"Ah, ah—" reverberates against the car's walls.
The windows have been rolled up — the heater has been blaring on full.
"Ah, ah!" quietly moans Satoru as a warm and humid piece of flesh rolls against his chest and stomach.
He doesn't want to admit that it feels good. Yet it feels so satisfying, in a relieving way — like cocooning himself in a futon when the room's temperature resembles nothing but North Pole.
He can feel his blood circulating through his limbs again. He feels alive.
Yet with that, he is also engulfed with shame.
"Why'd you stop? Keep making that sound, please," says a mirthful voice of the very man that encaged him.
"A-ah," vocalizes Satoru instead of I hate you.
The man goes back to licking his prey all over his abdomen. It's warm, yet it's slick and disgusting all the same.
Yashiro's trenchcoat and blazer have been taken off. He also removed his tie, his upper body now clad only in his grey dress shirt. Satoru avoided looking at him. In fact, he avoided thinking altogether.
It had been obvious where this situation would lead to. In order to not panic or die from embarrassment, Satoru cast away his foresight, logic and pride, focusing on primordial instincts instead. For now, the heating of his body felt crucial. For now, it felt nice.
For the time being, he decided, he would forget the identity of the person providing him "security".
"You're like a salty ice-cream, aren't you?" the man says as he moves to assault his inner thighs. "I'd even say... spicy."
Don't push at him, don't kick him, don't even reply, thoughts swim in his mind frantically. His legs then bend to hook around the man's figure.
"Ah," Satoru makes a sound. If he could, he would force his body to actually wrap around this living heating machine, to stick to it and engulf its hotness.
The man starts to hum as he reaches to unwrap the belt from Satoru's stiff arms. Satoru breathes heavily. For a second, this might be a chance to fight back, poke his eyes, break out, anything; but as he feels the man's hands pull him up from his lying position into a tight embrace, Satoru's brain melts.
It's like he'd just read his mind. Satoru's arms hug back, tight around his captor, and he can finally feel the rhythm of someone's heartbeat. Is it his or Yashiro's?
For a while they settle in that position, unmoving. Satoru's face is buried in the crook of the man's neck as he breathes in a never known before smell. Yashiro-sensei's smell.
The warmth seeps into Satoru's body. He's positive he can move freely now, but he doesn't want to. Just like the feeling of being stuck under a flux of water with perfectly stabilized temperature.
It's only the beginning, his common sense yells at him. Satoru's rational side surfaces bit by bit. Suddenly he feels like shaking again.
"Hm? Are you still not warmed up?" asks the low, sultry voice.
He's gonna break you, he's gonna wreak you, he's gonna crush you, the panic within him accumulates like grains of sand in an hourglass, which is about to overflow and burst. It's a fight or flight situation and Satoru is snuggled up against his predator.
"Don't hurt me," he whispers.
"What's that? I didn't hear."
"I— ah," Satoru fails to repeat.
He's pulled back, laid on the flat (and in comparison uncomfortably cold) car seat again.
Over him towers a silhouette of a person twice as big as him. And he's leering.
"It looks like it's not enough, is it?" Yashiro says as he begins to unbutton his shirt.
"Please—" Satoru forces a cry out, but he's interrupted by a yank of his legs, pulled up and flush against Yashiro's bare chest.
No, Satoru thinks, yet unlike the many things he should've kept to himself, this squeak doesn't slip.
Satoru's own shirt and jacket are still tangled over his arms, but it takes the killer no time to toss them away.
While doing so he leans forward, bending Satoru's legs up so that he's doubled over. Satoru makes unintelligible sounds of protest as Yashiro nuzzles into the child's hair and practically purrs.
The words vibrate against his scalp but Satoru can barely understand, dreadful thoughts going places as he's pushing at the man's shoulders to no avail. He can easily guess what it was, though. That pet name again.
That's right, Yashiro thinks of him as a pet. It's utterly disparaging. He's not a pet.
"I'm not a pet!" he speaks up, purposefully, not unintentionally.
To emphasize, Satoru does what withdrew Yashiro from this haze before. He bites.
Into his neck, and not as viciously as when he bit his finger, but it does the trick. Yashiro makes a grumbling noise, but instead of pulling away immediately, he seems to relish in it a bit.
"Ah," says Yashiro this time around before pulling back. "Satoru." He strokes the fresh bite mark. "You don't want to leave too many marks now, do you? Sensei has work tomorrow."
This brief acknowledgement of reality is like a punch into Satoru's solar plexus.
Yashiro is intending to continue his life normally. But what will happen to Satoru?
The boy covers his chest with his arms and hands. He tries to hide his exposed skin from the perpetrator, to shrink away from his sight as he looks up into his face tearfully.
"Have you had enough?! Was it fun?! I'm warmed up now, thank you very much! So quit it already!" words spill from him without his own volition. All the while all he can think of is his mother, Kayo, his friends and the tremendous shame he would feel if any of them witnessed him in such a position.
Satoru's legs are still propped on sensei's shoulders, who smirks and turns to kiss his shin. "S-stop that!" Satoru protests as he kicks his legs weakly and slightly strikes Yashiro's back with his heels. He knows that angering the man won't do any good, but not showing resistance might break his spirit.
Yashiro laughs. "Haha, oh, Satoru." He looks the boy in the eyes with that intangible gaze again.
Satoru turns his head away and groans stubbornly. "Satoru," the man repeats, voice seemingly closer.
"No," the boy breathes.
Large hands encase his childish face. Someone else's breath is inches away. Satoru looks anywhere but at his teacher. He knows that— if he were to, he'd fall right back into the trap and he wouldn't be able to keep up the rebellious act without getting a whiff of that addictive warmth.
"How did this happen, I wonder," the man above him says, startling Satoru. "Why am I here, doing this to you instead of continuing my existence as it was before?"
He traces the contours of Satoru's face with his fingers. "What if I were to—" he doesn't end the sentence and Satoru's stomach sinks. Was he going to change his mind? Was he going to kill Satoru now, after everything that Satoru has been through?
Nearly offended, Satoru shoots a mean look in Yashiro's direction. Saying "don't you dare" without saying it.
This earns another chuckle from sensei's lips. "No, how could I. I'm afraid I would never find another pair of eyes quite like yours to make me feel so—"
Yashiro smiles so warmly, so... lovingly. "I won't hurt you," he says.
Satoru feels that something is streaming down his cheeks. Tears? Whose tears? Yashiro's not crying, then—
"Unless," Yashiro winks as his face gets even closer, "you hurt me first."
And then his lips are over Satoru's. And his tongue darts right into Satoru's mouth, big and overpowering. Satoru stares ahead as the kiss deepens. The streaks that instantly dried on his face due to heat — they weren't tears shed for the dread of what's to come; nor what signified his official breaking point. No. He cried because he suddenly knew what drove Yashiro to do this, or anything for that matter.
Yashiro had been empty. Yet Satoru was the one to finally fill him. Satoru was the one he chose over an act of murder. And Satoru would become his.
But not just a pet. It seemed that Yashiro strived for a companion. Perhaps, even for an accomplice? The latter Satoru would never allow. Instead, he would rather pose as his lover.
As Satoru compels his own tongue to move against the adult's eagerly, as his arms uncertainly wrap around the man's neck, Yashiro's lips smile around his mouth. He hums into Satoru, what must be a delighted moan.
The kiss is overwhelming and Satoru focuses on breathing through his nose. His lower body tingles despite himself. He gulps down foreign saliva. Taste of candy.
Yashiro's hands sneak down, on Satoru's shoulders, his chest, his fingers brush against Satoru's nipples.
No, no, no, Satoru thinks, but his body language doesn't betray it. His lips quiver, his legs tremble, if anything, it resembles excitement rather than fear.
Satoru's hands dig into Yashiro's hair. He does this in order not to snap and push the man away. The teacher definitely interprets it as a motion of endearment.
Their lips separate. A string of saliva still connects them for a few seconds, before falling apart. Satoru desperately gasps for air. He looks up into another's face with clouded eyes.
"You're something," Yashiro admits, surprisingly out of breath too. Then he looks down, somewhere, to Satoru's bottom.
Satoru's mind screams no. His legs tense, nearly urging the captor to dip back down into a kiss. He'd rather take more of that than...
But Yashiro's posture is unmoving. His fingers, which were idly playing with Satoru's nipples, suddenly dart to the boy's parted mouth.
Satoru chokes. Two of Yashiro's fingers, middle and ring, reach to the back of his throat. The sudden impact makes him gag. His cries of protest get muffled.
"I promised not to hurt you, see," says sensei as he pumps his fingers in and out of Satoru's mouth. "Yet, no matter how you look at it, that will hurt."
"Not to mention how unsanitary it is. That's why," he adds a third finger, "we'll settle on your mouth, since you're so good with it."
Satoru coughs around the intrusion. His throat closes up. He mewls and rolls his eyes up. He can't breathe. It's torture. Stop it sensei.
Through his labored coughs he manages to wail: "sen...se—" and it prompts Yashiro to retract his fingers.
Satoru salivates violently, wheezes as the man above him stares. Satoru covers his face, his mouth. He's in need to wipe the excessive spittle, but Yashiro gently pulls Satoru's wrists away.
His hands are kissed. What the hell. "I'm sure you can handle much more than that. Come on now," he slides three digits into Satoru's mouth again, much milder now, gives Satoru time to adjust and take them in fully.
"Guh," Satoru says, glaring up at Yashiro. His teeth graze the beginning of his palm.
Yashiro pats the boy's cheek. "Careful, Satoru. This is practice. You don't want to mess up later, do you? Open wider, don't bite."
Satoru really wants to do the opposite, but he's left no option but to oblige. He purses his lips into a letter "o", trains his mouth to suck around the fingers rather than let them lay limply, helps himself with his tongue. The man's eyes light up.
"There, just like that," he says gleefully. "Just like sucking on a candy." And then Satoru gets his "reward". But unfortunately, it isn't a lollipop. Yashiro's other hand begins palming Satoru through his briefs.
The shriek, or rather squeak that Satoru makes, is so loud and scandalized, that the man above chortles. The boy's eyes goggle, roll back again, but he's not struggling to breathe this time around. Though he keeps making high pitched noises, it's unclear whether he protests or not.
Satoru is painfully aware of having been aroused this whole time, yet he hoped it wasn't so obvious to Yashiro. The mouth play, of all things, in fact made his insides feel giddy, set his heart to race.
Now when Yashiro was moving both his hands in sync, Satoru couldn't help it. The pump of those fingers, the delicate firmness with which Yashiro fondles him...
"Hmmm. You like this, Satoru?"
And just as Satoru is about to shake his head, or deny it with a noise, Yashiro's fingers assaulting his mouth thrust and settle deeper in his mouth.
Satoru's member twitches.
"Aah, I see. So you're like that, huh."
"All this time eating candy, my, my, I should've known."
Satoru closes his mouth tighter, pressing his teeth against Yashiro's fingers briefly.
"Okay-okay," Yashiro says. "I wont tease. Just don't do that with the real thing, okay?"
The mention of the "real thing" inadvertently makes Satoru's penis twitch again.
Yashiro leans in, mouth close to Satoru's ears. The press of his hand over Satoru's briefs intensifies. "If only you knew how hard it is, to hold back."
Satoru moans. His body is right on the brink — if only he hadn't been an adult in a child's body, maybe his downfall wouldn't be so intense. But who is he kidding — if he had been his child self, he wouldn't be here in the first place.
"Pw- pl-" Satoru forces out, "-l-lease..."
"Please what?" whispers Yashiro. The fingers in Satoru's mouth pump, but the other hand halts.
The hand presses on Satoru's base. He's not letting him, not letting, not letting not letting not not not—
"Let you what?" asks Yashiro. He stuffs his fingers impossibly deep. Satoru might vomit. Satoru might black out. Satoru's nails dig into Yashiro's back. Satoru tries rutting against his sensei. He's unbelievably close. "Let you come?"
Satoru nods so eagerly, that Yashiro's fingertips tickle the inside of his throat. Then, in one swift motion, Yashiro pulls out, leaving Satoru's maw throbbing empty.
"Beg," Yashiro says.
"Yes!" Satoru cries in a broken, bruised voice. "Please-please-please let me come, please let me please let me let me let me, I want to come Yashiro-sensei!—"
The man hoists Satoru's body upwards, jerking the last piece of fabric off of Satoru. Holding him by his armpits, he lines the boy's erect penis with his face, and then—
Satoru senses the blissful, damp cave that is Yashiro's mouth, enveloping the entirety of him, deeper and broader than he ever experienced, Satoru's hands push at the adult's head and his hips thrust up, and then he's coming, howling in primal pleasure as his member spills into Yashiro's mouth.
Satoru's legs twitch; the orgasm has a much stronger impact on this body than it would on an endurant adult one. For a moment he can't tell if his heart beats anymore, but then its palpitations threaten to rip open his ribcage.
He's beat. He's done for. Satoru can't tell left from right. In this moment, he almost doesn't care about anything else but the warm, warm embrace of his post orgasmic high.
Reality remains in a haze, the spent state of his mind and body replaces rational thought. Satoru tries to catch his breath the best he can. His teacher licks his now flaccid penis like it's a lollipop. Then he reaches out, "Satoru," with his hand to caress his student's cheek.
Satoru can't say anything. If he says something, if he reminds himself of where he is and what just happened, he might die from shame. "Sensei..." slips out of him regardless, in that used up husky voice, a word devoid of connotation, simply a substitute to a pet name.
He's taken. "Now it's my turn, isn't it?"
Satoru freezes up. It's not over yet. He listens to those sounds — belt unbuckling, zipper pulled down, a swish of fabric against skin. Everything is out. In front of Satoru's face emerges an appendage so big, his stomach closes up.
Satoru instinctively withdraws, terrified eyes glued to Yashiro's shaft. "There's no... There's no way it will fit... I can't," Satoru blubbers out in between breaths.
Surprisingly, Yashiro doesn't persist. He cups Satoru's face, for a second there Satoru braces himself for a forceful entry, but Yashiro pulls him up and looks at his face.
"Calm down," he says. Satoru sees his eyes and remembers that Yashiro is human. "You don't have to take it whole. But I know you can. You were so good, Satoru, so good..." Yashiro presses Satoru's forehead to his. There's moisture between them. Yashiro plants kisses on Satoru's cheeks, and that seals the deal.
"I-I'll try," Satoru promises. The praise made him lose his mind, apparently.
"Thank you," Yashiro gives him one last kiss on the lips. Satoru is drowning.
When Yashiro reveals his phallus once again, Satoru, albeit trembling, circles it in his hand. The only experience he had was with himself, and even then, that wasn't even close to compare. Still, at the very least he knows how to tug on it properly.
Satoru does just that. His mind is blank. Other factors are out of the equation. For now, this is what he's doing. What preceded this predicament matters not. Right now, he's having sex.
Satoru bows his head forward, his breath hits the head. He's unsure, but his tongue darts regardless, licking stripes along the shaft.
Satoru is clearly not himself, because the reaction Yashiro provides — that subtle gasp and the way he so obviously held back from thrusting forward — makes Satoru heady. Or maybe it's the musk? Satoru licks up the bead of precum from his sensei's tip.
Yashiro's hand grows stiff on Satoru's head. He clearly wants to manhandle the boy, but holds back for Satoru's sake. Something about this makes Satoru's insides do a flip. It makes him want to tease Yashiro more.
He sucks on the tip, moving his soft cherubic lips gently around it, faintly touching Yashiro's slit with his tongue. He moves his hand along the shaft, regularly changing the pace of his pumping. There isn't a vocal reaction from Yashiro though, so Satoru carefully looks up, sliding his tongue to the tip's underside.
What he sees is mind-numbing. Yashiro has covered his mouth with his left hand, his eyes are squinted, brows tense, and the shade of his face seems to have turned florid. An another fragment for Satoru's collection.
The boy hums as he stuffs the member deeper into his mouth, his eyes shut and he starts moving his head back and forth. Yashiro stifles and pets Satoru's head — helps him move as well as strokes his hair. Satoru likes that. He likes to be reassured that he's doing a good job. He focuses on carefully taking sensei's length without grazing him with teeth.
In his mind there's a fog that is as thick as kissel. He's also aroused once again — that probably helps; if he weren't aroused, he'd probably be dying on the inside.
But for now, the sloppy sounds his mouth makes don't embarrass Satoru. Having adjusted to Yashiro's shape, Satoru goes a bit faster, the hand on the back of his head encourages him so. Though he doesn't take it fully in yet, afraid to gag.
Yashiro's left hand leaves his mouth and grabs the back of the seat. He hunches over and breathes, breathes hard and deep. The sound riles Satoru up. He peeks his eyes open to look at this sensei, face and pose shadowed with lust. Their eyes accidentally meet and— Satoru loses the steady breathing rhythm he managed to settle on and instantly suffocates, his throat closing up.
Yashiro pulls the boy off swiftly, with an alluring popping sound. He lets Satoru catch his breath, the boy coughs on saliva and tries to swallow it, Yashiro's member twitches.
Satoru regains composure and looks bashfully at the cock that is a few inches away from his face. He can't believe this has just left his mouth. He gulps. Then, looks up at Yashiro's face again.
In return, Yashiro loses his composure. He grabs Satoru's head with both hands and guides him to get right back to work, but Satoru shuts his mouth tight just in time. The cock slips along his cheek and settles there, covering the left half of Satoru's face.
"Ah- hah... Sorry," apologizes Yashiro, and frankly, Satoru cannot believe that he does. He smirks up at him, and promptly licks the side of Yashiro's penis. Yashiro's eyes darken with desire once again.
He takes his cock in his hand and glides the tip across Satoru's lips. That doesn't wipe Satoru's smirk, though. Their intense eye contact solidifies, becomes an inaudible battle. Yashiro pokes into Satoru's bottom lip, tries to drag it down, but Satoru leans all the way back on the seat.
Initially Yashiro intends to pull Satoru's head right back to where it belongs, but notices how mischievous Satoru looks. That only makes his erection ache more. He tries to figure out Satoru's intent, but there's no need, it becomes crystal clear a few seconds later.
Satoru gapes his mouth and cranes his neck.
Yashiro enters instantly. He grasps the sides of Satoru's face and fucks his mouth intensely. And though it hurts, though tears slop out from his eyes and guttural sounds escape his throat, Satoru's cock is as hard as ever — it throbs.
He never knew that getting face-fucked could become everything that he had ever wanted.
Yashiro doesn't hold his voice anymore, either. His deep moans and groans fill the car as it rocks slightly with his pace.
"Oh— Satoru. Satoru—" he growls. He looks down on his student's contorted, lewd, vulgar face. "You're mine. You're mine and mine only. You're mine, mine, mine, mine—"
He does a few more thrusts, then holds it there, all the way in, all the way inside, then thrusts some more, they grow rugged, and then he releases.
Abruptly, down Satoru's throat, he releases his seed. Satoru, who'd been holding his breath, swallows around the dick in his mouth, though he can't taste or feel Yashiro's semen because it goes straight to his stomach. Satoru tugs at himself a little, and comes too. This time nothing comes out, but he feels the pulsation, the ripple that matches Yashiro's.
He's about to fall unconscious.
He'd rather he has. But Yashiro pulls out, slowly, and it turns out the flow was not entirely over, as some of his semen comes out right on the tip of Satoru's tongue, staining his lips and dripping down his chin.
Satoru is drained as hell, his limbs refuse to function. He's forced to taste sensei — it's a little weird, he definitely didn't expect it to taste like this. Instinctively, he tries to swallow, but it's not as easy as he thought it would be. It hurts, too.
Satoru still feels the uncomfortable slimy liquid on his face and attempts to lick it up sluggishly, but an adult's finger wipes it off for him, and then offers Satoru to clean it. Satoru sucks it clean obediently, despite not particularly wanting to taste it again.
His eyes trail up, at the extended arm before him, then at the body which the arm belongs to, then, finally, they settle on the face. Yashiro's face. Yashiro's smiling, tired-looking face. And then Satoru sees his eyes.
It all comes back to him in a brisk moment of clarity. His features scrunch up and he bites on the finger invading his mouth.
"Ouch," Yashiro retracts his hand and looks at Satoru in a pretend-offended manner. "Back already, Satoru?" he smiles welcomingly.
Satoru finds it in himself to raise his knees up to cover his naked body. He searches for his clothes frantically with his eyes.
"Don't be stressed," Yashiro says and wraps his massive arms around Satoru's feeble body.
"D-don't," speaks up Satoru, but his voice is hoarse and bruised. It's because... It's because he let this man—
Satoru wants to pry him off, but he's too weak and tired to even try, and his voice is too strained to scream, oh God, did he really just let this happen? Did he really just do this with this— with his mother's murderer?
Yashiro picks Satoru up and turns him over, puts him on his bare lap, lies down on the seat and squeezes him close. Is he?... Is he trying to spoon with Satoru?
The 29-year-old starts to hyperventilate. He just had sex with the villain. Holy shit he just had sex with the man who put him in jail. And now he's spooning with the man who killed his friends and attempted to kill his crush.
Yashiro puts his chin on top of Satoru's head. "Shh," he whispers. "It's okay. I have regrets too. Just don't panic. Remain calm."
Calm?! He's asking Satoru to remain calm?! "R-r-regrets? You have goddamn regrets?"
"Well, for one, I never thought I'd do this to a child. I'm truly sorry," he admits as something seems to weigh down his voice.
I'm not a... "I'm not a child," Satoru admits in return, just to make himself feel a little better about the situation.
"Right. You've recently turned eleven, so that surely means you're no longer a child. Of course."
"No, I mean I—" I'm a year older than you, God damn it. Satoru stops himself from blurting it. As if that's the problem. If anything, Satoru should let Yashiro feel bad for what he did. This man needs to feel bad for his actions at least sometimes.
Despite everything, Satoru manages to calm a little, even with his back pressed to the Ishikari Killer himself. His mind and body still feel awful about what happened, though. He might not ever be able to forgive himself.
Meanwhile, Yashiro inhales Satoru's scent by burying his nose in Satoru's hair. "Ah. Why is it that I think of him when I smell you?" he murmurs against the top of Satoru's head.
That piques Satoru's curiosity. "Who, exactly?..."
"My pet hamster."
Satoru's jaw drops. A pet hamster?! Is that what Satoru smells like???
"No, I just get memories about him when I smell you, is all."
Well, of course Satoru said it out loud. Still, a hamster. What a joke. The man who kills little girls and frames innocent men likes hamsters.
"He used to— he used to be my reason for living, you know?" Yashiro confesses. "Before I started doing what I do."
Oh yes. Yashiro kills little girls and frames innocent men because his pet hamster is no longer with him. What. A. Joke.
"Do you think... Do you think you could replace him?" Yashiro asks.
He turns Satoru's head toward him by holding onto Satoru's chin with his fingers. Satoru sees the face of the man who got him curious in figuring out the puzzle called "Yashiro Gaku". His heart skips a beat, he hates himself for it.
"Hm, Satoru?" Yashiro tilts his head a little, giving Satoru a small, almost apologetic smile. Satoru feels like he's drowning in those eyes, he hates his sensei for it, too.
The truth is, he knows he can replace Yashiro's Spice. Satoru's small heart fit right into Yashiro's hollow one, like a missing puzzle piece.
But as years will pass, won't Satoru's heart grow only bigger and bigger? And if so, won't it fill Yashiro more and more, until there's no more space left?
Eventually, it might just tear him.
Either that, or their flesh will become inseparable, Satoru growing right into Yashiro. And then—
They might just become one.