The story starts like this: Satoru was a broke college student, and if something didn’t change soon, he’d have to drop out. In a fit of (totally not drunken) desperation, he’d posted to a sugar daddy website, not really expecting anything to come from it. The first few responses had been slow and ranged from fisy to creepy to just over the top lewd.
The response that piqued Satoru’s interest though had been a simple request to meet for coffee and just talk to see if they might be a good fit. Satoru hadn’t recognized the older man at first, but when he’d introduced himself as Yashiro Gaku, the realization that he’d once been Satoru’s grade school teacher had almost had him call it quits right then and there.
It hadn’t only been the need for money though, that made Satoru stay, and after only a short conversation, it was obvious that they clicked.
Fast forward six months: Satoru had left his thumb drive containing the paper he’d needed to finish at Yashiro’s. He doesn’t think anything of it when he lets himself into Yashiro’s flat, but the last thing he expects to see is his lover covered in blood, too much blood.
Turning, Satoru darts for the door, but Yashiro is surprisingly fast, catches him by the ankle and sends him sprawling, his head catching the step, pain exploding as darkness takes him.
Satoru awakes to a pounding head, and when he groans and tries to raise a hand, he finds that he can’t move his arm, either arm, or his legs either. Eyes snapping open he finds himself tied spread-eagle to the thick posts of the huge fancy bed Yashiro’s loves and also very naked.
Satoru tenses when Yashiro walks through the door. “Oh, good, you’re awake.” Yashiro picks up a glass of water and some pills from the nightstand. “Here, these should help with the headache,” he says as he offers them to Satoru, but he turns his head to the side. “Don’t be like that. If I’d wanted you dead, I could have killed you already.”
Satoru’s eyes snap to Yashiro’s face, and he feels like he’s just been slapped, those words all but an admission that he had killed someone. When Yashiro offers them again, he opens his mouth, and swallows them down.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Sorry you were caught you mean,” Satoru resorts before he can help himself.
Yashiro sits on the edge of the bed. “Yes, that too.”
“You said that I wasn’t the first person you had a relationship like this with, that there had been many before me in fact. I never asked what happened with them, assuming that they’d all just graduated, moved away, moved on with their lives, but that’s not true is it?”
“That’s one thing I’ve always adored about you, Satoru; you’re smart, sometimes too smart for your own good.”
Satoru gulps and tries not to tremble when Yashiro cups his cheek, brushes his thumb along his lips so tenderly, the vulnerability of this situation painfully clear. “You killed them.”
The smile that Yashiro gives him freezes Satoru’s blood. “Yes.”
“And you’re going to kill me now?” Shut up, Satoru, he yells at himself.
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you, but no, that desire no longer drives me.”
Satoru raises a brow in disbelief, the blood evidence that that so wasn’t true.
“You may find this hard to believe, but since you entered my life again, the void that I’ve attempted to fill my whole life is gone. I had to try, had to be sure. It was easy enough, but it didn’t have the same thrill that it used to. I felt nothing.”
Satoru swallows past the lump in his throat. Yoshiro knows him better than anyone, knows his body, knows his soul. He wonders how he’d been so blind. “What makes me different?”
Yashiro sighs and scrubs at his face. “I’ve asked myself that a thousand times, and I still don’t know the answer.”
“When you sent me that message, you’d planned on killing me.”
“Yes.” The words hands between them heavily.
“What happens now?”
“That depends on you.”
Satoru isn’t sure what to make of the look that Yoshiro is giving him. “Explain.”
“If you ask it, I’ll let you go right now. Just one question though. Does your mother still live in Toshima?”
“Yes, why—” Satoru’s blood turns cold as he suddenly realizes the implication.
“Do not mistake me. While the urge is no longer there, I have no qualms about taking a life if I must. If you ask it, I will let you walk out of the door. You have no evidence against me. But if I ever hear a whisper of suspicion pointed my way, I promise your will regret ever opening your mouth.”
“And the other choice?”
“We pretend this never happened.”
“You think, I can think of you the same after all of this?” Satoru demands, shocked.
Yashiro’s hand slides from Satoru’s face, down his neck, his nails scratching light, catching his nipple, causing it to harden as goosebumps raise across his body. “You love me as much as I love you. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
Satoru opens his mouth to deny it, but he can’t force the words out. When Yashiro presses his mouth against his, Satoru knows he should be disgusted, knows he should twist away, but he doesn’t. It’s so fucked up, so wrong, yet even knowing what Yashiro’s done, Satoru can’t help what he feels.