Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue.
Clausola woke Gokudera with a gentle kiss to the cheek.
"Takeshi?" The bomber's eyes opened blearily, not quite taking in his surroundings.
"And when I say no, how will that make you feel?" Clausola purred, stroking Gokudera's side. The boy shot up, or would have if his hands had not still been chained to the headboard of the bed.
"You fucker!" Gokudera hissed, wincing as the manacles cut into his reddened skin. His captor only chuckled, sitting up and sliding off the bed.
"What kind of clothes would you prefer?" he asked, going to a small wardrobe in the corner.
"I don't want any clothes from you!" Gokudera yelled, anger overcoming his reason.
"That can be arranged."
The silence was palpable as Gokudera realized that he'd asked to be naked. Sulking, he lay back down and curled up in a ball.
"Plenty of them," he murmured.
"How about…this?" Clausola held up a leather jacket and dark red tank top to go with the pants on the floor. Gokudera shrugged, nodding.
"Good, good. After all, we can't have you looking shabby. Perhaps a shower would also help your look." Clausola clapped his hands, and the burly men from before appeared as if by magic. Gokudera didn't struggle as they unclipped his chains from the headboard and carted him off.
Yamamoto looked up as the door to their cell block opened.
"Which one's the Vongola Rain kiddo?" Brutus' voice echoed down the hall, and Yamamoto shrunk backwards. Tsuna grabbed his hand tightly, gulping.
"Oh, I don't know, Brutus. He might be in here with the Vongola boss," Marcio drawled, stopping at their cell. Brutus grumbled under his breath as he unlocked the door, but he apparently dared not cross Marcio. Yamamoto braced himself to attack as soon as the door was open, but Marcio's voice returned.
"I have been asked to inform you, before you do something stupid, that if Brutus or I retain damage from this little outing your sweet lover will be compromised."
Yamamoto froze. He had no doubt that Clausola would hurt Gokudera for his lover's insolence. Brutus grabbed Yamamoto by the hair and dragged him out of the cell; the boy clutched the bigger man's hand to try and alleviate the pressure as he was pulled out of the cell block. He was shoved into a locker room, where a group of boys around his age were milling around putting jerseys on.
"This one is yours." Marcio gestured to a locker with a number 80 on the tag.
"80? Why is the number so high?" Yamamoto asked, touching the tag.
"We don't want anyone to have the same number, do we? Not even after it finally kills you."
"What does?" Yamamoto turned around, but Brutus and Marcio were already halfway down the hallway, heading towards the door. Neither answered him, but a boy approached and tapped his arm.
"Baseball. We have to play," he whispered. Yamamoto's eyes narrowed.
"Okay…why would that kill us?" he asked.
"Play every day, as long as he wants. If we get tired and stop…it hurts." The boy's voice was still quiet, and Yamamoto was having a hard time hearing him.
"What hurts?"
The boy opened Yamamoto's locker. Inside were a pair of pants, a jersey, pads, and a cap, all in Yamamoto's size. On top of the neat pile, however, was something that chilled Yamamoto to his core: a collar, harmless looking, with a nameplate that read "80 – Yamamoto Takeshi." Slowly, Yamamoto turned to look at the smaller boy to see that he was wearing a collar that said "68 – Charles Fraser."
"Charles?" he asked slowly. The boy nodded, touching his collar.
"If you don't play, it hurts."
"Then why do you put it on?" Yamamoto asked, reaching out to take the collar off. Charles backed away, pointing at a spot above Yamamoto's head. Turning, Yamamoto cursed softly when he saw a security camera.
"If we don't, they make us. But…you have more at stake, don't you?" Charles whispered. Yamamoto reached into the locker and took out the collar, placing it around his neck.
"Too much," he murmured, clasping it shut.
Reborn paced Tsuna's room.
"This is unacceptable. Four of our members are missing, possibly dead. No leads, no witnesses, no evidence or even signs of a struggle anywhere in the city. I've sent messages to every famiglia friendly with the Vongola, and not one has replied with any kind of help."
Lambo nodded, sucking on his thumb. For once, he was calm – he knew there was something horribly wrong.
"What's odd is finding no struggle. Clearly, someone has a great cleanup team," Bianchi murmured, stroking her chin in thought.
"So…we find out who has the best cleanup team and work from there?" Reborn's mind was a blur.
"I'll get right on it."