Pierce the Sky [Oneshot]

[h_itoshi]

Title: Pierce the Sky
Fandom: Kis-My-Ft2
Characters: Kitayama, Fujigaya, Nikaido
Rating: R
Wordcount: 4558
Warnings: Torture. Yes, seriously. You're all warned now.
Notes: I hereby claim the title of Creepiest Fic Writer This Year and I intend to keep it. I watched gross anime, and then kind of envisioned this and... wrote it. Sorry not sorry, don't judge me too hard :3

I don't care what you do or how long it takes, just make him say it.

Nikaido's flourish of his hand made him seem like a spoiled prince while speaking the words, but his eyes were cold and hard as stone. Kitayama had nodded and braced himself with a breath, but that was all he needed.

It's not like he's never tortured anyone before, not like he doesn't know what happens to hostages in the rooms in the basement. It's just that since they gained this much power, he hasn't needed to do it himself. He understands without Nikaido saying it that this is important and he doesn't trust anyone else.

He needs a name, that's all. It shouldn't be too hard.

He gives Nikaido a final glance, watches him pet Senga's hair where he sits next to his legs on the floor, waiting for a second just to confirm that was all he was summoned for. Nikaido's attention is definitely absorbed by the beautiful boy, and so Kitayama turns and leaves. He needs to change his clothes.

He shivers a little when he descends the stairs to the basement, but only as a reaction to how cold it is down here, and also how it smells a little rotten. He strolls slowly to the room he's been told it is, and he just hopes the instruments he asked for are all there.

He stops before the old greasy door, stretching a little, before opening it. He steps inside, into the dim room that's completely bare besides the occupied chair and a stainless trolley with his requests on it. Injections, knives, slim metal instruments and thick tongs.

He smirks at how well his instructions were followed, and then closes the door behind him.

The man in the chair doesn't look up, a credit to him, and Kitayama eyes him for a moment, trying to get a picture of who he is. But all he sees is dark hair and dark clothes as his head hangs forward and his wrists and ankles are tied to the chair, which in turn is screwed to the floor. He won't get away and he knows it.

Kitayama stands for another minute, waiting to see if there's a response. His task will be a lot easier if he finds out anything about who this man is. There's nothing, and Kitayama sighs lazily before slowly walking forward, his steps echoing heavily in the room.

"You're not dead already, are you?" He asks, voice low as he reaches the man and gets a hand in his hair to force his face up.

He feels his eyebrows rise in surprise when he looks into the young, beautiful face before him, because it's not at all what he expected. He can't be much older than 25, with a bone structure to kill for, plush lips and fierce dark eyes that glare at Kitayama with hatred. The emotion wavers a little when the man sees Kitayama, and he seems equally surprised.

Kitayama just grins, tugs his hair a little harder to tilt his head back enough to make him stretch his tanned throat. This will be more fun than those ugly dudes in their mid-thirties anyway.

"Well aren't you a pretty thing... ?" Kitayama asks, grabbing the man's chin with his other hand to turn his head to the sides, inspecting his face. "What's your name sugar?"

He knows he won't get an answer, but the furious look Kitayama gets for the petname makes it worth asking, and he's already got an idea what to do with this man.

He waits for another moment, as if expecting an answer, holding the man's chin still even when he tries to jerk his head away.

After a few seconds of staring, Kitayama lets go of his face. "No? Don't you have a name?"

His voice carries a hint of amusement, and it might seem as if he's just playing, hopes it does, but he observes every reaction from the man, tries to see what makes him upset, where he doesn't want touching.

The man just keeps glaring at him, clearly very aware of what he's not supposed to say.

"You know..." Kitayama leans in closer, close enough to almost be in his face, and the man involuntarily pulls back a little. "We have a pretty good idea who you are. You are awfully similar to someone we know but don't particularly like.”

Kitayama's a little taken by surprise when he gets an answer, the man's voice hoarse and deep as if he hasn't spoken for days, which he probably hasn't. “And yet you've clearly never seen me before.”

Kitayama raises an eyebrow and withdraws, not at all pleased with the attitude. “You've clearly never seen me either, but I'm sure you know who I am.”

“And who is that?” The man's voice is more suspicious than interested, but Kitayama can tell he wants the answer, which only confirms their own suspicions more.

“I'm the one asking the questions here.” Kitayama says, voice hard as his focus changes to the trolley and array of instruments, pondering where to start. “For example, which hand are you most fond of, your left or right?”

He chooses a tong, not the sharp one but the heavy, dull one. It's a little dirty, some dark brown blood stains on the dark metal handle, and Kitayama thinks that clearly no one here knows how to do their job properly.

When he turns back to look at the man, he's still glaring at Kitayama, but he's a little paler, eyes darting over to the tong every few seconds, and Kitayama's pleased to see that he's curled his hands into fists even though he can't move them.

“Well?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, and he sees the man swallow even though he tries to keep his cool façade up. Kitayama waits for a second, if only to see him try and remain in control, but then shrugs one shoulder and grabs his right hand, easily forcing his fingers out since his wrists are fastened with his palms facing up.

“So...” Kitayama says calmly, holding his hand still with a hard grip as he closes the tong between the two joints on his index finger and firmly cracks it down in the direction it can't go. “Let's talk about your name again.”

The man inhales sharply as the joint breaks, and Kitayama spares his face a glance, seeing that he's clenching his jaw but dealing with it, before continuing with the next joint on the same finger, and then moves on to the next.

The sounds of pain increases every time Kitayama cracks off a joint, and he finds a kind of fascination in the way the hand turns out, each finger crooked in several places and keeps shaking since the nerves don't break. Wouldn't be any point then since he wouldn't be able to feel the pain.

When Kitayama's finished, he looks up at the man, finds him breathing shallowly, biting his lip hard and eyes squeezed shut in pain, his face a little pale under his even tan.

“Still no?” Kitayama asks, knowing this is far from enough but he's only getting started. The man just slowly shakes his head, not opening his eyes, so Kitayama releases his hand, moving to settle his own hand under the broken fingers, and then forces them to curl into a fist, smirking at the small crunching sounds and the scream that the man can't contain. “That's more like it.”

Kitayama releases the fingers and watches with interest as only some of them curl back into their natural relaxed state, the others remaining in the position he placed them.

There's a pained noise and Kitayama looks up to see the man gazing down at his own disfigured hand with something that looks like disgust, but also a determination that Kitayama doesn't want to see.

“Do you think I should do the other as well?” Kitayama asks, even though he's already decided. Disabling their hands is a good thing anyway, because that normally decreases any escape attempts drastically. “Or do you want to tell me who you are?”

He only receives a defiant look, and so he continues with the next hand. There's a kind of satisfaction in bringing someone else pain, Kitayama thinks as he listens to the cracks of joints and bones, watches them dislocate disturbingly from his ministrations. He glances up every other second to see the man's reaction, and he's struggling to keep his expressions to a minimum, but Kitayama's done this enough to recognize pain when he sees it.

“It's okay to scream babe.” He says when he breaks the little finger from the knuckle specifically hard, and there's a small whine coming from the man before he can stop it, his whole body tensing.

“They've trained you for this, haven't they?” Kitayama asks and leans in a little again to watch his face, because the man really does handle this well. There's been others who cried and screamed before Kitayama was even through the first hand. He's shaking and he's pale, but he's still defiant, and that's enough to tell Kitayama he's not going to give in easily. “But you know. It might just be a waste of your energy, it won't be long until they'll really be missing you and we'll figure out who you are anyway.”

For a second it looks like the man's going to answer him, but then he just spits, straight in Kitayama's face, and Kitayama sees red. Before he can even think, he's got a hand around the man's throat, forcing him back against the backrest of the chair with fingers pressing bruises into the skin just under his jaw, and the other hand still holds the tong.

“I think you should put that back in your pretty mouth.” Kitayama growls, and he can see how the dark eyes widen a little and there's a first sign of fright. Kitayama feels the warm saliva run from his cheekbone and down, and he doesn't care how much he has to hurt this man to make him lick it back up and turn the humiliation on him. “Lick it up.”

“No.” Is the simple answer, but it's not as fierce as he probably wants it to be, and Kitayama shifts his grip on his neck a little, pressing over his Adam's apple, and at the same time places the tong against his solar plexus, hard.

“I do wonder what pieces of your intestines would look like scattered on the floor, you think we should find out?” Kitayama growls darkly, and the man tries desperately to twist out of his grip, struggling to breathe. There's definitely panic in his eyes now, and Kitayama eases his grip a little, enough for him to breathe shallowly. “I said. Lick it up.”

Kitayama might be mistaken for a “nice” guy rather often, since he's short and doesn't exactly have the face of a killer, but he's not Nikaido's closest man for nothing and he doesn't hesitate to do anything he has to.

The man before him seems to start realizing this, and his face is doubting as Kitayama leans in so close he can smell the fear on his skin.

“If I have to tell you again, I'll slice your belly open and leave you here.” Kitayama threatens and presses the tong hard into his stomach to prove his point. The heat rushing over the man's face at Kitayama's breath makes him squirm and press away, but then there's a tentative hot touch to Kitayama's cheek and he can barely hide the satisfied smirk. The saliva's cooled and the trail has started to dry, but that wasn't the point here. Kitayama's had worse things in his face anyway.

There's another soft touch, but nothing more, and Kitayama changes the angle of his fingers on the man's jaw, pressing against the inside of the hinges where it hurts as fuck. “All of it.”

He can tell that this works a lot better than physical pain, as the jaw muscles under his fingers move again and there's another few licks to his cheek.

Kitayama doesn't bother hiding his smirk when he pulls back, withdrawing his hand from the grip on the man's neck, and when he looks at him now, he's still shaking, trying to catch his breath and blushing in shame, eyes downcast.

“Wouldn't your leader be proud of you now...” Kitayama says, and drags the tong against his broken fingers, earning a loud sound of pain, before putting it back on the trolley with a metallic sound and chooses a knife instead. He weighs it in his hand since it's pretty heavy, and then places the blade flat under the man's chin, tilting his face up with it, seeing his eyes widen as he feels the cold metal against his skin. “Now beautiful, your name again?”

The man glares at him, but his eyes are not as fierce anymore, and Kitayama can tell he's ashamed and that affects his determination. It seems the mental approach was a better way to go, as Kitayama started to suspect as soon as he drew back when Kitayama came too close. It's often like this, they can handle all kinds of physical pain, has the mentality to deal with it, but as soon as you go another way, they're swayed.

Kitayama raises an eyebrow and withdraws the knife from under his chin, well aware that he cuts into the skin as he does. He lays the blade against his chin instead, just far up enough that the razorsharp tip of the knife touches the man's full lower lip, and when he takes a staggered breath in surprise, it cuts. The man winces, pressing as far back as he can but Kitayama easily follows, watching the red drop of blood seeping out from the little nick the man drew upon himself.

“You do have a very pretty face.” Kitayama says, but his tone conveys the threat of ruining it and he sticks the tip of the knife back into the little wound already made and makes a sweeping motion, cutting a deep line in his lower lip where there's immediately blood seeping up. The man whimpers and sucks the lip into his mouth, still trying to press as far away as he possibly can from Kitayama's hand holding the knife in his face, now with a drop of blood running along the blade.

“That won't help.” Kitayama says coldly and raises his free hand to the corner of the man's mouth, grasping the lip and forces it back out, the groove of the cut catching against his teeth and makes him bite into the wound. Kitayama can feel the sharp, vocal inhale of pain against his fingertips and smirks since that was unintentional. The reaction was good though, and so he doesn't let go of the lip between his fingers, instead presses a fingernail into the wound and earns a pained sound that the man can't contain now. It's an interesting feeling, his lips soft and full and the bloody cut warm and pulsing, and it really is a shame Kitayama needs him to be able to speak or he'd cut the lips past recognition.

So he lets go of the lip, and there's immediately a tongue darting out to try and remove the blood, but there's new welling up instantly, already a drop trailing down his chin.

“It's a shame I need you to tell me something.” Kitayama muses out loud, and looks straight into the man's eyes, the knife only an inch from his cheek. “But there are other body parts you don't need to talk.”

Kitayama looks up into his eyes purposely, raising the knife enough to let the tip rest just against the top of his cheekbone, and the man's eyes widen with panic and he tries to turn away.

“You're not as tough as you look, are you babe?” Kitayama purrs at the way the man squirms enough to try and get the knife away that he causes another cut into his skin, this time from his cheekbone and down his cheek, and Kitayama patiently puts the knife back where he originally placed it. “It's just your eye. It's clearly not as important to you as keeping your name a secret is.”

He lifts the knife to the corner of his eye, and now the man keeps completely still, only his quickly heaving chest moving with erratic breaths as he tries to look at the weapon approaching without moving a millimetre.

Kitayama watches him closely while raising the knife steadily to stick the tip against the bone just above the corner of his eye, easily sliding through the thin skin. The man winces and blinks involuntarily, and he almost seems to forget to breathe as Kitayama lets the knife trace down, under the eyelashes on his lower lid, leaving a thin red trail that starts leaking blood immediately, making a tear of blood start running down his cheek. He's scared, Kitayama can tell, tries not to blink or move or breathe, and he thinks he might be getting somewhere.

Kitayama presses a little harder, the knife easily sliding through the skin of his lower eyelid slowly, and it's exciting, exhilarating to see how long it will take.

“No, stop, stop! Taisuke!” The man breaks finally, his voice desperate and scared and Kitayama stops the knife, withdraws it and the man blinks quickly as the blood starts dripping from the cut, sticking in his eyelashes and letting another red tear down his cheek. Kitayama wonders how many millimetres he was away from touching the actual eye and ruining his cornea forever.

“Taisuke?” Kitayama repeats, a small satisfied smirk on his face as he straightens, thinking that it's funny how it sounds like a safeword as it makes Kitayama stop. “And who is that?”

“It's my name.” The man admits, his pronunciation a little bothered by how his lip is swollen and broken. Kitayama tilts his head even though he already figured as much, looks at the pretty face that he's deformed at least a little. His lower lip is thick and red, the cut a thick line of blood about to coagulate, but as he licks at it, there's a drop running down his chin and drips into his lap. Then there's the cut across his cheek, and under his left eye, from the corner and to the center of his lower eyelid, with a few red lines running down his cheek from it, continuing along his throat.

“... So we're on a first name basis now, are we?” Kitayama smiles, and glances down at the knife in his hand, at the bloodstains on it. “Almost like lovers, without last names.”

Taisuke makes a face at the words, gives Kitayama a glance of insecurity that Kitayama enjoys much more than his earlier defiance. He lifts the knife to his mouth and licks a drop of blood that's still fresh from the blade. “I'm Hiromitsu. Pleasure to meet you.”

Taisuke's eyes widen and he shifts away from Kitayama, wincing as his broken hands move, and Kitayama thinks he sees recognition in his eyes. Good. Whatever he's heard about him, it shouldn't be reassuring.

“Now, the only thing is that I need the other half of your name as well.” Kitayama says, and lays the knife back on the trolley, looking at the instruments to see what else he wants to use. Now that he's already given in twice, there shouldn't have to take much more to get his last name as well. He sets his hands on his hips, thinking, knowing Taisuke's eyes are on him, and then feels something squared and hard in his pocket and grins. That's it.

“You don't want to share your last name?” Kitayama asks as he turns back to the young man in the chair, contemplates how broken he looks even though Kitayama hasn't really been hard on him yet.

He receives a glare, but it's more anger than defiance this time, and Kitayama can see that he tries to think of what would happen if he confessed his name, but he's already so hurt he can't really keep his determination. It's one thing being trained for torture, and another receiving it. Kitayama knows.

So he just smiles at the glare, and then leans forward again, close into his personal space, no instrument in his hands, and the anger in the beautiful eyes before him mixes up with confusion, a fright of what's going on.

“Are you sure?” Kitayama says just to talk, and drops his hands to the black shirt Taisuke's wearing and starts unbuttoning it.

There's a choked gasp and Kitayama glances up at his face and sees the panic in his eyes, and he can tell Taisuke thinks about what he said about lovers rather than slicing his stomach open. Kitayama looks down at his bloodstained hands working on the buttons instead, hiding his smirk. Maybe if that gets to him like this, it's another good way to play.

He finishes the last button and pulls the shirt apart over a slim, tanned torso and the thin build just makes the man look even younger. But Kitayama doesn't linger on that, not on the trail of red from his eye that stops halfway down his pectorals, or the bruise along his right side that indicates earlier mistreatment. No, what catches his interest is a silver jewellery resting against his skin. A navel piercing.

Kitayama grins, understanding the panic better now. “Oh love, you're making this way too easy.”

He can see how Taisuke's breathing is affected a lot better now that his shirt is open, and he sees rather than hears the sharp intake of breath, and glances up to see a look of forced determination.

Kitayama can tell what he's thinking, that he'll just rip it out, but it actually works better with his original idea.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the zippo, and when Taisuke sees it, the response is more vehement than Kitayama would have expected. His whole body jerks and he presses back into the chair, squirms to get away. “No.”

The voice is more a begging breath, and Kitayama looks up to face him as he crouches before him, eye-level with his stomach. He looks terrified.

“No?” Kitayama repeats, but flicks the device open to light the flame. “You know what to say.”

Taisuke looks like he's fighting with himself, and he reflexively tries to bite his lip but lets it go again as he touches the wound. He doesn't say anything though.

Kitayama raises the lighter to the jewellery, a silvery barbell, ignoring how the skin quivers as his stomach is sucked in automatically in response to the heat, and holds the flame right against the metal.

“Let's hope you spent money on this, for your sake.” Kitayama smirks, knowing that cheaper materials would heat up faster.

The flame doesn't touch the tanned skin, but it's definitely close enough to be felt, and Taisuke's breath is one continued whimper, his chest heaving so fast he can't get much oxygen in at all.

Kitayama patiently holds the lighter steady, taking pride in how steady he is with his hands no matter how much Taisuke shifts and trashes to get away, and he watches the metal glisten in the light, can tell it leads heat as good as he wanted it to.

When Taisuke's sounds are starting to border on sobs, the metal has a reddish tint to it, and Kitayama takes the flame away before putting a fingertip against the lower ball and with a swift movement pushes it up, shoving the hot metal into the hole in his skin. Taisuke screams, too surprised to hold it in, and Kitayama grins in satisfaction, ignoring the burn on his own callused fingertip.

He stands, looking at Taisuke's face and notes the tears at the corners of his closed eyes, pleased. He's thrashed enough that a few strands of dark hair has escaped into his face, and he's breathing shallowly.

Kitayama raises his hand to stroke away the strands from his forehead, making him jerk and snap his eyes open. “Taisuke. Your name.”

Kitayama's voice is almost a purr, and he flicks the lighter open again, an obvious threat as Taisuke looks at him with begging eyes, but remains quiet.

Kitayama shrugs after a second of silence, and slowly sets the lighter against his skin, this time just above his navel and there's another scream as the flame licks his tanned skin. It smells, a disturbing smell of burnt flesh that might as well come from a pork steak on the grill.

Kitayama slowly lets the lighter trail up towards his sternum, holding it long enough to burn away the top layer of skin, leaving a red trail that will blister later. Taisuke's squirming, gasping, whimpering and screaming, doing everything he can to get away but still doesn't make any attempt at talking. Kitayama's listening carefully, watching his pretty face contort in pain and he's a little impressed that he lasts this long after all.

But then he detours from his sternum, and when there's a first touch of flame against his nipple, he finally breaks down.

“Fujigaya!” He cries, frantically, voice desperate and shrill, and when Kitayama removes the lighter, tears break free from his eyes and he keeps whimpering.

“Fujigaya.” Kitayama repeats, smiling. “Just as we thought then.”

He closes the lighter and puts it back in his pocket, standing up properly, and looks down at him, grinning. Fujigaya Taisuke. Yokoo's sweetheart, probably the equivalent of what Senga is for Nikaido.

He's pretty, really pretty, so Kitayama certainly understands why. From what he's heard about the capture, he's quite a fighter too. But now, he's just broken and crying, fingers dislocated, face cut bloody and chest burnt red. Kitayama smiles, and then leans forward again, grabbing his hair and tilts his head up, hears his scared intake of breath and feels proud to have cracked him. He smiles, and then licks a tear from his cheek, getting a metallic tint of blood into the salty taste. “I'm Kitayama.”

He sees Fujigaya's eyes widen, and that is definitely recognition, but Kitayama just releases his hair and turns to leave without a word.

He closes the door behind him, and when he visits the bathroom to wash his hands, he notices that he's got blood on his lips as well. He cleans up, but decides that his clothes are good enough to see Nikaido in without having to change. Besides, he'll want to know as soon as possible.

“He's Fujigaya Taisuke.” He tells Nikaido, calm and professional, but glances at Senga sleeping against Nikaido's side, hair a little mussed and cheeks pink.

Nikaido stands, letting Senga lie down on the couch instead, and comes forward to clutch Kitayama's shoulder, the touch all he needs to convey he's happy he made Kitayama do it.

Then a wicked, lopsided smirk spreads on his lips. “Perfect.”

~*~

Comments

[nicnatha.livejournal.com]

Poor Gaya D: Bad Boy Mitsu. I don't really know what to say, you warned me xD But I read it and even though its really bad, somehow I like the bad side of Mitsu <.

[snowqueenofhoth.livejournal.com]

Messed up, but interesting and intense. And of course I enjoy the little hints of Watatai and Nikasen in there.