A/N: I have a Beta~! -weeps tears of joy- An extremely hardcore, awesome Beta, too!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as well! :) And remember I told you this story was going to get progressively darker? Yeah...be ready for that.

Warnings: (for this chapter) rape, drug use, drug-induced sex, water-based torture

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis.

Pairings: (for this chapter) SanaAtoTezu, YukiFujiyo

Chapter 6

"We're extending your stay for a couple of days," Atobe stated primly, legs crossed as he reclined into the armchair. He had one hand holding a full wineglass that he took leisurely sips from, wearing only a pair of pants and his hair still slightly damp from his shower.

Tezuka didn't say anything. He was curled up atop the bed, tangled in the stark white sheets with one arm covering his face from view. Naked from head to toe, bite marks and bruises from their tight grips littered his entire body in open view. Sanada couldn't help but glance over them in appreciation, proud of his handiwork; he was standing by the open patio door, letting the late morning air filter into the room.

"Kunimitsu," Atobe began, giving the man a concerned look. "Aren't you going to clean yourself up?"

Still no response from Tezuka, other than the arm shielding his face being lowered so he could peer at the wall with unseeing eyes. Slowly, he picked himself up from the bed; his movements were sluggish, dulled by both physical exertion and a rising sense of nausea.

Tezuka felt like a shadow of what he once was – a reliable worker and doting boyfriend. Now it was like someone had stripped him of every emotion he held, leaving only a wealth of loathing. However, all of his hatred was directed, for the most part, at himself: the fool who got so drunk he cheated on his lover, the coward who submitted to blackmail, the degenerate who continued to lie to his most important person. Tezuka felt he deserved all of this – his body being used and his spirit being crushed bit by bit.

After that second day, Tezuka had spent an hour in the morning - Atobe curled up next to him, Sanada's arm thrown over his midsection in a lover's hold - contemplating the open balcony door. People have died from jumping from 1 km. They were 25 stories up.

"Kunimitsu?"

Tezuka glanced over at Sanada - or the Sanada-blur, courtesy of his lack of glasses - before standing up. His legs only managed to retain enough strength to support his shuffle to the bathroom part-way, but Sanada had already hooked an arm around his waist and helped him the rest of the way. The bar manager didn't even bother with shutting the door - what's the point in modesty when Atobe has seen every inch of their bodies?

Sanada gently settled Tezuka on the rim of the Jacuzzi-bathtub, starting the water and checking the temperature as it filled. Parallel to the bathtub and directly in front of Tezuka was the sink - and with it the two-meter wide mirror. The tub itself was set on a platform five steps high, so that it could afford the breathtaking view from the window to the side - and so that engaging couples could find their activities on display in the mirror itself.

Tezuka stared straight at his reflection. What about him was so appealing that they wouldn't leave him alone? If he looked as awful as he felt, than he had to be one of the most hideous people alive.

The ludicrously large bathroom was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood as Sanada added some to the bathwater. He picked Tezuka up and lifted him into the tub. The water was warm and smelled nice, already at chest-level and lined faintly with bubbles. Sanada allowed the faucet to continue pouring as he stripped off his own pants and climbed in.

Water brushed further up as extra mass was added. Tezuka leaned back, head against the soft cushion as Sanada settled himself comfortably between the salaryman's legs, capturing Tezuka's lips in a wet kiss.

Sanada had one hand on the back of his neck and an arm wrapped around his waist, as if he were going to pull Tezuka as physically close to him as possible. The office worker was pliant and near-deadweight in his hands, but that only made it easier to bridge the watery gap between them.

Tezuka's eyes remained open, gaze fixated past Sanada's shoulder and on a painting hanging on the wall like some afterthought to aristocratic tastes. An old-fashioned ship rocked dangerously atop the blue waves in the picture, numerous white sails billowing in the wind as seagulls drifted among the cloudy day-lit skies of the backdrop.

When Tezuka was little, his grandfather used to take him fishing. (Sanada's tongue swiped at his bottom lip before pushing in, running along Tezuka's own.) He remembered being absolutely miserable back then - even though he didn't complain or fidget; he just kept his face blank and his eyes sharp. (One tan hand settled between them, sliding along Tezuka's length - the flesh began to stiffen, encouraged by the wanton lust that its owner could not fully comprehend.) He had found himself bored to death as he waited for the fish to bite, staring into the depths of the lake. (The pumping of Sanada's hand increased as he broke their kiss to draw his tongue down the side of Tezuka's neck, nipping at the flesh.) The faint ripples in the water had only slightly distorted the reflection of his own face peering back at him, hair lit by the sun and face shadowed by the darkness of the lake depths.

Tezuka let his head roll back and to the side as Sanada began to make more marks upon the flesh of his neck. The sound of splashing water was pounding unnaturally loud in his ears, heat coiling in his groin as his breathing quickened. His hands - involuntarily? It was so hard to tell within the suffocating heat of the water and steam - were clawing into Sanada's back and along his sides as the pace of the man's hand picked up.

He found himself once again looking at the mirror. Staring back at him was his own visage, head thrown back in pleasure, body clinging to the man that had been raping him for the past four days. Sanada forced his head to face forward in order to engage him in another kiss. Tezuka's toes curled, his hands wrapping around Sanada's torso and fingernails digging into the other man's flesh as pleasure tore through his body.

Tezuka broke the kiss himself as he climaxed, turning and biting the junction between Sanada's neck and shoulder - just to restrain the bout of hysterical laughter that began to bubble up in his throat.

It was the smell that woke him. Salty and fresh, like it had been carried free across great distances. The breeze that moved strands of hair across his face was warm, the sounds in the background only the calls of birds and dull crashing.

Ryoma knew where he was before he opened his eyes.

He had been in-and-out of it for what had likely been several hours, never quite coherent enough to protest as he was carried along. He remembered the sound of helicopter blades chopping in the wind, remembered the feeling of landing not quite gently enough, of hands on him as his clothes were pulled off.

Ryoma sat up, first taking note of his person. He was wearing simple jeans and a plain, white button-up shirt. It was disconcerting they had clothes in his size, Ryoma noted; then again, it was obvious from the drugging that this entire thing had been premeditated. He entertained the notion of suing them for all of this but he wasn't naive enough to believe something like a felony crime could touch anything related to the great Atobe Keigo. (It was quite astonishing, how much hatred Ryoma had for a man that he had never even met.) Also, from the intimate feel of the clothes on his skin, they hadn't bothered with underwear; Ryoma felt several knots tie up in his stomach at the revelation.

He took in his surroundings. He was lying on a three-seater white couch; matching armchairs and a white marble coffee table were adjacent and parallel to the couch, all standing in an otherwise vacant room with light-colored wood flooring. It was the walls that gained his attention - they were made completely of glass (or what he assumed to be glass, considering they were clear), permitting into view the beach shore, heavy drapes pulled back and to the side. A door lead into the next room with equally clear walls, where a small dining room and kitchen were visible. Past that was an equally large room where a lone bed – giant, though it was - stood with clean white sheets and a multitude of pillows, as well as a dark-paneled room that blocked sight from the outside. By the sheer process of elimination, Ryoma knew it to be the bathroom.

A beach house.

"This is their version of a romantic walk on the beach?" Ryoma muttered, getting up from the couch. He couldn't place what the drug was from the post-effects, but he could rule out chloroform.

He didn't see either of his kidnappers, so he went into the kitchen. At the very least, he could arm himself; even a spoon would be better than nothing. (It would look stupid if he brandished it as a weapon, but he'd like to see either of them laugh as he tried to gouge out an eye with it.)

He checked the drawers first - but none of them opened. Each and every cupboard and drawer had been padlocked shut, along with the fridge and dishwasher. The stove was electric but a keypad had it locked on 'OFF', the oven door was the same, and the bastards had even taken the time to nail or otherwise permanently glue anything handy to a surface so it couldn't be wielded. Ryoma glared down at one of the dining table's chairs - they'd nailed them in place, too.

"We didn't quite trust you not to use any of the furniture as weapons."

Ryoma whirled around, jerking back at the sight of the two older men. They both looked amused at his reaction but had yet to move from where they stood in front of the doorway, eyeing Ryoma with sharp smiles and predatory eyes.

Ryoma pivoted and ran straight into the bedroom, just to realize there was no door. The door to the bathroom was actually locked shut. Ryoma had one hand on the doorknob to the patio door as Fuji and Yukimura calmly followed him into the bedroom.

"We're on an island, Ryoma-kun," Fuji informed him cheerfully. "One we personally own. It's only about 1.7 km across - and we're the only ones here."

"...You bought an island?" The incredulousness could be heard in Ryoma's voice.

The two men seemed inordinately pleased at his shock. They used his unguarded moment - Who buys an island to walk on the beach?- to each grab a hold of one arm and drag him out the door and down onto the shore.

The sand was fine and warm beneath his feet as he kicked out in a vain attempt to get free, his shoulders aching as he lost his footing and was hoisted away. "Wait! Wait!" Ryoma called out desperately, still struggling to emancipate himself from their vice grips.

"Procrastination is a terrible habit, Ryoma-kun," Yukimura replied serenely.

When his feet hit the soaked grains of sand as the tide receded back, Ryoma really began to panic. "Stop! Let go - I hate the beach! I hate it!"

Both men froze, turning to stare down at the younger male, flabbergasted. Ryoma was still trying to get loose but with each wave of water that lapped harmlessly at his toes, his flailing began again more vigorously.

"But you said you wanted-" Fuji began before he was cut off by his captive.

"Because that's what you see in those cheesy romance movies!" Ryoma snapped back. "I didn't know I'd have a couple psychopaths trying to accomplish that list of chick-flick clichés!"

Yukimura frowned just as Ryoma managed to twist out of his grip, but before the boy could take off, Fuji shoved him back - and deeper into the tide. Ryoma jumped up like he'd been bitten by some unseen creature, eyes wide as he lurched forward. However, both men grabbed onto him again before he could take a step away from the water.

"Let me go, you fuckin' psychos!" Ryoma snapped, twisting to no avail. He tried shoving either man back, but that only tightened their hold on him. While his growing hysteria made his movements more erratic and desperation pushed him to struggle harder, it wasn't enough to put up much of a fight for two men who were not only bigger than him, but much more calm as they took in his state.

Fuji's smile widened as he connected the dots, "Ryoma-kun - you can't swim?"

Ryoma didn't deign that with a response. Yukimura and Fuji shared a look, identical smiles gracing their lips as they decided their next course of action. Without hesitation, they dragged the younger boy further into the water.

Ryoma's thrashing intensified, his snapping protests devolving into inarticulate sounds of panic. The sound was like music to the two's ears; seeing the normally-composed youth in this state was quite a treat to them.

"Stop!" Ryoma screamed out. "Stop stop stop STOP! Let me GO!"

Fuji and Yukimura traded another sly look.

"Okay," Fuji shrugged.

They abruptly released him - Ryoma was completely submerged in water. He surfaced a second later, thrashing wildly as he tried to gain footing on the slick ocean floor. Even though the water only came up to his collarbones, it was high enough that it set off panic bells in his mind. Ryoma began to move in the direction of the beach, choking on seawater. It was getting harder to breath now, panic setting in as he tried to make it back to dry land.

A hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, fully submerging him again and cutting off his yelp. He surfaced again and spat out the seawater, the salty taste clinging to his tongue and stinging his eyes. His arms and legs were becoming stiffer, as if too afraid to propel him back to the beach, while his lungs burned from the combination of swimming and gripping fear. He'd only gotten another step forward before he was pulled back again by Yukimura's hand.

"Stop!" Ryoma cried out. He was pushed back under a rolling wave. Once he surfaced again, he tried to yank free from the man's hold. Yukimura abruptly released him as he gave a particular hard tug, plunging him back under the waves.

Fuji's hand settled on the younger man's shoulders, holding him under the water for a few seconds before pulling him back up to the surface. Ryoma hacked out the seawater, hands trying to cling to the photographer. Yukimura easily pulled the boy off, forcing him back under the water and cutting off another cry.

Fuji laughed as Ryoma broke the surface again, coughing violently. "Let's make a deal, Ryoma-kun," Fuji offered. Yukimura kept his grip on the boy's wrist, but Ryoma wasn't even trying to escape now, instead attempting to maintain his balance in the water as he trembled violently.

"Fuck you!" Ryoma snapped back.

Yukimura pushed him back under and held him there for 10 seconds. He pulled Ryoma back up, the boy clinging to his arm with wild eyes and taking gasping breaths.

It felt like every part of him was screaming. Ryoma's muscles burned, his lungs burned, his heart was thudding painfully in his chest and he couldn't seem to breathe. Panic overrode everything, his vision blurred by saltwater – tears or the ocean?- and he could almost hear that familiar mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

"No more! Please stop!" Ryoma pleaded, noticeably on the verge of tears.

"Only if you make the deal with us," Fuji retorted.

Yukimura pushed him back into the water when he took too long to answer. Ryoma surfaced, clinging to Yukimura's side and hacking out the excess water.

"Anything, please – just stop!" Ryoma agreed, digging his nails into Yukimura's skin as if that alone would keep him above water.

Yukimura pulled him back close enough to the shore that the water only reached just under their ankles. Fuji was right behind them, smiling pleasantly as Ryoma helplessly stumbled along under Yukimura's hands. Ryoma managed to gain his footing just as Yukimura turned around. The older man's smile was damning in its own right.

That is, before Ryoma launched forward and socked him in the jaw.

Yukimura stumbled a few steps black, stunned from the hit. It was a reaction Ryma really couldn't help – a reflex honed by both experience and anger. Every survival alarm in him screamed at him to do anything to escape his captors – hadn't he learned the first time around? The ocean was unforgiving.

Ryoma tried to run forward - even if it was an island, there had to be somewhere to hide - but his escape plan was cut short when Fuji tackled him from behind. Ryoma landed face-forward in the receding tide, half his face smashed into the sand as the photographer pinned his flailing limbs down.

The taste of the seawater as the tide flowed in set off every panic alarm again, forcing the college student closer to a mental breakdown. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, don't! I'm sorry!" Ryoma screamed out, trying to twist himself free of Fuji's hold.

Fuji chuckled humorlessly, "You hate the ocean that much?"

Yukimura leaned over the trapped youth, the smile on his lips looking near-demonic. "Although that's none too surprising, ne?" he purred. "Echizen Ryoma-kun."

Ryoma stilled, eyes wide. The name he had abandoned combined with the salty taste of the sea in his mouth made him nauseous, his vision blinded by his tears.

Why didn't anyone hear him scream?

Yukimura and Fuji looked at each other during their captive's sudden silence, apparently coming to a conclusion when with a synchronized sigh, they stood - pulling along Ryoma. They practically frog-marched the younger male back to the beach house, pulling him through the bedroom and into the bathroom without pause.

"I really do think we spoil you," Yukimura mused as they pushed the boy further in and locked the bathroom door behind him with a key, which he then attached to the string necklace hung around his throat.

Now, away from the beach and everything it represented, Ryoma tried to regain his scattered wits. He couldn't stop trembling, however, and was all-too-aware of Fuji's bruising hold on his arm, of his own powerlessness in this situation. The smell of the ocean clung to his skin- a fact that only further unhinged him – but it was nothing compared to the fresh cotton smell of the sterilized bathroom.

It was an impressive bathroom, to say the least; the floor and walls were of a pale wood. The toilet lay behind a tall panel of wood, which the sink was attached to. The bathtub and shower were the most impressive parts - if the bathtub could still be called a "bathtub", considering it was more like a small pool. It was just shy of a meter deep, the bottom made of gray-blue and white tiles. The faucet head was like an elongated crane's, with two dials set to the side. The shower was about 30 cm deep with matted flooring, while the showerhead was fastened to the ceiling to give the water a freefall effect.

Between both were two stark white sofas, each one facing either the shower or the bathtub. Their purpose was obvious, to Ryoma's growing apprehension.

"We really should just have our way with you, especially with the way you've been acting," Fuji sighed - the smile never leaving his lips. "But you're the kind of man who needs to be spoiled first, aren't you, Ryoma-kun?"

Fuji had moved over to the shower, turning it on and adjusting the temperature. Steam began to rise as the water dropped in a waterfall-effect, the drops spattering on the matted flooring. Fuji took out two bottles - shampoo and conditioner - as well as a sponge. Both men settled themselves on the sofa facing the shower.

"Time to uphold your part of the deal, Ryoma-kun," Fuji started cheerfully.

Yukimura smirked at the boy, "Put on a nice little show for us, ne?"

Tezuka wasn't allowed to walk about freely. The moment he stepped out of the hotel room, he was shadowed by a trio of Atobe's personal guards; men dressed in suits that kept a close eye on him. Tezuka didn't know why they were so intent on following his every move - he could never escape. Atobe could easily manipulate everyone from Tezuka's boss to his landlord.

Today, Atobe had left the hotel - citing he had business elsewhere. Given that he had shot Sanada a significant look, Tezuka had resigned himself to the idea that they were planning something terrible for him.

Sanada had dragged out Tezuka for a small shopping trip. They'd stopped at a bookstore first, Sanada falling into a light debate with the office worker about crime genre cliches after he'd found out they both liked the same author. They had a short lunch at a nearby cafe, then decided to visit some tourist traps - including making soba noodles by hand.

As their handmade soba became dinner, Sanada decided a nice end to their date - Tezuka tried not to flinch at Sanada's absent-minded labelling - would be to let loose at a club. The club itself was owned by the cousin of one of Atobe's friends. Oshitari Kenya had greeted them at the door, giving Tezuka a once-over before apparently filing him away as the foursome's newest fling.

The club's general theme seemed to be set between 'lascivious' and 'antiquated'. Victorian-style art and furniture were crowded into the lounge, a mix of lush sofas and beds - most of which were occupied. The bar was situated in the far back, taking up an entire wall and manned by ten bartenders dressed in identical suits. The entire room was bathed in a dull blue light, with colorful rings occasionally flickering on and off, set to the low hum of club music.

Kenya had escorted them to a more private area; a raised platform set above the usual crowd, affording them a better view where a lone bed stood. It was partly sectioned-off by a beaded curtain and a small table was set up nearby with a wide assortment of hard liquor.

"So you've seen Yuushi recently, right? How is he?" Kenya asked light-heartedly, pouring Sanada and Tezuka a glass. The two men had taken a seat on the bed, although Tezuka's attention had turned to the throng of people on the club floor.

"We just saw him last week," Sanada replied. "Gakuto is keeping him busy."

"Mukahi is so high-maintenance!"

Sanada shrugged, "Keigo is the same way."

Kenya laughed.

"Oh, that reminds me," the club owner began. "About that thing Yukimura wanted - I found some information. Can you come to my office for a moment? I have it on USB."

Sanada nodded, glancing back at Tezuka as he stood. "I'll be right back, Kunimitsu. Why don't you have a drink?"

Both men left, leaving Tezuka to stare at the table full of drinks. The usual bodyguard escorts were stationed by the exits, the office worker knew well enough, so he was alone up on the dais. The sight of the vodka made him ill as he remembered this entire miserable situation had begun from his inebriated state.

"Aww- they left such a handsome guy like you alone?"

Tezuka half-turned, staring at the man standing at the top of the stairs. He was dressed in black slacks and a light blue dress shirt, his dirty blond hair stylishly-tousled as a smirk settled across his handsome features. Through the open, half-rolled sleeves of his shirt, Tezuka could make out bandages wrapped around his left arm.

"Can I help you?" Sometimes, Tezuka really hated how polite manners had been ground into him.

"I'm just here to save you from boredom~" the man said, sauntering forward. "I couldn't help but notice you - you're quite a striking man, did you know that? - but I guess it was that utterly agonized expression that reallydrew me in."

Tezuka stared up at him. The man grinned, tapping the office worker on the nose playfully. "Ah, and there it is. That 'save me, save me, Shiraishi-sama~' look!" the man crooned.

Tezuka's gaze turned flat, unimpressed. Shiraishi laughed, white teeth shining and eyes looking much more predatory. "You may not believe me, but I'm a liberator! Here to free you from your earthly bonds and show you a world where there is no sadness or pain - just love!"

Tezuka turned away, fully creeped out, "Leave."

"Don't be like that!" Shiraishi chuckled. "Didn't I say I'd liberate you? Well, not from Sanada - everyone knows that he and everything he's attached to are inescapable - but I can free you from your state of mind."

Shiraishi sat down next to Tezuka, sifting through his pockets. "When it comes down to it, don't you want to be anywhere but here?"

Tezuka watched him guardedly, "And how are you going to free me, exactly?"

With a triumphant grin, Shiraishi pulled out a small plastic bag half-filled with an assortment of colored candies. "In the only way you can be freed," Shiraishi answered with a leer.

He placed one of the candies in Tezuka's hand. Under the blue fluorescence, the candy shined dully, a vitamin-blue with the imprint of an anchor etched into the surface. Tezuka knew what it was, in an abstract way - but it felt surreal to be holding it in a club, trapped by circumstances out of his control.

"MDMA," Tezuka murmured. Commonly referred to as ecstasy.

Shiraishi grinned, leaning against the other man. "The happy pill, ne~ Take it and leave all your troubles behind!"

"And how is this going to free me?" Tezuka ground out.

Shiraishi winked at him, standing abruptly. "The only thing keeping you chained down is your mind, right? Lose that and you're free! Oh, and stick to water - it doesn't sit well with alcohol, you know."

Shiraishi began to descend down the stairs, throwing up one hand in a farewell. "That one is on me. Come see me again if you want more, ne? Tezuka Kunimitsu-san."

Shiraishi blended back into the crowds on the floor. Tezuka stared at the pill in his hand. MDMA had a vast array of effects - it induced euphoria, increased intimacy with others, and brought down anxiety. On the other hand, it could also lead to increased paranoia and engineer terrifying hallucinations.

Tezuka felt the music from the club thrum throughout his body. He could hear Sanada's and Kenya's voices as they began to ascend to the dais, and with each step, it felt as if one more chain was locking into place. He knew he deserved these invisible shackles, but surely for just a little while…

Shiraishi was right - all Tezuka wanted was an escape.

The bespectacled man placed the pill in his mouth, uncapping a water bottle from the sidetable and drinking it down. For a moment, it felt as if it had been lodged into his throat - as if his conscience was physically trying to stop him from sinking any lower than he already had. But a second swig of water took care of that feeling, as well as the dryness in his throat. Sanada and Kenya crested the last step just as Tezuka capped the water bottle.

Some part of Ryoma couldn't believe this was happening. The rest of him was too busy being torn between disgust, horror, and anger - so much so that the act of just restraining himself was making him tremble from head-to-toe. (Or, at least, that's what he'd convinced himself was making him tremble.) How desperate could they get?

"Do I look like a stripper to you?" Ryoma ground out. "I don't know what kind of show you're expecting, but I am notexotic dancer material."

"I'm sure you'll improvise easily enough," Fuji put in. "You're a clever man."

Yukimura smiled harmlessly, "Just do your best to seduce us, Ryoma-kun."

The very idea made him sick. Ryoma looked away from their pleasantly-smiling faces, concentrating on the shower instead. Reluctantly, he reached for the buttons of his shirt and un-did them one by one.

"Now really, Ryoma-kun," Yukimura spoke up plaintively. "That's not even trying."

Ryoma ground his teeth together, "And how do you make unbuttoning a shirt seductive?"

The two men were not impressed by his point. "At least take off your shirt in a sexy way," Fuji ordered with a pout.

"This is so stupid!" Ryoma hissed. He flung off his shirt with a scowl - ignoring the pair's visible disappointment. He turned his back on them, working at the fastening to his jeans. He didn't get farther than undoing the button when he felt one of them come up behind him.

"Play nice now, Ryoma-kun," Yukimura murmured. Placing his hands atop the youth's shoulders, he slowly slid them down; past the elbows, down the fingertips, settling them precariously on his hips. He guided Ryoma to turn around, so that Fuji - still sitting on the sofa, legs crossed and lips smiling - could see the college student's front.

Yukimura's hands traced over the younger man's torso, tracing the outlines of his abdomen and lightly scraping his nipples. Ryoma ground his teeth to keep silent in reaction, glaring at the wall as Yukimura's wandering appendages settled on the zipper of his jeans and slowly undid it.

Fuji giggled from the couch, "Ryoma-kun's expression says he really isn't enjoying this, Sei-kun."

"That's because Ryoma-kun is a brat," Yukimura said candidly. He tugged said man's jeans off in one fluid motion. Ryoma stepped out of the pooled pants; Yukimura kicked them into the corner and out of the way. Left in nothing but his own skin, Ryoma kept his eyes on the wall and off of the two men as they evaluated his naked form.

"Get in the shower now, Ryoma-kun," Yukimura ordered softly.

"You didn't like any of the drinks?" Kenya asked, smiling lopsidedly at the office worker. "Man, tough crowd."

"I'm not a heavy drinker," Tezuka answered smoothly.

Sanada reclined back onto the bed, resting against the headboard. He held a shotglass full of liquor, which he drank in one smooth motion before re-filling the cup. Tezuka remained where he'd been left, perched on the side of the bed and clutching the water bottle.

How long did it take MDMA to take effect? He'd learned such information from Ryoma; his boyfriend had made him help in his studying, running through a list of drugs and their effects. How long it took to take effect, visible signs, short-term effects of drug use, long term effects, withdrawal symptoms...

It began, oddly enough, in the tips of his fingers. It was warmth that spread out, a heat that pulsed throughout his body. It dehydrated his throat - he finished off the entire water bottle in only a few minutes - but the heat was...pleasurable. The heaviness on his shoulders and the constriction in his heart both lightened considerably, seemingly evaporating. For what felt like the first time in ages, a smile began to curl his lips.

"Kunimitsu?"

Tezuka blinked at Sanada's suddenly close proximity. The other man was looking him straight in the face, concern clearly displayed. Tezuka didn't know why the man was so tense; the music was pounding throughout the club, after all, so naturally Tezuka had begun to sway to it.

"Kunimitsu," Sanada began, voice growing harder, "Are you high?"

Kenya let out a string of curses. "Dammit- I told them not to let that bastard in! He always manages to drug up my goddamn clientele!"

Sanada glared over at the club owner. "Explain. Now," he ordered, voice turning icy.

Tezuka couldn't understand Sanada's worsening temperament. It wasn't very enjoyable - but the man's breach of his personal bubble allowed the office worker to enjoy the man's body heat.

"Sanada," Tezuka began, hand curling around the back of Sanada's neck. "You have nice skin."

"An old...acquaintance of mine," Kenya explained, eyeing the office worker in vague amusement. "He's a dealer. Mostly in X; which looks to be what he gave your friend..."

Sanada was trying to fend off Tezuka's wandering hands. The bespectacled man wasn't put off, just calmly and persistently trying to explore Sanada's flesh once the man's grip slackened even the slightest bit.

"You might as well enjoy it," Kenya informed the man dryly. "I think an affectionate Tezuka-san would be rare. Have a nice time - I have a drug-dealing asshole to catch."

"You smell nice," Tezuka informed Sanada, laying his head on the man's shoulder, face buried into the side of his neck. That's when Sanada's composure snapped; there was no way he was going to let an eager Tezuka go to waste.

Tezuka found himself pinned to the bed a moment later, Sanada looming over him. He was initiated into a passionate kiss, which Tezuka fully returned. His glasses were digging painfully into his face, but Sanada withdrew long enough to pull them off and set them aside. Tezuka took the moment to try and free Sanada from the confines of his shirt.

"Not enough skin," Tezuka mumbled. Sanada practically ripped his shirt off in an effort to comply with the man's demand, leaning back in for another kiss.

Ryoma slowly trudged over to the shower, standing directly under the water. He had his back to the two men, but that didn't last long; Yukimura maneuvered him so that Fuji could see his profile from the side.

"Sei-kun, here's the shampoo and conditioner," Fuji said, tossing his lover said bottles.

Yukimura caught them, first uncapping the shampoo and squeezing some into his hand. Ryoma watched him with narrowed eyes, but Yukimura only ignored him as he reached forward and ran his soapy fingers through the younger man's hair. He was surprisingly gentle, massaging the shampoo into Ryoma's hair then allowing the water to rinse it out. He repeated the process with the conditioner, fingers lingering in the younger man's hair for a moment longer.

"The body wash," Fuji said, approaching the two. He set another bottle and a sponge by the shower before returning to his seat on the sofa. He wasn't smiling any more, and his eyes were open as he watched the two before him - with a hungry look in his eyes, Ryoma recognized.

Yukimura squeezed some of the body wash onto the sponge, slicking it up with bubbles and gently starting to scrub at Ryoma's skin. He started from the nape, working his way over the shoulders, down each arm, over the collarbone and the planes of the boy's chest. Ryoma tried to pretend nothing was happening - golden eyes open and trying to see anything but the other man.

With all of his ministrations combined with their prior activities on the beach, Yukimura was soaking wet. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled back, but the material clung to the lines of his body like a second skin. His jeans were soaked through, clinging to his groin in quite the eye-catching manner. His dark blue hair - still wet - had been pushed back behind his ears as he worked, drawing more attention to his pale, flawless skin and beautiful features.

Except for the slight red hue to his skin from where Ryoma had punched him.

"That's quite an intense stare, Ryoma-kun," Yukimura said; the sponge rubbed at the angle of his hips. "Seeing something you like?"

Ryoma smirked, cocky and arrogant. "Yeah - your face is almost tolerable if it's bruised."

Yukimura's playful mood evaporated instantly. Ryoma didn't quite know how he could tell, as the smile on the man's lips was still present, but he wasn't given a chance to remark about it. With a small cry that he couldn't choke back in time, Ryoma involuntarily clutched at the front of Yukimura's chest, golden eyes wide as he trembled.

"That was a cute sound," Fuji commented.

Yukimura chuckled, twisting his finger deeper into the trembling male clinging to him. Ryoma gave a breathless cry, much to both men's satisfaction. "He's much cuter this way, isn't he?"

"You bastard," Ryoma managed out. Yukimura hummed noncommittally in response, withdrawing his soap-slicked digit before pushing it back in. Ryoma remained quiet, jaw clenched tightly. Yukimura slipped in another finger, eliciting a low groan; Ryoma's grip on his shirt turned white-knuckled, most of his weight against Yukimura.

"Your body accepts the intrusion easily," Yukimura mused. "Your boyfriend must have thoroughly trained you, ne, Ryoma-kun?"

Yukimura scissored his fingers, cutting off Ryoma's response; he knew the boy well enough now to recognize the look in his eyes when he was ready to throw insults around. Ryoma choked out a gasp, the entire length of his body pressed pleasingly against Yukimura. Through his clothes, he could feel everything; the hard definition of the boy's body, the stiff length pressed against his hip bone.

Yukimura languidly added another finger, alternately pulling them out, thrusting them back in, and stretching the hole. Ryoma was having trouble keeping himself steady, leaning completely on Yukimura and breath coming in short puffs.

"You're really enjoying this," Yukimura teased.

"You smell gross," Ryoma informed him. His voice only trembled a little.

"I apologize, Your Highness," Yukimura retorted dryly. He drove home the sarcasm by adding a fourth finger.

Just go ahead and fist me, you fucking sadist!Ryoma screamed internally. Even though the man's fingers were slick with soap, there was no gentleness in his ministrations. Ryoma was only familiar with Tezuka, and his lover was kind, always taking so long to prepare Ryoma that the younger man would grow anxious.

Yukimura had no such reservations. There was nothing soft and sweet in his touch - just lust and greed.

"Your technique really sucks," Ryoma grunted.

Yukimura froze, affronted. His fingers had pulled out at that point, allowing Ryoma to yank the sponge still clutched in the man's other hand away - and smacking it straight into Yukimura's face. He shoved the man back - Yukimura was temporarily blinded by the stinging soap residue in his eyes - just as he yanked the necklace off of the blue-haired man's neck.

Ryoma turned, evading Fuji - who had made a lunge for him. The photographer pivoted, grabbing on to the boy's arm and trying to wrench him back. Bare feet slipping against the floor, Ryoma fell back into Fuji's arms, but he'd applied enough weight to his momentum that he knocked the air out of the other man.

The two males rolled about on the floor; Fuji trying to pin the college student down, Ryoma trying to punch the photographer into submission. Ryoma had managed to land hits on Fuji's abdomen and face, but the photographer had his left arm pinned down and was practically straddling him.

Ryoma took a page from Karupin and clawed at Fuji's face; unfortunately, his nails weren't as sharp as his cat's, but there were some definite scratch marks on Fuji's left cheek now. Fuji grabbed Ryoma's right wrist and forced it down, gripping it so tightly Ryoma could feel the restricted blood flow.

"Since you want to be so vicious," Fuji murmured, before leaning down. Ryoma felt hot breath hover over his chest - before teeth closed over the flesh and bit hard.

"Ow!" Ryoma cried out, flailing anew. This only seemed to tug on the skin that Fuji was still gleefully biting down on. "That hurts, you bastard! The fu- Let go!"

Fuji withdrew slightly, kissing the wound he had made. Some blood trailed out, staining his lips red in the process. Fuji moved over to the other side, biting down again. Ryoma screamed out at that, trying to hold still - not wanting to accidentally tear out his own flesh. Fuji lavished that mark in kisses as well, slowly moving along Ryoma's chest.

"Ah."

Ryoma blinked, surprised to find his previous vision blurry. Yukimura stood over him, peering down with slightly red eyes but an amused face.

"Syuusuke, you're making our little prince cry," Yukimura faux-chastised. "Didn't we agree to spoil him first?"

Fuji stopped, leaning back over Ryoma with a smile. His lips were smeared with crimson, and every mark the man had placed stung viciously. Now that he was lying still, Ryoma could feel the sore pain in his butt, along with the exhaustion in his muscles from the activities on the beach. It probably didn't help he had gone through so much after being drugged - the moment he was forced to rest, his body went lethargic.

Still, Ryoma was a survivor; he knew he was the kind of person to fight with everything he had even if there was only a small chance of succeeding. He had to grasp that miniscule chance, because he could simply not let it go - Ryoma wanted to live by his own rules, not anyone else's.

Ryoma head-butted Fuji in the chin. The photographer made a shocked grunt combined with a pained yelp as he reeled back, allowing Ryoma to throw him off. The top of his head hurt like a bitch now, but the pain wasn't enough to keep him down. He ignored the bleeding bite marks on his chest as he shoved past Yukimura, throwing the man off balance to land on the floor.

Ryoma jammed the key into the lock, unlocking it. He seriously hoped he had the master key; if he could lock the two men inside the bathroom, that meant he could go snooping through the house for a means to communicate with the outside world. There was no way they could be completely cut off - at the very least, there should be a landline phone in case of emergencies. If it was bolted shut or had a keypad lock, he'd just have to keep the two men locked inside the bathroom long enough to bargain their freedom with his own.

Just as he got the door to open, he found himself looking into the shocked face of a stranger.

Gray eyes narrowed as they took in the scene. The man was as tall as Tezuka, with silver hair and a beauty mark under his right eye. Everything about his posture screamed wealth and confidence, despite how casual his outfit looked: light denim jeans and a white shirt with a bamboo-green overshirt.

Ryoma had paused too long in his surprise; two pairs of hands grabbed onto his arms and shoulders, pulling him back into the bathroom and restraining his movements.

"Keigo, love," Fuji greeted brightly, slightly out of breath. He must have cut quite the picture: the injuries from Ryoma the day previous, combined with all the new ones made his face look bloodied and bruised. "I'm so happy you could join us. We're just giving our new pet a bath."

Yukimura laughed; it was a light, tinkling sound that froze the marrow in Ryoma's bones. "Yes, but our bratty little prince isn't too fond of baths," the man mused. With his eyes still slightly red, he looked better off than Fuji - but he'd been shoved back hard enough a couple of times that his back ached from all the hard landings.

"He's more like a feral cat, really," Fuji added.

Keigo rose an eyebrow, eyes sweeping over Ryoma's form; blood was smeared all over his chest from Fuji's previous activity, he was hunched over, and he was glaring through his bangs at the silver-haired male.

"I didn't realize it would be quite so lively," Atobe drawled.

So this is the great Atobe Keigo, Ryoma inwardly sneered.

"So they haven't broken you in yet?" Atobe asked the younger male. Ryoma's eyes narrowed into a darker glare. "Ore-sama will deign to lend a hand, then."

Ryoma straightened up, managing to pull a cocky smirk over his lips as he glared over at the other man.

"You mean to train me?" Ryoma scoffed. "I don't see how I can learn anything from a monkey."

Atobe blinked, before silver eyes narrowed. "What did you just call Ore-sama, you brat?"

Ryoma gave him the most dismissive look he could muster, "Oh, pardon me, Your Majesty. Is the great Monkey Kinghard of hearing?"

Atobe backhanded him. Ryoma spit blood onto the man's face in retaliation.

Yukimura smiled at Fuji over Ryoma's head, "They'll get along just fine."

End Chapter 6

A/N: ...at least I gave you guys Shiraishi! -innocent look- And yes, he has a backstory-subplot.

Questions, criticisms? Review~! Comments? REVIEW~!