Tchan-san says...

'Short FujiHana ficlet, just in time for the new blog layout. XD Comments to my LJ.'

Of Pain and Violence
by Tchan

Fujima was always violent in bed and last night had been no different, except that he had been more than usual.

He uttered a soft groan as he tried to move, silken sheets crumpling along with the movement of his limbs. He promptly grimaced as pain shot through his entire body very much like the sensation of being slammed against the wall, a hard, throbbing pain that refused to go away even though more than ten seconds have passed. So much for moving. He went back to remaining completely still and wondered how he was to go about the rest of the day without having to grimace every five seconds - that is, how he was going to manage walking with the obvious obliterating soreness in his buttocks.

Damn.

He knew he would feel like this in the morning, as though someone had taken a continuous beating around his anal area (which, he technically had). And he knew that Fujima would stop if he had so much as asked. Yet he didn’t. Not a word, he bore the pain - and pleasure - in silence, as he lay there on his stomach face-down, his hands and feet bound and tied to the four corners of his bedpost, leaving him helplessly spread-eagled on his own bed while Fujima fucked the hell out of him. Pounding in and out of his ass as though there were no tomorrow, unleashing a silent animal that had been pent up during the silent walk home. Full of anger, full of frustration with every invading thrust.

And still he had borne it in silence, biting down his lower lip until he had drawn blood from the pain. Tasted the familiar metallic tang on his mouth.

His wrists still chafed from the bonds, a thin line of dark pink marking his pale skin. Another soft groan - he needed to get moving, yet found no energy to do so. His eyes traveled downwards to survey the "damage": tiny bite marks circled both his nipples, the left side of his neck slightly purple, and his ass - well, he couldn’t see his ass. He would have to look later.

He wondered if he was crazy, or had gone mad.

He wondered if he was crazy, or had gone mad.

He wondered why he loved it.

He wondered why he hated it.

The bed shifted as tousled brown hair poked itself out from underneath the sheets, a soft moan reaching his ears. Promptly he looked down, watching the cause of his both pain and pleasure wrestle with sheets with child-like frustration, legs stretching to and fro in an effort to smooth the tangled sheets. Watching him struggle like that and the child-like countenance he bore made him seem more innocent than he really was.

He laughed.

Innocent? That was the farthest thing you could ever describe Kenji Fujima. He would readily laugh in the face of anyone who would remark that Kenji Fujima looked as innocent as a blushing virgin.

Of course, to do so would reach Fujima’s ears and that would probably earn him another rough tumble in the sheets, not that he really complained. After all he certainly didn’t complain about last night’s "punishment" sex, (or at least that was what he thought of it, and it was what he called rough sex), and it seemed as though he wouldn’t be for a long, long time. He didn't know whether he hated the violence or loved it. Another thing he hated about Fujima-Fujima made him contradict himself.

To be used like that was no funny joke. To be someone’s sex toy - that was sheer embarrassment, especially to his towering-more-than-ten-centimeter-taller-than-Fujima self. He knew he wasn’t passive by nature (not anywhere near), yet that all changed when subjected to Fujima’s presence (no puns intended).

He almost welcomed it: Fujima’s overpowering presence, his controlling demeanor.

He wanted to be angry, truly he did. Wanted to sit up, heave the sheets frustration and yell and simply be angry. Yet no matter what he did, he felt no anger. Only pain from Fujima’s violence. But not one shred of anger did he feel towards Fujima - and perhaps, that would someday be the death of him.

But for now, it was a part of his life.

END