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Izumi had done plenty of research; and he wasn't going to tell Makoto, as it wasn't appropriate to bring it up, but he'd used his hands on other people already. Leo was lucky enough once, and while Arashi and Izumi had only gotten together recently they'd been active enough for Izumi to be proud enough of his growing skillset. Makoto had taken to it decently enough. Izumi chalked up how quiet he was and the way he was covering his face as general anxiety. He was cooing softly, encouraging Makoto to make some sort of noises, to let him see his pretty face. Having an arm wrapped around his bare face didn't feel fair. It was far too beautiful to be hidden away during something like that.
Once he was pliant enough, Izumi whispered a few more encouraging words and lined himself up. He poured damn near a third of the lube onto the toy, eager to make it as easy and as good as the first time that Makoto slipped into him, though he knew nothing would ever come close to how intimate that was.
"Yuukun," Izumi whispered, letting his hips sink closer to Makoto's. He was sure he put enough lube on the dildo for him to slip in like he'd been there for hours, but Makoto's body seemed to have a mind of its own. "Let onii-chan in, I'll take good care of you."
As if to prove his point, Izumi took one hand that was now free to stroke up and down Makoto's back, applying a feather-light touch he'd hoped would cause his partner to shiver. He pulled out a bit, thinking that maybe just moving would make it better like it did for him, but something seemed off almost immediately.
"Yuukun," Izumi repeated, a little more firm. "Relax already."
As soon as the toy slipped inside of him, Makoto felt as though his brain had disconnected.
We're going to play a game, okay?
All you have to do is relax. Can you do that for me?
Don't cry.
Look at the camera. You like the camera, don't you?
His stomach lurched forward. His body stiffened.
And suddenly, everything was underwater.
Surely, Izumi was saying something. There was a vague sound happening, Makoto was sure of it. It was nearly impossible, however, for him to make out any of the words being said to him. Everything was blanketed in a thick layer of static, warbling around in his head as if it'd been voice modulated somehow. He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly made violently uncomfortable by his unfortunate ability to see. The hand running up and down his back set his skin on fire, prompting him to shy away as if the feather light touches were enough to melt his skin away. He wished that they would. Having skin suddenly felt abhorrent, dirty, like he needed to crawl out of it somehow into a boiling acid bath.
He thought that it would be okay.
He thought it would be okay.
It'd been years. It'd been so many years.
Makoto blinked. His body no longer belonging to him, he felt himself go slack -- 'relaxed' but in a negative way, he drooped in the position that he'd propped himself up in. His eyes were directed in front of him, but he saw nothing through them. It was almost as though he was floating above the situation, watching it from a seat in the spectator stands, watching a relationship crumble to pieces. Even if he wanted to open his mouth in protest, he doubted any sounds would leave him.
The body continued to blink.
Makoto wished it'd scream.
As if he flipped a switch, Izumi fell onto his hands that were placed on either side of his boyfriend. Okay, sure, he did tell him to relax. He did touch him all sensual-like, and he did usually do as Izumi said. Izumi continued moving his hips, curious and slow, but something still felt off.
"Yuukun, tell me you like it." Izumi himself couldn't entirely feel what was happening, of course, but something in his mind said that he could , and he was definitely enjoying whatever mad science was happening between them. God, he even lit candles for the occasion this time. It was supposed to be good, it was supposed to be romantic, and he wasn't going to stop just because things sped up faster than he thought they would.
Except Makoto hadn't responded. Izumi dipped down lower, still slowly rocking his hips down into the other pair, and breathed into his ear. "Yuukun, you're being quiet." He kissed just behind it, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around him now. "You know I like to hear you, why are you being so quiet? Hello?"
Izumi slowly came to a stop, propping himself back up on his hands. He was quickly becoming annoyed, insecure that he was doing something wrong. How dare Yuukun think he wasn't any good at this, even if it was the first time. They were supposed to be in love, it was supposed to be good no matter what. It was supposed to be perfect, just like everything fucking else Izumi had ever done. He couldn’t fuck this up. He'd put so much thought into it, put so much effort into making everything perfect, and now -
"...Yuukun?"
Every sound had now become incomprehensible, swirling into a mess of unintelligible babble that Makoto couldn't even pray to make out. The beating of his heart in his ears was far, far too loud to even try. Something as simple as Izumi's whisper into his ear provoked a full body shudder, one that both of them likely wished was for a better reason. Especially because it was the most he'd moved in several minutes, save for his empty blinking down at a pillow that almost seemed to be swimming in front of him. He only slightly registered the slight shaking of his body, the sounds of his own hyperventilation lost to his own ears.
He needed to get away. He needed to ask Izumi to stop.
He needed to reassure him that none of this was his fault.
But Makoto still found himself unable to move, frozen and limp, just as he had been nearly fourteen years ago.
No longer was he an adult, but the same powerless child he'd always been.
Unable to push people off of him when he needed to the most.
Say something! Please! The mind shouted at the body from its seat in the stands, hoping to any god that would listen that it would connect. Izumi-san is going to worry!
He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Closer, but not quite there.
Unsure of what to do, Izumi panicked. It was evident now that something was happening, something was very wrong, and he pulled the toy away and out. "Yuukun! What's going on?"
He went from annoyed to worried in less than a moment, and was touching Makoto everywhere he could reach to provide some sort of comfort. He shook him lightly, as if to raise him from sleep, but it did nothing. He called out his name again, desperate, but got no response. Izumi even flipped Makoto onto his back, searching his face for some sort of sign that he was alive.
He was, but he was distant, and in a way Izumi recognized from behind the lens.
The same stare that he would have, years ago, when Izumi tried to take a candid but Makoto would catch him. The same blank stare that, after a while of being in the same school, he started to let flip into an annoyed smile. Something happened, and Izumi hadn't put the pieces together or allowed himself to notice until it was too late, and now he was in the same catatonic state that Leo would go into when he was in one of his spirals.
He couldn't handle Yuukun, of all people, doing anything that someone like Leo would do in that state.
Not knowing how to snap him out of it, Izumi raised his hand to Makoto and struck him across the face, praying it wouldn't do more than sting his beautiful face.
Ah. That would do it.
The force from the smack halted all thought, negative or otherwise. Makoto blinked for what felt like the millionth time as his brain finally left spectator mode, coming back to its home within the wrecked shell of his body. Cautiously, as if he were afraid that he would be yelled at if he moved, he reached a hand up to rest on the burning skin of his face. A different kind of burn. A grounding one, as opposed to the other burn that flooded him uncomfortably in every place that their skin was making contact.
"... onii-chan." A nickname he hadn't used in ages, one that he refused to use, was the only thing Makoto could force out of his extraordinarily dry throat. "I'm... okay."
A bold faced lie, mostly because saying "I'm alive" as well was one more syllable than his mouth was willing to form.
Still panicking, now more because of the red that was starting to bloom onto Makoto's face, Izumi collapsed into his boyfriend's chest. He hadn't heard Makoto say that out loud in so many years despite his begging.
How he wanted to be happy to hear his Yuukun call him 'onii-chan' again, it made him feel special and warm and bring back a piece of him that was lost to time. Lost to the berating and neglect of people who made him beat himself into perfection. It would take him to a time where he could protect the one he loved most, and he was good at it, but... he'd just hit him . That was wrong. He'd done something to cause the shiver in his body, the way his body tensed.
"Yuukun..." Izumi sobbed, snaking his arms around him even though he was becoming more and more aware that he, himself, was the problem. "Don't scare onii-chan like that, I..."
He took in a breath, not wanting his face to be stained with the tears that would follow if he let himself wallow too much. "What's wrong, Yuukun? What happened? I thought this was what you wanted..."
The sudden weight of Izumi against him made Makoto tense even more than he already was. And though he was sure that Izumi could feel it, he fought through it, doing his best to offer reassurance in the form of a gentle stroke to his back. It was awkward, and definitely shaky, but the action would likely provide more comfort than his words would. If he were even able to speak any words at all. Everything still felt as though it was on fire, everything still felt vaguely uncomfortable in ways that were horrifically familiar. He still felt sick. He still felt disconnected from his body.
But he had to explain.
At least, in some way.
The last thing Makoto wanted was for Izumi to think that his reaction had anything to do with him , but it seemed to be that that was the case. Understandably so, as upsetting as it was. He gave the older boy the gentlest squeeze his body would allow, and he swallowed hard, and he tried to form words around the static that encompassed any potential coherent thought.
"I..." Not a good start. "It... wasn't you. It's not you. I'm sorry. Don't-"
Don't cry.
"It's okay."
Lifting himself up from Makoto's bare chest, Izumi wiped away a stray tear with his arm and sniffled just a little. He wanted to believe it wasn't him, but who were they kidding? He hadn't forgotten the things he'd done years ago, the way he would scare him. It seemed funny now, like a wet dream to snicker at himself about, but... what he did truly had consequences, didn't it.
Not like he ever hurt Yuukun. He, of course, kidnapped him out of the goodness of his own heart. He'd trailed after him to make sure he was being good, making the right choices, and was always doing everything he could just to better him like a good mentor. He took a page or two out of the book slammed down onto him by his instructor, insulting him in ways that were meant to bite only to show him what needed to be improved.
And Makoto would bite back, in ways that made Izumi's spine shiver, whether he meant to make him weak in the knees or not - but this wasn't one of those times, unfortunately. This seemed too real, as if Makoto was disgusted with him, as if Izumi wasn't supposed to be there.
Of course he was supposed to be there.
He was the most important person in Yuukun's life.
"Then what is it? You can talk to me... I promise."
Being allowed to talk to him and being able to talk to him were two separate things.
Talking would force the memories back to the surface. Talking would force them to become tangible, force him back into the corner he'd been actively trying to claw his way out of for the better part of a decade. Talking would bring back the feeling of clammy hands roaming around his skin, or of whispers too close to his ears, or of the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on breath that he never wanted to be that close to ever again. Talking would make him want to tear himself to shreds, to change his name, to boil himself until he felt right again. It would cause him to shut off, or to cry, or to be sick, or maybe all of the above. It'd cause things that he wasn't ready for. Things he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready for.
One shaky hand reached up to cup Izumi's cheek, very gently thumbing away any stray tear that may have fallen.
"I..." His throat was still exceptionally dry, and trying to swallow did nothing to remedy it. "Something happened when we were younger."
Izumi rolled off of him completely, opting to prop himself up on his side to look down at him. "What are you talking about?"
He reached for Makoto's hand, it was still for him as he'd only just reached out to wipe away a tear that was no longer there. Izumi wasn't about to miss an opportunity to be intimate with his partner, even if this was massively traumatizing, even if he was feeling the prickly skin and tense ache of being unwanted.
"...I never let anyone get near you."
You weren't with me all the time.
Makoto's swallowing was made even more difficult by the addition of a lump in his throat. He wanted desperately to claw his way away from this conversation, but he knew better than anyone that that was an impossibility. With anyone else, he might have been able to convince them to drop it -- but not Izumi. Never Izumi. They were already too deep in for him to be able to reverse away and pretend that none of this was happening.
He gave Izumi's hand a squeeze, trying to be gentle and hopefully not failing to do so.
"... You didn't come home with me, Izumi-san."
His first reaction was to protest. He opened his mouth to do so - he knew Makoto's mom, and though she was spacy, she seemed more or less decent enough. He knew her phone number by heart, for fuck's sake. It wasn't as though he didn't know Makoto's family. She wouldn’t have let anyone saucy into their home knowing what kind of weirdos were in their field.
Unfortunately for him, however, his quick mind flashed a plethora of scenarios that Makoto could mean. Obviously whoever made him react like this was a man, he wasn't stupid, but there weren't many photographers he could recall that seemed interested enough to stalk Makoto, as sought-after as he was. The harassment he experienced on his own wasn't until he was a few years older, and he would've assumed their experiences were similar. Seeing as he, as he said, hardly let Makoto out of his sight.
"...are you..."
The only thing that came into his mind was the headline about Makoto's father, how he was sent to jail for some stupid department store mishap. What the hell would’ve happened in a place like that? Why hadn’t there been any details on what happened? He thought of how Makoto would brush off the topic every time it came up. How Izumi just learned not to even try anymore, as his mother seemed to be confused on the topic as well. Pieces fell together, as much as he tried to shove them away.
"Yuukun, you need to tell me what happened."
No, I don't.
No I don't.
No I don't No I don't No I don't No I don't No I don't No I don't No I don't No I don't No I-
Makoto made an attempt to pull his hand from Izumi's, though he was more than certain that he wasn't going to be allowed to let go.
The loud sound of his heartbeat returned to his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut in what was definitely a useless attempt to try and keep himself calm.
Izumi wasn't stupid. It was likely that he had already come to the correct conclusion himself. They were always together when the two of them were younger -- joined at the hip, inseparable, Makoto constantly under Izumi's care to the point where they would both pitch fits if they were separated. The only time that they weren't together was when they had gone home in the evenings. And the headlines about his father weren't exactly hidden, even if all of the details in the following articles had been fudged around to protect the reputation of a model once so revered.
Makoto sucked in a breath between his teeth.
"... It wasn't just once." Speaking felt like pulling teeth, and it was worse considering he could barely hear himself. "... The department store was the only time he got caught."
He blinked.
For once, he felt utterly, entirely, disgustingly stupid. Izumi knew he was blind to the world when Yuukun was around. Numb to many of life's troubles when he was on his mind. But to miss that , hearing that it might have happened in a time where Izumi could have stopped it made his stomach sink so low that it could've ripped itself out of his body.
To think someone was so comfortable with doing something so horrid that he believed himself safe enough to do said terrible thing in public.
With the way his eyes were darting around, the way he looked so close to vibrating into the mattress and disappearing, Makoto probably hadn't told anyone else. Maybe the police. But never someone that loved him.
Izumi had two options, he realized, as time stopped. He could one, lament his inability to 'save' him. It immediately made him sick to his stomach, realizing the one person he believed he could protect from the horrors of the world was experiencing them right under his nose. It was the entire reason he became obsessed, and he knew that - Makoto was the one last beautiful, precious thing that Izumi could grasp onto that wouldn't break.
Or he could two, finally let go of the delusion that his precious Yuukun was God's only gift to Man, the one thing that could never do any wrong. That couldn't ever be tainted, that wouldn't ever spoil or disappear. He could own the fact that Makoto had been keeping a dark secret with him despite promising to be honest. Makoto had been carrying such a weight that he was obviously forcing himself into situations he didn't want to be in just to get it over with. He was genuinely upset when Izumi had the camera out - it wasn't just a cute little quirk, a legitimate wound that Izumi had been tearing open again and again unknowingly.
His initial, gut reaction was torn between getting sick and crying out about how he wanted to save him, but he was frozen. As if Makoto instead had slapped him so hard he was behind a few seconds. Lashing out was something he'd learned would give him attention.
His next reaction was that he wanted to grab a knife and tear into himself so that he could return home and find Makoto’s father. To take him out himself. But he knew better. Izumi wouldn't remember when he woke. Even if revenge was worth throwing away their relationship, it wasn't worth risking Makoto having to see him do something so brutal right in front of him. The rash, overdramatic act was a fever dream he'd never act upon - even if he was delusional at times and unhinged at best, he would never, never force his friends to fear for his life. He would never make them go through that pain again, not so close to him, not while he could help it.
"...you..."
Izumi reached out to touch him again, hesitant and only finally making contact with his cheek when Makoto stopped shivering.
"...Yuukun, you've never been so honest with me."
The third was love.
True, warm, and with only the intention to comfort. To protect, genuinely, in a way that wouldn't harm him.
"You need to tell me about it a little, because it'll make us both feel better, but you can talk slowly. I'll listen."
"... I'm sorry."
For lying about being honest, for keeping it from him for so long, for likely making Izumi feel as though he was partially to blame for the incidents continuing as long as they had, for making someone who worked his hardest to keep him safe feel as though everything he'd done was for nothing. Makoto felt sorry for it all. He wanted, more than anything, to allow Izumi to continue living blissfully unaware of the things that had been happening right in front of him all along. It wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault, and Makoto didn't want him to feel that way, and he sincerely hoped that he didn't. The only thing left that he could do was apologize.
For lying.
For being dirty.
For being used, and tainted, and the farthest thing from the pristine image that Izumi had built in his mind so many years ago.
For not being able to be saved before it was too late for him.
He didn't want to go into any more detail than he already had. The unfortunate, persistent feeling of phantom hands lingering on his skin and nonexistent hot breath blowing into his ears was already making his stomach turn, and he feared that it would only get worse if he were to verbally recount the things that he'd been trying to forget for so many years. But Izumi was insistent, and Makoto knew he was right -- it would make at least one of them feel better, although he wasn't entirely sure which one it would be. To be honest, he wasn't sure if either of them would come out of this feeling anything that he could describe as 'better'.
"... It started when I started getting popular." Already his eyes were shut tight, unwilling to watch any expression Izumi might make as he spoke. "He... would wait until Mom went to sleep, and he would c-come into my room, and... touch me, or... more. And."
Makoto bit his lip, overwhelmed nearly immediately by the metallic taste of blood formed by splitting it open.
"Yuukun, that's not what I mean..." Izumi lowered his forehead so that it was touching Makoto's, trying his hardest to distract him from hurting his pretty face any more than he already was. Part of him wanted to scold him for biting his lip - but there was nothing he could do at the moment. He'd give him some of his good lip balm later, hopefully that would help it.
"You don't have to give me detail , I just want to hear how you feel." He nuzzled into him a bit more, unsure if it would comfort him but it definitely made Izumi feel better. His hand went from Makoto's cheek to his hair, sifting through it is though he were precious. He still was.
"I can't change it now... and he's not here, so I can't really do what I'd like to do." He wouldn't go into detail, but the soft whisper couldn't hide the hatred behind his words. Makoto would likely know exactly what he was already planning. "Was he taking pictures of you, Yuukun? Is that why you always acted so shy? I wish you would've told me. I always thought I was helping you, you know. Because you really are too pretty to hide away."
"... Bad."
He felt bad. In so many more reasons than he could properly list. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Makoto could voice the way that he felt in no other way than 'bad', which was all too simple and all too vague all at once. He felt as though he needed to apologize for as long as he lived, he felt as though he needed to boil himself until his skin blistered, he felt as though he needed his brain scrambled in order to properly forget everything he'd been forced to remember in the past twenty four hours. He felt bad.
Despite that, he made an attempt to focus on the now. On the feeling of Izumi's forehead, warm against his own, and of the soft motions of a hand rubbing its way through his hair. On the feeling of closeness that his body was unsure about, but that his mind knew was safe. On the breath against him that was comforting instead of rough and labored like he could still feel on the nape of neck. Focusing on Izumi was difficult when he still wanted to slip away, but at least he was trying.
"... Mhm." Another hard swallow as the phrases turned themselves over in his brain again like rocks -- look at the cameras and don't cry s and you're so pretty s making his stomach turn even more than it had been. "He... took pictures. ... Sometimes videos."
They're right. The camera really does love you.
But he hated it. God, he fucking hated it.
"You didn't know. It's... okay. You're okay."
He really did need to listen to Makoto talk about it, but every moment that went on the closer he went to tearing down the wall and throwing himself into it. Izumi didn't want to hear about how someone else touched him, especially someone who did so far before he was ready and far too intimately for someone who was supposed to raise him.
It made him sick. If he had eaten more that day, he probably would've had to excuse himself. But thankfully he wanted to look as good as he could naked for his boyfriend - he'd make up for it and get sick after later. Probably.
But that wasn't important, what was important was how soft Makoto's skin was. How warm he was, how alive he was. How open and trusting, honest and thoughtful, so sweet and lovely that it was almost disgusting.
Izumi was confused.
Overwhelmed and exhausted, invigorated and filled with adrenaline that would get him nowhere.
"Of course I'm okay." Blunt as ever. Izumi finally pulled away from Makoto, opting to lie next to him instead and look up at the ceiling. Staring at him was his favorite pastime usually but now it almost felt like too much. Maybe the poor thing would appreciate a break from his boyfriend's icy gaze. Izumi scared himself just a bit, thinking disgusting and violent thoughts, shoving them as far away as he could. He was still naked in bed geared up to make his partner feel good - it wasn't exactly the time for that genre of violent fantasy.
"Maybe you do need to talk about it in detail, though, Yuukun. I'm not sure I can handle it too well but I can try... I should probably take the dick off before you do, though. This thing is uncomfortable."
"Mm."
The only response that Makoto could muster.
Maybe he did need to talk about it in detail. He had, after all, spent the majority of his life pushing it away. Shoving down the haunting memories into deep dark corners, throwing blankets and blankets of escapism and new memories on top to ignore the fact that they were there at all. He'd never so much as spoken about it to anyone before now. The police had walked in on the department store incident; there wasn't much for him to prove to them, if he even could have done so coherently at the ripe age of four. His mother had never been given the clear story, and the two of them agreed through silence to never talk about it again. And bringing up familial issues around the rest of Trickstar wasn't... the smartest idea a person could have. Not that he would have, anyway. Not with how deeply he'd repressed everything.
Makoto followed Izumi's lead and rolled over onto his back.
Even such a change in position so miniscule made his heart start to race again. It was almost as if every nerve in his body had been pulled free from his flesh, like every single shift in movement caused them to individually light up. He felt so exposed, and part of him wished that he had the energy in him to gather his clothes up from where they'd been tossed. He wasn't even sure if that would make him feel better, but he'd hedge his bets wherever he could. He brought his arms up to his chest as if to cover himself -- not that it'd do much of anything -- and blinked up at the ceiling. Only now did he begin to realize just how much the newfound hole in his lip ached as he worried his tongue around the clot that'd formed.
"I don't... want to talk about it in detail, Izumi-san." If he had to be honest, he was going to be honest. "I... I know I should, and need to, but. ... But I really, really don't want to."
It was getting hard to breathe again, and he wasn't sure if it was out of fear or because he was about to cry.
"Maybe another time you can talk more... I don't think I could do it if you went too in depth, actually." Izumi wanted to let out a chuckle, to smile, to give Makoto a face that would comfort him. But it remained steely and cold, and he only looked over at his partner to assess his features.
He was usually so beautiful, but he was so flawed and small now. Tearstained, and his skin was splotchy and flushed from his labored breathing and his eyebrows knitting together. His eyes were red, and he was covered in sweat, and he was the most human Makoto had ever looked. Usually Izumi saw someone so beautiful and precious, so perfect and dear - but now he looked like any other boy who'd been gripped so hard that he'd broken.
"But I do think you should tell me what I need to stop doing. You know, so I don't make you do this again." He looked down at his own naked form, sighing to himself. It was nice, and this was all he ever wanted to do, but it looked like Arashi was going to be the only partner he'd be able to play with his new toys with. "I know I've been stupid and done some fucked up things to you, but I really just meant to make you feel good today. Honestly."
A pause, as he stared back up at the ceiling. "...s-sorry, Yuukun."
"You don't... you don't need to apologize, Izumi-san."
It wasn't as though it was his fault. At least, not entirely. It wasn't as though Makoto himself would have predicted this outcome. After all, he had convinced himself from the start that the incidents had happened so long ago that he should have been fine by this point -- and that was what had gotten them into this mess. If anyone should have been apologizing, it should have been him.
Instead of doing so, however, Makoto stayed quiet. Just like the man next to him, his gaze stayed fixated on the ceiling, unsure of where was safe to look. Any slight change in movement, any subtle change in gaze was bound to have him dissolve into even more of a quivering mess than he already was. It was best to avoid any eyes right now, and he was more than thankful that it seemed that Izumi was more than in agreement with that idea. Willing his breathing to steady (mostly so that it stopped feeling as though he was being suffocated,) Makoto busied himself with messing with the hole in his lip, already internally cringing about the questions it was going to raise.
"It's... it's okay. I know you only had good intentions." He spoke so softly, so uncertainly that he wondered what Izumi must have been thinking about the boy he had held in such high regard all these years. He could only imagine, really. "When I calm down, we can talk more."
We can go over the things I'm not comfortable with, and the things I'm not sure about.
That was too many words for someone who felt as though he could only manage the bare minimum.
So slowly, painfully slowly, Makoto uncurled one of his arms from his chest. And just as slowly, one shaking hand reached for Izumi's, in an act to comfort both his partner and himself. A small gesture, but one nonetheless.