In the dark
In the dark
Fujigaya/Senga (Kis-My-Ft2), Sakurai (Arashi), Kamenashi (KAT-TUN)
AU, 4300 words, NC-17. Non-con, blood, mild gore, wolf hybrid!Fujigaya
Senga, aiming to be a professional pastry chef, sets out to ask the famous dessert critic Sakurai Sho to taste one of his cakes, only to run into a mysterious man on the way there.
A/N: Based on various versions of Little Red Riding Hood.
Senga Kento is a nice young man, loved by nearly everyone and very much liked by the rest of them. A recent university graduate, employed by a cake shop where he works behind the counter, where he melts housewives with his smile as they come in to shop for their families, listens to the old ladies' gossip as they contemplate what cakes to buy. He enjoys it well enough, but it's not what he really wants to do. His dream is to be a pastry chef, a patissier, wants to bake the delicious things he's now simply selling, and he's doing his very best to get there. All he needs is money for the courses and the license, and he'll be able to open something of his own.
So for now he works to earn money and practices his baking skills at home. And tonight, he's holding his breath as he places the final decorative chocolate on top of his masterpiece; the cake he has been trying to complete for weeks now.
“I did it,” he whispers to himself as he takes a step back, wipes his hands on his apron before he reaches for his phone, snaps a photo of it as a whole. Next he cuts a piece out of it, slides it just slightly away from the rest of the cake, takes another photo of it now that the inside is visible. It looks perfect, symmetrical and in even layers; Senga can't wait to taste it, because if the flavors are as good as the way it looks, it's time to take it one step further than he usually does.
The flavors explode inside his mouth, the texture feels wonderful and he knows that this is it. This is the cake. Before he realizes it himself he has brought out a cake box and placed a generously large piece of cake inside it, and once he puts his coat, his boots and his red hat on, he's ready to leave. It's not too late; it is dark outside and has been for hours, but it's probably about this time that Sho is coming back home from work.
Sakurai Sho. One of the most well-known dessert critics in Tokyo. Their families happen to be acquainted with each other, and while Senga has asked him to try his desserts before, he decided to not go back until he was confident he had never created anything nearly as good as the last thing he brought. And now he's on the way there; Sho happens to live just on the opposite side of a rather large park and as he's hurrying, eager to hear his opinion, Senga decides to go through it to save time.
Normally, he would avoid the park once the sun has set. It's badly lit up, the trees are large and it becomes frighteningly quiet once he gets further inside; like the whole city dies when he's not looking. Senga wouldn't admit it easily, but he's afraid of the dark, flinches at the long shadows and the sounds of small animals in the bushes, but he tries to focus on the cake, on how he's going to present it to Sho once he gets there. It's easy enough to get distracted by the memory of the sweet yet not sugary taste, and he doesn't realize himself that his steps are slowing down until someone speaks up right behind him. His first reaction is a small jump followed by a sound that mostly reminds of a squeal, and he turns around so fast that he nearly gets worried he might have ruined the cake.
“Out walking late, huh?” a husky voice says, and Senga finds himself peering at a man around his own age, with a to him unknown face. “Where are you going?”
“I think that's none of your business.” Senga tries to keep his voice steady, but he's still shaken by the sudden approach and the man smiles towards him in a strange way, as though he's trying to look nice, but without meaning it. “Who are you?”
“Call me Fujigaya,” and now the man is moving in closer; they're in the shadows, the closest lamp post quite far away and partly hidden by the leaves of a tree, but Senga can make enough out of his face that he can say that he's probably quite attractive. His hair looks nice, only oddly styled (he can't tell because of the darkness, but it looks weird on top of his head), and he has a strange glow to his eyes.
“I'm sorry, I really gotta go,” Senga apologizes and tries to leave, but this Fujigaya guy has a hand on his shoulder and follows by his side as he starts walking.
“Then let's talk as we go,” Fujigaya suggests, discreetly moves his hand to Senga's waist. “Are you going to your girlfriend's place?” He nods towards the cake box.
“No...” Senga hesitates before he continues, “I baked a cake. And I'm going to bring it to Sho.” Hopefully, Fujigaya doesn't know who Sho is. Hell, there's a lot of people in Tokyo called Sho.
“Sakurai Sho?” Of course. Of course he had to know it. Senga sighs on the inside, tries to speed up to get rid of this guy, but he just follows the new pace with a firmer grip on Senga's waist. “Do you know him?”
It's such a meaningless conversation and Senga is putting on his best not-the-slightest-interested face, but Fujigaya only comes closer and closer, twirls Senga's hair around a finger. It's distracting, really, and it's not until Senga stumbles on a tuft of grass that he realizes that they're off the path.
“Let me go.” He stops abruptly, and Fujigaya takes a hold of his wrist, smoothly puts himself behind Senga instead of beside.
“You're so cute,” he whispers, lips brushing the back of his neck; Senga tenses, makes himself ready to run, but then Fujigaya steps back. “Hurry off to your dessert critic. I'd buy some wine to go with the cake, if I were you.”
Senga walks as fast as he can, feels relieved when he notices that Fujigaya doesn't follow him, but doesn't calm down until he's out of the park. That was definitely the weirdest encounter he has experienced so far; for a moment he had thought the guy might be out to kill him or something, yet he hadn't refused to let him go. Perhaps a junkie? Maybe there's some kind of drug that makes people act strangely but still seem like they're clear in the head. Is there any kind of drug that cause your eyes to glow?
He shakes his head as if to shake the thoughts out of his mind, but when he does, he recalls the suggestion Fujigaya had given him. The one about wine. He supposes that it's true, it would be nice to have some nice, fresh ice wine, and it would also be more polite to bring a bottle, at least as a gift. There should be a wine store around here, it's a very classy part of Tokyo and it's not too late for everything to be closed either. Just a turn around the corner of the same block as Sho's apartment complex is on and he finds just what he is looking for; doesn't hurry to choose the wine, but tries to not take too long. He does kind of lose himself in it, but once he finds the perfect beverage for his cake he's out of there as soon as the staff has put it neatly into a tall, glossy bag.
When he gets to Sho's door he sees that the lights are on inside, which means he's lucky and Sho is home. It's strange, however, that when Senga knocks on the door it slides open on its own; but he assumes that Sho has had a long day and maybe just forgot to shut the door all the way when he got home. At first he does feel a little bad when he realizes that he's occupying Sho's free time with his cake, but then the cake invades his mind and he pushes the door open and enters.
What meets him is a lesser chaos. A chair has been knocked to the floor, there's papers all over the place; when he looks closer he sees weird, red stains on both the floor and a carpet.
“... Hello?” he tries, voice a little weak, and he relaxes when he gets a kind response.
“In here.” A voice comes from the bedroom, and it's a bit thicker than usual, but it's close enough to Sakurai Sho's voice for Senga to not worry. “I've been feeling bad today, so I'm resting.”
“Oh.” Senga quickly tries to think of a way to explain why he's there, especially as Sho most likely doesn't want to have cake when he's not okay. “I baked a cake that I wanted you to try, but... I suppose you're not in the condition to grade my skills right now.”
“Put it in the refrigerator for now, in case I get better. Is it a good cake?”
That question hits all the right buttons for Senga. “It's the best cake I've ever made, I swear. It's a masterpiece, not even the patissier at the cake shop I work at has ever made anything like it. Is it possible to be in love with a cake? I think I'm in love with this cake. I brought wine to go with it, I'll put it next to the cake, okay? We can have it later, or tomorrow, I can come back tomorrow.”
“It sounds promising. Why don't you stay a while? I just might get better.” It really does sound like he's not feeling very good; his voice sounds strained, but Senga doesn't dare to go check on him. While they are kind of friends, Sho is also someone he looks up to, in a way, and if Sho doesn't want him to see him in that state it would be a disaster to do exactly that. “Have some wine, won't you? The one on top of the kitchen counter, a nice red wine. You should try it.”
Senga isn't one to say no to that. The bottle is just where Sho said it was; it's already opened, a little sticky at the top but he assumes it's because Sho has also tasted it. After all, he said it was good. He searches the cupboards until he finds a fitting glass, pours himself some wine; in the sink he spots the same red spots as on the floor, and it's starting to bother him.
“Did anything happen when you got home?” he starts, takes the glass of wine in his hand as he puts the chair that had fallen over back in its correct position.
“Wanted to have a nice glass of that wine, then I got all dizzy... But I made it into my bedroom. How is it, the wine?” At the question Senga lifts it to his lips, takes a quite large amount into his mouth, and finds himself grimacing. It's an odd flavor, one he can't recall ever having tasted before. In fact, no wine he has tried has even resembled it. A deep flavor, that's for sure, but there's a strange tang to it, one that reminds of metal, and he's not sure what to think of it.
“It's... What is it made of?” He tries taking another sip, as if it was just his imagination the first time, but nothing has changed. Are Sho's taste buds so superior that he finds something delicious in this that Senga is just simply unable to taste?
“It should say on the label. Dark grapes, isn't it? Come in here and let me know what you think of it.”
If Sho verbally invites him into his bedroom, he's going to allow himself to check on him. After all, if it has been bad enough for the room to look this chaotic, it does make Senga a little worried. He leaves the strange wine on the table, walks the few steps that take him to the bedroom door; it's dark inside, and Sho asks him not to turn on the lights, as he feels better with them off. The window offers a little light, the light that shines in from the sides of the curtains, and Senga only sees Sho's silhouette as he sits down on the bed.
“Are you feeling very bad?” he asks, out of concern, and Sho nods slowly, just once. An awkward silence falls over the room as Senga waits for questions about the wine, and when none come, he makes a weak attempt to at least hold a conversation. “Your hair has grown a lot, hasn't it?”
“Yes,” Sho mumbles, brings up a hand to stroke one of the locks just below his jaw in place; the ring on his finger shines a little in the faint light from the window. “I need to get it cut, it really just keeps growing.”
“You started wearing rings?” Senga asks then, because he can't recall ever seeing Sho with accessories on his hands.
“Yes,” and this time the fingers scratch lightly at his own neck before he lets the hand fall back onto the covers. “I have found a liking of them recently.”
“Oh, I see.” He takes another look at Sho's face; it's too dark to see any details at all, but what he does see worries him. “You look really thin, did you lose weight?”
“Yes,” Sho nods, “I have been very busy lately.” At first it seems odd to Senga, as Sho's job is literally to eat cakes and desserts, but he supposes that anyone could start losing weight when stressed, and shrugs any further questions away.
“Can I do anything? Do want a glass of water, or anything?” Again a nod, and Senga turns away, is just about to rise up when all of a sudden his wrist is grabbed, and he finds himself being pulled onto the bed, shoved onto his back with a surprising strength. He doesn't understand, isn't Sho sick? What is he even doing? How can he be so strong if he was barely unable to hold himself up earlier?
But then he looks up, and now that the light hits in a different way, he sees that the man above him is not Sho at all.
“I don't let go of my prey that easily.” The voice no longer sounds thick and strained; it's back to smooth and seductive, tinted with a threatening tone. It's Fujigaya, who tears Senga's shirt open with nails like claws, bares his chest in less than a second, and he's is in such shock that he freezes, just stares up at glowing eyes made for hunting in the dark as their owner grabs his wrists and pins him to the bed. Senga thinks he might be crazy, but he sees it now. Fujigaya is a wolf, and a human.
And now that he has realized, he notices that it's not Fujigaya's hair that's styled strangely; it's his ears sticking up, pointed and alert, moving a little as if to pick up sounds from their surroundings.
“What-,” he gasps, and the ears focus fully on him, just like Fujigaya's eyes are already doing. One hand lets go of his wrist; it rakes down his side and he can feel his skin rise in throbbing welts, hopes that his skin isn't parting to bleed for him. It doesn't feel like it, and as the hand reaches the waistline of his pants it leaves his skin, although only momentarily. His pants are being undone, slowly, but Fujigaya seems to deem it too tricky to handle with one hand and sharp claws, opts for pulling them open using his strength instead. The button flies off, and as if that's what he needed Senga comes back to his senses, attempts to kick Fujigaya in the chest. He fails, instead Fujigaya straddles both of his legs as he leans over him, again takes one wrist in each of his hands.
“I like cute boys,” he mumbles against one of Senga's collarbones, presses his nose against his skin once he gets to the hollow below his throat; there he pushes his lips against him instead, then parts them to lick at him. Only once, then he's sliding his mouth upwards, teeth scraping against his throat and Senga feels it, feels the abnormality. There's fangs there, not sharp ones, more likely for crushing, and if there's anything he doesn't want right now, it's to get his throat crushed. “Just let me do what I want and I might let you live. Okay?”
Of course Senga still struggles. He struggles, but Fujigaya is oddly strong for his thin build, doesn't budge when he squirms to get free; Senga still thinks he should be able to push him away if he gets his legs loose, but before he manages, Fujigaya spins him around.
“If that's how you want it.” He puts a knee on the small of Senga's back to hold him down, harshly tugs his open jeans down to mid-thigh, effectively disabling him from easily getting up and running. Then he straddles his back much like had his legs, only now he leans up, grabs his wrists one at a time, ties some kind of leather strap tightly around them. Once those straps are tied just as tightly to the frame of the bed, what hope he had turns into fear because he realizes that no, he's not going to be able to save himself from this situation.
Fujigaya's weight leaves his body, but with arms spread and tied in place he can't raise his head enough to see where he went; he goes by the shift of the bed to understand that Fujigaya is moving around him until nails come down on his skin again, from where his thigh is exposed up to his hip bone, and next there's a drop of something wet landing on one of his buttcheeks. As he tilts his head as far to the side he can, until his cheek is pressed to the mattress, he can see Fujigaya looking back at him while he wipes his lips, and he squirms again when wet fingers slip between his legs, rubbing over his opening. He gasps when a finger pushes past the muscle, forcing it open and he turns his eyes away, doesn't want to see the way Fujigaya smirks as his wrist moves. Another finger, some more saliva; Senga squeezes his eyes tight together as it's not the slightest pleasant and he knows this is just the beginning. There's still two fingers inside him when he hears the zipper to Fujigaya's pants, and it's soon after that that all touches leave him but the bed keeps on shifting.
With rough hands Fujigaya pulls Senga's jeans down to his knees, parts his thighs as much as he can, and Senga actually cries out when he pushes inside, draws shallow breaths as he panics from the pain. Fujigaya doesn't seem to bat an eyelash at it, just picks up a slow rhythm, one hand on Senga's waist as he thrusts, low groans escaping him in time with them.
“Relax,” he whispers, but it's clear that it's not an attempt to calm him down; there's something mocking in his voice, then there's a hand on the back of his head pushing it down, making him struggle for air and it only gets worse when Senga feels lips parting over his neck and fangs coming down on it.
At first the teeth only scrape against him as Fujigaya breathes hot against his skin, but the more force he puts into his movements the more the fangs dig into his neck; the louder Senga whimpers, tears burning in the corner of his eyes. Tears that overflow when Fujigaya bites for real, takes skin between his teeth and puts pressure on it with strong jaws. It hurts, on the outside as well as the inside, so much that Senga nearly shuts down; he's still tense, but doesn't struggle, lets his body follow Fujigaya's movements, only winces when nails scrape down his unhurt side, and this time he's sure he bleeds. Fujigaya makes a deep sound against his neck, almost a growl, scratches once more and then he stills, breathing heavily into Senga's hair before he pulls back. Senga feels himself sob, even more so when Fujigaya strokes the back of a finger along his spine, then his arm, and suddenly his wrist is released. Only one of them, and then he's being spun around again; the leather strap on his other wrist twists, but he's still stuck in it. He wants to ask Fujigaya if that's it, if he's going to let him go now, but he finds no strength in his body to do so; then looks up at him and thinks he sees the answer in those eyes.
“No,” he confirms, sounds straight-up amused as he strokes Senga's neck, takes a light hold of his chin, leans down to place a kiss on his cheek, so gentle it's macabre. When he pulls away he's sticky, both chin and cheek, and this time he sees the blood on Fujigaya's lips, on his hand; his own blood.
He screams for real this time, when Fujigaya ducks lower, puts both hands as well as teeth on his neck, presses down, and Senga tries to punch him with his free hand; he does hit, but it does nothing to stop Fujigaya. So he screams, hits, until he feels his breath hitching, the sounds die out and he's closer to fainting than he has ever been before. And then, the moment his vision starts shutting down, there's a sudden, very loud bang, the pressure on his throat eases and when he looks up, he sees that Fujigaya is looking wildly between the bedroom door and his injured upper arm, bleeding onto Senga's bare stomach.
“Step away,” a steady voice says, catches both of their attention and Senga feels hope blooming out in his chest when he sees the gun pointed straight towards Fujigaya's face as a man with dark hair and determined eyes walks towards them. “Now.”
Fujigaya doesn't budge, if anything he looks like he's about to attack, but the man is faster, fires a bullet into his shoulder and this time, the force of it makes him fall a little to the side, only to get shoved off the bed as the stranger gives him a punch in the forehead with the barrel of his gun.
“What,” Senga attempts to speak, finds his voice dry and weak, but continues anyway, “who, who are you?”
“Kamenashi,” the man answers as he fumbles with Senga's restraints, keeps an eye on Fujigaya until he manages to get Senga loose. “Get out of here, okay?”
He doesn't need to be told twice; Senga gets his pants back in place in no time, then he's up, leaves the Kamenashi guy to take care of Fujigaya while he does his best to hurry out of there. He would be faster if his entire body didn't hurt; he's still bleeding a little from his back, the wounds having opened when he rose up, and his legs are stiff from all the tensing. That doesn't mean he's slow, only slow enough to notice that the red spots on the floor have increased since last he saw them, and the realization that they must be spots of blood makes him freeze. He doesn't have to look to know that that's exactly what hits his own shoulder; instead he looks up, and his stomach turns at the sight.
Sho's body is tied to the ceiling, empty eyes staring down at Senga, head at an unnatural angle, throat crushed and windpipe peeking out from under his skin, looking like it has been torn off. It's all a mess, blood down on his chest, on his neat white shirt that has the top buttons pulled open; all around his neck and still dropping from it. Senga can't tear his eyes away from him, too shocked to move, until a loud bang is heard from the bedroom and his trance is broken. He makes it out the door, down one staircase, but it's as if all energy has been drained from him and he just slumps down against the wall, doesn't feel how the concrete cools his bare skin.
Then there's quick steps coming towards him, yet he can't will himself to do more than try to hide in the dark corner at the platform between the staircases; although he knows that if it's Fujigaya, he's done for.
“Are you okay?” The voice is gentle, in a different way than Fujigaya's, and when he looks up, he sees that it's Kamenashi, hair messy, angry red scratches on his left cheek, but genuine concern in his brown eyes. “Come,” he pulls him up, lays his own coat over Senga's shoulders, covers him before he sets a soft hand on his back. “I don't think he'll come after us.” They start walking, slowly at first, but it's easier now that he has someone to lean on and Kamenashi keeps on speeding up, as though they might be followed, contrary to his words.
They make it out of the apartment complex, Kamenashi on the phone calling for a taxi; as they wait by the street Senga turns around, draws a sharp breath when he sees the shadow of someone limping out of the same door they exited. He stares at it in silence, subconsciously moves closer to Kamenashi, who also turns his head to look.
“Hey,” Kamenashi takes his attention of the injured silhouette of Fujigaya, “Let's get you out of here.”
Fujigaya/Senga (Kis-My-Ft2), Sakurai (Arashi), Kamenashi (KAT-TUN)
AU, 4300 words, NC-17. Non-con, blood, mild gore, wolf hybrid!Fujigaya
Senga, aiming to be a professional pastry chef, sets out to ask the famous dessert critic Sakurai Sho to taste one of his cakes, only to run into a mysterious man on the way there.
A/N: Based on various versions of Little Red Riding Hood.
Senga Kento is a nice young man, loved by nearly everyone and very much liked by the rest of them. A recent university graduate, employed by a cake shop where he works behind the counter, where he melts housewives with his smile as they come in to shop for their families, listens to the old ladies' gossip as they contemplate what cakes to buy. He enjoys it well enough, but it's not what he really wants to do. His dream is to be a pastry chef, a patissier, wants to bake the delicious things he's now simply selling, and he's doing his very best to get there. All he needs is money for the courses and the license, and he'll be able to open something of his own.
So for now he works to earn money and practices his baking skills at home. And tonight, he's holding his breath as he places the final decorative chocolate on top of his masterpiece; the cake he has been trying to complete for weeks now.
“I did it,” he whispers to himself as he takes a step back, wipes his hands on his apron before he reaches for his phone, snaps a photo of it as a whole. Next he cuts a piece out of it, slides it just slightly away from the rest of the cake, takes another photo of it now that the inside is visible. It looks perfect, symmetrical and in even layers; Senga can't wait to taste it, because if the flavors are as good as the way it looks, it's time to take it one step further than he usually does.
The flavors explode inside his mouth, the texture feels wonderful and he knows that this is it. This is the cake. Before he realizes it himself he has brought out a cake box and placed a generously large piece of cake inside it, and once he puts his coat, his boots and his red hat on, he's ready to leave. It's not too late; it is dark outside and has been for hours, but it's probably about this time that Sho is coming back home from work.
Sakurai Sho. One of the most well-known dessert critics in Tokyo. Their families happen to be acquainted with each other, and while Senga has asked him to try his desserts before, he decided to not go back until he was confident he had never created anything nearly as good as the last thing he brought. And now he's on the way there; Sho happens to live just on the opposite side of a rather large park and as he's hurrying, eager to hear his opinion, Senga decides to go through it to save time.
Normally, he would avoid the park once the sun has set. It's badly lit up, the trees are large and it becomes frighteningly quiet once he gets further inside; like the whole city dies when he's not looking. Senga wouldn't admit it easily, but he's afraid of the dark, flinches at the long shadows and the sounds of small animals in the bushes, but he tries to focus on the cake, on how he's going to present it to Sho once he gets there. It's easy enough to get distracted by the memory of the sweet yet not sugary taste, and he doesn't realize himself that his steps are slowing down until someone speaks up right behind him. His first reaction is a small jump followed by a sound that mostly reminds of a squeal, and he turns around so fast that he nearly gets worried he might have ruined the cake.
“Out walking late, huh?” a husky voice says, and Senga finds himself peering at a man around his own age, with a to him unknown face. “Where are you going?”
“I think that's none of your business.” Senga tries to keep his voice steady, but he's still shaken by the sudden approach and the man smiles towards him in a strange way, as though he's trying to look nice, but without meaning it. “Who are you?”
“Call me Fujigaya,” and now the man is moving in closer; they're in the shadows, the closest lamp post quite far away and partly hidden by the leaves of a tree, but Senga can make enough out of his face that he can say that he's probably quite attractive. His hair looks nice, only oddly styled (he can't tell because of the darkness, but it looks weird on top of his head), and he has a strange glow to his eyes.
“I'm sorry, I really gotta go,” Senga apologizes and tries to leave, but this Fujigaya guy has a hand on his shoulder and follows by his side as he starts walking.
“Then let's talk as we go,” Fujigaya suggests, discreetly moves his hand to Senga's waist. “Are you going to your girlfriend's place?” He nods towards the cake box.
“No...” Senga hesitates before he continues, “I baked a cake. And I'm going to bring it to Sho.” Hopefully, Fujigaya doesn't know who Sho is. Hell, there's a lot of people in Tokyo called Sho.
“Sakurai Sho?” Of course. Of course he had to know it. Senga sighs on the inside, tries to speed up to get rid of this guy, but he just follows the new pace with a firmer grip on Senga's waist. “Do you know him?”
It's such a meaningless conversation and Senga is putting on his best not-the-slightest-interested face, but Fujigaya only comes closer and closer, twirls Senga's hair around a finger. It's distracting, really, and it's not until Senga stumbles on a tuft of grass that he realizes that they're off the path.
“Let me go.” He stops abruptly, and Fujigaya takes a hold of his wrist, smoothly puts himself behind Senga instead of beside.
“You're so cute,” he whispers, lips brushing the back of his neck; Senga tenses, makes himself ready to run, but then Fujigaya steps back. “Hurry off to your dessert critic. I'd buy some wine to go with the cake, if I were you.”
Senga walks as fast as he can, feels relieved when he notices that Fujigaya doesn't follow him, but doesn't calm down until he's out of the park. That was definitely the weirdest encounter he has experienced so far; for a moment he had thought the guy might be out to kill him or something, yet he hadn't refused to let him go. Perhaps a junkie? Maybe there's some kind of drug that makes people act strangely but still seem like they're clear in the head. Is there any kind of drug that cause your eyes to glow?
He shakes his head as if to shake the thoughts out of his mind, but when he does, he recalls the suggestion Fujigaya had given him. The one about wine. He supposes that it's true, it would be nice to have some nice, fresh ice wine, and it would also be more polite to bring a bottle, at least as a gift. There should be a wine store around here, it's a very classy part of Tokyo and it's not too late for everything to be closed either. Just a turn around the corner of the same block as Sho's apartment complex is on and he finds just what he is looking for; doesn't hurry to choose the wine, but tries to not take too long. He does kind of lose himself in it, but once he finds the perfect beverage for his cake he's out of there as soon as the staff has put it neatly into a tall, glossy bag.
When he gets to Sho's door he sees that the lights are on inside, which means he's lucky and Sho is home. It's strange, however, that when Senga knocks on the door it slides open on its own; but he assumes that Sho has had a long day and maybe just forgot to shut the door all the way when he got home. At first he does feel a little bad when he realizes that he's occupying Sho's free time with his cake, but then the cake invades his mind and he pushes the door open and enters.
What meets him is a lesser chaos. A chair has been knocked to the floor, there's papers all over the place; when he looks closer he sees weird, red stains on both the floor and a carpet.
“... Hello?” he tries, voice a little weak, and he relaxes when he gets a kind response.
“In here.” A voice comes from the bedroom, and it's a bit thicker than usual, but it's close enough to Sakurai Sho's voice for Senga to not worry. “I've been feeling bad today, so I'm resting.”
“Oh.” Senga quickly tries to think of a way to explain why he's there, especially as Sho most likely doesn't want to have cake when he's not okay. “I baked a cake that I wanted you to try, but... I suppose you're not in the condition to grade my skills right now.”
“Put it in the refrigerator for now, in case I get better. Is it a good cake?”
That question hits all the right buttons for Senga. “It's the best cake I've ever made, I swear. It's a masterpiece, not even the patissier at the cake shop I work at has ever made anything like it. Is it possible to be in love with a cake? I think I'm in love with this cake. I brought wine to go with it, I'll put it next to the cake, okay? We can have it later, or tomorrow, I can come back tomorrow.”
“It sounds promising. Why don't you stay a while? I just might get better.” It really does sound like he's not feeling very good; his voice sounds strained, but Senga doesn't dare to go check on him. While they are kind of friends, Sho is also someone he looks up to, in a way, and if Sho doesn't want him to see him in that state it would be a disaster to do exactly that. “Have some wine, won't you? The one on top of the kitchen counter, a nice red wine. You should try it.”
Senga isn't one to say no to that. The bottle is just where Sho said it was; it's already opened, a little sticky at the top but he assumes it's because Sho has also tasted it. After all, he said it was good. He searches the cupboards until he finds a fitting glass, pours himself some wine; in the sink he spots the same red spots as on the floor, and it's starting to bother him.
“Did anything happen when you got home?” he starts, takes the glass of wine in his hand as he puts the chair that had fallen over back in its correct position.
“Wanted to have a nice glass of that wine, then I got all dizzy... But I made it into my bedroom. How is it, the wine?” At the question Senga lifts it to his lips, takes a quite large amount into his mouth, and finds himself grimacing. It's an odd flavor, one he can't recall ever having tasted before. In fact, no wine he has tried has even resembled it. A deep flavor, that's for sure, but there's a strange tang to it, one that reminds of metal, and he's not sure what to think of it.
“It's... What is it made of?” He tries taking another sip, as if it was just his imagination the first time, but nothing has changed. Are Sho's taste buds so superior that he finds something delicious in this that Senga is just simply unable to taste?
“It should say on the label. Dark grapes, isn't it? Come in here and let me know what you think of it.”
If Sho verbally invites him into his bedroom, he's going to allow himself to check on him. After all, if it has been bad enough for the room to look this chaotic, it does make Senga a little worried. He leaves the strange wine on the table, walks the few steps that take him to the bedroom door; it's dark inside, and Sho asks him not to turn on the lights, as he feels better with them off. The window offers a little light, the light that shines in from the sides of the curtains, and Senga only sees Sho's silhouette as he sits down on the bed.
“Are you feeling very bad?” he asks, out of concern, and Sho nods slowly, just once. An awkward silence falls over the room as Senga waits for questions about the wine, and when none come, he makes a weak attempt to at least hold a conversation. “Your hair has grown a lot, hasn't it?”
“Yes,” Sho mumbles, brings up a hand to stroke one of the locks just below his jaw in place; the ring on his finger shines a little in the faint light from the window. “I need to get it cut, it really just keeps growing.”
“You started wearing rings?” Senga asks then, because he can't recall ever seeing Sho with accessories on his hands.
“Yes,” and this time the fingers scratch lightly at his own neck before he lets the hand fall back onto the covers. “I have found a liking of them recently.”
“Oh, I see.” He takes another look at Sho's face; it's too dark to see any details at all, but what he does see worries him. “You look really thin, did you lose weight?”
“Yes,” Sho nods, “I have been very busy lately.” At first it seems odd to Senga, as Sho's job is literally to eat cakes and desserts, but he supposes that anyone could start losing weight when stressed, and shrugs any further questions away.
“Can I do anything? Do want a glass of water, or anything?” Again a nod, and Senga turns away, is just about to rise up when all of a sudden his wrist is grabbed, and he finds himself being pulled onto the bed, shoved onto his back with a surprising strength. He doesn't understand, isn't Sho sick? What is he even doing? How can he be so strong if he was barely unable to hold himself up earlier?
But then he looks up, and now that the light hits in a different way, he sees that the man above him is not Sho at all.
“I don't let go of my prey that easily.” The voice no longer sounds thick and strained; it's back to smooth and seductive, tinted with a threatening tone. It's Fujigaya, who tears Senga's shirt open with nails like claws, bares his chest in less than a second, and he's is in such shock that he freezes, just stares up at glowing eyes made for hunting in the dark as their owner grabs his wrists and pins him to the bed. Senga thinks he might be crazy, but he sees it now. Fujigaya is a wolf, and a human.
And now that he has realized, he notices that it's not Fujigaya's hair that's styled strangely; it's his ears sticking up, pointed and alert, moving a little as if to pick up sounds from their surroundings.
“What-,” he gasps, and the ears focus fully on him, just like Fujigaya's eyes are already doing. One hand lets go of his wrist; it rakes down his side and he can feel his skin rise in throbbing welts, hopes that his skin isn't parting to bleed for him. It doesn't feel like it, and as the hand reaches the waistline of his pants it leaves his skin, although only momentarily. His pants are being undone, slowly, but Fujigaya seems to deem it too tricky to handle with one hand and sharp claws, opts for pulling them open using his strength instead. The button flies off, and as if that's what he needed Senga comes back to his senses, attempts to kick Fujigaya in the chest. He fails, instead Fujigaya straddles both of his legs as he leans over him, again takes one wrist in each of his hands.
“I like cute boys,” he mumbles against one of Senga's collarbones, presses his nose against his skin once he gets to the hollow below his throat; there he pushes his lips against him instead, then parts them to lick at him. Only once, then he's sliding his mouth upwards, teeth scraping against his throat and Senga feels it, feels the abnormality. There's fangs there, not sharp ones, more likely for crushing, and if there's anything he doesn't want right now, it's to get his throat crushed. “Just let me do what I want and I might let you live. Okay?”
Of course Senga still struggles. He struggles, but Fujigaya is oddly strong for his thin build, doesn't budge when he squirms to get free; Senga still thinks he should be able to push him away if he gets his legs loose, but before he manages, Fujigaya spins him around.
“If that's how you want it.” He puts a knee on the small of Senga's back to hold him down, harshly tugs his open jeans down to mid-thigh, effectively disabling him from easily getting up and running. Then he straddles his back much like had his legs, only now he leans up, grabs his wrists one at a time, ties some kind of leather strap tightly around them. Once those straps are tied just as tightly to the frame of the bed, what hope he had turns into fear because he realizes that no, he's not going to be able to save himself from this situation.
Fujigaya's weight leaves his body, but with arms spread and tied in place he can't raise his head enough to see where he went; he goes by the shift of the bed to understand that Fujigaya is moving around him until nails come down on his skin again, from where his thigh is exposed up to his hip bone, and next there's a drop of something wet landing on one of his buttcheeks. As he tilts his head as far to the side he can, until his cheek is pressed to the mattress, he can see Fujigaya looking back at him while he wipes his lips, and he squirms again when wet fingers slip between his legs, rubbing over his opening. He gasps when a finger pushes past the muscle, forcing it open and he turns his eyes away, doesn't want to see the way Fujigaya smirks as his wrist moves. Another finger, some more saliva; Senga squeezes his eyes tight together as it's not the slightest pleasant and he knows this is just the beginning. There's still two fingers inside him when he hears the zipper to Fujigaya's pants, and it's soon after that that all touches leave him but the bed keeps on shifting.
With rough hands Fujigaya pulls Senga's jeans down to his knees, parts his thighs as much as he can, and Senga actually cries out when he pushes inside, draws shallow breaths as he panics from the pain. Fujigaya doesn't seem to bat an eyelash at it, just picks up a slow rhythm, one hand on Senga's waist as he thrusts, low groans escaping him in time with them.
“Relax,” he whispers, but it's clear that it's not an attempt to calm him down; there's something mocking in his voice, then there's a hand on the back of his head pushing it down, making him struggle for air and it only gets worse when Senga feels lips parting over his neck and fangs coming down on it.
At first the teeth only scrape against him as Fujigaya breathes hot against his skin, but the more force he puts into his movements the more the fangs dig into his neck; the louder Senga whimpers, tears burning in the corner of his eyes. Tears that overflow when Fujigaya bites for real, takes skin between his teeth and puts pressure on it with strong jaws. It hurts, on the outside as well as the inside, so much that Senga nearly shuts down; he's still tense, but doesn't struggle, lets his body follow Fujigaya's movements, only winces when nails scrape down his unhurt side, and this time he's sure he bleeds. Fujigaya makes a deep sound against his neck, almost a growl, scratches once more and then he stills, breathing heavily into Senga's hair before he pulls back. Senga feels himself sob, even more so when Fujigaya strokes the back of a finger along his spine, then his arm, and suddenly his wrist is released. Only one of them, and then he's being spun around again; the leather strap on his other wrist twists, but he's still stuck in it. He wants to ask Fujigaya if that's it, if he's going to let him go now, but he finds no strength in his body to do so; then looks up at him and thinks he sees the answer in those eyes.
“No,” he confirms, sounds straight-up amused as he strokes Senga's neck, takes a light hold of his chin, leans down to place a kiss on his cheek, so gentle it's macabre. When he pulls away he's sticky, both chin and cheek, and this time he sees the blood on Fujigaya's lips, on his hand; his own blood.
He screams for real this time, when Fujigaya ducks lower, puts both hands as well as teeth on his neck, presses down, and Senga tries to punch him with his free hand; he does hit, but it does nothing to stop Fujigaya. So he screams, hits, until he feels his breath hitching, the sounds die out and he's closer to fainting than he has ever been before. And then, the moment his vision starts shutting down, there's a sudden, very loud bang, the pressure on his throat eases and when he looks up, he sees that Fujigaya is looking wildly between the bedroom door and his injured upper arm, bleeding onto Senga's bare stomach.
“Step away,” a steady voice says, catches both of their attention and Senga feels hope blooming out in his chest when he sees the gun pointed straight towards Fujigaya's face as a man with dark hair and determined eyes walks towards them. “Now.”
Fujigaya doesn't budge, if anything he looks like he's about to attack, but the man is faster, fires a bullet into his shoulder and this time, the force of it makes him fall a little to the side, only to get shoved off the bed as the stranger gives him a punch in the forehead with the barrel of his gun.
“What,” Senga attempts to speak, finds his voice dry and weak, but continues anyway, “who, who are you?”
“Kamenashi,” the man answers as he fumbles with Senga's restraints, keeps an eye on Fujigaya until he manages to get Senga loose. “Get out of here, okay?”
He doesn't need to be told twice; Senga gets his pants back in place in no time, then he's up, leaves the Kamenashi guy to take care of Fujigaya while he does his best to hurry out of there. He would be faster if his entire body didn't hurt; he's still bleeding a little from his back, the wounds having opened when he rose up, and his legs are stiff from all the tensing. That doesn't mean he's slow, only slow enough to notice that the red spots on the floor have increased since last he saw them, and the realization that they must be spots of blood makes him freeze. He doesn't have to look to know that that's exactly what hits his own shoulder; instead he looks up, and his stomach turns at the sight.
Sho's body is tied to the ceiling, empty eyes staring down at Senga, head at an unnatural angle, throat crushed and windpipe peeking out from under his skin, looking like it has been torn off. It's all a mess, blood down on his chest, on his neat white shirt that has the top buttons pulled open; all around his neck and still dropping from it. Senga can't tear his eyes away from him, too shocked to move, until a loud bang is heard from the bedroom and his trance is broken. He makes it out the door, down one staircase, but it's as if all energy has been drained from him and he just slumps down against the wall, doesn't feel how the concrete cools his bare skin.
Then there's quick steps coming towards him, yet he can't will himself to do more than try to hide in the dark corner at the platform between the staircases; although he knows that if it's Fujigaya, he's done for.
“Are you okay?” The voice is gentle, in a different way than Fujigaya's, and when he looks up, he sees that it's Kamenashi, hair messy, angry red scratches on his left cheek, but genuine concern in his brown eyes. “Come,” he pulls him up, lays his own coat over Senga's shoulders, covers him before he sets a soft hand on his back. “I don't think he'll come after us.” They start walking, slowly at first, but it's easier now that he has someone to lean on and Kamenashi keeps on speeding up, as though they might be followed, contrary to his words.
They make it out of the apartment complex, Kamenashi on the phone calling for a taxi; as they wait by the street Senga turns around, draws a sharp breath when he sees the shadow of someone limping out of the same door they exited. He stares at it in silence, subconsciously moves closer to Kamenashi, who also turns his head to look.
“Hey,” Kamenashi takes his attention of the injured silhouette of Fujigaya, “Let's get you out of here.”