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“And when I think of it like that, i-it’s like… why am I here? Wh-why am I here? What am I doing here? What’s the point of being alive? Just to be sad? Just to have an awful time and then die one day? Why not just… I mean, you know? Why not?”
Kazutoshi bares his soul to Ken, words quaking with vulnerability. There’s a strong sense of gloom, and maybe more, in his chest, tightening with every beat of his heart. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill. Ken stares at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape with distress, and Kazutoshi feels terrible for laying this all on him without warning.
Then Ken does something that completely blindsides him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t beg Kazutoshi to stay alive or admonish him for these horrible thoughts.
Rather, he takes several quick steps forward, grabs Kazutoshi by the sides, and forcibly bends him over a woodworking table. Then, before Kazutoshi can squawk out a what the hell are you doing, a hand larger than his own whacks into his ass.
“Ngh!” The impact is somewhat lessened by the fabric separating skin from skin, though the jeans he wears are rather tight and thin, all things considered.
“Don’t talk like that!” Ken almost screams, and Kazutoshi flinches. He’s never heard that tone in Ken’s voice before. It makes his stomach squirm. It’s almost enough to distract Kazutoshi from the fact that Ken just spanked him. “I… I need you.”
Kazutoshi twists his neck around to get a look at Ken’s face. A single tear streaks down his cheek, born from watery eyes. He looks so pitiful, in a sense, but the furrow in his brow betrays another emotion swirling within him that Kazutoshi can’t quite place his finger on.
“No, you really d–!” Ken smacks his ass with what feels like all the force his body can muster. Dissatisfied with the sound it causes, muffled by his jeans, Ken yanks his clothing downward until it bunches around his ankles; Kazutoshi groans at the friction from his incontinence briefs brushing against his cunt. Goosebumps prick up on Kazutoshi’s skin. He’s exposed, both to the frigid air and to Ken’s eyes.
Against his better judgement, Kazutoshi’s clit throbs. He gasps as Ken unleashes a barrage of spanks to his ass, until he can feel his pale skin turn pink. Ken has never touched him like this before, in such a private area, but Kazutoshi would be lying if he said he’d never thought of it happening – thoug admittedly not in this manner.
Kazutoshi yelps at the next one, louder than before. The skin there is tender and sore. He doesn’t try to fight back or move – mostly, he’s too in shock to do anything about it. There’s no helpful guide for what to do if your crush starts spanking you after you pour your heart out to him about wanting to kill yourself.
“I need you,” Ken repeats, and he sounds as though he might be crying. Kazutoshi’s instinct to awkwardly comfort him is overtaken by the need to sit there and take what he’s being dealt.
Another hard smack leads to Kazutoshi’s breath hitching. He inhales the scent of heady wood shavings deeply, allowing it to fill his lungs like a flood. It’s musky. That doesn’t help his burgeoning arousal.
“I… I can’t handle you having those thoughts,” Ken says. He gropes the tender skin of Kazutoshi’s ass, and hums softly when Kazutoshi groans and flinches at the sensation. “Why would you ever…”
Kazutoshi’s throat is dry. Various responses come to mind, namely in the realm of because I’m worthless and pathetic. He’s unable to choke any out, though, as one of Ken’s hands spanks him and the other shoves two fingers into his cunt.
“Ken…” Kazutoshi groans. He plays with his sidelocks, quivering legs threatening to shut.
He doesn’t know if he wants this.
Ken’s fingers are long. Rapidly, they fuck him, gathering all his arousal and using it as a makeshift lubricant. Kazutoshi bites his fist with his free hand. A heavy feeling pools in his lower stomach, and it almost feels as though it's dragging him down. He leaks down his own scar-covered thighs, and dread erupts within him when Ken reaches forward and strokes the raised red lines.
“Did you do this to yourself?” Ken asks. He repeatedly runs his fingers over his scars, as though he might find they disappeared if he does it enough times. When Kazutoshi doesn’t immediately respond, he curls his fingers inside him.
“Yes!” Kazutoshi cries out, breathing heavily. “I cut myself. I-I’m sorry…” He tugs at his sidelock and grips at the woodworking table beneath him, needing something to do with his hands.
“And you’re a hemophiliac,” Ken says seriously. “That’s so dangerous, especially for you. Why would you do that to yourself?”
Every possible thought seems to swirl around in Kazutoshi’s head. He’s only able to croak out, “Because I want to fucking die, okay?” Hot tears prick at his eyes, threatening to spill.
Another hard smack to his ass, a punishment for being suicidal. Kazutoshi’s pussy throbs and contracts around Ken’s fingers, and he cries out into the air. Ken presses forward, clothed cock pressing against his ass, and reaches forward to rub at his neglected clit. He touches him hard and rough, prompting Kazutoshi to throw his head back against Ken’s firm chest. Saliva drips out of his mouth in a thin string. Disgusting, but he barely has time to think about that.
“Listen to me,” Ken whispers into Kazutoshi’s ear, sending a chill down his spine. “I’ll… I’ll fix this. And y-you won’t ever have those thoughts again, alright, Kazutoshi?” He backs up a little and pounds his fingers into Kazutoshi’s g-spot.
“Oh my God,” Kazutoshi moans. There’s a fire lit in his lower body, and Ken is throwing matches into it with reckless abandon. “Shit…”
“Just relax,” Ken says, “and try not to fall. I-I’ll take care of you, alright?” Fuck, his fingers feel like heaven. There’s a part of Kazutoshi that wants to fight back, that wants this to stop, and then there’s a part of him that wants to give in to the pleasure. The two parts of him battle in his head, with neither side coming out victorious.
“Keeeeennn,” Kazutoshi whines. He’s not sure what he’s trying to say. He feels pathetic and so, so pliable to Ken’s will. He wants to be good for him. He wants to hit him and escape. “Ken, pl–!”
Kazutoshi comes. His entire body shakes with the force of his orgasm. Ken continues to finger him through it and the sharp shocks of overstimulation rock through Kazutoshi. Exhaustion overtakes him not long after; had it not been for the table underneath him taking his collapsing weight, he may have fallen to the floor.
Kazutoshi believes he is being given respite when Ken pulls his hand away. Then he hears the trademark sound of fabric shuffling.
“What the fuck– no,” Kazutoshi begs. He can’t handle anymore; even when touching himself, his stamina is near nonexistent. He can only go a round before he has to quit, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t had a cataplexy attack during this. His heartbeat is hard and almost painful, but the rate apparently hasn’t spiked enough to warrant one.
Ken’s hands hold his hips down.
“Shh,” Ken coos. “I’ll help you. I’m doing this to help you.” Dress shoes clickclacking against the tile floor as Ken steps out of his pants. Dress shoes being stepped out of and kicked away. Ken audibly shivers as the freezing temperature finally gets to him.
“Literally how?” Despite his protests, Kazutoshi makes no attempts to escape or struggle.
“Just trust me, okay?” Ken’s voice is so small and innocent, even a little offended at what Kazutoshi said. One hand takes its leave. The other pushes Kazutoshi further into the table. “I’m doing this because I love you.”
His heartrate spikes.
…
When Kazutoshi’s consciousness returns, Ken’s hard cock is already inside him. Kazutoshi hardly has time to register what he just said, all his attention focused on the pleasure soaring through his nerves. Ken is slow, taking his time, evidently savoring the feeling of Kazutoshi around him.
“You’ll never have those thoughts again,” Ken promises. He sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Kazutoshi. “You won’t consider it. You’ll never cut,” his voice breaks, “yourself again.” Once again, here come the waterworks.
Kazutoshi’s self-harming tendencies seem to be hurting Ken more than himself.
“Fuck,” Kazutoshi breathes out, “get off me, Ken…” Exhaustion wraps around him like a weighted blanket.
Three strikes to his ass in rapid succession; Kazutoshi groans at each and every one of them. His sensitive skin stings. His muscles flex weakly. Sweat rolls down his skin in little beads. The edge of the wooden table digs into his abdomen with every breath he takes.
He hates this so much. He wants this so bad.
It’s his first time, too. He’s never been comfortable enough with someone to allow them to touch him like this. He’d been dreaming of this day with Ken essentially since their first chat in the cafeteria, but he never imagined it’d occur like this: in the freezing woodshop, with Kazutoshi’s barely-there consent, because Ken is mad at him for wanting to kill himself.
Ken’s hips abruptly snap in and out, breaking his former leisurely pace. He pauses for just a second before resuming, fucking him at a quicker pace. Kazutoshi’s soaked pussy throbs around Ken’s cock. His stomach twists in knots.
“Just let me take care of you,” Ken begs.
“No… yes…” Kazutoshi barely registers what he’s saying. His words come out delicately, like a prayer.
“When we get out of here,” Ken says, sure as can be that they will make it out, “you’ll never suffer again. Y-you’ll come home with me and I’ll take good care of you. Let me take care of you. Fuck, you f-feel so nice… I love you.”
I love you, too dances on Kazutoshi’s dry tongue. He doesn’t speak a word. His muscles feel like goo, seeping around his bones.
“Kazutoshi,” Ken moans. He gently strokes his ass. When Kazutoshi twists his neck around to look at him, he sees that Ken is admiring his handiwork. Or maybe he’s watching himself fuck Kazutoshi. Either is a possibility.
Returning his neck to a more comfortable position, planted on his hands which rest on the table, Kazutoshi is suddenly made aware of all the sharp, dangerous objects in the room when he makes direct eye contact with a menacing saw. Matted dust keeps it from gleaming. His blood runs cold when he makes a very simple realization.
Ken could kill him if he wanted. If he’s willing to fuck him while Kazutoshi says no, there’s no telling what else he’d be willing to do.
No. Ken would never do that to him.
Even worse – worse to Kazutoshi – he thinks he’d actually give a shit if that happened. Maybe Ken is somehow right. Maybe he’s literally able to fuck the suicidal thoughts out of him.
Scratch that. Maybe Ken is fucking all the logical thoughts out of his head.
“Do you feel good?” Ken asks. Kazutoshi doesn’t know the answer. Ken doesn’t seem to want one, either, as he picks up the pace to such an extent Kazutoshi isn’t sure he can respond, desperately trying to catch his breath. Even without his binder – he’d taken it off in the safety of Ken’s presence, as to breathe easier – he’s having trouble. The scent of the wood around them is strong.
“Ken,” Kazutoshi croaks out. His brain is fuzzy.
He doesn’t remember why they started having sex. He thinks it may have to do with why Ken is currently stroking his scarred legs.
(Is it sex? Is it rape? Kazutoshi is unsure.)
Ken pounds into him. Those shocks of overstimulation return and Kazutoshi wails into the open air, eyes tearing up. A wide variety of emotions and sensations swirl around within him and flood his brain. He feels his pussy grow wetter, arousal squirting out from him.
His heartbeat quickens.
Everything goes dark.
Kazutoshi’s eyes snap open. He’s no longer standing, which is fine by him; he’s so goddamn exhausted. Instead, he’s laying on the table, staring at the ceiling. Ken’s cock is buried deep within him, hands spreading his legs apart.
“S-still?” Kazutoshi asks, voice cracking. He feels so, so gross, covered in sweat and with come soon to be added to the list.
“I need to be sure,” Ken tells him. “D-do you still feel like…?”
“Like what?” Kazutoshi asks earnestly. He wipes his eyes with his fist.
“Good boy,” Ken responds, grin audible in his voice, and Kazutoshi’s heart flutters. He can only hope it won’t happen again. “That’s great. It’s working.” Relief. The sound of it is unmistakable.
Ken’s thumb flicks Kazutoshi’s clit. Kazutoshi is earnestly wondering what he’d been referring to, but it’s hard to focus when he feels like this, when Ken’s head is ramming into his g-spot. Kazutoshi’s legs twitch helplessly.
“Ken… i-it hurts…!”
Black.
When Kazutoshi comes to, he feels something inside his cunt–Ken’s come. He’s partially pleased by that development. Partially, he’s deeply upset.
He lays back for who-knows-how-long until he regains some semblance of strength, enough to finally sit up. Every inch of his body shivers as he watches Ken, whose cock is now limp, redress himself. Ken looks at him and smile.
“Do you… want to come to my room?”
Kazutoshi blinks dumbly.
“...yeah.”