Come on, don’t be shy.
There it was again. An echo, a shadow that lingered on.
As the weight of his lids became to heavy a burden to bear, as he lay them down across the sore expanse of his swollen eyes, as he let his iron weighted head lean to one side against the cold hard metal, did that voice come. As it always did, reaching from the void of his empty mind to remind him he could still think, he could still feel, that there was no escape – not even in sleep was he safe.
I don’t bite.
The words followed him, never losing sight of him. He was but a rabbit in the cross-hairs of the hunter.
Unless you want me to, that is.
It chased and chased until he could run no more, stumbled over his own feet. There was nowhere else for him to run to any more. Every corner of his mind had been exposed, a barren warren, a myriad of nothingness.
‘Come out and play with me.’
Every syllable claimed him like a claw, sinking deep into his flesh, tore him apart. He felt each sharp point slice along his skin, his bruised and beaten skin, and for the moment those claws were as real as the four small walls that confined him.
There was nothing he could do but wait. Wait for the sound of the bathroom door opening, wait for the sound of the even footsteps to come closer, wait for the sigh and wait for the lid to crack open.
But when he did open his eyes, when he saw the flood of light, it was not the spectacled tormentor he expected to see.
'Aoba. I've been waiting for you.'
Aoba’s head pulsed with a shock wave of pain that left him gasping for air. It knocked him clean off his feet and he fell to his knees, his rickety, bony knees, and with skeletal fingers he clawed at the ground, anchoring himself as the throbbing slowly began to subside, like the water of an ocean calming after a storm.
'Ah…' He sighed, hesitantly opening his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light. After hours if not days of being trapped inside that box, his own personal hell, the sudden brightness of the room was rather unwelcome. Blinking away the blurriness Aoba forced his eyes to focus, barely noticing the strain was not as bad as it should have been.
The first thing he could see was an old, worn out tatami mat, stained from years of being lived on. Sweaty feet, food and inevitable ageing all had taken their toll on this flooring. But it was one particular stain that immediately drew his attention.
Slightly to the left of his quivering fingers he saw a mark on the floor, a hole with singed edges, a tiny cigarette burn. It was remarkable in that it was unremarkable; just another stain, a drop of water in a rainstorm.
Aoba’s first thought.
The name croaked out of the recesses of his mind, reached down his throat and into his chest where it clutched his heart with a steady, firm grip. Koujaku…
The mark was identical to the one in Aoba’s bedroom. The memory of it was faded, but as Aoba’s fingers shakily traced the mark he felt the remnants of a past life come back to haunt.
'Welcome home, Aoba.'
That echo again. That voice. Only this time it was loud and clear, it was here.
If he had the will to speak a sound would have spilled from his dry lips, but all that came was a trail of saliva, oozing down his quivering chin. He wanted to find out who had spoken so desperately, but his body was sluggish to respond, giving him the uneasy feeling of being stuck in a dream. His perseverance paid of, eventually.
A pair of porcelain white boots. They reflected whatever light illuminated the room, a slither of brightness that moved smoothly over the rounded surface as Aoba repositioned himself. When he saw them, his first inclination was to lean forward and let his tongue chase the reflecting light. He leaned forward, not even questioning.
'Oh, Aoba. What have they done to you?'
Before his tongue made contact a sharp pain vibrated down his nervous system. It radiated down from his scalp, hot and heavy.
'…A-Ah…ah….' His cry of pain was weak, his eyes clenched shut as his head was dragged to face upwards by the sensitive tendrils of his hair. He reflexively prepared himself, braced his body for the blow; a slap, nails down his cheek, or maybe they would pull his tongue. Last time he messed up on boot licking, when he hesitated a little too long, they did that.
The air moved with a heavy sigh, nothing more.
'You're just a slab of meat, aren't you? Can't even call you human. Animals have more free-will than you. The only thing keeping you from being a corpse is your endless drive to survive. Have you any idea where that came from, by the way?'
'…No…' Aoba replied. If he had the power to think he may have wondered why. He may have wondered why the room he was in felt like his old bedroom, before the metal box had replaced it. He may have wondered how he came to be here, or why the voice that spoke to him sounded different. He only listened to two voices these days, and this was neither of them.
This was his voice.
A voice he had chosen to neglect somewhere along the way. There was no room in his empty brain for clutter.
'It's me, Aoba. I am the one who keeps you surviving through it all. The one you never wanted.'
'No, you don't understand anything any more. Look at how far listening to that stupid dog has gotten you. Look at what his excellent advice has done to you. And where is he now? Shut up in Toue's laboratory no doubt. They'll make a monster of him, you know.'
'…Don't…' Aoba pleaded, his eyes still sealed shut. Regardless he felt the cold warmth of his own tears seeping out, breaking through the carefully constructed barrier.
'What's the matter? Can't you think about anything other than pain and pleasure?'
'Is that it, Aoba? Is that the only way to get through to you? You can't even look at yourself.'
The hand that held him prisoner began to shake, and the pain in Aoba’s body rose up like fire. It spread throughout him, setting alight the darkness corners of his body.
'Look at you. You're hard as a rock from me just pulling your hair.'
'It is like that, Aoba. You can't hide from me. I am you, after all. I'm the one who knows everything about you, because I am you. I know exactly what it is that you want. And that's why I am here, now. To give it to you.'
At last Aoba opened his eyes, peered through the blurry haze of his melancholy to gaze at the pure white spectacle before him. The other had his face, his hair, his voice. But the colour was gone from each of them. He was bleached to a flawless white, not a speck of dirt upon the elaborate robes he wore. It was as though his soul was completely bared for all to see.
'You only know how to respond to commands, don't you, Aoba? Then allow me to put this in a way that you'll comprehend.' The other Aoba let go of his hair suddenly, and like a puppet released of its bonds, Aoba slumped back to the floor with the weight of his shame firmly on his shoulders. He knew without looking the torture on his hair had aroused him. He felt his groin aching for attention, longing for more pain or pleasure; not caring which, he had been trained to climax from both.
Wiping the tears and drool from his face, Aoba watched in fascination as his other reclined on the bed, languidly laying on his back like a cat in the heat of the sun.
'Don't look away, Aoba. Not for a second.' The other Aoba's voice dropped low as his hands snaked inside his robes, shuffled around until the folds of fabric fell open. All too easily the robes parted, leaving in their wake an expanse of snowy skin, and Aoba's eyes instantly focused on one area in particular.
'See? I am also hard. Now, Aoba. This is your little treat. I'm going to let you fuck me.'
'W-What?' Aoba sputtered, his faltering gaze flicking hesitantly to meet his other's. He instantly glanced away; his place was not to look into the eyes of his master's.
'You're going to fuck me. And you're going to make it good.'
'Do it.' The other lifted his legs onto the bed, bending them at the knee and parting them impossibly wide. His hands moved down, wrapping beneath his thighs to grip the firm flesh of his ass, his long fingers sinking in to the skin. Aoba's eyes shyly drank in the sight of his mirrored self, revealing his most intimate area. 'You're going to fuck me here, Aoba. Just like they fuck you.'
'No…it's…!' Aoba protested, shaking his head from side to side. It’s impossible! How could he do such a thing? He was made to be fucked, to receive pleasure and pain in equal measure, but never to take. Here it was offered to him, as though on a silver platter, and despite his confusion of how he came to be here talking to a washed out version of himself, he found the lower half of his body aching sorely, urging him on. He glanced down at himself, watched the pearly fluid ooze from his tip.
'Come to me, Aoba. Fuck me.' The other Aoba beckoned, his hole twitching even as he held himself open, a sacrificial offering ripe for the carnal ceremony. 'I command you to fuck me.'
'I… I can't do it…' Aoba protested, shaking his head.
'You can and you will.' Not giving him a chance to respond again, the white Aoba hooked his ample legs around Aoba's waist and roughly pulled him to the bed. The sudden motion was enough to knock him from his feet, and just as intended he fell forward, onto the bed. Propped up by hands and knees Aoba held himself above his other, head still swirling from the quick movement.
'You have no choice in this matter, Aoba.'
'No.' He replied fiercely, reaching between them to grip Aoba's cock. He positioned it to his twitching entrance, his legs pulling Aoba into him against his will.
'…Nhn…!' Aoba let out a groan as he felt himself enter. His throat constricted as he felt himself pulled deeper, sucked in until his cock was completely sheathed. The sensation was like nothing he had experienced before; he could feel the heat, every twitch and motion magnified, the inner walls clenching and unclenching, rubbing over him.
Aoba could not move. Not of his own free will. Something inside him still held strong, however it was wavering. As the other Aoba panted, wildly moving his hips, he began to sputter sentences, and each one knocked another hole into Aoba’s restraint.
'You can't even fuck me… properly,' The other Aoba continued, hips moving erratically now, '…You can't even…ahh…'
'You can't do it…can you… slut that you are… only made to take it…'
'You…nhn…can't even… fuck…only be fucked…'
'Slut…whore…bitch…!' The white Aoba hissed like a snake, spitting the words like powerful venom. 'You're…nothing…but a worm. A fucking worm!'
'You're still the one being fucked…even no-ahh…!'
His words cut off as Aoba found his strength, breaking through the barrier that kept him contained all these years. The carefully constructed walls around him crumbled into ash, fell all around like dominoes before vanishing in puffs of smoke. He could hold it no longer, and he roughly took the curvaceous flesh into his hands, gripping it cruelly as he slammed his hips down into the inviting warmth. It felt so good to seize control over something, even though he felt cajoled into doing it. He still felt the strings of manipulation tugging at his limbs, but he wasn’t going to stop for that. He needed this as desperately as the air he pulled into his lungs, his teeth clenching together as he struggled to withstand the onslaught of his own pleasure.
He didn’t care if he satisfied the other.
He didn’t care if it hurt or caused him discomfort.
It was just a receptacle for his pleasure, a vessel that only lived to receive, just as he had been.
And rising up like a sadistic melody, rising over the sound of his own ragged breathing, he could hear the distorted sound of laughter.
He was laughing.
The colourless reflection was laughing, his flush face tilted back.
'You f-finally… did it..nhn…' He managed from between his tyrannical laughter, 'You fucking did… it… yes… fuck me harder…Aoba…!'
Aoba recognised this state. It felt like an old memory returning, and all at once Aoba knew. This was him. This was the way he behaved, when he could stomach reality no more. When he let go, when he truly let go, this was the image they saw.
They saw his slutty body spread as far open as it would go, his sweat slicked skin flushed with exertion and arousal, his face… his lewd face, infected by the virus of his dark passions, shrouded in a misty haze of pleasure.
'That's… me…' Aoba whispered breathlessly, gazing down at himself.
'Don't you see? Haha… this is so ludicrous… don't stop…ahh…'
When Aoba next thrust his hips forward, he watched the face beneath him carefully. He recognised every expression as his own, and watched with fascination the subtle changes, the twitch of a plump lip when he angled there, the way his eyes clenched shut and then opened. It was all his own expression, mirrored perfectly.
'Haha… do you see it now? You're fucking yourself…ahh… Aoba… I love you.'
'Shh…I can feel it. Don't..nhn…say it.'
Aoba swallowed the collection of moisture in his mouth, bent down and scooped the light frame into his arms, pressed their chests together, and in a tender, curious moment, he kissed his other lightly on the lips once before propelling his hips with as much force as he could muster.
The bed rocked noisily but there was no one else to hear it. Aoba understood it now; this was all in his own mind. Something had happened in his reality, and he found himself running to his inner sanctum – the memory of his home, his bedroom. But there would be no Tae downstairs, rattling pots and pans as she prepared whatever meal it was time for. There would be no Ren, curled up on his usual pillow and sleeping soundly. If Aoba called out to him, there would be no response.
They were all gone.
Nothing mattered now.
Only this, he thought, gripping the white Aoba as tightly as he could, as if to squeeze the life from the both. They were so close to their climax, their sweating bodies rising and falling together at a rapid pace, spurned on by their ancient need.
'I love you… Aoba… Only you…' He uttered, and his fingers wound their way into locks of blue. 'Don't…stop…don't ever leave me here alone..ahh….!'
'Can't… hold on…' Aoba muttered, his strangled voice rising as he reached orgasm. He felt his cock being milked by the other's body as he shuddered with his own release, his inner walls gripping and releasing his cock steadily, until every last drop of pleasure was spent.
Afterwards, Aoba lay beneath the covers of his bed. He could smell the sweet scent of him in the fibres, buried his face into it more, exhausted.
Downstairs he began to imagine the ruckus from the kitchen, the sound of the front door opening followed by Koujaku’s usual greeting. He began to listen to the constant whirring of Ren’s motors as he slept next to him, as steady and never ending as breathing.
He wasn’t sure where his other had gone in the pandemonium of ecstasy, but then it didn’t matter any more. Nothing mattered.
He was finally home.