Bishonen, Chapter 01

Bishonen
Chapter 1

Crawford looked up from his morning coffee to watch Nagi enter the kitchen. He allowed a small smirk to twist his lips as he watched the boy move with an admiring eye. He was walking with a delicate, pained, elegant grace that stirred an appreciative reaction in Crawford’s loins. He noticed Schuldig smirking at him knowingly and took a moment to give him a sharp glare before returning his attention to the boy.

Nagi stood at the counter, making himself a cup of green tea. He was dressed in his usual school uniform. Crawford’s eyes roamed over his body, admiring the slim build, the almost girlish curve of his hips, his slow, deliberate movements. Nagi turned to face the table, cup of tea in hand, and his eyes met Crawford and Schuldig’s briefly before dropping to the floor. He slid elegantly into the remaining seat.

"Ohayo," he murmured, before taking a sip of his tea. Crawford nodded, though the boy wasn’t looking at him.

"Good morning, bishounen," Schuldig sneered, and Crawford saw the boy almost imperceptibly flinch. Farferello merely grunted, his eyes never leaving his plate, where he was busy mutilating his scrambled eggs.

Crawford took a sip of his coffee and watched the boy’s face. The soft, thin lips, pressed into a firm line. The delicate, elegant features. The eyes like two fathomless pools of blue. The chocolate-brown hair that Crawford wanted to tangle his hands in. Nagi’s eyes met his briefly again, and then he quickly looked away, turning his head to the side as he took another sip of tea. Crawford took the opportunity to admire the bruise, which he now had an excellent view of, thanks to the angle of Nagi’s neck.

It was a dark, angry blue, tinged at its outer edges by sallow purple and yellow. It traced along the delicate line of Nagi’s left jaw. Crawford felt his groin stir again as he remembered the feel of Nagi’s skin beneath his fist, softly yielding under the impact. The small cry of pain that it had elicited from Nagi’s lips. He wanted to run his fingers over that bruise, to feel Nagi flinch under his touch. He wanted to trace a path down that elegant throat and underneath his shirt, where he knew more bruises could be found. Barely suppressing an audible groan, he shifted in his seat and took another sip from his coffee. He studiously ignored Schuldig, who was once again giving him a knowing smirk.

Good God, the boy was beautiful. He wondered at his good fortune, having him so near. At fifteen, the boy’s youthful looks meant that he could be mistaken for someone much younger, yet there was also something about him that seemed in odd juxtaposition to his youth. There was a… a sensuality about him, about the smooth, unconscious grace of his movements, about the carefully neutral expression on that beautiful face. And there was a coldness, too. Coldness in his elegance, in his reserved, stand-offish nature. Yes, Crawford thought idly, Nagi Naoe was in many ways a pedophile’s walking wet dream. And, after all, he should know.

He’d been fucking him for five years.

He shot Schuldig a disdainful glance. He knew he wasn’t the only one, either.

***********

Nagi all-but fled the kitchen as soon as he’d finished drinking his tea. He didn’t eat any breakfast. He rarely did. He rarely ate anything at all, in fact. It was hard to summon up much in the way of an appetite when those two were staring at him like they wanted to devour him with their eyes. He shuddered. That or jump him right then and there. And they probably would have, too, if not for each other’s presence. They didn’t like to share. At least not at the same time.

He made his way to the second floor bathroom, especially mindful of the sharp, aching pain at the base of his spine while climbing the stairs. He briefly pondered showering again. Their eyes had made him feel dirty. But he didn’t want to give Schuldig the satisfaction. And the redhead would know, he was sure of it. He stared at the reflection in the mirror, his jaw clenching.

Nagi hated his face.

It was too… pretty. It had been bringing him unwanted attention his whole life. The delicate features, the wide blue eyes. He hugged his arms around himself, feeling his lips twist into a grimace as he put pressure on his bruised ribs. He hated his body, too. It was also delicate, slim, pretty. ‘Bishounen’, Schuldig liked to call him mockingly. He wanted to smash the mirror, to take the shards to his face, to make sure no one would ever call him bishounen again. But of course he couldn’t do that. He forced his body to relax, for the cool, indifferent expression to return to his face. Such strong emotions were dangerous. They would only capture Schuldig’s attention.

Once again composed into his usual reserved demeanor, he stepped out of the hallway and made his way to the computer room. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace that years of experience told him would cause the least pain to his injuries. He closed the computer room door with a sigh, grateful that he had not run into Crawford or Schuldig. Not that it was impossible, or even unlikely, that one of them would come looking for him sooner or later. He fought back another dangerous surge of emotion, a horrible, all-consuming, pitch-black wave of utter misery and helplessness. It would do him no good to dwell on it. There was work to be done. There was always work to be done.

He painstakingly slipped into the chair in front of the computer, ignoring the pain in his body. And for several hours he was able to lose himself in the cold, comforting world of cyberspace. Clients to be researched, targets to arrange, business matters to be dealt with, it was all second nature to him, and he performed the tasks almost on auto-pilot, his mind comfortably blank from all unnecessary thought. It was as close to peace as he ever felt.

And then he heard the door open.

Nagi’s spine went ramrod straight, his breath hitching in his lungs. The clacking of the keys went silent under his telekinetic touch. The door closed again, and footsteps approached him. His face was a cool mask, showing none of his tangled emotions. A hand slid through his hair, and he knew who it was. Crawford. Crawford had always loved his hair. Suddenly the hand fisted and roughly pulled his head back, and he was looking up into Crawford’s face, his neck arched painfully.

"It is customary to greet someone when they enter a room," Crawford said before leaning down and capturing Nagi’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Nagi tried not to choke on the tongue that thrust into his mouth. When the kiss was finally broken, Nagi gasped for breath. The fist in his hair pulled upwards, and he was forced to rise to his feet. Crawford’s other hand started to caress his cheek.

"So beautiful…," the older man murmured. Nagi kept his face carefully impassive. ‘Nothing, I feel nothing,’ he told himself. Crawford smiled, and his fingers found the bruise he himself had given the boy the day before. He pressed on it until Nagi flinched. "Beautiful…," Crawford murmured again, and then brought his lips to the bruise. Nagi couldn’t help but flinch again as the man started to suck on his skin. Crawford’s fist curled tighter in his hair, pulling painfully on his roots. Nagi stared at the ceiling expressionlessly as Crawford’s lips traveled up and down his throat, sucking and licking and even nipping the skin on occasion. He wished fervently that he could fling the man away with a blasting wave of his power. But he couldn’t. Crawford was Authority. His training in Esset had been very thorough, and something deep inside of him wouldn’t let him lash out at Authority with his power, no matter how much he wanted to. He was helpless.

Crawford was propelling him backwards, even as he continued his ministrations on his throat. They came to an abrupt stop when Nagi’s hips dug into the table on the other side of the room. Crawford finally lifted his face from Nagi’s neck, and the fist knotted in his hair suddenly became gentle fingers running through the chocolate brown strands. The man was once again caressing Nagi’s cheek. Nagi kept his face unreadable, his gaze unfocused and trained on some indeterminate point in the room. He didn’t want to look at Crawford’s face, at the expression of admiration and lust that it bore. It would make it impossible to keep up the façade of being a near-lifeless doll.

Suddenly Crawford drew his hand back and struck Nagi across the face with enough force to snap the boy’s head back and to knock his body back against the table. Nagi yelped in pain and brought his hand up to the trickle of blood from his split lip. But the man snatched his hand away and replaced it with his mouth, sucking on the wound hungrily. Nagi’s stomach lurched, his breath once again hitching in his lungs, but he forced his face to remain passive and his muscles to remain as lax as possible. ‘I feel nothing, I feel nothing,’ he repeated to himself.

Crawford’s hands were now roaming up under his shirt, and the next thing he knew his shirt was undone and was being slid from his shoulders. It dropped to the floor. ‘I feel nothing! I AM nothing!’ Nagi’s mind screamed. Crawford’s lips trailed down his chest, his tongue darted out to lick a nipple, causing Nagi to flinch. Hands were working to undo his pants, were pulling them and his boxers down around his knees. Suddenly Crawford stepped back and raked his eyes up and down his body. Nagi’s face was a cold mask, his eyes glazed, even as his heart was a heavy lump in his throat. He was naked, exposed, ashamed.

"Why are you so beautiful?" Crawford murmured, and Nagi’s stomach clenched. And then the blows came. Crawford’s fists struck Nagi’s jaw, his eye, his already bruised ribs, and every time he elicited a pained cry from the boy, his smile grew wider.

Nagi clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see Crawford’s face while he beat him, and tried to keep his body as still as possible. The sickening sound of flesh striking flesh and his own pathetic cries filled his ears. ‘It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, I am nothing…’ The pain pounded in his brain, seeming to reverberate in his skull. Finally a blow caused him to fall back onto the table, and Crawford took the opportunity to flip his slight body over onto his stomach.

Nagi couldn’t suppress a groan at the pain lying on his stomach caused his aching ribs. He could hear Crawford unzipping his pants. For a moment fear choked him, but he forced it back, forcing himself to lay still when every instinct he had was telling him to run, to get away from there as quickly as possible. ‘Numb, numb, I’m numb…’ he repeated to himself. But it wasn’t true. He could feel every ache and pain in his body, and his stomach was a tight knot of dread. He turned his head to the side and stared dully at the wall, the surface of the table cool and unyielding beneath his cheek.

Strong hands gripped his hips, positioning them, and then he felt slickness at his entrance, rough fingers probing him. Crawford, at least, unlike Schuldig, always used a little lube, though he never did bother to stretch him much. Nagi tried to blank his mind out with white noise, to drift, to truly be nothing. But then his right arm was gripped with bruising force, and twisted up into the small of his back, causing him to give a shriek of pain. Crawford leaned down to purr in his ear.

"Your screams are beautiful, just like your pain, and your face, and your body. All so beautiful…." Nagi was just barely able to choke back a sob. ‘Nothing, nothing, NOTHING!’ Crawford’s free hand was once again gripping his hip, fingers digging into skin, adding to the numerous marks and bruises. And then the man’s length was pushing at his entrance.

Nagi sucked in a sharp intake of breath and gripped his teeth against the pain. He felt his abused flesh tear and give way under the assault, and he couldn’t suppress a whimper. His entire body was as taut as a bowstring, which he knew was only making it worse, but he couldn’t force himself to relax and allow the invader easier passage. Finally Crawford was seated fully inside him, but he barely even paused before pulling nearly all the way out and then plunging back in again. Nagi couldn’t help it. He screamed. The pain filled his senses, blanked his vision white. His body wouldn’t obey his command, seeming to try to squirm away from the torture of its own volition. But, pinned against the table as he was, there was nowhere for him to go. And his squirming seemed to be adding to Crawford’s excitement, even as he twisted his arm some more to remind him who was in charge. The man thrust again and again, building a steady rhythm. The force was brutal, slamming Nagi against the table repeatedly, the edge digging painfully into his stomach. He couldn’t stop screaming now, the pain overriding all of his control. He was being split in two, sawed in half, ripped open from the inside out. His cries of pain were intermingled with choking sobs, his free hand clenching and unclenching against the unsympathetic wood beneath his fingers. ‘Nothing, I am nothing…,’ he thought dully as traitorous tears slicked the table beneath his face.

He didn’t think it would ever end, but eventually Crawford’s thrusts built to a crescendo, and then he was climaxing, spilling his seed into the boy beneath him. He released Nagi’s arm and collapsed forward, draping himself over the boy in a mock-embrace with a satisfied sigh. Nagi tried to swallow back the last of his sobs, panting heavily, the pain in every inch of his body excruciating. He wanted to curl in on himself, but the crushing weight of the man on top of him made that impossible. Crawford was caressing the side of his face again, and Nagi wanted to flinch away from that touch, but he was trapped, helpless. Kisses were being trailed down the back of his neck. He felt sick with shame.

Finally Crawford righted himself, and pulled his softened length from Nagi’s body, one final lance of pain. The boy couldn’t help but grimace as he felt blood and cum start to run down his thighs. From the corner of his eye, he watched Crawford shuffle over to the computer desk, where he used some tissues to clean himself up before doing up his pants. One last appraising look in Nagi’s direction, and then he was gone.

Nagi shuddered convulsively. Suppressed sobs hiccuped in his throat. It was a long time before he could force himself to even try to stand up. Even then, his legs would barely hold his weight, the pain fogging his mind. He just stood there for another long while, supporting a great deal of his weight on his uninjured left arm against the table. He took long, deep breaths, trying to regain his composure. Blood trickled down his chin and he realized with some surprise that he must have bitten his lip at some point. Finally, when the tremors in his body were firmly under control and he felt able to stand without support, he let go of the table and pulled his pants and boxers up from where they’d pooled around his ankles. They were already stained with the blood running down his legs. He would have to shower, and then put on some fresh clothes. He would have to shower for a long time. The tremors threatened to overtake him again, but he forced them back. ‘I feel nothing…’ he thought, and the words once again held conviction. He retrieved his shirt as well and carefully shrugged it back on, the movement paining his bruises, both old and new. He gingerly wiped the tears from his face, and felt where his left eye was already beginning to swell from one of Crawford’s punches. He swallowed hard and composed his face into its customary stoic expression. Stopping to save the computer work he’d spent the morning doing, he left the computer room to go take a shower, moving slowly and deliberately, each step agony.

It was turning about to be the most horrible day. Schuldig was waiting for him in the hall.