Again, the show has been a successful one; it has brought great pleasure to Honma Toshio to see the supposedly god-like surgeon, Tomobe Koichiro, broken and humiliated, his career ripped apart and torn into tattered shreds. The man deserves it, he tells himself. After all, if it weren't for people like him – people who treat others differently depending on how it suits them – then perhaps Misaki would still be alive. If she hadn't had to wait for treatment...
But she did. And because of that, she slipped into a coma. And because she slipped into a coma, Kamiyama...
He barely manages to suppress a growl as he makes his way onto the studio floor where Kamiyama is still waiting. The rest of the crew have left now, having gone off to do whatever it is they do after filming an episode; Honma doesn't know, because he never goes with them. He doesn't have time for petty small talk and pointless conversations about the ins and outs of their day-to-day lives. None of that interests him, because none of it involves his revenge. By the time he reaches the stage where Kamiyama is sat, the man is sitting alone, trembling, and he suddenly gives a start as Honma approaches.
He's upset about something. Good. I need to see him suffer.
His expression of superior indifference does not change as he comes to stand over Kamiyama, showing no sympathy whatsoever for the man's clearly traumatised state. There is a question which he needs answered, and he does not care how much anguish it may cause the man to answer it.
“Why?” Honma's tone of voice remains cold and distant. “Why did you slap Tomobe?”
It's several seconds before Kamiyama replies; several seconds in which he twitches and shakes, his whole body practically convulsing from the effort of trying to find a reply.
“I don't know...” Kamiyama forces out the words, but his torment only serves to please Honma who is unable to keep the hint of a satisfied smirk from his face. “Honma-san... I.. I saw her... Misaki... covered in blood...”
The smile which has been pulling at the corners of Honma's mouth immediately disappears, replaced by an ice-cold contempt. Kamiyama is evidently distraught, the effort of calling forth such memories combined with the shock of their implications clearly shaking him to the core, but Honma continues to show no consideration whatsoever as the other man falls apart right in front of him.
“But... somebody else was there too, Honma-san... you...”
Honma remains silent as Kamiyama continues to speak, curious to see just how much he can remember. Just how much he can risk giving away.
“Just what happened to us...?”
Us. He remembers us.
“Who are you?”
The silence between them echoes loudly, the weight of Kamiyama's revelations bearing down heavily upon them both, and for a few moments neither of them speak. It's not that Kamiyama is expecting an answer – he knows Honma better by now than to think that the man will suddenly spill all of his secrets. But by asking about their past, their shared past, it's a small act of defiance which indicates he is capable of acting outside of Honma's overbearing influence, and that he is perhaps finally able to think for himself.
Honma, however, realises this too, and the implications are less than satisfactory. Oh yes, he fully intends the guests to stir up memories for Kamiyama, but it seems his selection of Tomobe has been more effective than he would have thought. Seeing the doctor again has broken down more of Kamiyama's mental barriers than he would have liked.
No. This is too much, too soon. Kamiyama doesn't get an answer from me. Not yet.
Anger surges up within him at the realisation that Kamiyama has been able to unlock some of his own secrets. He is angry at Kamiyama for being able to summon up a memory of him without being directly prompted, and angry at himself for failing to foresee such a thing occurring. Their encounter the previous week in which Kamiyama remembered Misaki should have been ample warning that such a thing could happen; he should have foreseen that the walls keeping Kamiyama's past in check are beginning to crumble. As it is, Honma deals with his rage in the only way he really knows how – by proving his dominance over Kamiyama in the most physical way possible.
He suddenly grabs hold of Kamiyama's jacket – his fingers digging into the lapels, trimmed as they are with glittery black sequins – and shoves him towards the nearest wall, flimsy though it may be. The set is not the sturdiest and totters slightly, but it holds, even when Honma slams Kamiyama against it, snarling into his face.
“What else do you remember, Kamiyama?” Honma's voice is a dangerous growl, his words heavy with barely-concealed threat. “What else do you remember about me? About Misaki?”
“Honma-san!” Kamiyama whimpers the man's name as a plea, begging for him not to hurt him. “Please, Honma-san! Please! I don't... I don't remember anything else... please...”
“You must remember something!” The other man refuses to back off, hissing his displeasure. “Where were we? What were we doing? How do you know me?”
“I don't know!” Kamiyama is practically beginning to sob now. “I don't know! There was... there was a lake, and blood, and... school... there was a school...”
“What kind of school? Where was the lake?”
“I don't know!” He begins to openly weep, not even ashamed of his despair any more. After all, what does he have left to be ashamed of? Honma holds everything, his innocence as well as his memories. What else does he have left to lose? “Please, Honma-san! I don't remember...”
Perhaps he finally realises that Kamiyama is speaking the truth; perhaps he genuinely relents after seeing the man crying. Either way, Honma relaxes his grip although he doesn't release his hold on Kamiyama completely, still keeping him pressed against the wall of the set with a look of stormy anger upon his face.
“So you really don't remember huh?” Honma gives a disdainful sneer, then smiles. “Well, then. Looks like you will still need my help after all... won't you?”
Shaken and upset, Kamiyama merely nods in assent.
He's not sure when it happened – presumably at some point while he was shouting at him – but somehow Honma's hand has found its way towards Kamiyama's crotch and is now cupping him through his trousers, stroking at his length, feeling him through the flimsy material. He glances down and smiles, suddenly aware of quite how aroused it's making him feel.
“Kamiyama....” His fingers find the shape of the other man's body, closing around him, and his grip tightens as he begins to make him go hard. “You know what I want now, don't you...?”
“Y-yes... Honma-san...” Kamiyama feels his cheeks burn bright red, feels his body beginning to respond to Honma's actions, his length growing firm as the man's hand touches more insistently at him. He knows exactly what Honma wants; it's the same thing he's wanted from him every week now since the Quiz Show has gone on air. And even though goes against all logic - even though Honma has just screamed and him and belittled him, even though Honma is clearly witholding the truth – it shames him to realise that he wants it, too. “Please...”
“Oh, so you want it now as well?” Honma laughs, a wicked little chuckle, and suddenly draws his hand away. He doesn't doubt that Kamiyama has enjoyed their previous couplings – at least some of them, anyway. But hearing the man actually voice his desire, that's something else entirely, for now it gives him even more power. “Maybe I should make you beg for it, then...”
“No!” Kamiyama cries out but falls quiet again, fearing Honma's wrath – but the man is not angry. If anything he is amused, very pleased to see how eager Kamiyama is for his touch. “No...”
“No, you don't want it? Or no, you don't want to beg for it?”
“I... I want it...” Somehow, he finds his voice; although it's the truth it's hard to say it, but then again, sometimes the truth can be the most difficult thing of all. “I want it now... I don't want to have to wait...”
“Of course you don't.” Honma leans in close again, this time pressing his lips against Kamiyama's neck, brushing them over his bare skin with a low moan. “So impatient, Kamiyama... so eager to have everything...”
Honma allows his hands to find their way back down to Kamiyama's crotch, this time finding him hard and ready, almost fully-erect; and this time he allows his hand to slide down inside the waistband of Kamiyama's trousers, brushing his fingers across the hot, smooth tip, taking a hold of him and beginning to stroke.
“Honma-san...” Kamiyama is unable to suppress the whimper which escapes his lips, nor can he stop himself from bucking forwards into the man's hand. His dismay at yearning for Honma's touch still lingers, but it has been overwritten by his need for the man; the physical contact is something which he longs for when he sits alone in his cell, the feel of somebody else's body against his own – the feel of Honma's body against him, Honma's hands touching him, Honma moving inside him and bringing him pleasure which he never would have imagined. “I'm ready...”
“Not yet you're not.” With a soft laugh Honma takes his hand away again, but this time it's to help undress the other man; his hands are steady as he unbuttons Kamiyama's trousers, the two of them hurriedly hitching them down to free his firm length, which Honma takes into his hand once more. “Better...”
And with his other hand he fumbles with his belt buckle and the buttons of his jeans, releasing himself, his own excitement hard and ready; then he shifts himself forward so that his arousal brushes against Kamiyama's own, shuddering with anticipation when he does so. He can't keep from smiling now, his enjoyment plainly written on his face, and he continues to smirk wickedly as he takes a firm hold of the other man's thighs.
“I'm going to need your help here,” he murmurs, desire already making his voice husky and raw. “Do as I tell you, Kamiyama, and I'll make it worth your while...”
As he so often does with Honma, Kamiyama merely nods and obeys, his own arousal meaning he is even more willing to do as he's told in order to reach his release. He whimpers softly when Honma instructs him to wrap his arms around his neck, his legs around Honma's waist, and despite his slight frame Honma is able to hoist Kamiyama against the wall, his own body keeping him pressed against it while Kamiyama grips tightly onto him. Honma's breathing is shallow and ragged not only from the strain of lifting the other man, but also from his own excitement.
“There we go... that wasn't so bad, was it?” he grins, deliberately making sure that the head of his length now presses against Kamiyama's entrance, making sure that the man's body is angled to as to give him easy access. “Now you're ready...”
With a moan born of sheer need Honma leans down and allows a dribble of his own spittle to land on his hardness, slicking himself up for what is to happen next; satisfied that he is now slicked up enough he pushes forwards, thrusting into Kamiyama with a purr of lust, both surprised and pleased at just how easily he can slip inside him.
“Kamiyama....” he groans loudly, filling him, lowering Kamiyama down until his length is completely enclosed within the man's flesh; he stills himself for a moment, allowing Kamiyama's body to readjust to the feel of him, and he leans in close against the man's neck, his breath hot on his skin as he begins to move inside him. “Does that feel good, Kamiyama...?”
Kamiyama's response is merely a muffled cry, a soft moan, although he manages to nod his head in affirmation. Yes, it does feel good. It feels good to be held, to be physically close to someone like this; it feels good to be so close to Honma, so close to the man who holds the keys to his past. Not only that, but the way in which Honma touches him is starting to bring him the greatest pleasure, the greatest release, and he is learning how best to respond in order to please them both.
“Honma-san....” Kamiyama closes his eyes and he breathes his partner's name, allowing his body to submit to his affections, no matter how selfish and brutal they might be. He does his best to move in time with Honma's thrusting, his hips moving in wide circles around his partner's length, clenching his muscles as tightly as he can to give Honma the greatest pleasure that he can. “Honma...”
Honma groans in turn, letting Kamiyama know just how much he is enjoying himself by loudly announcing his desire, voicing his need in a series of raw, wanton moans; he thrusts harder, deeper, burying himself within his partner's body, drawing pained cries from Kamiyama which soon become helpless whimpers drawn from the very edge of ecstasy. Although gentle at first he becomes more rough now, sensing that Kamiyama is ready for him to lose control, sensing that his body is relaxed enough to take him.
His movements become more desperate, more primal, as Honma works towards his orgasm, his length pounding into Kamiyama now, both of them calling out as he buries himself within him, again and again; their moans echo throughout the empty studio, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh mingling with their cries, so lost are they within their lust that even if the crew did return, they would not be able to stop. Kamiyama feels himself drawing near first, his body growing taut and tense, his muscles tight as he winds closer and closer to his climax; his fingers dig into the black leather of his coat, his eyes fixed on the man's face as he pounds mercilessly into him, focusing on the feel of being held and cherished, focusing on the knowledge that Honma wants him, perhaps even needs him, and-
His world becomes a blur as he hits his release, his back suddenly arching as pleasure takes him, spilling himself wildly, messily, over his jacket as well as Honma's clothes; he clings on to the other man more tightly than ever, riding out his orgasm, feeling his partner deep inside him with every movement that he makes.
Seeing Kamiyama reach his peak right in front of him – feeling his body grow tight, feeling him shudder and tremble – only spurs Honma closer to his own release and he thrusts now more eagerly than ever, the heat growing between his own legs as he edges towards his own climax, panting and gasping, moaning his pleasure, desperate for his own climax, until...
Now it's his turn to shudder and whine as he releases inside Kamiyama's body, filling him, pounding his essence deep inside the other man as they both moan and cry out their pleasure; he thrusts once more, a final time, before he pulls back and slips his length from inside Kamiyama, bringing with it a sticky, creamy trail of his own mess.
Having spent himself inside his partner, having felt Kamiyama's own body respond in turn, Honma slowly lowers the other man's legs back down to the floor, both of their bodies trembling and shivering from the exertion of their passion. When his feet hit the ground Kamiyama practically collapses, his legs weak, and he sits down with his back leaning against the set for support, his head falling back while he shakily regains his breath. Honma, meanwhile, reaches out to steady himself against the same wall, leaning over the other man, and he gazes down at him fondly, managing a smile which borders dangerously on the affectionate. With his free hand he reaches into a pocket and draws out a tissue, slowly wiping himself off and then using both hands to tuck himself back into his trousers; it's only then that he realises Kamiyama's own trousers are still lying on the floor, and he kicks them over to where the man is still sitting.
“You should get dressed.”
“Honma...” Kamiyama doesn't seem to notice that Honma is pushing his clothes towards him. Instead he seems to be regressing back to his dazed state, similar to how he was when Honma first found him on the stage this evening. “Honma-san...?”
“When you knew me before, did... did we...”
“Did we what?” Honma narrows his eyes, anticipating Kamiyama's question but deciding to allow it anyway. It's as though he knows somehow what the man will ask, but he wants to hear the words spoken, the idea brought forth. "Did we..."
“Did you want me... back then?”
Somehow Kamiyama manages to blurt out the words, even knowing that to do so will most likely cause him to suffer; but this time, the other man is too lost in his own thoughts to become angry again. Honma's eyes widen, partly in surprise at Kamiyama's newfound audacity, but also at the question itself although he knew that it would be coming. Did he ever see Kamiyama as more than just a friend? He saw him as a rival, certainly; a rival in his pursuit of Misaki's affections, an enemy trying to win the heart of the girl he loved – and then breaking it. But as for whether he felt anything more for Kamiyama back then...
…and now it's Honma Toshio's turn to remember. He recalls staying up late together and taking for hours, discussing their hopes and fears for the future. He remembers the time when they actually opened up to each other and talked about how it felt to grow up without a father; the loneliness, the self-doubt, the uncertainty. He remembers his fear of losing his precious Misaki to Kamiyama Satoru... of losing Kamiyama Satoru to Misaki...
“No.” Honma's response is final, and he quickly closes the doors on the emotions which threaten to make their way to the surface, smothering any semblance of affection. “Come on, Kamiyama. We need to get you back to your room.”
He closes a hand on Kamiyama's shoulder, firm but not rough, and starts to haul him back to his feet, also picking up the man's trousers and shoving them towards him in an untidy bundle; it takes a few moments for him to dress himself, seeing as he is still shaking and he can barely stand. How much of this is due to his trauma and how much is due to the his physical exertions, Honma doesn't know - and more importantly, he doesn't care. As if on cue, Yoda-san enters the studio just as Kamiyama finishes making himself look presentable, bowing politely to the two men and walking over to offer Kamiyama his support.
"Are you finished here tonight?" he asks Honma, casting a sideways glance towards Kamiyama as he does so.
"Yeah. We're done." Honma smirks, also allowing his eyes to rake over Kamiyama's body. "At least... for now."