(no subject)
Title: The Chrysalis, Fixed
Fandom: Zombie Loan
Pairing: Shiba/Chika
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1250
Warnings: Bondage, spoilers for episode 6
Notes: Written for the Zombie Loan Kink Meme under the request: "ShibaxChika...bondage? S&M?"
In his dreams, Chika is on that rooftop again. Really, he's often there in waking, too. Some days, he never leaves it, at least in his mind.
But in his dreams, he is on the rooftop, and he can't move his hands. Not even the one that isn't his, the one that can detach. He has his own hands again, just the way he did back in middle school when he first met Shiba.
Shiba. Shiba is in his dreams, too. And, even though he never dreams this part, Chika knows that Shiba is to blame for the way he can't move his hands. Shiba smiles down at him, calm and beautiful and mysterious as ever -- sincere, the way he always smiled at Chika, the way he smiled at Chika alone -- and then he binds Chika's feet.
In these dreams, he's on a bed, tied spread-eagle to the posts. He doesn't bother to ask why there's a bed on the rooftop. He thinks that maybe it's Shito's bed, the one he'd slept in once, but it doesn't really matter because he's tied to it and Shiba is straddling his hips and right at that moment, it is their bed. Just as it will always be their rooftop.
In these dreams, tied to this bed, pinned under Shiba and bathed in moonlight, he doesn't think to be afraid. Even when the cuffs around his wrists and ankles tighten to the point of pain, Chika can't be afraid. Shiba caresses his face, presses soft dream-lips to his cheek, pops the first button off his shirt.
Chika can barely force a moan from his throat before he is suddenly naked, and he can feel the chill night air tickling his skin like seaweed. Shiba is naked too, all pale skin and lean muscle. Naked, but for the inky butterfly adorning his flesh. It stands out like a negative image of the moon in the night sky.
Shiba licks him again, licks blood that Chika didn't know was there, licks him and Chika is arching off the hard mattress. This pulls the cuffs even tighter and Chika hisses, but Shiba swallows the hiss with insistent kisses.
"I have you," Shiba whispers in warm breaths against Chika's lips, "I have you and you can't get away."
Chika wants to call him an idiot, wants to scream that he never wanted to get away in the first place, scream that it was Shiba who left him and if anyone should be bound to this bed it should be Shiba.
But he doesn't do any of that because somehow, despite the cuffs, his pants are gone and Shiba is swallowing him whole. Shiba's tongue is hot and wet and moving against him in waves that drown his mind. It's more intense than Death ever was.
Chika squirms under Shiba, his vision squeezing down to a pinpoint, his sensory intake limited to that single spot of light and the feel of Shiba's tongue. Dreams are screwy that way. But it feels real enough when it's happening. All of it -- the blow job, the hand on his chest, the fingers in his mouth, the bed, the rooftop, the night air -- it's all real and when Shiba forces his cock inside him, that feels real too. More real than anything that actually happened on that rooftop, anyway.
In these dreams, when Shiba is finally inside him, hot and hard and somehow so familiar, Chika swears he can feel his heart beating again. Somewhere inside his chest like it had been beating all along, it pounds in rhythm with Shiba's hips, lubs when Shiba pushes in, dubs when he pulls out. Lub-dub, lub-dub until Chika is moaning in a way that would make him embarrassed in waking. But in this dream, he is free to moan all he wants. He is free to feel Shiba, free to fuck Shiba in Shito's bed. In dreaming, he is free.
"Don't disappear," Shiba hisses against Chika's collarbone before biting down hard. It hurts and Chika yelps, but he holds Shiba's head down, forces the teeth harder against the bone, forces him down until Chika can smell the blood.
And he can feel Shiba shake against him, feel him come and feel him sob. And Chika wants nothing more than to hold him, to assure himself that Shiba won't disappear, that they can stay in this bed forever if it means that Shiba won't go away again. He tugs against the cuffs that hold him, tugs hard because he wants this, but pain cuts through him and he screams.
In these dreams, after Shiba comes, after Shiba cries, after Chika tries to wrap Shiba in his bound arms, the cuffs are no longer cuffs. In these dreams, the cuffs become long straightpins and he is pierced to the bed like a specimen under glass. He is a trapped butterfly.
And Shiba smiles at him then, wild and cruel and cold -- not like Shiba at all.
"I have you," he whispers again.
And still Chika can't talk. He can only struggle against the pins piercing his wrists and ankles, can only watch the black blood welling at the wounds. He is crying too hard now to voice his betrayal. But his cock is still hard and Shiba's eyes are hard as they settle on him. The smile is wicked and the hand that closes around Chika's length is cold as cement. This hand, this chilled, dead corpse's hand moves against him, the quick pace once again matching the frantic beat of his heart. Chika hates it, feels nauseous at the sight of Shiba's hand on him, disgusted at the way he's responding to it. But he responds to it anyway, all deep moans and grinding hips, wracking sobs and tensing muscles.
And when he comes in two longs bursts, Shiba leans down to lick it off his chest. Chika squeezes his eyes shut and arches again, tearing more skin against the pins in his body, but Shiba's tongue feels too good for him to hold still.
When he finally opens his eyes, Shiba is still leaned over him. He can't see Shiba's face through the thick curtain of light brown hair, but he knows in that scary dream-way that Shiba is smiling. And he watches on as the flesh of Shiba's back, the flesh stretched tight of the long line of his spine, tears open. It splits straight down the middle, bloodless and soundless. Like spring blossoms.
Shiba's back splits open and, slow as a moonrise, blue iridescent wings unfold. They are almost mechanical in their movements; they would creak if they made any sound at all. The wings unfold and Shiba hovers above him for a moment, hovers above Chika and the bed and the blood and the pins. In waking, Chika thinks this is maybe symbolism or something. He's not sure.
"I have you," Shiba says again, in his dreams, this time loud and sure, "I have you." Then he flies away, quick and smooth, until he is a speck that disappears into the glow of the moon.
And Chika's left there, tied to their damp bed, stranded on that rooftop. And he can never get away. Even when he wakes up in the morning -- body wet with sweat, his heart rocking his ribcage -- he can still feel the chill of the night air in his bones.
Fandom: Zombie Loan
Pairing: Shiba/Chika
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1250
Warnings: Bondage, spoilers for episode 6
Notes: Written for the Zombie Loan Kink Meme under the request: "ShibaxChika...bondage? S&M?"
In his dreams, Chika is on that rooftop again. Really, he's often there in waking, too. Some days, he never leaves it, at least in his mind.
But in his dreams, he is on the rooftop, and he can't move his hands. Not even the one that isn't his, the one that can detach. He has his own hands again, just the way he did back in middle school when he first met Shiba.
Shiba. Shiba is in his dreams, too. And, even though he never dreams this part, Chika knows that Shiba is to blame for the way he can't move his hands. Shiba smiles down at him, calm and beautiful and mysterious as ever -- sincere, the way he always smiled at Chika, the way he smiled at Chika alone -- and then he binds Chika's feet.
In these dreams, he's on a bed, tied spread-eagle to the posts. He doesn't bother to ask why there's a bed on the rooftop. He thinks that maybe it's Shito's bed, the one he'd slept in once, but it doesn't really matter because he's tied to it and Shiba is straddling his hips and right at that moment, it is their bed. Just as it will always be their rooftop.
In these dreams, tied to this bed, pinned under Shiba and bathed in moonlight, he doesn't think to be afraid. Even when the cuffs around his wrists and ankles tighten to the point of pain, Chika can't be afraid. Shiba caresses his face, presses soft dream-lips to his cheek, pops the first button off his shirt.
Chika can barely force a moan from his throat before he is suddenly naked, and he can feel the chill night air tickling his skin like seaweed. Shiba is naked too, all pale skin and lean muscle. Naked, but for the inky butterfly adorning his flesh. It stands out like a negative image of the moon in the night sky.
Shiba licks him again, licks blood that Chika didn't know was there, licks him and Chika is arching off the hard mattress. This pulls the cuffs even tighter and Chika hisses, but Shiba swallows the hiss with insistent kisses.
"I have you," Shiba whispers in warm breaths against Chika's lips, "I have you and you can't get away."
Chika wants to call him an idiot, wants to scream that he never wanted to get away in the first place, scream that it was Shiba who left him and if anyone should be bound to this bed it should be Shiba.
But he doesn't do any of that because somehow, despite the cuffs, his pants are gone and Shiba is swallowing him whole. Shiba's tongue is hot and wet and moving against him in waves that drown his mind. It's more intense than Death ever was.
Chika squirms under Shiba, his vision squeezing down to a pinpoint, his sensory intake limited to that single spot of light and the feel of Shiba's tongue. Dreams are screwy that way. But it feels real enough when it's happening. All of it -- the blow job, the hand on his chest, the fingers in his mouth, the bed, the rooftop, the night air -- it's all real and when Shiba forces his cock inside him, that feels real too. More real than anything that actually happened on that rooftop, anyway.
In these dreams, when Shiba is finally inside him, hot and hard and somehow so familiar, Chika swears he can feel his heart beating again. Somewhere inside his chest like it had been beating all along, it pounds in rhythm with Shiba's hips, lubs when Shiba pushes in, dubs when he pulls out. Lub-dub, lub-dub until Chika is moaning in a way that would make him embarrassed in waking. But in this dream, he is free to moan all he wants. He is free to feel Shiba, free to fuck Shiba in Shito's bed. In dreaming, he is free.
"Don't disappear," Shiba hisses against Chika's collarbone before biting down hard. It hurts and Chika yelps, but he holds Shiba's head down, forces the teeth harder against the bone, forces him down until Chika can smell the blood.
And he can feel Shiba shake against him, feel him come and feel him sob. And Chika wants nothing more than to hold him, to assure himself that Shiba won't disappear, that they can stay in this bed forever if it means that Shiba won't go away again. He tugs against the cuffs that hold him, tugs hard because he wants this, but pain cuts through him and he screams.
In these dreams, after Shiba comes, after Shiba cries, after Chika tries to wrap Shiba in his bound arms, the cuffs are no longer cuffs. In these dreams, the cuffs become long straightpins and he is pierced to the bed like a specimen under glass. He is a trapped butterfly.
And Shiba smiles at him then, wild and cruel and cold -- not like Shiba at all.
"I have you," he whispers again.
And still Chika can't talk. He can only struggle against the pins piercing his wrists and ankles, can only watch the black blood welling at the wounds. He is crying too hard now to voice his betrayal. But his cock is still hard and Shiba's eyes are hard as they settle on him. The smile is wicked and the hand that closes around Chika's length is cold as cement. This hand, this chilled, dead corpse's hand moves against him, the quick pace once again matching the frantic beat of his heart. Chika hates it, feels nauseous at the sight of Shiba's hand on him, disgusted at the way he's responding to it. But he responds to it anyway, all deep moans and grinding hips, wracking sobs and tensing muscles.
And when he comes in two longs bursts, Shiba leans down to lick it off his chest. Chika squeezes his eyes shut and arches again, tearing more skin against the pins in his body, but Shiba's tongue feels too good for him to hold still.
When he finally opens his eyes, Shiba is still leaned over him. He can't see Shiba's face through the thick curtain of light brown hair, but he knows in that scary dream-way that Shiba is smiling. And he watches on as the flesh of Shiba's back, the flesh stretched tight of the long line of his spine, tears open. It splits straight down the middle, bloodless and soundless. Like spring blossoms.
Shiba's back splits open and, slow as a moonrise, blue iridescent wings unfold. They are almost mechanical in their movements; they would creak if they made any sound at all. The wings unfold and Shiba hovers above him for a moment, hovers above Chika and the bed and the blood and the pins. In waking, Chika thinks this is maybe symbolism or something. He's not sure.
"I have you," Shiba says again, in his dreams, this time loud and sure, "I have you." Then he flies away, quick and smooth, until he is a speck that disappears into the glow of the moon.
And Chika's left there, tied to their damp bed, stranded on that rooftop. And he can never get away. Even when he wakes up in the morning -- body wet with sweat, his heart rocking his ribcage -- he can still feel the chill of the night air in his bones.