Work Text:
After that, there were two bottles of water a day, not every day, not all the time, but sometimes. The guards had untied him on the second day when his ‘good behavior’ showed he could be trusted, or maybe they had been ordered to untie him. Even with his hands untied Kim couldn’t do much to escape besides start another fight he would lose. The open window was appealing but too small for him to escape out of and the sheet on the mattress wouldn’t get him much attention from an empty parking lot. Kim slept, worked out, and paced the room on his own.
When Kenta came, with that second bottle of water, he sat on the bed to drink it. Sometimes. Sometimes Kenta kept the door open, both of them in full view of the blinking red security camera in the hall, and that was when Kenta would pull Kim’s hair tight and tip his head back so half of the water spilled down Kim’s chin and dampened his skin. He hadn’t been given clothes again after they’d been cut off of him. Kim had gotten over being embarrassed about it.
Mostly.
“I know I’m being conditioned,” Kim said as he took the bottle of water from Kenta and their fingers brushed. The first time it happened, Kenta had been the one to flinch, jerking away and almost dropping the water bottle.
“And?” Kenta didn’t flinch this time, holding the water bottle as steady as he held eye contact.
‘I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one,’ was what Kim wanted to say but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure if Kenta had realized that spending time with Kim was just as much to get him used to touching Kim as it was getting Kim used to being touched. Kenta was the only person Kim got to talk to now, the guards never stuck around long enough for a chat, and Kim had to wonder if the only person that Kenta really got to talk to was Kim. Every time Kim had seen Kenta before, it had always been at Tony’s side, and it had almost always been silent.
“Just saying,” he took the water and drank it slowly, savoring it. It had been warm today, a little warmer than he liked, and the warehouse he was stuck in didn’t exactly have air conditioning. “Sticking around today?”
Kenta shrugged and the mattress shifted as he leaned back on it.
Kenta brought more than a second bottle of water. He hadn’t brought clothes but he had brought clean sheets twice. He’d dragged Kim to the shower room too and Kim hadn’t even fought him the second time. Fighting Kenta wasn’t worth the bruises.
“Not much else to do,” Kenta said quietly, with that wry, somewhat quiet humor that Kim was learning to listen for, “it’s too hot to spy on people.”
“Not too hot to wear black,” Kim pinched at Kenta’s shirt, pulling the skin-tight polo away from Kenta’s firm stomach. He dropped it and turned to face Kenta. “You could wear something else.”
It was the wrong thing to say, Kenta’s gaze dropped and both of them flushed because it was impossible for Kenta not to be looking at Kim’s penis. Kenta’s stubborn, unbendable pride meant he couldn’t look away and if Kim was honest he wanted to push and see if Kenta would break.
So he spread his legs and leaned back.
“You-” Kenta’s cheeks turned red and he looked away.
Kim was feeling warm, he hummed and watched Kenta blush, watching Kenta as he squirmed. Not that Kenta was wriggling or anything, instead the stoic young man glanced at his hands, looked away, and turned extra still as if Kim was a predator and he was prey.
Kim felt warm.
“You should finish your water,” Kenta said softly.
Probably. Kim wiped the sweat off his brow and turned to find the water bottle. He felt thirsty. Hot. Hot and thirsty. That was why he’d wanted to lick the blush on Kenta’s cheeks. It was… it wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it. Kenta was attractive. Before Kim had ended up a prisoner he’d thought of it more than once, he’d compared the two of them more than once. He wasn’t the type to flirt but he’d thought that maybe he and Kenta could have figured something out, settled on a situationship, if things had gone differently. Instead, Kim knew that under Kenta’s stern demeanor was someone who… was… well.
Kim knew what Kenta’s mouth felt like. It was hard to forget.
The effect of that memory was hard to ignore. There was nothing Kim could use to hide the fact that his dick was swelling, there were no cloths, or clothes, or even a pillow. All he could do was turn his body away as he finished off his water and crunched the plastic water bottle in his fist.
“Who won the race?” He asked, his gaze locked on the bright blue sky outside the window.
He wasn’t sure what time it was though it felt like mid-day. He wasn’t sure what day it was either. What day had he been kidnapped on? How long had he been locked up? Everything was a blur. Trying to focus, Kim shut his eyes, but it just made it harder. Pressure white shapes bloomed on the back of his lids, blocks of white against a black backdrop that shifted and merged. He was so warm. Uncomfortably warm. He rubbed the back of his neck and felt it wet with sweat.
“Winner will,” Kenta said, which at least told Kim he hadn’t been kidnapped for a month. A few weeks at most. That wasn’t so bad.
Breath coming faster, Kim couldn’t quite laugh, though he wanted to, “Just because Babe’s out of commission…” he flopped onto his back and groaned, squirming on the bed. “What-” he blinked at the ceiling, the white paint was fresh above him, unstained and undamaged, “what was in the water?”
“A drug,” Kenta’s touch was gentle, barely there as his fingertips slid over Kim’s bare chest to his stomach, it was unbearably erotic, horrifically tender, and Kim cried out because the line of skin that Kenta had grazed felt like it was on fire.
On fire in a good way.
“You’re going to get hard,” Kenta explained, his fingers circling Kim’s belly button, staying put on his stomach and never dipping below Kim’s hips no matter how Kim writhed or arched.
“I’m already hard,” Kim grasped his dick and held it, glaring at Kenta for the split-second he was able to touch himself before he swore and dropped his dick, “Ah, what, ah-”
The pleasure that he’d been ignoring roared through him, amplified when he’d wrapped a hand around his erection, but it had been too much, too good, just on the edge of painful. Kim cried out again and turned on his side, away from Kenta, curling forward as his body rebelled. Everything felt good.
Too good.
“He wants me to beg, doesn’t he,” Kim said once he had control of his breathing, once his voice was only slightly shaky instead of breaking on every word, once he could stare down at his hard and leaking dick and not think ‘traitor’. Fuck his dick, fuck Kenta, fuck everything.
Kenta’s hand on his back wasn’t reassuring. Kim groaned and pushed back against it all the same.
“No,” Kenta stroked up and down Kim’s back like he was petting a cat, a sweaty, naked cat, “he doesn’t care if you beg.”
So fucked up. So fucked up that Tony was the way he was and that he had ruined everything he touched.
“No blindfold this time?” Kim panted, “No ropes?”
Ropes would have made it so much easier, would have made it better, and would have meant that Kim would have something to pull against instead of spinning on the bed like a top. He shuddered and turned toward Kenta. Kenta, who was still dressed, who was looking at him with a blank, dead gaze.
Kim pushed him onto the mattress. Grinding on top of Kenta’s pants didn’t help, it felt good, it felt terrible, it wasn’t enough.
Kenta grabbed his hips but he didn’t bother to push or pull, he just held onto Kim as Kim uselessly rutted against him.
“Fuck,” Kim grabbed Kenta’s belt, undoing it while Kenta watched him passionlessly. It felt so pointless to wrestle the Italian leather out of the belt loops and throw it across the room, it felt at least a little better to get the teeth of the fly pulled down and for Kenta to lift his hips so that Kim could rip his pants and briefs down to his thighs. That damned cage taunted Kim, shining and silver, with its stupid little lock.
Kim dropped.
“What-” Kenta startled, half-sitting up as Kim trapped him on the bed by laying flat across his legs and burying his face in his groin. The cage tasted like metal. It tasted sharp, sour, and a little acrid. Metal and sweat and maybe a little piss, Kim couldn’t be sure. He didn’t care anyway. He squirmed his tongue between the bars of the cage and flicked it over Kenta’s cock, annoyed that he couldn’t reach for more. Annoyed, frustrated, and so, so fucking horny.
He pressed kisses over the metal ridge that ran along the top until he came to the base of Kenta’s groin. He lay a kiss there too, looking up through his eyelashes and the edge of his hair as Kenta stared down at him with a red face and parted lips.
“What did you give me?” Kim asked, every word a kiss, his mouth pressed up against Kenta’s skin.
Kenta didn’t answer, breathing speeding up but no words slipping free, silence overtaking them both. Kim nuzzled the soft, smooth skin of Kenta’s stomach. Did he shave? Wax? Laser removal? Tony was a sick bastard, he might go for any of the three.
Kenta’s balls were soft and hairless, Kim nuzzled them, the cage jingling as he bumped it while kissing the testicles. He wanted to kiss everything, taste everything. He licked, licked, and sucked, listening as Kenta started to let out soft whimpers. Not moans, not yet, but whimpers of pleasure. He felt good. Kenta felt good as Kim held his thighs apart.
Big thighs. Heavy, weighty, thick thighs that Kim wanted to feel press on either side of his head. Could Kenta kill him like that? Could he break his neck like a sexy spy in an action film or break him like a watermelon in a fitness challenge? Did it matter? It didn’t matter.
He enjoyed the way Kenta’s balls felt on his tongue, the way they fit in his mouth, the sound Kenta made when he sucked on one or the other or both, the way Kenta gave a full-body shiver when he blew over the damp sac.
Good.
“Fuck,” Kim moaned as he rocked his hips against the inferior mattress, grinding his hard cock over the sheets, “fuck, I’m not going to beg you, fuck you Kenta,” he pressed his teeth against Kenta’s taint, scraped his teeth across the sensitive skin to feel Kenta writhe and hear him yowl. To feel the press of his thighs against his hands, stressing, flexing back and forth but not yet so far gone that he pushed past Kim’s grip to hold him close.
“Are you going to beg me?” He asked, tongue sliding down Kenta’s skin, dipping from his cock almost to his ass. Almost, not quite. He teased at it. If he went too fast, and gave in too soon, what would be the fun in that?
“It doesn’t matter if I beg,” Kenta cupped the back of Kim’s head, not pushing him close or tugging on his hair but holding him, supporting him, “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t want to hear sorry. Kim didn’t want to hear Kenta say he was sorry. What he wanted was Kenta to moan, to open up around him and yes, he did want to hear him beg. For some reason, Kim wanted to hear gasps and pleas and his own name on Kenta’s lips. He gave Kenta a lick, then a nip, kissing his rim with intensity.
“Can you come in the cage?” Kim asked, mouth moving at the edge of Kenta’s asshole, his words breathed into Kenta’s skin.
“Not allowed.”
Kenta’s voice was tight and his hole winked at Kim, an enticement to get his tongue out and lick him just to hear the hitch in Kenta’s breath. When Kim stuck the tip of his tongue out and wriggled it inside, Kenta couldn’t quite stifle his moan. That was good. Kim shoved his tongue into Kenta, not going for elegant, not going for teasing, desperate to hear more of those sounds as his cock leaked onto the mattress. Desperate for release he ground his hips against the mattress as he plunged his tongue and then his fingers into Kenta, stretching him open as Kenta slowly lost control. It started with breathy, soft, stifled gasps and then moans, squirming slightly as Kim kept him trapped with an arm wrapped around his thigh. Every twitch and twist as he wriggled on the mattress Kim followed along with until they had ended up rolling onto the floor, Kim’s head still trapped between Kenta’s thighs as Kenta kneeled over him.
“Sto-” Kenta bit the word off, “St-stop.”
He was leaking.
Kim was leaking too, leaking and writhing and sweating. He was so hot he felt like his skin needed to be torn off to get some relief. Kenta was dripping in his cage, obviously turned on but Kim wasn’t Tony. He knew the importance of consent. He dropped, his head hitting the floor hard, and stared between Kenta’s muscular legs up at his flushed skin. His hole dripped with Kim’s spit, shiny with it, the rim slightly puffy from Kim’s unrelenting abuse. There were bite marks on Kenta’s thighs that Kim didn’t remember putting there.
They stayed like that, Kenta above him, Kim aching and hard underneath, until Kenta carefully shifted back to sit on the mattress. Kim stayed put, staring up at the ceiling, clutching at his elbows, the floor, his hair, and finally his cock. His back bowed as he stroked himself, his pleasure felt rough as sandpaper with every stroke.
Tender hands pulled his head up, gently cradling the back of it as Kim thrashed, his heels kicking out and knocking off the mattress’ side.
“It won’t help,” Kenta’s voice was soft, he slid his thigh under Kim’s head, soft and cushioning. Kim leaned into his touch, into him, and his hips fucked his hand, pumping into the air.
Gently, ever so gently, Kim’s head was lifted again as he panted, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He turned his head away, pulling against it when Kenta pressed another bottle to the corner of his mouth. Had there always been two bottles of water?
“Don’t-” Kim slurred, “don’t want it. Please, no more, Kenta-” There were tears blurring his vision when he stared up at Kenta, turning him into a smear of darkness against the blank white ceiling. But the water bottle didn’t go away, didn’t move, and Kim had no choice but to drink or drown. So he swallowed the cool water as it followed down his throat. It felt like it helped, a little bit, it helped the hoarseness, helped wash away the taste of Kenta from his tongue, and it made him feel less dried out.
But his cheeks were red and chapped from tears, his cock twitching and tender, his thighs and stomach stained with pre-cum when Tony walked through the door.
“Please,” Kim gasped.
He didn’t want to. He wanted to say no, he wanted to tell Tony to fuck off, but he also desperately, horrifically, wanted to come.
“It’s fine,” Kenta pulled the water away and tipped the bottle against his mouth. He swallowed, drinking half of what was left, a hint of dampness lingering at the corner of his mouth when he pulled it away.
When the rim of the bottle was once more pressed against his mouth, Kim swallowed what was left, chasing the cool liquid down to the last drop, his tongue thrust inside the bottle as Kenta pulled it away.
“Good,” Kenta pulled Kim close, cradling him against his chest. He was sweaty, and sticky, and Kim dragged his cheek over the rough fabric of the polo shirt. If it wasn’t for the fact Kim couldn’t help rutting against Kenta’s stomach, it might have been sweet.
“Good boy,” A voice in the doorway said, completing a thought or a phrase that Kenta hadn’t completed, “good boys,” Tony amended as he walked into the room. The door shut behind him quietly and yet Kim flinched at the imagined ‘click’. Was it locked? Did Tony have someone stand outside to unlock it later? Could Kim rush him and run, naked, through the halls? He cried out as the next rock of his hips dragged the tip of his cock over the roughness of Kenta’s bunched-up boxers.
“Please,” he begged, tears blurring the room into impressionistic hedonism, “please,” he shuffled forward, tumbling over Kenta to get to the edge of the mattress. On his knees he cried, blinking the tears from his eyes as he gazed up at Tony’s beige-suited body.
A warm hand settled on his head, ruffling his hair, Tony held Kim’s head down before he dragged it back.
Spit hit his cheek, just missing his mouth, mixing in with his tears as Kim sobbed.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it Kim? Isn’t it better being an obedient dog?”
No.
“Yes,” he gasped out, breathless, so hard it hurt. He knew that he needed Tony to reach the edge, to push over, he knew it was what Tony wanted. Tony wanted him broken and begging and Kim was so close to it. No, he was past it, he was begging already. “Please, Tony-”
The hand in his hair pulled tight, stretching him back and Kim gasped with eyes wide and wet and unfocused. He couldn’t breathe and the pain of the hair pull had his cock twitching and dripping. He scrambled with uncoordinated fingers, scratching at Tony’s pant legs.
“Call me daddy.”
No.
No.
Kim gasped, breathless, “Please, daddy. Please, let me come.” He was desperate for it. Aching for it. His balls hurt and his dick was so uncomfortable. Kim stuck his tongue out, panting, offering himself up.
On the bed, Kenta groaned, soft, sweet, and Kim shook with hunger.
“Good boy,” his hair was released and a gentle hand cupped his cheek before Tony slapped him, hard, whipping his head to the side. He stayed there, turned away, panting and shaking and shivering as Tony walked across the room to take a seat in his chair. The chair again. Kim whined and dropped onto his hands and knees. The chair again, was he supposed to fuck Kenta this time? Were they to roll around with Kenta in the cage? Would Kenta be unlocked?
Warm, rough hands gripped Kim’s upper arms and Kenta pulled him over, and pushed him along as Kim crawled on his knees over to the chair. The tears had dried up at least, he could see Tony seated on his throne, one leg crossed over the other and the tip of his shoe generously pointed upward.
“You’re allowed to come,” Tony said as Kim was positioned just so, “if you can get off on my shoe.”
Like a dog. Like a bad dog, not a good one, because what good dog humped their master? Kim shivered in Kenta’s hold and rocked his hips forward. It felt good. It felt terrible. It was too much and not enough and he kept going, losing control of himself as he sought his release. Kenta’s grip on his arms kept him from grabbing at Tony’s pant legs again, instead, Kenta gathered Kim’s wrists together and held them behind his back. Then he slid a hand around Kim’s chest, holding him close, rubbing his arm over Kim’s nipples in a way that likely wasn’t meant to be stimulating.
But every touch was stimulation, Kim was so turned on and so out of control, he cried out at the brush of Kenta’s skin against his, at the rough pressure of the sole of Tony’s shoe, he screamed when Tony applied pressure to Kim’s cock as Kim’s hips rocked.
“Good boy,” Tony said and Kim jerked, another scream dying in his throat as he came. His cock twitched hard and cum spurted out to cover Tony’s patent leather shoes, dimming the shine. Everything ached but the burn faded after that, the incessant need to come that had driven him to begging died down. Briefly. Long enough for Kim to breathe.
“You’ve made a mess, though,” Tony shifted and his foot pressed down, stepping on Kim’s cock. The pressure might have been gentle or maybe it was as hard as it felt, Kim bent forward, crying out, grasping at the fabric of Tony’s pant legs at the exquisite pain that radiated from his cock. It felt horrible. Awful. The worst thing he’d ever felt and also, undeniably erotic. Tears reddened his cheeks and he sobbed.
“Please.”
A firm grip on the back of his head pushed him down and thankfully, Kim was able to squirm out from under Tony’s foot as he bent forward. He bent down, down, down, until his forehead touched the tip of Tony’s shoe, until his breath clouded the leather.
“Clean it up.”
Rubbing his nose in it. Kim stuck his tongue out blindly, vision still blurred by tears. He couldn’t taste anything, couldn’t smell it, could barely understand what was going on. He licked where directed by Tony, the words soft for all that they were steely. Tony didn’t have to be anything but soft, but firm, but kind and gentle. Kim knew that there was nothing he could do about it.
His cock ached behind him he could hear Kenta’s panting grow faster, his whining higher, and he wondered ‘What was in that second bottle of water?’.
“Good job,” Tony said, again, “good boy,” and Kim shuddered, the tip of his dripping cock dragging against the floor as he squirmed like a worm, writhing backward so he could get onto his hands and feet and out of Tony’s reach. Not quite out of Tony’s reach because Tony could touch whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted because they were all Tony’s toys.
Tony’s children.
Tony’s dogs.
Tony caught Kim’s chin between his fingers and held him fast as he leaned close. Not so close as to threaten a kiss but close enough that Kim could make out the lines of his face and see the cruelty in his gaze. Kim whined.
“Make him come,” was all Tony said before he tossed him at Kenta.
That was fine. That was fine. Kim could do that. He’d been halfway there before and that was before Kenta had drunk half of the drugged water. Did that mean he was there already or a quarter of the way to go? The math escaped Kim as he pushed between Kenta’s legs, going back to what he’d been doing earlier, shoving his tongue and fingers into Kenta with sloppy abandon.
“Please,” Kenta whined, gasped, groaned, and he was so hot and slick, so loose, he twitched weakly when Kim touched him, “please, Daddy.”
“No,” Tony said, “you’re not allowed.”
It was all white noise to Kim. He pushed against Kenta’s prostate, pounded it really, as he wriggled his tongue as deep as it would go. There was no technique involved. If he’d gotten his cock into Kenta it would have just been mindless rutting. Kim moved with the roll of Kenta’s body as his hips arched, almost leaping off the bed.
“Please!”
Kenta squeezed tight around Kim and his body jerked. Kim pulled away in time to see cum drip from the tip of Kenta’s cock, soiling the cage, making it shine. He licked at it, lapped at the bitter, salty cum between the chrome bars of Kenta’s prison. It tasted like tears.
“Bad dog,” the sound of a slap was shocking, Kim froze, mouth pressed up against where body temperature metal settled against Kenta’s balls. He stared, unseeing, as Kenta sobbed again.
The jingle of a belt, the soft susurrus of pants slipping down thighs. Kim’s breath sped up and his cock, which had been so hard before, finally started to wilt as horror set in.
“You weren’t given permission,” a wet slap. Not a hand but a cock. Was it against Kenta’s cheek or the palm of Tony’s hand? “Suck.”
Kenta’s cheek.
Kim couldn’t look. Didn’t want to look. He buried his face in the darkness where Kenta’s leg joined his hip. It smelled of Kenta, musky, and sweaty, and the warmth of Kenta’s skin hid Kim’s shame. He didn’t block his ears, forcing himself to listen to the sound of Tony fucking Kenta’s face, to the filthy diatribe and sharp scolds as Tony told Kenta he was worthless, nothing but a convenient hole, a dog fit only to be fucked. He shamed him for not being able to hold back, for being so weak and unable to resist his urge. Kim shuddered. He still felt too hot but it was an uncomfortable, sticky, gross heat now. It wasn’t the unbearable need to come. He felt like he’d gotten a bad sunburn instead.
“Nothing but a bitch,” Tony said, “useless, can’t even-” he gasped, “stop the new dog from establishing dominance.”
He hadn’t realized. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t been able to think. Kim dug his nails into Kenta’s thigh and gritted his teeth when Kenta groaned around Tony’s cock and Tony’s breath caught sharply.
It didn’t go on for too long. Tony pulled back, out of Kenta’s mouth, and stripped his cock with short, sharp strokes until he came. Kim lifted his head at Tony’s groan and the cessation of wet, slick sounds. He still caught sight of Tony’s cock as it softened and was struck by the beauty of the glisten of cum painted across Kenta’s face, neck, and firm chest.
He wanted to kiss it. Lick it. He wanted to mark Kenta with his own come and then lick it up, feeding it to Kenta on his tongue. Kim’s cock twitched, valiantly, and he ground against the mattress.
“Take him and get cleaned up,” Tony ordered as he tucked himself into his pants, his movements only slightly slower than usual, “And be sure to give Kim his reward.”
Under the ice-cold water of the shower, while holding Kim still with a hand tight around his throat, Kenta slid his balls one by one through a shining silver ring. A cage followed and worse of all, the damning click of a lock.