Wake Up and I Find You

[aeslis]

Wake Up and I Find You
Pairing: Aiba/Sho
Word Count: ~11,000
Summary: Sho wakes up in a strange world, where the rules he knows don't apply.
Notes: This is part of a world which will be written in quite a lot. It's not the end. It's just the beginning. Also, thank you thank you to everyone who put up with my bitching about this fic, and those of you that supported and encouraged me. Thanks to l_elfie, harinezumi_kun, and ltgmars for doing beta.
Warnings: This is kinkfic. Kinks in this installment include: Public humiliation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, non-con, dub-con, bondage, enemas. Please be mature.



Sho doesn't remember ever having quite so vivid a dream before, but he knows it's a dream because it's all too surreal not to be. It feels like early morning, with the sun just coming over the tops of nearby buildings. He's chained to a post. He's also naked in the middle of a town—an airy town filled with crowds of people, who, when Sho takes a better look, are disturbingly surreal. He sees a man with horns and goat's feet, first, and then a crowd of ladies that are wearing nothing but gauzy fabric so sheer he can see everything underneath as they whisper their way by. In fact, almost everyone he can see is dressed with something erotic and enticing in mind, from lace to leather; some of them are dappled with piercings in various painful-looking places. He stares openly, already liking this dream, and feels himself start to respond.

Until he notices how many people are turning to look him over like a piece of meat. This ranks higher on the scale of embarrassment than dreams where he's caught in his underwear on the way to work, and he covers his front with his hands and tries to scoot behind his post, and then jerks his head to the right when he hears someone laughing.

Right beside him is another post and another naked guy chained to it. In fact there are several more posts and several more naked people, some of them just as odd looking as the passersby, but this guy that's laughing looks like anyone else that works in Sho's office building. He has pointy elbows and an indolent way of lounging on his post, as if he's just waiting for the bus. "There's no point," he tells Sho with a cocky grin. "If they want to look at you, they'll look at you. Or is that a strategy of some kind?"

"What do you mean by 'strategy'?" Sho grumbles, his hands stubbornly covering his groin.

"If you're trying to appeal to the type who like virgins, I'd drop it. They're the ones you want to avoid, trust me."

"What do you mean?" Sho repeats himself with a sinking feeling. Down the line he sees someone step up to one of the women that's tied to her own post, her hands bound together at the wrist. Her breasts pop from between her arms, large enough to sag. None of Sho's girlfriends have ever had breasts like that. He watches them jiggle as she prances away from a light spanking. It's hard to look away, but he manages. "This is such a weird dream. I knew my brain was dirty, but I didn't think it would confront me with it all at once," he mutters.

Next to him, the guy's eyebrow goes up. "You must be new," he says, more seriously.

"Eh?" Sho says. But before the guy can answer, they're distracted by the approach of a leather-clad lady with a whip. She looks familiar, like someone he's seen on TV, with big hair and a stubborn set to her chin. Sho instinctively retreats several steps until the chain pulls tight at his ankle. She's covered top-to-toe, all strapped in, and her buckles catch the early-morning sunlight.

"Put your hands out," the lady says, hands settling on her hips, "and spin for me."

"Um," Sho says, torn as arousal wars with modesty. He stands awkwardly, not moving. The guy to his right is conspicuously silent.

The lady gives him an arch look, unimpressed. "Completely untrained. So you're just a pretty face, then? Well, sometimes the breaking in is the fun part." Her eyes run all over him, invasive. He can feel them on his arms, on his belly, and all the way down to his toes and back up. They stop where his hands are, and she frowns. "Show me your dick."

"Excuse me?" Sho chokes.

"Do it," his neighbor says in a low tone. Sho shoots him a betrayed look.

"Well?" The slap, slap of her crop against her palm is enough to convince Sho he'd better listen. His hands skitter back until he's uncomfortably rubbing his palms up and down his thighs. He's half hard, which isn't surprising given everything, but this isn't the way he wanted to show it. It takes all his effort to keep his feet planted and not turn around to huddle in a ball.

"That's all the respect you can show me?" the lady says, and the crop flips out to lift up his penis from underneath, as if measuring it. Sho bites down on a noise of distress before he can make it. This woman is dangerous. And yet more blood settles, his cock lifting higher, as if trying to contradict her. "Pathetic."

"Ouch," comes an amused mutter from the right.

The lady's gaze slices over to the source of the voice. She studies Sho's neighbor with an expressively raised eyebrow and then looks pointedly at his flaccid cock. "You're no better."

"Sorry, lady, I only get it up for men. You wouldn't have any fun with me." He couldn't look more smug if he tried.

Astonishingly, (or at least astonishingly to Sho, which doesn't mean much since everything in this dream is astonishing), some of the ice melts from her expression and she gives the boy a rueful grin. "Touché." And then she glides away with a creak of leather, moving down the row.

Sho stands dazed for a moment before he remembers to cover himself up again. He's rock hard now, and he has to do some creative positioning of his hands to recover his imagined modesty.

His neighbor gives him a dry look. "You really have to stop that. It's not cute."

"This is fucked up," Sho says. "How the hell do I wake up from this?" He tries the pinching thing, even though that means he has to do a little shuffling and still doesn't manage to keep himself completely covered. It doesn't work.

His neighbor gives him a pitying look that gets Sho's hackles up. The sun is starting to gather heat; he can feel it over his shoulders and in his hair. His underarms are starting to prickle with sweat.

"What's your name?"

"What do you care?" Sho bites back, still feeling stung.

"Touchy," says his neighbor with a cheeky, open smile, immediately making Sho feel bad despite himself. "I'm Nino. Nice to meet you."

Sho peers at him, looking for some hint he's being laughed at again, but the other man is guileless, completely at ease. "Sho," he offers grudgingly.

"So, Sho," Nino says, and angles his eyes pointedly at the crowds of people milling, striding, and staring. "What do you think of Eronine?"

Sho shakes his head, surprised his dream is clear enough to even have a name for the city he's in. But then, dreams are always inexplicable like that. "It's hard to wrap my mind around," he says truthfully. He pauses, and then squints. "Does that guy really have wings?"

Nino shades his eyes, but Sho isn't sure how hard he actually looks, because he shrugs a second later. "Probably. You get all kinds here."

There's no contesting that. Every moment spent people-watching brings another surprise. There's a party of people around a bound and gagged man, running their hands over him as he looks up reverently from his crouched position at their feet. The image is striking, and he wonders if it's a hint of things to come. Elsewhere a woman in a kimono, the collar open low enough to show abundant cleavage, sucks on the end of an opium pipe and plays with the hair of another woman that's set her head into her lap.

It seems he's in some sort of marketplace, but he's not really interested in that, or the hodgepodge of architecture that his mind has thrown together. Immediately obvious is the dry, desert-like feel of the whole place. The cobblestone avenue is sun-baked, and for some reason his mind has chosen to forgo technology, as there are no cars or telephone wires, no earbuds in people's ears.

Instead, they decorate themselves, some lavish with paint or bright with jewelry, some minimalist, letting their genitals show. There are breasts everywhere, and penises, many of them standing at erect attention, some with the help of gadgets that Sho looks at a little too long. He's completely turned on by most of what he's seeing. His cock fills the palm of his hand, starting to ache for attention.

"And that," Nino says after a moment, as if an afterthought, "is why you'd better stop prancing around. You stick out like a sore thumb, all prudish and embarrassed like that. And if you're trying to hide the fact that you've got an erection, give up. I can tell already."

"You didn't have to point it out!" Sho complains.

Nino shrugs. "The point is that you're the only one that cares. I mean, not that I wouldn't want to see." He smirks in a way that makes Sho feel dirtier than before. "But given the amount of dick you can see around here," he gestures demonstratively, "yours really isn't all that special."

Sho doesn't think he should feel as disappointed as he does to hear that. But, okay, Nino has a logical point, Sho can admit it. Sho squirms a little more, but then manages to move his hands. Nothing earth-shattering happens. In fact, Nino doesn't even look. Sho almost feels let down.

Sho turns his head at a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, only to find a guard bearing down on them. Sho knows she's a guard because she's wearing a uniform and looks intimidating enough that Sho feels an urge to stand smartly and salute. She stops by Sho, going right to his chain and starting to detach it from the post. It jingles and clacks ominously.

Nino straightens up with a look of concentration that makes Sho suddenly uneasy. "It's starting," he murmurs, but before Sho can ask what is? Nino says in a sharp voice, "Be good. Be good and whatever you do don't react. The more you do, the more the crazies will want you."

"The hell do you mean?" Sho sputters. "Nino? But--" The guard drags Sho away, not bothering to look over her shoulder. Sho is almost yanked off his feet but manages, just barely, to get a hold of himself in time, and then he can't think about Nino anymore.

He gets a glimmer of what's going on when he sees that he's being tugged along to an outdoor stage. There's a crowd at least twenty people deep sprawling just beyond it, and Sho hears leers, laughter, and the flow and ebb of voices both interested and not. Sho knows with sudden certainty that even if this is a dream he does not want to climb the rickety stairs he's being led to, but Nino's words stick with him, and he doesn't struggle. He's pulled up onstage, right into the middle, and the guard hands over his chain to a man in long robes and a curly mustache.

The good parts of the dream get relegated to the back of his brain as he looks up. Not only is he naked in public and being stared at, but now everybody looks like they want to eat him.

A sharp crack sounds, and Sho jumps. It's a gavel. It's a gavel. With abrupt certainty he realizes: he's about to be auctioned off.

"We have here a fine specimen, newly gathered this morning," the auctioneer says in a high, reedy voice. He grips Sho's chin and pushes it up, making the muscles in his neck pull tight. There's a murmur from the watchers. Sho's feet fidget on the hot wooden flooring. "Nicely muscled, full figure, smooth and mostly without hair." He pulls Sho around, his hands clammy and impersonal on Sho's shoulders, and Sho, when he realizes the man is trying to turn him around, goes around quickly. It's easier to face away from everyone. He tries to take slow breaths, but tenses the moment he feels the strange man's hands traveling down his spine. They find his ass, and Sho's insides curl in horror and humiliation when one cheek is pulled aside to spread him.

"Clean, compact backside, strong legs, overall pleasingly shaped."

He wheels Sho back around, and Sho is sure he's flushed with his embarrassment.

"And the important part," the auctioneer announces before he puts his hand right between Sho's legs, making Sho jump like a startled rabbit and his toes dig into the flooring. The man lifts his cock to display it. "Still with foreskin." His hands are cold in contrast to the glaring heat of the sun on Sho's skin. It makes him squirm and almost take a step back, but then he hears the nearby guards' armor shift as they take anticipatory steps forward. He freezes immediately.

The auctioneer barely pays attention. He pumps and pulls with practiced hands and Sho's cock rises till it's full and firm, and Sho is moaning with small, tense sounds. He squirms even more when the auctioneer pinches the tip and tugs it down so that when he lets go, it bounces.

Sho really wants the floor to swallow him up. Or better yet, he could wake the fuck up.

One of the guards steps forward for real, and Sho stumbles back. "I didn't do anything!" he protests vehemently, but she barely glances at him. Her hand goes right around Sho's cock and she pulls him forward without mercy till he's back in place in the center of the stage, where he stands, feeling like all his limbs are crooked and don't belong to him anymore. Then she pulls out a strip of leather and wraps it around his erection.

"Four inches," she reports, and the auctioneer feeds it to the murmuring crowd. Sho catches sight of calculating glances, and someone strokes his chin. The guard adjusts the leather lengthwise, and Sho and everyone in hearing distance are informed that he is nearly six inches long.

He's made to bend over next, and he doesn't have anywhere to put his hands or brace himself. The auctioneer steps around behind him, hand on Sho's back, still so cold. Sho stares at his toes and thinks again, thinks hard, about waking up. He imagines his room: the crack of morning light that sneaks around the edges of his blinds; the push of his pillow against his cheek. Maybe if he thinks about it clearly enough, he can force himself there. Dream logic, he thinks.

Sho's eyes fly back open when the auctioneer cracks a paddle against his ass, and his voice cries out over the hubbub of noise. Again, smack, smack, so that Sho's whole awareness narrows down to the moment of each spanking and the moments in between. It keeps going, and Sho covers his face. His moans still leak between his palms with each fresh crack.

"Nice coloration when flushed," the auctioneer says, his cool fingers stroking over Sho's enflamed flesh. Sho shivers. "What do I hear? Starting at twelve virets."

Sho doesn't know what a viret is but all of a sudden there are louder voices, calling and calling, and the auctioneer fields them like a juggler, his voice bouncing and compelling. Sho hides in his hands, takes deep breaths, and reminds himself it's not real it's not real it's not real very purposefully. His heart slowly stops racing.

The auction goes. Sho's price climbs but he doesn't know what it means, there's nothing to equate it to in his head. There's a pause as people deliberate, and then the calls come with less frequency, until finally the auctioneer can't excite anyone else into making an offer and his gavel bangs down with finality. "Sold, for 136 virets."

Sho's chain rattles early enough to warn him before he's dragged away, so he manages to pick up his feet before he falls. He's led down the stairs and under an arch to a cloaked room of curtained walls, and when he stops, he realizes he's shaking. He didn't look, didn't even see who had bought him, but he had seen enough in that crowd to be scared. "Um," he says to his guard, falling back on politeness. "Excuse me?"

She ignores him.

A curtain flutters and Sho's heart pushes its way into his throat. But whatever he expected, it is certainly not Aiba, who walks right in with a face of smiles and sunkissed skin.

Aiba, whom Sho last saw at the water cooler in the break room, his tie sloppily loose in a way that made Sho want to step in close and fix it for him. Aiba, who is nice to absolutely everybody, so that for every time Sho gets to have lunch with him, he hears more about when Aiba had spent lunch with someone else. Aiba, Sho's ridiculous and embarrassing crush for the last five years.

Aiba looks like no one else Sho's seen yet, in this dream: he's dressed simply, with jeans and a t-shirt that molds to him and shows off very attractive arms. Sho's never seen those arms; they've always been buttoned under cuffed dress shirts. Sho thanks his dream consciousness profusely, letting the sourness of being displayed as public goods be washed over by his relief. "Aiba-kun!"

Aiba stops, perking up in that puppyish way of his. "You know my face?" he says. He's looking at Sho more closely, and Sho gets the chance to look right back. Aiba's hair is so blonde, much blonder than it really is, like he's been here forever under the hot sun, but he has the same crinkles around his eyes and smiles even when he's thinking. "But you're new. Ah! I know!" His fist pounds emphatically into his palm with a smack. "You knew me in your world! Right? Am I right?" He looks delighted, so Sho just nods. "Like destiny!"

Aiba hands a small bag full of… somethings, virets Sho supposes, to the guard. Whatever's inside clatters like marbles as it's set out of the way.

"Will you be needing any accessories?" The guard seems much more human now. Her entire body language has shifted towards Aiba. It seems the other occupants of his brain like Aiba too. Sho's not surprised, he just hopes he's not going to have to share.

"Ghost Guards," Aiba says, "please. Two sets! Ankle and wrist." He accepts Sho's chain and Sho is only too happy to leave the guard's side to join him. He stands close, using Aiba's body as a shield, but neither of them seem to be paying any attention. Beyond the curtains Sho hears hooting and catcalls--the auctioneer's gavel bangs.

"A good choice. They're our best sellers, these days," the guard says. "Until Matsumoto comes out with something new, anyway. You never know what he'll think up next." There are shelves all around them, and she moves to one nearby to take a small glass box with a metal lid. Inside Sho sees the waver and shift of a shadow.

As soon as the lid is opened, the shadow melts from the box, pouring over the edge and sweeping along the floor, right for Sho. "Eh?" he says, trying to dance out of the way as it homes in on him. But it stretches, tendrils of darkness uncurling, and wraps him around the ankle. "What-- what's? Hey!" He can barely feel it but for the way goosebumps rise on his skin. It rises, half of it stretching to cuff his ankles and the rest slinking silkily upwards, whirling and dancing until it rings his wrists. Then there's a soft sigh and all of the shadow darkens, lying still.

Sho stares, palms out in front of him. Then he pokes at one wrist, gingerly. The shadow still doesn't move. "What is this?" he asks nervously in an aside to Aiba.

"I didn't want to bother with a leash," Aiba explains.

Sho pauses. "Eh?"

The guard, unconcerned with Sho's confusion, detaches the manacle from his ankle with a skeleton key and then gives Aiba an expectant look, holding her hand out again with curled fingertips. "Not free. 450 virets."

"Put it on Jun-chan's tab," Aiba says with a smile that Sho is unfairly distracted by. His teeth look whiter in his dark face.

There's a pause. The guard looks like she can't have heard right. "Jun… -chan?"

"He'll be by later, he said. Tell him I found one and that I'll visit him in a couple days, 'kay?" The gavel bangs again, and Sho hears someone shriek.

The guard still looks dumbfounded, her mouth half open. "Yes, yes sir," she says.

Aiba turns around and leaves her behind after a little wave, and Sho hustles to keep after him. They part the curtain and step back out into the bright, early sun. Aiba doesn't look back as he tugs Sho off to the side of the bustling marketplace and into the shade of a tall, European-style building, but then his hands are all of a sudden all over Sho, lifting up his arms and feeling his muscles, drifting around to his backside to cup the shape of it. He looks so pleased, his eyes shining, and Sho decides he's okay with not waking up for a little longer.

"I did well," Aiba congratulates himself. He steps back and twirls his finger. "Give me a little spin!"

It's hard to resist Aiba. Sho spins. Aiba eats it up, studying him closely, so intensely that Sho can feel the gravity between them.

"And what's your name?" Aiba asks abruptly, before Sho can do anything indecent.

"Oh," Sho realizes. Dream-Aiba doesn't know him. Well, it doesn't really matter. "Sakurai Sho."

"Sho," Aiba repeats, his mouth pursing around the vowel. "Okay, then Sho-chan, right? Got it." Aiba's eyes travel right down him in a way that Sho has only ever dreamed about, clearly, as he is dreaming right now. He feels hot all along his skin, and there is a distinct danger of him getting hard.

Which reminds him. "So," Sho says, "I can put something on now, right?"

"Oh, no," Aiba shakes his head. "I like you like this. Come on now."

"Oi," Sho says, telling his cock viciously to stay down. "Come on. It's not like I can't take it off again." He just doesn't want the whole world looking at him, even in a dream. He's already getting looks from a pair of fox-eared and -tailed girls sitting at the nearby fountain.

"No clothes for you," Aiba sing-songs. "At least not right now. I might find something I want to put you in later, though."

It doesn't matter how much Sho complains, Aiba doesn't budge, but he is nice and friendly to Sho on the walk home, like they've been buddies for years. Sho doesn't really know Aiba, truthfully. They go on the occasional lunch date and Sho's caught stories at the water cooler, because Aiba always has a crowd around him, men and women both, who like to hear about his travels around the world. Aiba is animated and ridiculous and usually has trouble explaining things because he forgets the words, so half of his stories turn into charades.

This Aiba lives in an apartment building several cobblestone streets away. From the outside it doesn't look like much, but when they get to the sixth floor, Sho is fascinated from the first step inside. It's a large, single room with a wooden floor and high white ceilings, but one whole side is a grand window that looks over the city. The furniture is arranged in spaces: a bedroom with a fluffy-looking bed, a round table with comfortable looking armchairs for a living room, and in the corner what looks like a wide, wooden, traditional Japanese bathtub on a dais. But what's amazing to him is the walls, which are striped from top to bottom with shelves full of… Sho can only think of the word 'knick-knacks' to describe them. There are scarves and statuettes and vibrantly colored wooden boxes, candles and papier maché fruits, too much stuff for Sho to be able to look at it all. It looks like just the kind of room Aiba would have, Sho thinks.

Aiba points him to one armchair. "Do you want something to drink?" Aiba says, alight with interest. "I have lots of kinds of tea. Green tea, rice tea. Jasmine tea?"

Sho lets Aiba fuss over him, because it seems he wants Sho to be comfortable. The tea Sho ends up with is a little minty and very warm when he breathes it in. The whole situation is a lot more polite than Sho had expected, given the nature of his own perverted mind and Aiba's disinclination to let him have clothes. Aiba sits down too.

"Are you okay?" Aiba asks him. Sho looks at him curiously over the top of his mug. Something's different.

"Sure," Sho says, despite all the horrible confusion. Whatever, the other stuff is over, and he's with Aiba now. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's usually a shock. You show up and don't know what's going on and there's a stage--" Aiba's hands are waving through the air. Sho finds it endearing all over again, though he'd rather have Aiba's hands on him. "And all that commotion, right? Isn't it different than where you're used to? No?"

Aiba's so earnest, like he has all the time in the world to listen to Sho. Sho shrugs. "Well it's not like I'm going to remember this in the morning."

"You won't?" Aiba says, interested.

"Nah. Too bad, too, because I've talked to you more today than I ever did at the office, and this is kind of a kinky dream." He sips his tea.

Aiba smiles. "You liked me!" he crows gleefully. And then he asks Sho questions about not-dream-Aiba, which Sho thinks is kind of weird and also disappointing given the circumstances, but he tells Aiba about their similarities and the weird things that he did, like collecting funky staplers and making magnet art on the meeting room whiteboards. The longer he talks the larger the words feel, like they're filling his mouth, and eventually he yawns. The armchair is very comfortable, and the tea has warmed him all the way through.

"Sho-chan." Sho hears Aiba's voice, soft and coaxing. "This way."

Aiba's hands help him up, and Sho leans on him. Aiba smells like the earth, like cloves and woodland mornings. He's vaguely aware of a moment of going down on his knees, of crawling, but then there's a pillow that's just his size, and he curls up around it to sleep.

-

Sho feels the sun with increasing awareness as sleep falls away. It rests on him like a blanket, but he lingers in the aftermath of his dream, trying to remember all the vivid details. Aiba's eyes come to him, searing and bright as they sat in Aiba's living room. Sho paints the picture of it, relishing his slow morning wake up and the way it lets him keep the dream close instead of letting it fade away like smoke.

"Good morning!" comes Aiba's voice. "Except it's actually good evening."

Sho's eyes shoot open.

Aiba is there, lithe and comfortable on his couch, a book in his hands and the sun from the window gilding his hair. Sho stares at him. He looks the same as before Sho had fallen asleep: the other Aiba. Dream Aiba. The whole room is the same, in fact, except for the quality of light that tells him it's nearing sunset.

It can't be.

Sho warily pushes himself up, and that's when he notices the cage. It doesn't look like a cage, but he knows immediately that that's what it is. It's like spidersilk, white and shimmering threads that drift and ripple in an arc just over his head, slanting down to the floor on all sides. Sho blinks at it. "What," he croaks. His mind is screaming at him.

"You slept a long time," Aiba says lightly, conversationally, as he shuts his book. "But that's not surprising."

"What the hell," Sho says, his anger gathering to tighten his voice. "What the actual fuck. What did you do to me?" He takes the cage's threads in his hands. They're soft, but hard as steel, and they glitter as they twist and catch the light. His hand fists, but the threads are stronger than they look; except for a faint warping, they hold fast. "I'm not supposed to be here!"

"Yes you are." Aiba stands up, but Sho refuses to look at him. This isn't right. A dream doesn't last through sleep. He's too conscious, too aware, and fear lodges itself under his breast and swells as suddenly Nino's pitying look comes back to him.

Shit.

"Let me out," he grits. He can feel his brows, drawn dangerously down. He's trembling inside, and maybe it shows; his hands grip so hard at the cage's threads that they must have turned white by now.

"Why?" Aiba sounds mystified.

Sho gawks at him, momentarily stunned by the idiocy of the question. "What do you mean, why? It's illegal! You can't own people!"

"Yes, you can," Aiba says calmly, tilting his head. "I own you, Sho-chan. You're mine now."

The words hit Sho like stones, and his stomach lurches. "This isn't funny," he says, and he means to sound threatening but his voice shakes, losing all its edge, so instead he just sounds scared. "This is a dream. This isn't real. This isn’t my house, I live in an apartment. In Gotanda. Third story! It’s not very big, they don’t pay me enough, the bastards, totally take me for granted, but it’s mine and I live there and if you think I’ll believe—" He builds steam, each word tumbling over the one that comes before it, when Aiba interrupts.

"Sho! Sho, calm down."

"Like hell I'll calm down!" Sho's breath is harsh in his chest.

His eyes must look as wild as he feels, but Aiba gazes back at him calmly, undeterred by Sho's vehemence. Sho is brought up short by the intensity of his gaze. His eyes shine, and for a moment he thinks he sees a flash of gold.

"You're fine," Aiba says, his voice rich and smooth. It coats over Sho, blanketing him, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders. "I'll take care of you."

Their eyes stay locked. Sho feels himself breathe. His ears are warm. "Take care of me?" he mumbles, trying to sound angry but just sounding sullen instead.

"Yes," Aiba says, starting to smile. There are a million promises wrapped up in that smile, and Sho's stomach lurches again, this time for a different reason. "I'm excited, Sho-chan. I've waited a long time for this. And then, there you were, up on that stage, yelping and so pretty, and I knew you were the one I wanted."

Sho feels like he's under some sort of spell, listening to Aiba. He's abruptly aware of his own nakedness again, and where he is: in a cage, on Aiba's floor, in Aiba's power.

"You feel it too, don't you, Sho-chan?" Aiba goes on, leaning forward, his eyes too knowing. They crinkle in pleasure as Sho swallows thickly, and then he says, voice warm with undercurrents, "We're going to have a lot of fun."

Sho's mind goes into overdrive thinking of everything Aiba could mean, and with all he had seen earlier his imagination isn't lacking for much. Visions of himself bent over the back of the couch rise unbidden, and Sho doesn't try to shake them off.

Aiba sits back, looking satisfied. Sho takes a moment to get his thoughts back together from where they'd scattered. He can't seem to gather the same anger.

"You mean," he says, his voice rough, "this is real?"

Aiba actually looks startled at that, and then thoughtful. It transforms his face back to the Aiba Sho knows. Knew, maybe. He isn't sure anymore. "It is and it isn't," Aiba finally says. "Actually, nobody's really figured it out, though there are some ideas people accept more than others. Most people seem to think this is a… a vortex place. People go to sleep and wake up here, and they stop aging, and it's— it's a fantasy world, Sho-chan." He smiles ruefully. "I've been here a long time, so I've kind of forgotten what it's like to be new. Everyone says the transition is more rough on the slaves, though."

Slaves, Sho thinks distantly. I'm a slave.

"You're kidding," he says, even though he can see Aiba isn't. He has no idea what his emotions are doing. They're all a wad in his chest, cramped and indecipherable. He feels worn out even though he's just woken up.

Not a dream, then.

He looks at Aiba again. The sun has mostly set, and the light has turned rosy, casting warm, obvious shadows over Aiba's face and chest. His hair licks against his temples, framing his face. He looks like he's from another world.

"You look," Sho starts, feeling curiously detached from himself. Maybe he needs that to process it. Maybe he's in shock. "I never imagined something like this," he says, quiet.

Aiba tilts his head, a question.

"With you. I've imagined a lot of things, but never… never this."

Aiba's smile returns, sleek and pleased. "Soon, Sho-chan, you won't have to imagine anything."

-

The fog doesn't lift from Sho's mind. He goes through the night while Aiba sleeps trying to sort out his thoughts but mostly going around in circles in a weird, uncaring way. Eventually he just gives up and succumbs to sleep.

The next day is different. Aiba spends the morning puttering around his kitchen. That area of the apartment looks like something out of a Miyazaki film, vibrant with color, bundles of dried herbs pegged to the walls and bubbling pots of various sizes and shapes that Aiba stirs and hums over. Aiba looks at him occasionally, just a look, as if enjoying the fact that Sho is there at all.

Aiba keeps himself busy in other ways, too. He practices yoga on a bright green mat in the middle of the day, and though he wobbles a lot on the standing poses, it doesn't escape Sho's notice that he's limber enough to get into them, and patient enough to stay in them.

He talks to Sho a lot, too, all the time, even though Sho doesn't always talk back. Aiba doesn't seem to expect an answer most of the time, anyway. He babbles about the weather outside, about his hair and how it's time for a haircut, about his other trips to the auction that had been unsuccessful. His voice slips in under Sho's detached state, ever constant.

The cage isn't uncomfortable; the floor is sheeted like a futon, except there's no blanket to cover himself up with, only a pillow if he wants to look silly holding it between his legs. It doesn't seem to matter to Aiba if he does or he doesn't, but Sho still tries to sit in a way that grants him that last bit of modesty, even if it's awkward. He can't stand. The cage is long enough for him to lie down, just barely, and it's high enough for him to kneel, but that's all. There's also a small chamber pot and absolutely no privacy to use it. Sho resists for as long as he can before he gives in, telling himself that it's not any different than using a urinal in a public restroom. No matter which way he turns, there's nowhere to hide from Aiba's openly appreciative gaze.

The situation is not lost on him. He's being turned into a pet. A sex toy that's caged now to be used later. He's upset, but he feels like he should be more upset than he is. Like he should be angry, but he's not. Part of him—a part that he's not ready to acknowledge, not completely—turns hot at Aiba's looks, at his own nakedness and helplessness.

"What's the cage for?" Sho finally asks. There isn't much to do lying around in such a small space.

Aiba has made himself comfortable on his couch with his book again, and a mug of tea that's shaped like a skull. Even with all Aiba's myriad furnishings, the mug looks out of place.

"It's training," Aiba says after sipping. "The basics, anyway. You have a lot to learn."

Like what, Sho thinks, but isn't brave enough to say. His imagination picks up the slack, putting him at Aiba's feet where Aiba guides his head forward until Sho can suckle on his cock like he's always wanted to. Somehow, though, he doubts it will be quite that easy.

"How long will I have to stay in here?" he tries instead.

"Oh," Aiba says vaguely, "it depends on you."

Sho frowns, plucking at his bedding for a moment. "Can I at least have something to do? Something to read, something—"

"Nuh uh," Aiba says, shaking his head, which Sho thinks is totally unfair. But just like before when he'd tried to convince his way into some clothes, Aiba is steadfast, refusing to accede to any of Sho's requests.

For dinner, Aiba cooks him pasta with peppers that bite at his tongue. His arms slip through the threads of the cage, and they ripple back as if in recognition, letting Aiba set the plate down near Sho's feet, then snap back into place as soon as Aiba retreats. "It might be a little spicy," Aiba apologises.

"No fork?" Sho says, staring at the pasta with dismay. But he knows even without Aiba's confirmation that this is the way he's to eat, now.

It's more than a little spicy: it makes Sho sweat so much that he longs for a shower. Aiba stands next to the cage as he eats, his lithe body seeming to soar him. Sho can feel the power of him, the weight of his presence pushing down on his senses. He bows his head over his plate and eats every bite self-consciously.

It happens more often the next day. Aiba watches him with those dangerously interested eyes, pausing sometimes in his yoga, or stopping what he's doing in the kitchen to come stand near Sho's cage, looking down at him steadily until Sho feels small and unsettled.

He seems to have no intention of letting Sho out. One day passes into the next, and still the next. Aiba never leaves, and only disappears occasionally through one of the room's two doors, always coming back a few minutes later. Sho is glad for that; he must be crazy, but being left alone entirely would be horrible.

Slowly, Sho gets used to his confinement. His legs are sore and he hasn't bathed in days; he smells ripe and feels grungy, but his modesty has faded, and when Aiba rakes hungry eyes over him, he can't deny to himself that he likes the way it makes him feel.

It's just when he's wrapped his mind around this that Aiba lets him out. It's mid-morning, and Aiba stands next to Sho's cage in his bare feet. Aiba's presence bears down on him, and Sho avoids looking up into his eyes, focusing on his neatly-trimmed toenails instead. "You've waited quite a while," Aiba says, and Sho is startled into paying closer attention. "I really didn't think you'd take this long, but what do I know. Still, all things considered," Aiba goes on, and Sho can't believe it—Aiba's fingers are slipping between the threads, separating them from each other as easily as a woman opens her purse, "it could have been longer. But thank goodness it wasn't, I didn't really want to wait anymore either. Well?"

Sho stares, baffled, and Aiba turns that knowing smile on him. "Stand up, Sho-chan."

It seems too good to be true. Carefully he pushes himself up. His legs protest, unused to holding his weight, and he winces as he rises and all the blood rushes down into his feet, but it feels good—his muscles remember how to move. Aiba catches his elbow to keep him from teetering over, and Sho is struck by how Aiba still seems so tall, dominant, in a way he'd never really noticed before. It's only a few centimeters, Sho thinks. And yet the days in the cage seem to have changed his perception in more ways than one.

Aiba inhales, scenting deeply. "Mmm, masculine," he says, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. "You're not only a pretty package, you have a good scent, too." He sounds like he's congratulating himself again.

"You've got to be kidding," Sho retorts, but anticipation tingles under his skin; this is different. Something is happening, and he has no idea what to expect from Aiba anymore.

Aiba laughs. "You think so? Let me tell you, there's nothing as disappointing as a man that looks pretty but smells sour."

Sho doesn't know what to say to that.

"I bet you're ready for a bath, aren't you?" Aiba says knowingly.

"Yes," Sho says, immediately awash with the fantasy of hot water, soap, and a long, wonderful soak. "Am I having one? Oh, God."

Aiba laughs at him again, rich and pleased, like Sho has done something right, and leads Sho there. Not that Sho needs to be led; he's hardly unaware of where the tub is. Aiba has used it every day, sometimes for hours at a time, and Sho has watched him with both envy and fascination. It's a sunken tub on top of a raised platform, wide enough for several people, nearly a small pool. Sho hurries up the steps. The water steams, and this close up, he can smell the scent of lavender. Aiba must have added oils.

"Go ahead," Aiba says from behind him, and when Sho turns, he finds Aiba stripping off his shirt. Aiba's chest is long, lean, and patterned with a ripple of muscle. At once, Sho notices the caramel splatter of a birthmark on his shoulder, and right between Aiba's pectorals, where there's a rip of a scar, light in the gold of his skin.

Aiba takes his pants off next, without even a moment's thought for modesty. Aiba catches him looking as he gathers his pants off the floor and tosses them in the hamper. "Sho-chan," Aiba says, "not getting in?"

"Oh, no— I was— I mean. Never mind." Sho turns away, trying to turn his mind away, too. He lowers himself into the bath and it's immediate bliss. The heat coats his skin, holding him. He sinks down into it until only his face is above the water and just floats, basking, because he can.

Aiba joins him a moment later, sleek legs rippling the water, and Sho gets a good eyeful before he sinks all the way into the bath, raising little waves that force Sho to sit up so they don't smack him in the face. "There," Aiba says with a pleasured sigh. "That's better."

Sho knows he shouldn't stare, but he can't help it. Sho can see limber muscles flex beneath Aiba's skin, and he's already starting to glisten from the steam and the heat. Aiba is impish, bright, and completely naked, right within reaching distance.

Aiba meets his gaze with a dazzlingly white grin. "Feel good?"

Sho blinks, averting his eyes. "Yeah."

"C'mere," Aiba says. At Sho's startled look, he elaborates, "Let me wash you off."

"W-wash me?" Sho stutters, his cock saying hell yes while the rest of him gets confused. It shouldn't be so easy for Aiba to make him feel this way. He should feel betrayed, or pissed off, or something, after days being kept in a cage, but all he feels is hornier than before. It's not as though Aiba's been unkind, after all, Sho rationalizes. Strange, but not unkind.

Aiba isn't waiting for Sho to agree. He gets out of the tub, dripping water everywhere and giving Sho a glorious display of his nakedness again, and returns with a giant, fluffy sponge and mottled stone. The stone lathers when Aiba rubs on it, and then he's advancing on Sho and manhandling him around before Sho can even sputter.

And oh, it feels good. Sho's reluctance vanishes under Aiba's hands, which he makes extensive use of alongside the sponge. Aiba's fingers dapple down his neck, massaging out knots and kinks with authority as Aiba goes to it, lathering Sho's back, his chest, scraping the sponge over his nipples. Sho's body hums with pleasure before he realizes how close Aiba really is—right there, his chest brushing Sho's arm, his mouth smiling near Sho's ear.

"This is great," Sho mumbles, more than willing to overlook a few days in a cage if this is what he gets for it.

Aiba's fingers grip the back of his neck in answer, and the sponge goes lower, leaving a blanket of bubbles on the surface of the water as Aiba's hand wanders down between Sho's legs. The sponge is coarse, and for a moment it's too much. Sho inhales sharply as his cock, already thickening, jumps at the friction. Sho moans as the sponge caresses him in long, light strokes, and Aiba takes time to give his balls equal attention. Rationality leaves him entirely, and he spreads his legs for more, his head falling back against Aiba's wrist.

"Look at you," Aiba murmurs thickly with approval, and it adds to the knot of pleasure kinking tighter in Sho's groin. The touch of the sponge is gone, and then it's Aiba's hand clamping at Sho's balls, so tight Sho almost spurts his load into the bath water. It's only a valiant desire to not dirty them both that keeps him from doing it. "You're so easy. Look how quickly your dick popped up for me."

Sho is white-hot, and Aiba's words only make it wonderfully worse. He opens his eyes ready to pull Aiba to him, desperate to rub their bodies together, but Aiba is looking at him with those gleeful gold eyes and a wide, wicked grin, and the memory of him towering over Sho, powerful and dominant, flickers in Sho's gut. He lies still, and Aiba strokes the insides of his thighs.

There's assurance in the rest of the way Aiba washes him, all the way down to his toes and between them. There's no deference to it, Sho realizes suddenly. He's not trying to pleasure Sho, but touching Sho for his own enjoyment.

"Now," Aiba says, "turn around."

"Hn?" Sho says, confusion breaking through the lust. Aiba's already done his back. What could he possibly--

"Your ass," Aiba elaborates. "No point if we're not thorough."

A streak of embarrassment shoots through Sho. It's not that he doesn't like Aiba touching him, because lord knows he does, but to wash his ass like he's some sort of dog? He can't just turn over and subject himself to that. He shakes off the rest of the stupor, feeling himself frown as he sits up squarely, and quickly casts for a distraction. He tries to grab at the sponge, which is bobbing merrily through a mushroom of bubbles. "How about I wash you ins—"

Aiba's hand covers Sho's mouth, the heat of the water clammy on his lips. "Unh uh uh," Aiba says, disorienting Sho with his earnestness enough that he pauses. "Now, turn over."

Not happening, thinks Sho. He shakes his head away from Aiba's restrictive touch and to make another excuse when—

Shit—

He's in the air. "Fuck!" The bath is below him, maybe a meter, and his belly swoops as he envisions falling face first into the water. His arms flail—no. They don't. Nor do his legs. He can't move. A darting glance to his left shows the cuff on his wrist has gone from matte to shining, glossy black. Fuck, fuck. He's pinned in the air, defying gravity, the bathwater dripping off him like he's a rain cloud. "What the hell! What— put me down! Oi!" He hates heights, hates them, and okay, he's no higher than he would be if he were standing, but he's not standing at all. There's only air between him and a full-frontal smack onto the surface of the bath, and it's fucking terrifying.

Aiba calmly steps out of the water and takes Sho's face in his wet hands, forcing it up. "Look, Sho-chan," Aiba says, somehow managing to sound disappointed, sad, and stern at once. He holds Sho's face still so their gazes meet, his palms warm on Sho's cheeks even though Sho is flushed all over with rage and panic. "In the end, I can make you do anything. You don't get to decide."

Sho draws a shuddering breath as the implications of that hit home. "Put me down," he says, not surprised by the shakiness of his voice. "This isn't cool, okay. You can't—" He can. "I am not okay with this! I'd really rather be on my own two feet, okay? Okay?" He's wheedling, whining, almost. "I'll be good, I'll do what you want!" Anything, anything so that Aiba lets him down.

"Oh, but I like you like this," Aiba says, all of a sudden cheeky and playful again. "Though you're awfully noisy."

"Come on," Sho groans.

"Hmmm." Aiba peers closely at him, his eyes clear and interested, and then he turns away, disappearing from Sho's view. When Sho looks down—which is really not down, not at this angle, but instead across the bath, upside down—he sees his cock first, softened slightly with all the commotion and distraction, and then Aiba's lanky legs disappearing through that mysterious door. The panic in Sho rises even higher. Aiba didn't leave him, right?

"Aiba-kun! Aiba? Where are you going? What—what the fuck— Come on! HEY."

"Shh, Sho-chan." Aiba is back, which is an unsatisfying relief.

"Where the hell did you go?" Sho complains, trying to keep Aiba in his sight. It calms him minutely, but not nearly enough. "This isn't comfortable, okay. I really… Could you just… please. Let me down."

"Open your mouth," Aiba says, and Sho does, about to ask why, what for, but before he can say anything his mouth is full of something round and rubbery. Instinctively he tries to spit it out, but Aiba pulls it tight and latches it around the back of his head before he's realized it's a gag.

Sho moans out his distress, his teeth clamping on the rubber, his tongue swathing madly against it in a vain attempt to eject it from his mouth.

"That looks fantastic on you," says Aiba gleefully, his eyes sparkling. "Your mouth was really made for a ball gag. Now! The fun part!"

All of a sudden Sho's body moves, not of his own accord. He folds at the waist, his legs buckling under him but held apart, open. He can't struggle, only grunt against his restraints.

The washcloth is the first thing he feels. It's not as rough at the sponge, but Aiba is thorough, rubbing soap between his cheeks, focusing on the pucker of muscle that is completely exposed for him. Water follows, sluiced warmly over his backside, and then, then there is the unmistakable touch of Aiba's finger, nudging intently. Sho tries to resist--to clench down and keep him out--but Aiba is slow, forceful, wriggling his way in, and soon he's in all the way to the knuckle. Sho bites down on his gag, breathing hard as his body responds.

Aiba hums, light and thoughtful, working his finger in and out, considering. "You're much too tight. I'll have to do some stretching to get you to the right size."

Arousal flashes through Sho, hot and swift, and he whines, his muscles clamping hard on Aiba's finger as he tenses.

Aiba laughs, withdrawing his hand. "Like that idea, huh?" He gives Sho's ass a light, affectionate smack. "Time to wash the rest!"

Sho has been scrubbed all over, and for a moment, Aiba's words don't make sense. He hears Aiba's footsteps moving around, but even craning his head around he can't see. His shoulders are starting to get sore already. Aiba hums to himself; it's the same song he hummed that morning in the kitchen, and the happy bounce to it is incongruous with Sho's speeding heart.

"Have you ever had an enema before, Sho-chan?"

Sho's eyes widen, and he sucks in a hard breath around the gag.

"Hmm?" A hard, unforgiving something touches at Sho's entrance. "Relax, it'll be easier," Aiba murmurs, and he pushes. It slips right in, being much narrower than Aiba's finger. Aiba gives him a pat once it's seated inside. "Oh, if you could se your ass right now," Aiba says in an entirely different tone, and Sho thinks of Aiba standing there, looking at him, so open and vulnerable.

For a few moments, it seems like nothing happens. Sho breathes harshly, his lips stretched wide. He's hyper-alert, staring straight ahead without seeing anything in front of him. Then, he notices the pressure. It comes slowly, a low push inside his stomach, and builds, so that his abdomen starts to distend. "Let me know if you start to cramp, okay?" Aiba says, his voice soothing, and Sho feels Aiba's hand under him, moving in warm, slow circles. His skin extends against Aiba's touch as he grows fuller, and soon he's making short whining sounds around the gag.

"Good boy," Aiba whispers, voice rough with arousal. His hand migrates to Sho's cock, giving it some slow strokes, as if in reward. Sho groans, and it takes him a few moments to realize that the increase of pressure has stopped.

Aiba pets him, everywhere. His cock, where the head gets a light pinch, his balls, which are juggled through skillful fingers, and the muscles of his backside. Aiba's touch coaxes warm moans from Sho despite the tension of having fluid plugged inside him. He even gets a back rub, with Aiba taking his time over Sho's shoulder blades and the muscles of his arms, which are held rigid by whatever weird magic Aiba employs. Sho can't exactly melt, but it's good enough that for a second he even forgets about the gag. But then he tries to swallow, and the rubber ball presses uncomfortably against the roof of his mouth.

Still, Aiba's hands are magical enough to not only compete for his attention, but to win it over—it doesn't hurt that a large part of Sho is undeniably aroused from all this use. He's is too turned on to be alarmed anymore, and he whines, wanting relief, but Aiba doesn't accommodate him.

Instead, Sho is lowered. The magical restraints have been keeping him pinned in the air now move until he stands on his own two feet to the side of the tub, trembling and dazed. Aiba steps in front of him, and Sho can see that he's hard, too. But Aiba doesn't seem to be concerned with that; he unclasps Sho's gag, and when he takes it from Sho's mouth it's shiny with saliva. Sho rubs at his jaw, trying to work the tension from it. Then Aiba reaches around and tugs the tip of the enema bag from between his cheeks.

"There," Aiba says, and points to a low pot just like the one in Sho's cage. Sho feels himself heat even more—unbelievably—as he realizes what Aiba means for him to do. Only a very small part of Sho's brain bothers protesting; the rest of him wants the enema out of his gut, and he's too far gone now to stutter behind his embarrassment, or even to ask Aiba to turn around. He has a feeling Aiba would only laugh, anyway. Face hot, he settles over the pot.

When he's done, Aiba smiles encouragingly at him. "You're doing so well!" he praises. He turns from Sho and takes a seat at the edge of the bath, his legs dangling into the water. "Now, my turn for a wash. Come here."

Sho, already so hard, lets his hands drift between his legs at the pretty picture Aiba makes, lounging there expectantly. Before he can touch himself, though, his hands freeze in place, and not of his own accord--the cuffs have turned matte again. Aiba tsks, his warm brown eyes narrowing. "Just like you are, with your dick saluting me," he says. He smiles, taking the sting out of the chastisement. "You look good like that."

Sho groans, because what, what is all this. He can't believe it's for real, and that he's being turned into Aiba's sex toy, but that deep, dark, desirous part of him is thrilled. He moves to Aiba's side, gathering up the same implements Aiba had used on him. He washes Aiba carefully, watching how the water runs over his skin. Aiba's eyes go sleek, and he makes appreciative, guttural sounds as Sho works. Sho is struck all over again by how otherworldly he is, how beautiful. The desire to please him comes naturally, and Sho keeps the sponge working in a smooth caress, his own arousal growing as he works his way to Aiba's groin.

Aiba's treatment of him during his own washing comes back to Sho, but this is utterly different. There is no question that Aiba is still the one in control, even with Sho in charge of the sponge, and as Sho covers Aiba's cock in suds, he keeps his touch worshipful and gentle.

Aiba's response is unreserved: he lets out every sound and shivers every shiver, as if he's ready to come the entire time Sho touches him. Fascinated, Sho trades the sponge for his slippery hand, and for a moment he fantasizes about wrapping his lips around Aiba, but before he can Aiba jerks, releasing an arc of hot white seed that flies right into the bath. Sho looks up, watching the way the orgasm crosses unrestrained over Aiba's face.

For a long moment, there's silence. Then Aiba, boneless and smiling, sighs, turning dreamy eyes and their lightly fluttering lashes to Sho. Without needing to be asked, Sho gets the nearby bucket and sluices water over Aiba's crotch, letting the suds slip away.

When he's done Aiba rises, pulling his long body straight up to the ceiling in a stretch. His back curves in a generous arch, and then he takes up a fluffy towel and starts to dry himself. Sho waits. Surely it's his turn, now? He's so hard it's starting to hurt. He waits impatiently as Aiba wraps himself up in a yukata that had been hanging nearby, and the dark blue fabric creates a V of contrast down his chest.

Without warning, Sho's feet leave the floor again, and he yelps. Whatever power is in these cuffs, Aiba isn't afraid to use it, and Sho feels the adrenaline flash through him yet again. How reliable is this shit anyway? His heart is loud in his ears and blood surges through him, fear mingling with excitement at the promise of his own well-deserved orgasm.

He's floated away from the bath, with Aiba walking along at his side, to that door he'd seen Aiba walk through before. It's a much smaller room than the main area, but lined with the same sorts of shelves, except these are nearly empty. Only one shelf holds anything of note, and when Sho catches sight of what's there, his heart flutters even faster. Too fast. There are dildos, small crops and paddles, and Sho even sees a pair of cuffs. This is where the gag and enema bag had come from, he realizes. Then he's turned away, placed over a clean white platform. He's not quite lowered onto it; he hovers several centimeters up, still held helpless.

"This is our playroom," Aiba tells him cheerfully. "I don't have a lot of toys yet, but in a few weeks we'll have a party to show you to all my friends, and they'll probably have some warming gifts." He gives Sho's ass a pat, as if to reassure him. "But before then we have to get you all ready."

A touch comes again at his entrance, and Sho presses his lips together. He's already learned not to complain too much; he doesn't want the gag back. His mouth still aches from it.

"Hmmm," Aiba says, sounding distracted. "Can't start too big." Something wet brushes against him next. It's definitely Aiba's finger, spreading lube all over and pushing just past the ring of his muscle to work some inside.

"What—," Sho ventures, and then has to clear his throat when it comes out too rough. "What are you going to do?"

"The sooner we start stretching you out to the right size, the better," Aiba says in that distressingly friendly tone. "It'll take several sessions at least. I want to make sure you're just right, and I definitely don't want to break you."

"That's not reassuring," Sho says, voice tight. He hears something buzzing.

"Well, if you do get too big, I can always use some of Jun-chan's ointment to tighten the muscle and try again, but it's best just to get it right the first time."

A vibrating dildo is pressed to Sho's hole, and with some coaxing and pushing, Aiba forces it inside. It feels giant, much larger than Aiba's single finger, and immediately the vibrations jangle through him, down through his balls and into his cock. He's overwhelmed within moments, turned on beyond everything that's happened to him in his life up till now. He growls and strains, panting between each whine--he can't hold it in, and he doesn't even bother trying. It's still not enough, nothing at all is enough. His cock is hard as stone and feels just as heavy. Aiba doesn't touch it. Aiba doesn't touch him at all.

Time just goes on, Sho and the vibrator and the arousal that's turned too intense. His skin is too tight for him, and he twitches and jerks in his bonds. Sho turns into a sobbing mess, a puddle of tears and precome.

Sho has nearly given up when Aiba reaches underneath him, his touch a shock that unravels Sho down to his very marrow. His vision goes dark and with a jerk, jizz splatters all over the nice white table. The aftershocks stay for a long time. It's hard for him to catch his breath. Aiba pets him again, whispering in his ear, telling him he's been good.

When Sho manages to gather the energy to seek out Aiba with his eyes, Aiba is smiling beatifically. He strokes Sho's sweaty hair from his brow and murmurs more praise before wiping Sho off with a cool cloth. "I didn't know you could curse like that," Aiba says.

Sho expects the dildo to come out next, but it doesn't. It feels strange, buzzing happily away while Sho is dull and spent. "Aren't you going to—to take that out? We're done, aren't we?"

"Eh? Oh, no! Of course not. That was hardly long enough to relax the muscles." Aiba's fingers are flitting everywhere. Sho feels them down his ribs and then tickling at his nipple, as if he's trying to learn the shape of Sho's body by touch.

"But," Sho starts, but all his thoughts abort before he can figure out the words for them. There doesn't seem to be a point, right now, and he hardly has the energy to argue.

The dildo stays in for what seems like forever. Aiba, fascinated by Sho's crotch, focuses there for most of the time, tugging playfully at Sho's soft cock and shifting around the foreskin. He pulls Sho's balls, and just a touch too far—Sho curses again in a sharp burst, and his reflexes would've made him kick Aiba if he hadn't been restrained. "It'd be nice if these were lower," Aiba tells him, letting Sho's balls sit heavily in his palm, "but that can wait. Slow steps!" And Sho knows that Aiba means it, that it's a promise of things to come, and that, plus the way Aiba is steadily, constantly playing with him, starts a new flicker of arousal.

That, plus the tirelessly buzzing dildo inside him. Sho is seriously starting to think that the batteries in the thing should be dying by now—except, he realizes, maybe it runs on magic too. Maybe it never dies. Maybe Aiba's going to leave the damn thing in forever, and the thought gives him another dark thrill. His cock responds, too, growing heavier with blood.

Maybe he'll die by over-sexing, Sho thinks tiredly.

But no. Aiba seems to have some mercy. The vibrating stops abruptly, and Aiba wriggles it out of him with a crude schlurp. Sho's ass feels loose, the sudden vacancy odd after hours of having the dildo in.

Sho hardly notices as he's transported this time—he's worn out, sore from being in one position for so long, and when Aiba lowers him into his cage again he hardly stirs, not even to take care of his erection. He's ready to fall asleep, and his lids lower, his awareness slipping, when Aiba suddenly says, "Finish it, Sho. Touch yourself."

The words are low, insistent, and Sho's hands move before he thinks. Not that he has any thought left to think. He holds his hot flesh in his hand and strokes himself without a single complaint. Somewhere in the thick fog of his mind he knows Aiba is watching him. The knowledge pushes him, and he jerks his wrist until he feels orgasm come over him in a slow, engulfing wave.

He sleeps.