"Let me, Soubi."

Soubi closed his eyes, feeling the muscles in his arms, stretched high above his head, tremble within the confinement of his feverish skin. The rustled sheets beneath his back felt cool and stiff through the contrasting softness of his shirt.

He curled his fingers inward to his wrists, bound tightly together. Soubi was sure he could break free if he wanted to, but he didn't. And yet still, he could not control the tremor of doubt pulsing through his veins as he lay there, on his bed, with the darkness of the bedroom enclosing around him like a suffocating confinement, rather than a place of comfort as it should be. The air was thick and hot as it wafted around him, slithered down his throat.

Ritsuka sat by his side, his legs folded beneath him, pressing against Soubi's thigh. There was worry in Ritsuka's voice, concern, but there was also an urgency that Soubi recognized. It was an undeniable need to somehow persuade Soubi to trust the boy, to let him be in control of this moment. Here. Now.

He tried not to flinch as Ritsuka's fingertips touched his lips.

"Shh . . . " Ritsuka's breath was faint across Soubi's furrowed brow. "Trust me now, Soubi. Please? I won't hurt you . . . I promise, I won't."

Soubi almost laughed mirthlessly at this, at the irony of Ritsuka's words, the pliant innocence imploring from his hushed voice.

He could have handled being hurt by Ritsuka. Being bound wouldn't be so torturous if he knew that Ritsuka's intent was to hurt him. Yes, that he could handle. It was something he almost desired. Yet Ritsuka had bound his hands so carefully, hesitantly. And Soubi had almost wished that Ritsuka would have hurt him then -- that his eyes would have glinted cruelly in the darkness, that his lips would have 

pulled back and revealed his tiny gleaming teeth. Oh, Soubi had almost begged for Ritsuka to hurt him – pull at his hair, yank his head back when Soubi resisted Ritsuka's fervent request:

"Let me bind you tonight, Soubi. I want to make you mine."

But Ritsuka had never even raised his voice as he stood quietly in front of Soubi, his head bowed, nibbling on his lower lip as he tried to come up with some way of convincing Soubi to do his bidding.

"Do you order me to?"

God Good, Soubi's entire being had longed for Ritsuka's eyes to hardened, for his voice to sharpen with determined resolve and reply, "Yes – I order you to!"

But it hadn't happened. Of course it wouldn't have happened – not with Ritsuka.

Instead, Ritsuka's shoulders had sagged wearily and he had lifted his face up to Soubi almost mournfully.

His fingers had been gentle as they curled around Soubi's wrist.

"No. I am asking you to – just this once? For me? Please, Soubi?"

Such helpless confusion. Soubi had never been wracked by such a broken feeling in all his life. Not even with Seimei. Or with Ritsu-sensei, not when --

A sigh.

Nothing made sense to Soubi anymore these days. He didn't understand this relationship he shared with Ritsuka. He didn't understand Ritsuka's gentle touches, the innocent explorations Ritsuka tried to make when he touched Soubi – his hands, his arms, his face. Ritsuka was always running his fingers along Soubi's back whenever he was able to. And Soubi would pull away and come up with some justification that would excuse him from being touched.

Each time he would hear Ritsuka's disappointed sigh linger behind him.

And with each passive reaction towards his disobedience, Soubi found himself growing more restless and uneasy and . . . terrified with Ritsuka.

Ritsuka was supposed to punish Soubi if he did something wrong. Surely Soubi's defiance warranted punishment – so why did Ritsuka never do so? It was almost too much for Soubi to understand. And it was eating him alive.

Soubi found himself doing more and more things to agitate the boy, anything – brush aside his inquires, kiss him in the hallway outside his classroom– knowing full well this embarrassed and infuriated Ritsuka – anything and everything he could possibly think of – all desperate attempts to coerce the boy to lash out violently at him.

Soubi needed to feel physical pain. The old scars on his body from the past were slowly fading with each day gone by, and no new scars were replacing the old ones. It was almost a struggle for Soubi to remember the last time the scent of blood had lingered on his body.

Soubi needed to feel pain – because over the past months in his relationship with Ritsuka, Soubi had been experiencing a different sensation inflicted upon his body.

Pleasure. Comfort. Love.

No one had ever loved his body, no one had ever traced the contours of his face endearingly, no one had ever run their fingers along his collarbone with gentle hunger, no one had ever teased their fingers through Soubi's hair with such affection.

Soubi was only allowed to feel pleasure from pain – not from love.

But with Ritsuka, he never once experienced this. Ritsuka never dismissed him as if he was not worth his time; Ritsuka never recoiled away from him as if Soubi was some disgustful being – if anything, his actions towards Soubi were just the opposite. Ritsuka loved to touch him, was eager for any opportunity to trace every outline of his body. He loved to touch Soubi's scars, and kiss them, and whisper softly in his ear – and Soubi's body would tremble in silent and glorious delight.

Not in pain. Not in fear. Not in grief.

Soubi's body hummed with pleasure stimulated by every gentle caress of Ritsuka's touch.

Soubi was changing; his body was forgetting the old rules inflicted upon his mind and his memory. And because of this change, Soubi was . . . beginning to remember what pain actually felt like. And he was beginning to grow terrified of it.

Soubi was beginning to fear Ritsuka's touch, for the sole reason that it may one day lash out upon him in anger, or disgust, or in some twisted desire of self-gratification.

"Soubi, let me bind you."

He had felt his whole body stiffen in terror when he had heard those words. His body had been bent over the canvass of a painting spread out before him when Ritsuka had spoken. And he had heard Ritsuka's feet pad softly behind him as he approached.

"Why?" he had rasped, never looking up – he hadn't meant for his voice to fail him, but he couldn't help it. It was impossible for him to swallow. Already the scent of blood was rank in the air, curling into his nostrils and infecting his vision.

Soubi had almost crippled beneath Ritsuka's hand as it touched his shoulder.

"Because, Soubi," the voice had murmured in his ear, "I want to love you, without you being able to resist me. Without you . . . being able to stop me. I just want to be able to love you."

Would that have been so bad?

"Soubi? Soubi?"

He jolted from his thoughts, realizing suddenly where he was. And Soubi blinked in the darkness, summoning his mind to alertness once again.

Ritsuka's hand had found its way to rest on his chest, and he was bent over Soubi, peering into his eyes with uncertainty.

"Am I hurting you, Soubi?"

Soubi bit back a grimace at the concern interlacing Ritsuka's voice. And he shook his head, trying to remember what it was Ritsuka had been doing to him during that time he had faded from 

consciousness.

The autumn breeze outside rattled at the window, escaping through the shutters to wisp around Soubi's neck, igniting a moist trail winding across Soubi's exposed collarbone.

Ah, that's right – Ritsuka's kisses upon his skin. So tender.

Secretly he wondered if Ritsuka had used his teeth at all during that moment. But he felt no pain as he arched his neck slightly, pulling at the skin. No, Ritsuka had not used his teeth. He would have to teach him how . . .

"Soubi, are you alright?" Ritsuka's fingers pressed against his chest, forcing Soubi to respond.

"Aa, hai, Ritsuka," he nodded his head, swallowing.

"I didn't hurt you? I know I'm not really, that skilled at this sort of thing, I don't know if I'm doing this right. I – are you sure though? You're not lying to me are you, I'm not hurting you?"

For the first time that night, he managed the courage to meet Ritsuka's troubled gaze with his own.

'Oh, Ritsuka, how I must teach you . . . '

"Iie."

Even in the cracked slivers of light ghosting the privacy of the room, Soubi caught sight of a faint blush spreading across Ritsuka's cheeks.

"Aa, alright," the boy nibbled on his lip.

Soubi felt his heart tighten in his chest, as if the threads holding it in place were being stretched from all ends, threatening to pull it apart. Ritsuka's blush managed to bring Soubi some sense of comfort, reminding him of the boy's innocence; and he wanted to reach out and touch Ritsuka's lower lip, to taste the saltiness gleaming across its supple flesh.

But then he felt the bonds restricting him, and the black shadow looming in the back of his mind returned, darkening his brow.

"You can do as you wish, Ritsuka," Soubi's low voice sounded hollow to his own ears, and he wondered if Ritsuka noticed the change in his tone.

He felt Ritsuka's hand squeeze his shoulder.

His eyes flickered to the boy's – a moment of fear seizing him.

But what he saw startled him instead.

Ritsuka's eyes had softened considerably, and for a moment, Soubi felt like the boy in the room, terrified; and Ritsuka was the patient adult, crooning wordlessly against his throat, coaxing him through his fears – when had . . . their roles become reversed?

"It's ok, Soubi, please . . . let me. You're always showing me how you love me, let me be the one tonight. Let me love you? Just . . . " A little sigh. A hesitation. Then: "Trust me. As you are now, let me have my way with you just for tonight."

"I'll have my way with you tonight, Soubi-kun. Don't struggle."

It would be wrong to resist his master. His fear urged him to – yet at the same time, a tiny sprout of warmth was spreading through his veins at Ritsuka's touch. Maybe . . . this time, it would be different.

Soubi's inhale dragged softly past his lips, the distinct outline of his ribs pressing up against the fabric of his shirt. He sighed, closing his eyes and summoning every shudder of doubt to release painfully from his lungs.

"Alright, Ritsuka."

It hadn't all left, that tremulous uneasiness, traces of it still lingered within him. That shadow hadn't truly fled from his mind. But . . .

Ritsuka's smile was pleased.

Somehow . . .

A flicker of hope glimmered in his eyes. And it was infectious, igniting something within Soubi that made him want to grab at that hope and swallow it down and let it course through every fiber of his being.

And Soubi knew, if just for tonight, that this affection Ritsuka was bestowing upon him, was acceptable to relish and take pleasure in.


No pain tonight. Not from Ritsuka's touches, or his kisses, or his promises.

Tonight Soubi would surrender his body to the one who desired it most, and in return, he would receive the thing he had always truly longed for.

That sweet and undeniable love and approval.

Of simply being Soubi.