He lasted through the first hour. After that, though, he was more than willing to talk. You take away a man's testicles...

Kakashi's grip tightened hard enough to bruise the bone. Ryouma flinched slightly, a splintered inhale catching in his throat. He wasn't serious--no man made that threat seriously--but it didn't matter. The room smelled like rancid fruit and bitter lead, rainwater tempered by rusting steel. Old memories, new hurts, the lingering pulse of ragged thunder. All bleeding away from Ryouma's skin while the dogs whined and Kakashi tried to breathe.

He forced his fingers to unclench.

Ryouma's face was half-buried in the covers, eyes shut so tightly it looked painful, mouth set in a broken line. He shouldn't look like that. He was the kid who'd forged his place in the war and stripped flesh with both hands. The man who stood on the edge of hell and laughed when the flames reached for him.

He wasn't supposed to cry, not again.

Kakashi lifted his head. Then he pulled up his free hand, dragged it rough and careful through wild black hair, and leaned down until his masked lips brushed the shell of Ryouma's ear.

"I'm not going anywhere, idiot." He expected the words to break; they came out steady. "And if you stop having sex with me, on missions or off, you'll have much worse to worry about than singing soprano."