Author's Note: It's probably pretty strange to see a fanfiction of Fruits Basket. It has long been my belief that this fandom is highly underappreciated and very much neglected for all of its wonderful
bishonen potential. So I've decided to do what I can to fix that!
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Warnings: Graphic sex, BDSM, Angst. Also, this has not been beta'ed, and I'm being lazy and so do not
intend to read over it before I post it, so please forgive any and all discrepancies.
The dojo flashed with a blinding whiteness as lightning, strobe-like in the distance roared as thunder crashed overhead. The sun had set hours ago, casting Sohma House into the impenetrable blackness that always seemed to hang over it, sun shine, or not. It was different tonight, though.
The sun hadn’t really shown at all today, blocked by layers of black clouds. It had rained like the monsoon, though it was only April, and the monsoon season was not for another month, at least. Puddles had gathered, reflecting in a fractured parody of reality the world around us, as though hinting with swirling images that swam into focus one second only to be thrown into chaos the next, the darkness that would be waiting for me when I finally made my way to this room, where he was waiting.
It was long past midnight. I had no idea how long he was waiting for me, though I’m sure it had been quite a while that he’d been here.
The room was bare aside for the lone figure on his knees inside of it, and the table and chair positioned close by. A normal dojo, the room was large to accommodate twenty or so bodies moving gracefully in a warrior’s dance that had existed for hundreds of years, the methods of regal violence passed down from generation to generation until it became something of a tell that one would learn it. There were no questions, really. Though most in the Sohma House did not actively follow martial arts, they still had to learn it as children.
I was no different, and neither was he. The only difference between us and ‘them’, was that we still actively trained; this room was as familiar to me as the one I slept in. I knew he knew it better than I, for he had grown up here.
I had no idea how long he had been here, but it was long enough for him to set up. I’ll never guess how he managed to get himself tied up like that with no one to help him. The first few times, a little over a year ago, I had been here to help him. There was a shame to that for him, I know, more so than him needing this, for him to have me help him in that way. There was too much of a submissive factor to it, and Kyo was as far away from submissive as the sun was from the moon.
Except in this. And this was mine, as much as it was for him.
I stood in the doorway to the dojo for a long while, watching his tanned flesh flicker into sharp relief with the flash of each thunderbolt, my arms crossed over my chest as I kept my breathing even, taking in the sight of him, letting it move through my body in a sensual wave that didn’t quite mask the knowledge that what we were about to do was disgusting, and wrong for so many reasons. He’s a warrior, the same as me, even if the only war we have to fight is the House, and Akito, and the curse, and each other. He has the flesh of a warrior complete with the thread-like wisps of scars tattooing his flesh like a cruel caress, and the instincts.
He knew I was here. He knew I was watching him, though I had yet to make a sound. He turned slightly towards me, his bare knees brushing against the mat in a whisper of sex, blindfold pressed firmly against his eyes keeping him blind, gag in his mouth keeping him mute, the bar to which he was tied keeping him paralyzed. His breathing was loud, faster and more pronounced than it had been when I’d first entered, the flush creeping across his cheeks to diffuse to his neck and across his shoulders making him look so… enticing.
I smirked. I couldn’t help it, and I knew that if he ever saw that expression on my face, it would be the last expression my face would ever wear. I pushed myself away from the post against which I was leaning, reaching over to slide the rice-paper door closed behind me, the door making a soft thump as it slid home. Outside, the thunder rolled balefully across the sky, a distant echo of the dark pulse that beat in the dojo, and I saw his muscles tense as the trembling began.
Oh, but how he hated this part of it. How he hated to acknowledge that he needed this, and how he believed he deserved it. How I wanted to give it to him, do it for him. I could scream in his face all day every day that he was better than this, worth so much more than what he shamefacedly asked me to in that harsh whisper the first time we had been together… But he would never believe me. Damn, stubborn, stupid cat.
My bare feet whispered over the tatami as I slowly made my way over to him, stopping just in front of him as he kneeled before me. The bar that anchored his arms away from his body at shoulder height pulled his chest tight, dusky brown nipples perk in the cool air. The hair on his naked thighs stood straight up as a chill wracked his body in a small but noticeable convulsion, his cock standing at half-mast already and slightly damp at the tip, the dark rubber cock-ring fastened around it keeping his sex from rising to its full proud potential from within the soft nest of red curls that surrounded it. His face, half-hidden by the cloth blindfold and fall of unruly orange bangs, was upturned, his lips pressed so tightly to the ball wedged into his mouth they were a thin white line despite the flush of want in his body… It all showed how much he hated this, and how much he so severely wanted it.
With that smirk turning into a soft smile, I reached down and cupped his cheek, not surprised when he flinched away from the touch almost violently enough to send him toppling over backwards. I grinned. He hated this, but he wanted it.
Turning my back on him, I pulled my gloves off one finger at a time, letting him hear the rasp of cloth, the tumble of fabric as I shrugged the heavy jacket I wore off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I took off the sunglasses I had pushed to my forehead at sunset, setting them on the table beside the things he had chosen to use tonight, my eyes flicking dispassionately over them despite the fire I felt already simmering in every piece of my body, thoughtful.
He wanted pain tonight. The tools he had chosen screamed it. It was rare that Kyo asked for such things, rare that he felt that he needed them. I had only gotten this rough with him two or three times now, for he normally settled for degrading pleasure. I wondered what had unsettled him so greatly that he would want… this.
For a moment, a flash of her was before my eyes, the girl we all loved as we had never really loved anyone and her heart that encompassed us all no matter how it belonged to a rat, and always had, though she would never admit it to herself; she was too clean and naive for such a selfish thought to reside in her head. I wondered what she had done now, innocently, of course, to cause this sudden need in him. I wondered if it was really her at all, or if it was Yuki, or Shigure, or Akito, or any of the others. Perhaps it was even Kagura, the woman who loved him more than life, though he could never love her. It took a bit of the flicker out of my spark, strangled my grin and turned it into an expression of pity. It was a good thing he couldn’t see that, either.
He shifted behind me. Probably wondered what was taking me so damn long. In truth, I didn’t like this part of it. I like him tied up and helpless. I like him writhing with pleasure. I like him panting and hissing and coiling beneath me as I give him what he asks for, what he’s asked for every time with a passing look at school, the barest brush of his body against mine that is so minimal no one could possibly see it no matter how hard they looked if they even knew what they were looking for. I love kissing him.
But I hate this. I’ll give it to him, though, because I think I’m just as fucked up as he is, and because he asked me for it.
With a steady hand that would not shake for his sake, I reached out, and ran a fingertip over each of the tools selected. A whip, three feet long and easy to wield; a paddle the size of two of my hands set side-by-side drilled through with thousands of little holes; a leather strap; a riding crop… Dozens of other instruments that would turn this act into rape instead of what I wanted it to be.
With a deep, silent breath, I reached out and took up the riding crop, swishing it through the air experimentally. With a nod, I turned around to find him shaking so badly I was amazed he wasn’t flat on his back yet.
Pity swam through me, sharp and unrelenting, cutting with the tendrils of devotion and love I felt for him. God, I hated this, but I’d do it.
With a small deeply inhaled breath, I knelt beside him, running the fingers of my left hand through his hair in a gentle caress even as the leather crop in my right tapped lethargically against the flushed skin of his lower back.
“You know what I want from you,” I whispered, the words a bare murmur against the flesh of his throat as I leaned towards him, balancing on the balls of my feet. I whispered a kiss on the side of his throat, my fingers fisting gently through the hairs on the back his neck as I tilted his head away from me to give my mouth more room. “I know what you want form me. I won’t be gentle.”
His breath wheezed through his nose, loud and struggling as his teeth bit into the rubber ball shoved between his teeth. At his sides where his wrists were anchored to the bar by long leather straps, his hands clenched into fists so tight it turned every bit of skin on his hands pure white with the strain. I think his cock would have wilted were it not for the ring imprisoning it.
“I won’t accept pleas of mercy,” I muttered, shifting his face towards me by the handle I had on his hair. I rubbed my nose against his, tracing his gaping mouth with the tip of my tongue. He shivered, and I smiled. “I won’t stop until you bleed.”
One more of those shivering convulsions whipped through his body, every muscle he possessed aside from his cock straining out in sudden relief against his flesh, his arms pulling against the metal rod that held him in place as though he wished to snap it in half. It was what he wanted, though. Every word I spoke was what he wanted to hear, and it would make the whole experience just that much more therapeutic for him, and hopefully next time the tools he chose would be a bit more fun, for me as well as him.
I stood in a swift, fluid motion, releasing his hair and backing away from him. The crop twitched in my grasp as I clenched and re-clenched my fingers around it, trying to build myself up to what I had to do with long, even breaths as I circled him. He was perfectly still, wonderfully and wickedly solid in the fireworks of lightning that cut through the black sky. I’m not even sure if he was breathing.
I brought the crop down hard against the flesh of his upper thighs, putting as much strength into it as I could without doing lasting damage; no warm up tonight, he wouldn’t want it. The sound was sickening as it split the silence, his nostrils flaring as he gasped in a surprised breath as pain flared through legs. A welt already forming, I brought my weapon down again and again on his flesh until his thighs were a perfect shade of red, the long angrily red welts a perfect uniform from where he was bent at the knee to just below his groin. By the time I was finished, he was rocking back on his haunches in a sway that looked perilously close to a faint, but he stayed upright, and he hadn’t made a sound aside from a muffled grunt with each stroke.
I stood beside him, regulating my breathing; I couldn’t afford to get tired yet. There was still too much to do. I turned towards the table again and set the crop down, my fingers bypassing the whip though I’m sure that’s what he wanted the most, and grasped the hilt of the paddle. The other instruments were too ugly, too beastly, to use, and I knew that I couldn’t go on with this much longer.
I turned back to him, watching as his shoulders heaved with struggling breaths, the welts on his thighs weeping thick droplets of blood that pooled and slid down the insides of his legs. The sight was sinful, and alluring; I felt that spark that had been lost in my retrospection earlier return and gain minimalistic heat.
Without warning, I swung the paddle down on his back, striking him just below the nape of his neck in a swing so powerful it sent him sprawling onto his face. I was after him in a second, the whistle of the paddle through the air the only warning he had before I struck him again, and again, and again, uniformly from shoulders to ankles, paying special attention to his ass and the area right below his buttocks where I knew from experience the pain was the greatest. The beating lasted long enough for blood to well to the surface even though I hadn’t really broken his skin, the constant brutal concussions of wood against flesh forcing it out through the layer of his skin until I was certain that every part of him from neck to heel was going to be one massive bruise for weeks.
It took him a long while to scream. If there was one thing I’d ever appreciated about Kyo it was his stubbornness, even as much as it irritated me, and he was never the type to show pain in such a way. But it was more than stubbornness that kept him silent for so long. It was the need to break. I’d asked him once why he felt he needed to go to such measures. He’d said it was like a spring was coiling inside of him and the pain was the only thing that could release it. It was a breaking, he’d said, like something ugly and powerful inside of him shatters and he finally feels as though he’s free, at least for a little while.
But something would always happen to piece that monster inside of him back together, and he would need it again.
It always took him a long time to break. It started as whimpers, at first. Then, it progressed to a shuddering that had nothing to do with the powerful strokes rained down upon his flesh. Finally, he’d bite down into the ball shoved into his mouth so harshly he’d nearly bite it in two, and a howl the likes of which should belong to the walking dead ripped itself from his throat. Tears rolled down his cheeks, for they had already soaked through the cloth of the blindfold, staining the tatami like the tears of a demon finally released from Hell.
It was then and only then, that I was free to love him like I wanted to. He wouldn’t push me away now, would curl into me as I threw the paddle across the room and dropped to my knees at his side, gathering him to me. I wrapped my arms around him even as he wrapped his entire body around me, sobbing in great heaves that shook both our bodies as I untied his arms and released him from the gag and kissed his mouth gently and repeatedly.
I wouldn’t apologize. That would ruin it and he’d hate me for it. But I would allow my clothes to soak up his tears, to stain with the red of his blood. I would allow myself to be strong for him, because despite what everyone seems to think, he’s not strong at all.
It takes a long while to calm him down, and even though he’s not crying anymore, he’s still shaking uncontrollably. We sit there, me holding him, rocking him gently back and forth with unintelligible words murmured into his thick red hair, until he turns his face towards mine. Then, the punishment becomes something else entirely.
His lips are sweet, as always. His tongue is hot and lingering in my mouth as we kiss, my tongue probing his mouth as his curls around mine, his arms tight bands around my torso that anchor me to him in ways that words cannot ever hope to express. I press into him, running my hands over his ruined flesh, torturing myself with the knowledge that I did this to him as much as I sought to torture him with the pleasure I long to give him.
He lays out beneath me, pulling me atop him as he spreads himself to situate me, rubbing like a hot, horny kitten against my body as I grind my clothed cock resolutely into his. He’s fully erect now, burning against me through the cloth of my pants, and turn us both until I’m the one beneath him. I cradle his face in my hands, looking up at him with a sorrowful devotion he cannot, thankfully, see due to the cloth still rendering him blind, and memorize him as I never have before. He’s so beautiful and as frail as he is strong, that I cannot help but feel a clenching in my chest that has nothing to do with sex.
He sits up, his fingers sliding down my sides to find and grasp the hem of my black tee-shirt, pulling it over my head as I shift slightly to allow it. He pushes himself back into the V of my spread legs, leaving me to watch him with hooded eyes as he finds and undoes the clasps of my jeans, the backs of his fingers whispering over my flesh as he pulls the off and drops them at his side. His cheeks still stained with drying tears, he lowers his face to nuzzle me, and I suck in a sharp breath as he takes me in his mouth.
I had asked him, the first time he’d done this to me, if he’d done it before. He didn’t answer, but I knew he must have, because he’s always been so good at it. The swirl of his tongue against the underside, cradling the flesh in his mouth as he moves in a smooth rhythm too slow to make me come as he makes me moist and slick in preparation for him.
With a slow, lingering withdraw that leaves my muscles straining against my flesh and wrenches a moan from deep in throat, he releases me, crawling back up my body to crouch over me and kiss me. Our tongues twine as I slide my hands down his body, down around the curve of his ass and into the crevice presented to me. What I find makes me smile against his lips as my fingers brush against the butt of the plug, his body above me tightening as he releases my mouth to utter a sweet hiss as my fingers press against it. His head dips to rest against my chest as he moves in short, slow thrusts back against the long slender plug I’m slowly pulling from his ass, letting out a huff of breath that tickles against me when I finally get it free. He sits up, straddling my hips as I take one slender, muscled hip in my grasp to position him over my cock that I’m holding steady with the other.
With the first brush of the head against his entrance, he reaches back and grasps it himself, rubbing the tip over his flesh with a moan that causes my own breath to catch in my throat. Slowly, he presses back, and I slide easily home, left shuddering beneath him as I clench his sides as my hips pulse upwards in short little bursts that leaves us both panting.
The coupling is slow and sweet, his mouth gaping around strangled moans he doesn’t dare let get any louder, his head thrown back only to roll forward as I pluck at his nipples and he leans down for quick, probing sips from my lips. When I brush my fingers over the marks on his thighs or back, he hisses sharply, his muscles clenching around me in a torture I cannot deny myself if only because I know that the pain causes him pleasure, too, and my hands run lingeringly all over his body, memorizing him in a way I am not allowed to otherwise.
My heart is thundering in my chest now, sending pulses of impending orgasm flashing throughout my body, and I know I’m close. I remove his blindfold only to find his red-hued eyes glazed and blind anyway as they stare down at me, his face a wonderful array of guileless passion that does more to send me teetering on the edge than the delightful pull of his body around me, and I reach towards his cock, straining now and stained a dark purplish red as it pushes against his flat stomach, releasing him from the ring that’s held him prisoner for what must be hours now. I fist him lightly, offering him only a feather-like touch that nonetheless serves to throw him headlong into his own orgasm as he chokes on a scream.
He collapses against me, boneless, and I take his hips in my hands as I begin to pound into him now with more force, slapping my thighs against his in a way that manages to strike the pleasure center deep within him, and he gasps, convulsing around me involuntarily as a pleasure he’s too sensitive for just yet accosts him and throws him into a secondary orgasm that has his neck snapping back as he slams a fist into his mouth, biting down on it hard enough to make it bleed.
I throw my own head back, slamming up into him one more time before every muscle in my body locks and I release myself into him in hot waves with an orgasm so powerful I feel my heart stutter in my chest and stars erupt before my eyes.
When I finally return to my body, it’s to find him still curled around him, his body still possessing mine even though I’m now soft, fast asleep. His breath wisps out over my chest in an even rhythm that warms me, and makes my heart clench.
The thunder has long since rolled away into the distance, the storm now past, and through the windows of the dojo the predawn light pales the horizon with the promise of a new day. With an effort that shouldn’t have been so colossal, I roll up onto my feet, him in my arms. It’s early enough that no one in Sohma House will yet be awake, and the guest lodging is only a short path away. We can make it there without anyone seeing us, Kyo will finally have a chance to rest without the demons in his dreams disturbing him, and I’ll be able to dress his wounds.
Kyo stirs quietly in my arms, pressing his face close to my chest. “Haru…” he mutters, his face in perfect, peaceful repose, and I lean down to press a kiss into his hair.
I turn towards the door. Let the servants make of the mess what they will, and let Akito burn in Hell.