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.
Outside, Bombay appeared, crossbow drawn. Instinctively, Nagi used his power to throw the boy back, but not too hard. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him. Omi slammed into the wall, the breath knocked out of him. Nagi was aware of Schuldig’s hand suddenly leaving his arm, and he swayed on his feet, concentrating only on holding Omi in place. It seemed important to keep the young man from getting hurt. He could hear the sounds of fighting around him.
"Nagi!" he heard Crawford yell. He turned towards the man’s voice, and was greeted by the sight of Abyssinian bearing down on him, katana raised above his head to strike. This is it, I’m going to die, he thought dully, wondering what had become of his barrier. The thought was not as alarming as it should have been. Then he realized that it was not the blade that Abyssinian was swinging at him, but the hilt of the sword. It connected with the side of his head, and Nagi slipped into merciful darkness.
[1]
[2]
[3]
***
Part 3
Omi paced the floor nervously, gaze traveling again and again to the door at the end of the hallway. Yohji watched him from his seat bemusedly.
"Watch it, chibi, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor," he remarked dryly, taking a drag from his cigarette despite the ‘No Smoking’ sign located on the wall above his head. Omi paused and looked at him, and Yohji felt a spike of guilt for teasing him.
"Are we doing the right thing, Yohji?" Omi asked worriedly.
"I don’t think Yohji should be called upon as a moral compass, Omi," Ken said with a weary laugh. Yohji gave him a mock-offended look.
"I’m serious, guys, are we doing the right thing?" Omi persisted, frowning. Yohji sighed, rubbing his temples. Omi must be really worried. It isn’t normally this hard to lighten his mood, he remarked to himself.
"Of course it’s the right thing. We talked about this for a long time. And… and you saw him…" Yohji replied, fists clenching. Christ, how could anyone beat on a kid like that? Omi’s frown deepened, his gaze returning to the door.
"Yeah. I saw him," he agreed quietly. "He’s going to be scared when he wakes up…"
"Probably," Ken agreed. "For all he knows, he’s in the hands of the enemy."
"It can’t be much more frightening than being in the hands of his teammates," Aya muttered darkly, speaking up for the first time. None of them had anything to say to that.
The heavy silence was broken as Manx emerged from the room at the end of the hall, accompanied by a short, middle-aged man in a doctor’s coat. Omi turned to them eagerly.
"Well?" he asked expectantly, his heart sinking at the twin grim expressions they wore. The doctor looked at Manx.
"I’ll let you explain it to them. I have to get these samples to the lab to be tested. Let me know if there are any problems when he wakes up," he said, before continuing down the hall. Manx nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to meet four expectant stares. She sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.
"Well," she began, "it is as you expected. He shows signs of serious, long-term physical abuse. Along with the visible injuries you’ve noted in previous battles with Schwarz, there are scars, and x-rays have shown several healed fractures. Right now he has cracked ribs and numerous bruises and contusions. He was probably beaten mere hours before the mission. There are older, healing bruises as well, probably from days ago." She gave them a moment to digest the information.
"So, he has reason to betray Schwarz and share information with us, right?" Aya asked, breaking the silence.
"Wait," Omi said, eyes never leaving Manx’s face. "There’s more, isn’t there?" he asked, a horrible, sinking feeling in his chest. Manx met his gaze evenly. Yohji and Ken exchanged worried glances.
"Yes," she said, looking away. "Along with the physical abuse, there are signs of ongoing… sexual abuse as well." She turned back and was met by four shocked faces.
"What… what do you mean?" Omi asked, heart twisting in his chest. Nagi…
"He was bleeding from… from the anus. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, actually, accounting for the disoriented state you reported observing. It was caused by… tearing. He was raped. Rather brutally," Manx related, swallowing. "There was a great deal of scarring. It’s been going on for… for quite some time."
Omi swallowed, looking away. Oh, God… It was worse than they had imagined. So much worse. He could barely wrap his mind around it. The plan had first occurred to them about three months ago. They had all noticed the bruises that the young Schwarz telekinetic sported during their frequent encounters with the rival organization. The possibility of abuse at the hands of his teammates seemed likely. It had been Aya who had suggested that the boy might be willing to provide vital information about Schwarz if they could protect him from them. Omi had had… reservations. He could not deny that Nagi’s condition when he would see him caused him great concern. In fact, the depth and nature of that concern was something he was having difficulty reconciling himself with. But to rip the boy away from what he knew, away from his teammates, even if they were less than ideal, and to pressure him to betray them, had seemed cruel to Omi. Perhaps it was overly sentimental of him. But he couldn’t help it. It was just his nature. But now… Sexual abuse? Rape? It was so, so much worse than they had imagined. He looked at his teammates. Their faces were drawn, pale. Even Aya’s. None of them had expected this.
"How… how is he?" Omi asked, feeling the insignificance of the question, of its inability to fully grasp the situation. He watched as Manx sighed, rubbing her face wearily.
"The doctor said that he’ll probably wake up soon. He administered a new drug that Kritiker has developed that should impair his telekinetic abilities for about twelve hours or so, so that he won’t inadvertently cause any damage when he wakes up, before he realizes we don’t mean him any harm. You’ve already been briefed on how to handle Kritiker’s proposal to him. This… new development doesn’t change the plan. It may, in fact, increase the probability that he’ll be receptive to the offer," she replied grimly.
Omi nodded. He felt sick. He couldn’t believe this was happening. This all felt… wrong. Not that he wasn’t glad that they had gotten Nagi away from Schwarz. But still… things felt wrong. Perhaps the idea of taking him away without his consent was what was bothering him. Restraining him in this strange place, at the mercy of strange people that he didn’t know. Taking away even his power, whatever the justification, it all seemed so… cruel. And the thought… just the thought of what Nagi had been going through… He was so disgusted… so outraged that he didn’t know what to do with himself. Without a word, he turned away from the others and walked down the hall and entered the room where Nagi still lay unconscious. He took no notice as Manx and his teammates followed him.
He walked over to the bed and gazed down at the still form of Nagi Naoe. Manx’s words echoed in his head. Could such a horrible thing really be true?
Nagi’s eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in gentle motion with each breath. The younger boy’s face was covered in bruises, one eye purple and swollen. He was covered up past the waist with a blanket, and what was visible of his chest was also spotted with black and blue marks. Omi contemplated the horror of it, his heart breaking. How had Nagi lived through that? For who knows how long? He had to stop himself from reaching out and gently touching the boy’s cheek. He suddenly noticed that Nagi’s bandaged wrists were each encircled with a handcuff attached to the bed rail. He frowned, turning to face Manx.
"Why is he cuffed to the bed?" he asked angrily.
"Technically, he is still a member of Schwarz," Manx replied. "We have not yet made an offer, and he has not yet accepted." Omi grit his teeth helplessly.
"It hardly seems a good way to build trust," he muttered. "He’s not our prisoner. We’re helping him."
"He has to do his part as well," Aya said. Omi turned to glare at him.
"How can you say that!?" Omi yelled in rage.
"Shhh!" Ken hissed, "You’re waking him up!"
* * * * *
Nagi was dreaming. At least, it felt like he was dreaming. But, there was so much pain. People didn’t normally feel pain in their dreams, did they? For a time it almost felt as if someone was touching him, touching him in the places that hurt. Such a thing was not uncommon, but these were not the cruel, bruising hands that he was accustomed to. These hands were cold, methodical, neither comforting nor hurting. And then the sensation seemed to float away and he was adrift again.
Then the voices had come. Unhappy voices. Were Schuldig and Crawford arguing again? He shifted uneasily, tried to pull his arms up and discovered that he couldn’t. He was… he was restrained to the bed! Schuldig! Was Schuldig going to…? Alarm growing, he fought through the murky depths towards consciousness. Someone was yelling. His eyes snapped open.
Where the hell am I? The question raced around his brain as his eyes scanned the room. This place was unfamiliar. He pulled ineffectually at his bound arms. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic… Five stunned faces returned his frantic gaze… and four of them were familiar. It was Weiss! The night’s earlier events came rushing back to him, the mission, encountering Weiss, the hilt of Abyssinian’s blade coming down at his head… He’d been captured!
He frantically called on his power, planning on freeing himself, on defending himself from Weiss, on doing something, anything to get away from there. And felt… nothing. What normally flowed freely was as sluggish as cold molasses. He remembered how weak he’d been feeling using his power earlier, probably due to his injuries, but this was different. It was… it was like his power had been tied down, just like he’d been tied down.
"Wh-what did you do to me?" he asked, continuing to pull at his wrists frantically despite the pain shooting up his arms. Panic was quickly overcoming him, which in and of itself was making him panic even more. He was supposed to be calm, reserved, emotionless. But he was confused and disoriented and in pain. He had just regained consciousness in a strange place, surrounded by his enemies. He was handcuffed to a bed, which always led to horrible, horrible things, and he couldn’t use his power! He was completely helpless and fear was completely overwhelming him and he couldn’t deal with this now, not now!
One of them, Bombay, Omi, his mind corrected, stepped forward, his face uncertain and a little panicked. Which was almost funny. Why would he be panicking? He wasn’t the one captured by the enemy and handcuffed naked to a bed… oh God, he was naked underneath the blanket!
"N-no! Stop! Calm down! We’re not going to hurt you!" Omi said worriedly. Nagi shrank away from him, his eyes wild.
"What did you do? Where are my clothes? Why can’t I… why can’t I feel my power?" Nagi asked anxiously. Omi shot Manx a glare, before turning back to the panicked telekinetic.
"I can explain everything, you just have to calm down," he said as soothingly as he could manage. "No one here is going to hurt you," he said firmly, locking gazes with the younger boy, willing him to feel his sincerity.
Nagi returned his gaze for a long time. Then finally, almost against his will, he started to relax. He was still frightened, and terribly confused, but something in him wanted to believe that the fair-haired boy was telling the truth.
"Okay, then," he said in defeat, falling back against the bed and relaxing his aching arms. "Explain." Omi sighed in relief, giving the others in the room a brief look before pulling over a chair and sitting at Nagi’s side. The younger boy eyed him warily. Omi took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy.
"Well, first off, the loss of your telekinesis is only temporary. The doctor gave you a drug that’ll suppress it for about twelve hours or so, then it’ll come back. We’re sorry, but we didn’t want you to run away before we had a chance to explain things to you," Omi said. Nagi scowled, but didn’t say anything. So far, so good, Omi thought. "Now, the whole reason you’re here is… because we have a proposal for you," he continued.
"A… proposal?" Nagi asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Uh, yes," Omi said. "Um…" Okay, he’d gotten this far, now how to explain the rest… delicately? Manx stepped in, all-business.
"Yes, a proposal. Over the past several months, during your frequent encounters with Weiss, they noticed that you were often injured. They concluded that you were probably suffering abuse at the hands of your teammates," she said matter-of-factly, averting her eyes from the boy’s face. Nagi flinched, turning his head away as his cheeks turned pink. He felt like the world had just dropped out from underneath him.
Omi flinched as well. He couldn’t believe Manx’s bluntness. He gazed at Nagi with pity. He could only imagine how… horrible it must feel to be in this position. He heard Yohji and Ken shuffling uneasily behind him. Aya simply watched Manx coolly.
"And so a plan was formed. To capture you, and see if you’d be open to a… trade. In return for information, we could provide you with protection," Manx continued.
Nagi blinked, swallowing back the tears that were threatening. He couldn’t believe this was happening. It was all too fast. He felt… ashamed. And sick. He felt horribly sick to his stomach. He wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.
"I… I don’t really… understand…" he said helplessly, staring dully at the ceiling. How can this be happening? How can they… be so casual about it?
Aya stepped forward. "Do you deny that you’re being abused?" he asked.
"Aya!" Omi barked harshly. Aya ignored him, staring intently at Nagi, who remained unmoving and staring at the ceiling.
"No," Nagi finally responded softly, gaze unwavering. "I guess there’s no point in that. It’s pretty plain… plain to… see… oh, God!" He’d just realized what else must be pretty plain to see. He was naked underneath the blanket, and they’d mentioned a doctor, who must have examined him… who must have seen the… damage… seen the washcloth he’d stuffed down the back of his pants… seen the blood… Even now the pain still burned down there. Maybe he was even still bleeding. They had to know. Oh, God. Omi knew. Omi who was pure, who was innocent. Not like him. He was soiled, he was dirty, and they knew. Were probably gloating, gloating that he’d gotten just what he deserved. Because he was dirty, so very, very dirty, and it was all that he deserved…
"Nagi?" Omi asked worriedly. The boy was curling up on the bed as much as his bound arms allowed, his eyes clenched tightly shut, and he was muttering under his breath. "Nagi? Are you okay?" What a stupid question, he thought. Of course he’s not okay!
"I think he knows that we know about… the other thing," Yohji commented mildly. Omi shot him a glance. Despite the casualness of his statement, Omi could see from the set of the man’s jaw the tension he was feeling. And he was probably right. He looked back at Nagi, his heart heavy.
"Everyone get out," he said. "I want to talk to him alone." Manx made a startled sound of protest, and Aya frowned disapprovingly. "I mean it, I want to talk to him alone," he repeated, looking at each of them evenly. Yohji met his gaze, nodding slowly. Omi flashed him a grateful smile.
"Yeah, let’s let the chibi handle this," Yohji said, motioning for the others to vacate the room.
"But-" Manx started, but was cut off as Yohji made a shushing noise, winking suggestively at her.
"C’mon honey, I know we can find something better to do," he drawled. Manx only glared at him for a moment, before turning her gaze to Omi. He stared back at her, a determined look on his face. Sighing, she nodded and walked out of the room. Ken looked back and forward between Omi and the silently fuming Aya a couple of times before settling a questioning gaze on Yohji.
"Trust me, the chibi can handle it," Yohji said in response. He looked at Aya. "Now, let’s leave it to him." Aya glared at Omi, but the boy refused to be intimidated. Clenching his teeth, the redhead stalked out of the room. Yohji herded Ken after him, giving Omi one last encouraging wink as he closed the door behind them. Omi smiled weakly, then turned back to the boy on the bed, who was still curled in on himself, pulling on his cuffed wrists, muttering. Omi felt his heart breaking.
Okay, now what have you gotten yourself into?
TBC
* * * * * * *
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
*flees*
Amanda 02
Angst Addict
Wifey to bow ryu! ^_^
http://www.livejournal.com/users/amanda_02/
"Because I love you I want to rip you apart. I want to pile corpses
before you."
- Muraki to Tsuzuki, 'Yami no Matsuei'
"There's nothing to writing. You just sit at the keyboard and open a
vein."
"Both ways... it's the only way to swing."
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