Work Text:
Hasegawa woke up with an ache in his thighs and throat, his neck sore and his thighs bruised from the.. ahem, roughousing.
The brunette winced and attempted to stand up on his own, the whip marks on his back and arse an acute reminder of what he let happen to him yesterday. And he enjoyed it, too.
.
..
…
?
He found he couldn’t stand up. Tugging at his limbs and pushing his chest in the air, he still couldn’t stand up. The grogginess of having just woken up had turned off his brain, but the panic force reset it right back to life.
Shit…
He still wasn’t untied from last night, he recalled. He fell asleep after Hiroaki brushed his hair back, scolding him for his state like he wasn’t the one that caused it all. It was humiliating, but Ken can’t control what he likes.
But that wasn’t the point.
He needed to find a way to release himself.
God forbid Hiroaki left the house today. He’d have to be here all alone, and it’d be worse if he couldn’t stand up, unable to do anything, did he leave the candle on? Is the door locked? Did the—
A familiar, grating voice cut off his spiral. A short, fancy robe-clothed figure, provocatively swinging a key in a manicured finger. It disabled some panic, but opened up a wave of trepidation.
Because he knew what Hiroaki could do. And he was completely helpless to whatever the sharp brunette wanted to do.
“Heyyyy.” Hiroaki stated casualty, having cached the keys in his palms. “You look kinda stuck there, Wen.” He said, trying to be sultry, failing miserably. He had gotten his name wrong, even after 4 years of being in class together, and two years of dating…
it was always just as annoying for Hasegawa. He realized he hadn’t answered, so he, by his own opinion, pathetically croaks out;
“N-Nakamigawa.”
It felt a little awkward between the two for some reason. Or maybe that was just Ken’s heart stifling panic, manifesting into his mind.
But could you blame him?
He was right to be panicked. Hiroaki was evil when he wanted to, and Ken couldn’t even reach up to rub his sore throat, his hands tied to each side of the bedpost of the twin, like he was a fucked up trampoline.
Hiroaki drew closer to vulnerable brunette, his oddly calm demeanor terrifying in itself. He felt like prey, being loomed over.
“N-nakamigawa.” He attempts to be assertive, trying to run out of the situation—but he instead stuttered weakly and looked away like a frightened bunny.
He tugged at his restraints once again, which loosened them only slightly. “HEY.” Hiroaki hissed, which made Ken jump and stop his ‘clawing’ immediately. “I WORKED HARD ON THAT!” He snapped, his teeth grit and bared.
“S-sorry.” Hasegawa sunk back into the bed, feeling both the cold breeze of the air and Hiroaki’s covered eyes on his chest and torso. It made him feel self conscious, exposed, even.
But it was Hiroaki staring.
It softened the blow. Ridiculous.
Hiroaki scoffed when Hasegawa stayed quiet again, and quite literally spat on the quiz show champion’s face. Gathered saliva, tossing it onto inbetween Ken’s eyes and nose like he wasn’t anything but the floor beneath Hiroaki.
Hasegawa bristled, his cheeks hot and pink with pleasurable shame. Hiroaki was waiting too long to do anything, Hasegawa shifting his legs together uncomfortably. Hiroaki snapped at him for the fourth time that night.
“Stop moving, Ken.” He said sternly, the whip was taken out of Hiroaki’s pocket when?
When didn’t matter—All Hasegawa knew was that he stiffened immediately and held his breath. Hiroaki came over and sat on Ken’s legs, but he could barely even protest. He didn’t wanna stutter Hiroaki’s name like a broken record. He didn’t wanna be called boring.
He was softly whipped, sharp, but it didn’t hurt. Though, Hiroaki might be angry if he didn’t wince. He still didn’t anyway.
Hiroaki gave a dry chuckle, brushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes, before landing a clumsy whip on Hasegawa’s inner thigh, making him let out a muffled whimper.
Music to his ears.
His ego was fed deliciously, whipping Ken’s thigh, harder, more effort put into the hits. He stood back up, seeing as Ken’s tied-up state limited the places he could hit the poor boy. He went closer to his face, the spit still simmering.
The whip hit his throat and the left side of his face, making him let out a soft, shrill cry, his eyes welling up with tears.
He sniffled and sobbed when it hit his stomach, wishing nothing more but to double over and hold on to his abdomen—which he couldn’t.
He weakly pleaded, a smug laugh came from Hiroaki’s glossed lips, as he reached into the ‘dirty drawer’, pulling out one of their bigger vibrators. He stiffened, again, damn near a pavlov reaction.
Hiroaki climbed atop of Ken’s restrained body, nothing, not even boxers, under the robe Hiroaki was wearing. He powered it on, grinning as he saw Ken’s big, nervous eyes.
He rubbed it against Ken’s aching, twitchy cock, relishing in Ken’s reactive face, his brown eyes squinting shut, muffled noises as he bit his lip so hard he burst a blood vessel.
“Pff, look at you,” Hiroaki unkindly commented, his teeth glinting. “You’re disgusting. And boring.” He told Ken gleefully, slipping the vibrator inside of him. Hiroaki kissed his teeth, making a ‘tch’ noise. Hasegawa shrunk into himself. Though he didn’t have that much time to feel bad about himself, not when Hiroaki pumped up the vibrator’s settings.
His eyes went shut again, his eyebrows pressing together as he tried his best to take it. Hiroaki hissed, the whip hitting his nose and cheek. It hurt. He yelped, blood started to trickle down from his nose as a mark formed. Yet, he sniffled and said anyway;
“I’m s-sorry.” He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for.
“Stoooop closing your eyes. You look like you’re about to cry.” He spat, rolling his eyes. “Take it, Ken.”
And take it, Ken would.
Hie back arched as Hiroaki boosted it up, his cries of (agony? Ecstasy?) heightening in volume the deeper it went.
He opened one eye, the other one squinting shut, but he opened one, which was technically obeying. He thought he looked even more like he was about to cry—
but Hiroaki never made sense, and so he listened anyway.
Hiroaki leaned down, right on Hasegawa’s nipple, biting down a circular mark outside of it. Hasegawa sobbed out once again, arching into Hiroaki’s warm mouth like the dog he was. Hiroaki laughed again, his perfect teeth tugging on the bud. Hasegawa’s breathing had been labored since the beginning of this interaction, looking down at Hiroaki, even though the only thing visible was his brown scalp.
He choked on his own spit, Hiroaki’s nails reaching up for his shoulder blade and scratching down, creating long marks, as red as his sunglasses.
“H-haaah..!”
The toy was pushed down against his prostate, Hasegawa basically accepting his fate as tears started to roll down his red cheeks. Hiroaki had stopped messing with it already, throwing the remote somewhere into the large bedroom.
“A-ah..?” Famous last words.
Hiroaki’s nails detached from Ken’s chest down to Ken’s neglected dick, no preparation given to the taller boy, and held it in his hands hard enough to bruise—twisting roughly, motions going up and down, ignoring pleads and discomforted cries.
Hasegawa felt himself being pushed to an orgasm, before it was disrespectfully ripped out of him. He screamed. Must’ve given him a tear of some sort.
He heard Hiroaki raise the mattress, pulling out the rope that was restraining his waist and chest, giving him a chance to breathe.
“Sit.” He was commanded like a dog, but he listened anyways, propping his body up on his knees. His hands and feet were still restrained, though.
Hiroaki grabbed him by his hair, pulling his face onto his cock. He gasped as he felt it hit the back of his throat, his mouth taking it in until he could feel Hiroaki’s balls against his face.
He couldn’t breathe, his airway was blocked, his eyes rolling up to look at Hiroaki. He couldn’t see Hiroaki’s eyes, those godforsaken sunglasses on like always. What he could see, was a smug grin on his face.
He didn’t have any time to look, before his hair was dragged up, given a chance to breathe—only to have it ripped away when he was slammed back on.
Hiroaki let out a groan of enjoyment, drool trickling down his chin. His movements became sloppy, nothing but a toy for Hiroaki’s enjoyment.
And he liked it. He so, so did.
He could feel himself gagging on it, vaguely heard Hiroaki tell him not to vomit on his cock. And he promised he wasn’t going too, no matter how deep it went in his throat, or how much air he was lacking.
Hiroaki groaned, his noises loud and obnoxious just like him. Hasegawa swore his scalp was getting red, his hair might rip out as fast as his self-respect when Hiroaki enters a room.
But finally—It was pushed in to the brim, Hiroaki coming so deeply in his throat he couldn’t even taste it.
He was ripped off of the member by his strands once again, his face red, tired, sweaty, his hair messy and his voice hoarse.
He collapsed onto the bed, laying on the rope that lay there observing, much to his back’s dismay. Hiroaki left the room again, not bothering to clean him up or to untie him.