* X/1999 - Subaru - BDSM club - want what you can't have -- "Elastic", 1/3
Apologies for the multiple comments, this one attacked.
This is a direct sequel to Venn Diagram, which is where the OCs are from, but I’d like to think that it’s still enjoyable without reading the 12230-word fic first.
Elastic tokyo babylon Mithrigil Galtirglin
1992.03.23 22:02
If they’ve done anything about the chipped paint in the stairwell, it doesn’t show. The advertisements plastered to the wall have changed, but the fractured effect is still the same. The black glass door at the bottom of the stairs is fogged up from the inside. He still forgets it’s supposed to be pulled, not pushed.
Music leaks out into the foyer like leaf-choked rain from the corner of two guttered streets. It might have been a pop anthem before the scene deconstructed it. The hallway hasn’t changed much either. Maybe it hasn’t been long enough. It’s too late in March for a coat, so he skips the check, goes straight for the line at the door. In a loose T-shirt and black jeans, he’s another kind of out-of-place, with everyone else slicked down for the occasion, for the venue. Venue. Entertainment venue. He scowls just like the photo on his ID. The birth date’s fake, but not the kind of fake that matters here.
“—Sumeragi-sama,” the person who takes it says, looking up from it, almost shocked, “it’s been years.”
He shrouds his eyes under his hair. “Two of them, Manmoto-san.”
It shows in her a little—a gauntness to her skin, hollows through her eyes. But she’s dressed no more modestly than she’d been when he last saw her, from the parody of office-lady shoes to the three-ringed leather collar. “And to what does Lincoln owe the honor?”
“I want you or Chitsu to hurt me,” he says.
Manmoto smiles warmly—the music swells. “That can be arranged.”
-
There’s talk first, of course there’s talk first, and it’s not the most awkward experience of Subaru’s life but that’s only because he’s so cripplingly angry that he can rein in the embarrassment with sheer spite. It’ll be Chitsu—Manmoto laughs knowingly when Subaru falters, curls a finger through one of her collar rings and reminds him that even though she owns the club, Chitsu ‘owns’ her, and will probably be more equipped to give Subaru what he needs. In turn Chitsu needs things from Subaru, his level of sexual experience (none whatsoever), the kinds of pain that might appeal to him (he doesn’t know), how comfortable he is with being on display (he’s never not been on display). His safeword (“glasses”—he’s put some thought into that).
“And an especially important question,” Manmoto interrupts, much of her humor gone. “After what happened with Yuuhiro—well. You’re also a person of magical power. How do we know what’ll happen if you lose control?”
“My power is different than his,” Subaru answers, “but you don’t.”
-
“Front-out or back-out?” Chitsu asks, calmly.
“Front,” Subaru answers without hesitation.
The soundtrack’s not enough to drown out the murmuring around him, under him. His T-shirt sticks to his skin like it’s August, itches where the small of the cross holds it still; the legs of his pants blouse out over the cuffs on his ankles. Chitsu rises from his kneel, runs the heel of his hand up Subaru’s leg to his hip, to his waistband, under his shirt. Subaru’s teeth chatter. The hand’s so hard—tightening on his arm, now, pressing it into place for the third cuff to close. His arms’ll be spread like his legs, flat, out—tight, where his gloves used to be, tight hard leather abrading with the sweat of so many.
Subaru’s eyes are starting to glaze over. He watches, bites the inside of his cheek as Chitsu tests the cuff, runs one thick finger under the restraint. His knuckle weighs into Subaru’s pulse-point, once, like a bite. On the other side, where the old break is, that would—