I'm trying to work on "Memories," but this particular plot bunny is concentrating on gnawing through my ankle and I need this foot. This story's for mandapandabug, who seems to like the way I write and really really wants Jou angst. Enjoy, m'dear!
Okay, obligatory warnings. YAOI, as always. Not shounen-ai. Yaoi. Men screwing men. Rape. Violence. Language. Angst. All that good stuff.
And I still don't own Yuugiou, but as soon as I can buy it either on Ebay or in a can, I will.
He'd always thought there was something about him, maybe in the way he carried himself, proud and regal, or maybe in his utter lack of fear. Nothing bothered Kaiba Seto.
That lack of fear was the reason they fought. That same arrogance grated on Jonouchi's nerves, fraying them until they were about to snap. Every time they were face to face, they argued. It irritated Jou that he cold never get a rise out of Kaiba, that he was always the one to throw the first punch. It made him seem volatile, out of control, and Jou hated that more than anything. But Kaiba just plain bothered him.
It wasn't that he liked getting into fights, nor that he particularly liked getting beaten. It all came down to the control issue. Kaiba's guard was perfect. There was no façade with him; what you saw was what you got. There was no "under the surface," Kaiba was himself plain and simple.
Maybe he admired him, just a little. Maybe he envied his lone-wolf status, his complete detachment from everything. Maybe he envied the fact that Kaiba could be himself, without worrying about his parents, friends, whatever. He loved Mokuba, but he didn't put on a masquerade for his brother's benefit. Not like Jou; he always had to be the strong one when Shizuka was around.
So he put up with his father's beatings, he cleaned up after the man had passed out drunk on the couch, he played the model son at home. But all that anger had to go somewhere, and he'd be damned if he took it out on himself. He'd suffered enough, right?
So he fought. He roamed the streets, just waiting for some punk-ass little gang to start harassing him, and he'd go at them. Sometimes he beat them, but more often they beat him, being outnumbered sometimes ten or fifteen to one. Didn't really matter; he was exhausted afterwards, and he'd stagger home and fall into bed, too tired to think, too tired to hurt.
He knew that his friends couldn't ever find out. No one could. He couldn't explain to them why he needed to fight, and he didn't want them trying to fix it for him. Bad enough that they were uncomfortable with him living in the same apartment as his dad, but if they knew that the elder Jonouchi sometimes beat him so badly he could barely walk, they'd be all over it, offering to let Jou stay with them. He loved them too much to get them involved, especially where his drunk, half-sane father was concerned.
He wouldn't. There was no need for him to infringe on their lives. His dad wasn't that bad. The bruises faded.
But he was rambling. What was it he was thinking about? Ah, yes. Kaiba.
Kaiba was beautiful. He didn't know it, probably wouldn't have done more than laugh if Jou told him. But Jou couldn't help staring as the CEO walked by in the hallway, watch as those sapphire eyes flicked towards him, acknowledging the fact that Jou was there. That was how Kaiba worked, and Jou was only too happy to go along with it. He never said hello, he never smiled or nodded or waved, just that brief glance before he was swallowed up by the crowd of uniform-clad students making their way to the next class.
Maybe "swallowed up" wasn't the best term; with his height and distinctive chestnut hair, Kaiba didn't blend in well with teenagers. He didn't look like a teenager, and he always seemed out of place in his PE uniform, as if he had the sort of body, or maybe the sort of demeanour, that couldn't wear street clothes. Ah, but Jou appreciated the rare glimpse of Kaiba's long, slender legs, bared by the short PE shorts.
Beautiful. Pale, cold, perfect, like a statue carved from ice. No, that was a bad comparison. Kaiba's eyes weren't ice, they were blue flame, burning and intense, ready to devour anyone who dared get in his way.
Maybe that was why Jou argued with him. He loved to see the firmly-repressed fury smouldering in those perfect cerulean orbs, he loved the way Kaiba's full lips pressed in a thin line when he was angry. And he loved the way Kaiba's entire body tensed, the muscles tightening under that gorgeous skin, giving him an air of power, of danger, like a wolf that would bite your hand off if you got too close.
Bite your hand off and then tear out your throat.
That was the problem. Kaiba was a wolf and Jou was a dog. Kaiba was proud, fierce, free, and it rankled Jou that he had nothing to hold him back. Jou was broken, scared, an abused puppy with a short temper. He was sick of it.
He was perfectly content to sneak around. He didn't mind that Kaiba never took him anywhere, for fear that they would be caught by a reporter or something, and he didn't mind that he could only go to Kaiba's manor under the cover of darkness. He didn't need a public relationship, because he knew, deep down, that Kaiba did care for him, no matter what he said.
But a six months into their relationship, Jou realized that he'd been wrong about Kaiba. He wasn't perfect. He wasn't as cold, dispassionate, reserved, or even as strong as Jou had thought. He didn't mind, strangely. Jou sort of liked the idea that he was one of the privileged few that got to see this side of Kaiba.
When Kaiba was ten years old, his stepfather raped him.
Jou had kind of always suspected something like that. The proverbial skeleton in the closet. Kaiba's life seemed too perfect to be true: no adult supervision, more money than God, and complete freedom. But as he got to know Kaiba better, as the coldhearted CEO opened up to him, he realized that his life had been hell, and that Jou's own paled in comparison.
Of course, that was Jou's expert opinion. He'd never told Kaiba; he suspected that Kaiba would decide to "save" him, but, truth was, Jou couldn't leave. His father needed him, needed the money he earned working part-time at the Kame Game Shop, needed Jou to take care of him. So he kept quiet, and if Seto's roaming hands ever discovered a bruise or cut, Jou had an excuse ready and waiting in the wings.
Not that Seto's hands wandered much. It hadn't taken Jou long to figure out that his boyfriend (he hated that term; it seemed so juvenile) was terrified of physical contact. He'd never thrown the first punch in their arguments because he was scared to touch Jou, scared that something bad would happen. It wasn't surprising; after all, Kaiba had never associated affection with contact. If Gozaborou ever touched him, it was in a way entirely inappropriate for a middle-aged man to touch a young boy.
Needless to say, Jou and Kaiba had never had sex. Nearly a year and a half now, and whenever Jou finally managed to get Kaiba into a bed, or even on a couch, the CEO would freak out and Jou would spend the rest of the night soothing him and trying to prevent another panic attack.
Not that Jou forced Kaiba. He wouldn't ever do that to anyone, but it was so hard for him to be happy with a platonic relationship. He would have been satisfied if Kaiba had merely wanted to take things slowly, if he'd wanted to wait a while before they slept together, but that wasn't the case.
Kaiba refused to sleep with him. Flat-out refused. He claimed he was dirty, and that he couldn't give Jou what he wanted. Jou would never understand, not until he'd been through it, and Kaiba wanted him to save himself for someone he loved. Kaiba didn't want to take Jou's virginity, didn't want to be the one responsible for defiling him.
But how could he, when the one he loved was the one who denied him? Seto always shrugged it off as a joke or Jou's naturally-passionate nature whenever the blonde told him he loved him.
Jou meant every word. He was in love with Kaiba.
So here he was, lounging on a street corner in the red light district, waiting. Not for a whore, but for someone to notice the scared, innocent-looking boy standing in the cold, shivering, trying to look for all the world like he was hopelessly lost, that he wasn't even aware what a bad area of town this was.
It didn't take much for him to look scared and lost. He was terrified. The waiting was the worst part; he wanted to run, and nothing but his own stubbornness kept his feet rooted to the ground.
He didn't have to wait long.
Jou glanced over at the man who had spoken. He was handsome, tall and long-haired, dressed like a clubber in leather, fishnet, studs and spikes. Maybe five, six years older than Jou. Not middle-aged, but too old to be going after seventeen-year-old boys. And there was no doubt that Jou was seventeen; he was still wearing his uniform.
The man was high. Jou could smell the weed on him.
"Um, hi," Jou said. "I'm a bit lost, could ya maybe help me out?"
"Sure thing, kid. First, I'd like you to do a favour for me, if it's not too much trouble." He took a step down the alleyway, beckoning for Jou to follow him.
"Sure, what is it?"
"I just need your help with something." They were nearing the end of the alley now, and unless Jou turned and ran past the man, there was no way out. His heart was hammering in his chest; he was more scared than he'd ever been in his life.
Someone grabbed him and Jou yelped. There were more of them! People melted out of the shadows, people dressed in the same manner as the first man. Just his luck; he got picked up by a gang leader. Jou tried to wrench out of the grip, suddenly changing his mind. He wanted out and he wanted out now. "Let go a' me!"
"I don't think so, pretty. Our help comes with a price."
"I don' need help! I'll find it myself!"
"Shut him up."
Jou exhaled in a rush as a boy with a strong grip and heavy fists buried one in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You pick."
"Please, I don'—jus' lemme go—"
"I'm sick of listening to your whining. All looks and no brain, are you? We're not letting you go, not until we've had our fun."
"Why? I'm not even a girl!"
"You're pretty enough to be one. Besides," the leader smirked at him, and Jou wondered why he'd ever thought him handsome, "boys are so much tighter than girls."
Jou whipped his head around and bit the boy who'd punched him. He thought he'd gotten an ear, but he wasn't entirely sure until he spit out the chunk of cartilage with a few studs in it. Yep. That was an ear.
"Shit! He bit me!" The boy let go, but not before ten others had a hold on him. "My ear! He bit half my ear off!"
"Gag him." The leader unwound the bandanna tied around his wrist and tossed it to another of his cronies. "Make sure he can't fight back."
Hands forced his mouth open, tying the cloth securely between his teeth, so he couldn't spit it out. It even muffled his screams, he found out quickly.
He was used to being beaten. His father had a temper, and he was strong. But he'd never ever felt anything like this. A constant rain of fists marring his skin, heavy boots thudding into his sensitive stomach, fingernails tearing at his arms, face, chest, as they ripped his clothes away. He couldn't cry out, and the tears that spilled down his cheeks soaked into the gag.
By the time they were done he was bleeding, bruised, and he was sure that a few ribs were shattered completely. He was naked, his arms bound behind him with someone's studded belt wrapped around his wrists. He tried pleading through the gag, but nothing more than a garble of muffled words managed to make their way out.
He was dazed from blows to the head, and he had to blink several times to focus properly on anything. Blood was trickling into one eye and down his face, further obscuring his vision.
The same hands that had beaten him held him still now, forcing his legs opened with insistent tugs on his knees and ankles. He managed to make out the leader's face before his entire body went rigid with agony.
Inside him ... inside him ... the man was sheathed to the hilt in his slender body, having forced his way past the tight ring of guardian muscle with a shuddering gasp. You don't fit, Jou wanted to cry out, arching his back and letting out a low, animal-like moan. Too big, too much. He was splitting Jou in two, right down the center, and it hurt. Oh, God, it hurt.
He bit down on the gag as the man rocked back, drawing out of him with an agonizing slowness and slamming back in. A roar tore from his throat, a scream, a cry, and a plea all in one. Tears coursed down his cheeks with abandon, and his eyes begged for mercy, for sympathy.
He was given none.
The man pounded into him, each bone-jarring movement eliciting a scream or a whimper from the boy. Jou could feel blood flowing down his legs, feel himself being torn beyond repair.
And then the man froze, and something hot and burning spilled out inside Jou, milky white mingling with the blood streaking his thighs. The man gave a shuddering moan and withdrew.
Through a haze of pain, Jou just barely managed to make out those words, and as his dazed mind worked to decipher their meaning—Next?—another, younger man took the leader's place between Jou's legs.
Somewhere in the sky, an angel wept for him as rain washed away the blood and tears.
Kaiba Seto was unhappy. He hadn't seen Jou in three days, not since he'd shoved him away and told him that he couldn't sleep with him. The memory of the crestfallen look on his puppy's face still hurt, and at the time Seto hadn't even realized that he would take it the wrong way. Jou took everything the wrong way.
He didn't seem to place much value on himself, and Seto couldn't figure out where that had come from. For all his macho posturing, he had remarkably low self-esteem. And it wasn't until this evening that he realized why Jou was avoiding him.
He thought it was something he'd done. He thought it was some error on his part, his fault that Kaiba couldn't sleep with him. Seto pounded his fist on the steering wheel of his red Mercedes as he peered through the rain.
So maybe he'd been a bit dramatic. Maybe he should have focused on Jou a little more, rather than depending on his boyfriend to be free therapy. It was so obvious that something was wrong with the blonde; he was always covered in bruises.
It was a new experience for Seto to be able to talk to someone, though. He was just so relieved to finally tell another human being what Gozaborou had done to him, that maybe he'd gone a little overboard. He swore to whatever god was listening that if he got his puppy back he'd make Jou talk. He'd make Jou tell him what was wrong.
But the "getting the puppy back" part seemed to be harder than it had first appeared.
Seto had already checked his apartment, and no one had been home. He hadn't been working at the game shop, nor staying over at Yuugi's house. In fact, Yuugi had been completely panicked when he heard his best friend was missing, and it had been all Seto could do to convince the little duelist to stay home, "In case Jou calls." He knew that Jou tended to gravitate toward the less-reputable areas of town, and the last thing Seto needed was to have to supervise a cute, innocent little thing like Yuugi walking the streets dressed in leather.
He'd went to Ryou's apartment, even though he didn't think Ryou was very close to Jonouchi, and his puppy hadn't been there. He wasn't at Honda's or Anzu's either, and Honda was currently out on his bike searching the other side of Domino. Seto had even called Malik, although the Egyptian lived all the way in Tokyo. Surprise, surprise, Jou wasn't there.
Where could his puppy have gone? It was cold and raining, and Jou hated getting wet unless he was swimming. It wasn't like him to run off without leaving a note or something. Seto checked his watch. 11:30. On a school night. Where on earth was he?
He was nearing the red light district, and he really didn't feel like warding off amorous whores today. He was dressed in his typical business suit, and probably didn't look seventeen, but they must have known who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He was about to turn around when a flash of gold caught his eye.
Seto pulled the car to the curb and threw the door open. Shielding himself from the rain, he called for his puppy again. "Jonouchi?"
"Kaiba ... ?" It was so weak and so muffled by the rain that Seto couldn't be sure he'd heard it at all. He got out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and walked towards the voice.
"Jonouchi, where are you?"
"'M righ' here ... "
There he was. Curled on his side in the middle of a dark alleyway, completely naked. Had he been mugged, maybe ... ?
Seto knew better. He ran to his puppy, cradling the blonde in his arms. Jou whimpered as the rough asphalt grated on his wounds.
He looked terrible. Bruised from head to toe, gashes and scrapes marring his tanned skin. "My God, puppy," Seto whispered, fingers expertly checking for broken bones. "What happened to you?"
Jou spread his legs slightly in answer to Seto's question, and Seto bit back a scream when he saw the wide swaths of blood mixed with semen on the insides of his thighs. "No," Seto whispered, cupping Jonouchi's face in one hand. "No, please tell me they didn't—"
"I was raped, Kaiba." Jonouchi closed his stunning copper eyes, as if it hurt just to say it. Seto knew from experience that it did. "There were jus' too many of them ... "
"How many?" Seto choked out.
"Ten ... maybe twelve. Couldn' see well. I dunno."
"They didn't all—?"
"Maybe. Mos' of 'em anyways. I don' really remember anything past the first four."
"My God," Seto said again, clutching Jonouchi to his chest. "Why were you here? Why did you go with them? I know you know better than that!"
Jou opened his eyes and smiled at him, a weary smile that scared Seto beyond all belief. "I want you t' be able t' touch me. I'm dirty now, Seto. Jus' like you. Jus' as dirty as you."
(A/N: Well, that was depressing. I kinda like it, though. Let me know what you think, leave me a nice lil' review! Luff and stuff! Mwah!)