roneal | (no subject)

One. A single red line blooms. Jade could almost see the exact instant that the blood rushes to Shinjirou's skin, marking the exact place where the whip had landed. He waits, allowing the pain to spread.

Two. A second line appears next to the first, with less than an inch between them. Jade frowns, dissatisfied. He had wanted the two lashes to be side by side.

"Do you understand why I'm doing this?" He adjusts his stance, watching Shinjirou tremble and forcing himself to feel nothing - no hesitance, no guilt, no exhilaration.

Three.

By the time the second lash connects, he's got enough air in his lungs. Crying out, his muscles burning with tension as he fights his urge to flee, Shinjirou makes no attempt to swallow down the pain and rage he's felt the entire day. It spills out as screams and gasps, leaving the sensation of a knife being shoved down his throat behind.

"I, I'm not sure?" His voice is raw, just like his back, or so he imagines. It certainly feels like skin's tearing. The third time, his scream pitches high enough to let an echo of it ring through his head, ears pulsating. His chest heaves, and for a second he isn't sure that up is still up and down still down.

Once the world has stopped turning, he whimpers, "To help me."

This time, the whip doesn't come down. Instead, Jade steps forward, brushing the edge of the braided leather along the latest weal in a gesture that was almost gentle.

"Precisely." Shinjirou's screams are still ringing in his ears, but he doesn't allow that to deter him. Shinjirou doesn't seem to understand the purpose of this exercise, if his first - more honest - response is anything to go by. But he'll allow him to pretend. It's of no use if Shinjirou doesn't figure it out on his own. Perhaps it won't work for him anyway; maybe he won't find pain to be a facilitator of atonement, or maybe this sort of pain is too intense for him to learn to enjoy.

It doesn't matter. As long as he drives home the fact that Shinjirou is his, he would have achieved his purpose here.

Jade steps away again. This time, when the whip comes down, it's in a different angle, cutting over the previous three lashes.

Instead of flinching away from the touch, he presses back into it. He's not forgotten that he isn't supposed to move, but he wants to show, badly, that he's full of gratitude. His face is wet, tongue dry, throat sore and his back is beyond words. He smiles, forehead dropping onto the wall. "Thank you."

Then he screams in agony again, face twisting up. New warmth trickles down his back, wet spots blooming on the tender skin. His world's melting at the edges. Welcoming it with a sigh, he checks his posture. Today, he's been a disappointment. It's time to change that -- and Jade's giving him another chance. A way to get the anger out of his system, to mellow out. And he can feel it wash over him as the desperation floods out, with every cry.

Acceptance. Serenity.

Or maybe he does understand. Jade hopes so.

Five. Six. Seven... Fifteen lashes. By the time he's done, his arm is aching, but it's nothing compared to the pain in his ears and the throbbing in his head. He's been careful not to break skin again, but the last blow he lands almost directly on top of the previous one. Jade watches, struggling to remain detached, as blood seeps from the shallow cut, mingling with the previous trickles. It drips down Shinjirou's back and towards the whip, a deep crimson that Jade can't help but find beautiful, even now.

He's tired, all of a sudden. The whip is lowered to his side, a few drops of blood rolling from its length to splotch onto the wooden floor.

"That's enough," he says, careful not to betray any hint of his weakness.

His cries first rise, then drop in volume, and eventually find a middle ground. It's good, not knowing where the next lash will land, makes everything worse. Makes everything better. His eyes burn as badly as some of the streaks the whip carves into his back. And then, at some point, it comes to a halt.

As if sedated, it takes his brain about a minute until Jade's words compute. This is it, they're done.

Reluctantly, Shinjirou lowers his arms. The movement presses more blood out of the open cuts and he hisses, but doesn't falter. Before he turns around, he glances over his shoulder, allowing Jade to watch for another moment. Nervous twitches run through his nerve endings; it tickles.

Slowly, with the aid of the wall, he brings himself to his knees. Even more slowly, he crawls towards Jade. He's been sweating and crying the entire time and doesn't want to stain Jade's clothes -- but he's overcome with the need to nuzzle his leg, like an animal, and does it despite his wet face. His voice is broken. This is the only way he can show his gratitude.

He watches with growing concern as Shinjirou drags himself forward. Had he pushed him too far? He's weak-limbed, shaky beyond belief, his every movement such an obvious strain that Jade wonders if he'll pass out.

But then Shinjirou starts nuzzling at his leg, and Jade knows he's alright for now. It's strange to have someone pressed up against him like that, stranger still to feel wetness soaking through the fabric of his slacks. But it doesn't inspire revulsion as he thought it would; if anything, he feels calm, almost peaceful.

Quiet and analytic, he looks down at Shinjirou, trying to determine if his actions are that of gratitude or a plea for mercy. It feels more like former, and Jade has to wonder if what he's planning to do next is necessary.

He bites down the good boy that rises to his throat, forcing his expression into a cold mask. With a swift movement, he kicks Shinjirou, carefully calculated to startle him rather than cause injury. He's had enough of that.

"I didn't tell you to stand down yet."

Living on the streets has taught him a few things: his instincts are quick enough to dodge and he would have done that in any other case, but here he only flinches, looking up with wide eyes. That's right. So desperate to be close and tell Jade in some way or another how much better he is now, he's accidentally made a mistake. One he can correct.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, and he returns to the wall, pulling himself back up into the same position. He's getting dizzy, wondering if asking for water would be acceptable -- no. Jade will give him some when they're truly done here. He pulls his hair over his shoulder to bare more of his back, then pushes the chain around his neck. It's cool against the flaming-hot skin. Here, I'm yours.

This time, the whip doesn't come down on Shinjirou's back. It lashes across his buttocks instead, cutting viciously through the scratches and bruises the guest had left on him less than a day ago. The whip's progress sends droplets of blood flying through the air; one lands on Jade's cheek, burning hot, and he allows to trickle downwards, tickling slightly as it follows the pull of gravity.

Satisfied that the message had sunken in - and fearing for Shinjirou's health - he leaves without a word, taking the whip with him.

Not only is it unexpected to get hit again, the area it lands on is as well. He doesn't scream out though the pain is no less intense, his throat simply too sore. Instead he groans and suffers a short coughing fit. Jade leaves before he's regained his breath. No one would see him move now, but Shinjirou stays perfectly still. Only the blood running down his thighs can't be stopped.

This time, he waits.

When he returns, it's with hands that are scrubbed clean and a first aid kit instead of the whip. He sets it down on the nightstand, but doesn't open it yet.

To his satisfaction, he sees that Shinjirou hadn't moved an inch: his hands are still held high above his head, his whole body exposed. He looks good; the marks that cover his body perfectly balanced now, the long red lines on his back matching the livid bruises that spread across his hips.

Jade grips the damp washcloth he had brought with him. This is familiar, much more so than causing pain to someone not an enemy. He is quick and sure as he moves to stand behind Shinjirou, closer this time, reaching out to wipe away the dried blood while carefully avoiding any open injuries. Shinjirou's skin feels feverishly hot through the cool barrier of the cloth, even hotter than his blood had when it splashed onto his cheek. For a second, Jade wonders if he'll feel just as hot on the inside.

Half a hum, half a moan gets dragged out of his mouth. Nothing could feel better than this, he thinks. It's refreshing and soothing at the same time, blood and sweat getting wiped off his skin. Forehead dropping against the wall, he closes his eyes. His muscles shift under Jade's hand and he pushes lightly into the touch, unbearably content.

At some point, though, he risks moving more than that, and glances over his shoulder. The cloth is wet and his tongue is so dry, lips cracked -- he opens his mouth just as Jade begins to wash his shoulder blade. Even dirty as it is, it's wet. His throat makes a clicking noise when he swallows, gaze focused on what Jade's doing. "Water?"

It's easy for Jade to lose himself in the simple, repetitive task, lulled into an almost meditative state by the quiet noises Shinjirou is making. Not even the arch of his body is enough to disrupt his focus.

The request, however, is met with an immediate "No." Jade continues his meticulous work as he elaborates: "Letting you drink from this will be unhygienic. You can have some water after I've finished washing your wounds and disinfecting them."

"Yes." He turns back towards the wall, though his attention is entirely on Jade anyway. Being unable to see what's happening isn't so bad. The sensations are still there and when he closes his eyes, he can imagine with some ease what is going on.

Relaxing as it is to be taken care of in this manner, he nearly dozes off. It doesn't happen mostly because his own appreciative moans startle him awake whenever he's about to take a nap standing up; and he isn't really tired. Worn out, yes, and yet as if a new source of energy had been unlocked.

Back done, Jade sinks to his knees, running the cloth down Shinjirou's thighs. In any other situation, he might have found it unusual - he doesn't recall ever having knelt to anyone before. But this is strictly business. Brow furrowed with concentration, he works quickly, wiping up the last of the blood.

Which leaves disinfecting the wounds. Jade moves to the first aid kit, retrieving an alcohol wipe from a packet. "This will sting a little," he warns. He's not out to cause any further distress, so he gives Shinjirou a moment to brace himself before he begins, running the wipe over the shortest cuts and nicks he can find.

When Jade is on the floor, Shinjirou flicks his head to the side. His cheeks don't quite match the intense burn around the wounds, but he'd rather not show that it's affecting him this particular way. After Jade's risen to his feet again, he has no idea how he managed to hold his breath the entire time. The ones he releases afterwards are shallow and quick.

Thankfully, the next part distracts him from any awkward arousal. Hissing and clenching his teeth, he takes it with as much dignity as he can muster -- it's not much. At least he doesn't flinch and prolong the procedure unnecessarily. He's had enough fist fights in his life to know this is important and that the less he moves around, the faster the job will be done.

The sudden increase in the rate of Shinjirou's breathing makes Jade pause, curious. After everything he had managed to endure, surely Shinjirou wouldn't be afraid of the sting of alcohol? It takes a few seconds for the real reason to occur to him, and he smiles to himself, amused - and thoughtful.

The wipe comes away stained with a few drops of blood. Jade tears open a new packet, beginning to work on one of the longer cuts. Shinjirou is being very cooperative; it makes everything all the easier. Jade finds himself feeling...content, though it takes awhile for the realization to come. It's rare for him to tend to someone like this. He's not a healer - the furthest thing from it, in fact, with no aptitude at all for healing artes but plenty of skill in destructive spells. The fact that he's able to care for someone like this is a revelation to him.

It doesn't take him long to finish. When he does, it takes him a second to draw himself out of the calm that had settled over him and assume the role of Shinjirou's master once again.

"Good boy." His own voice sounds distant in his ears. "You can go rest. I'll bring you some water."

The words he's been desperate to hear, the confirmation that he did well. Slowly, he turns around. While the pain is subdued now, it isn't gone. If he's lucky, there will be scars to mark this day. For a brief moment he watches Jade through half-lidded eyes, still a bit breathless.

"Yes. Thank you."

He doesn't pick his own bed, but Jade's. After all, the futon is his safe haven and that's not where he wants to be at the moment. Out of Jade's reach. Not really, naturally, though the meaning is more important to him than the facts. He'd felt like hiding before any of this. Now? No. He's ready to receive orders, to follow them.

Lying down on his stomach, he makes sure the sheets won't get dirty. The cuts seem to sink deeper into him, as if gravity could pull them into his bones. Just his imagination, he knows. Maybe he's gotten a little high on the pain after all.

Jade draws in a breath of air as he steps out of the room, then exhales again, just as slowly. It takes some time to pack away his supplies and fetch water. Not much, admittedly, but it's enough to give him an opportunity to shunt his emotions to the back of his mind for later analysis. By the time he's done with his self-assigned tasks, he had returned to his usual alert, detached state.

When he steps back into the room, his first instinct is to look for Shinjirou on the futon. He raises an eyebrow when he finds the futon empty and Shinjirou lying on the bed instead. The implications are hard to miss, although he has to wonder at them. Hasn't Shinjirou had enough for one day?

Jade rests his fingers against the curve of Shinjirou's neck to rouse him. The skin is still feverishly hot to the touch; he hopes he isn't coming down with something.

"Can you sit up?"

To Shinjirou, it seems like Jade hasn't ever really left the room. Time is flowing at an odd rate for him. His eyes follow Jade lazily as he comes closer; otherwise he doesn't move an inch until prompted.

"Of course." He pushes himself up, head dropping into the palm of Jade's hand for a second. Nuzzling, he sits on his knees and glances at the water. His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish as he reaches for the glass. He doesn't simply take it out of Jade's hands, though, and waits instead.

For a second, he contemplates helping Shinjirou drink, but that would be a messy business and unnecessary besides. Carefully, he places the glass into Shinjirou's hand, ready to catch it if his fingers are too shaky to hold it properly.

"As I said earlier, you're free for the rest of the night, but I'd prefer it if you don't do anything strenuous." It would be a bother if Shinjirou re-opened his cuts. The thought of cleaning them again isn't particularly appealing, not because it's bothersome, but because it felt entirely too intimate. "Don't worry, I'll take care of dinner."

Holding the glass with both hands enables him to drink without spilling the water all over himself. He keeps close to Jade anyway as he gulps it down. "Oh. Uhm. Okay. I'm sorry." It's probably for the best if Jade makes dinner. It doesn't seem too unlikely that Shinjirou's mind is playing tricks on him and that he's not half as energetic as he'd claim to be if asked.

"There's still things I won't be allowed to do, right?" Shuffling, he turns himself towards Jade. "I, uh. Would like to read something, maybe? That okay?"

It's a harmless request, but then entering Jade's study is forbidden ... just picking something up to read doesn't sound like Jade would appreciate it. On the other hand, he's not sure Jade even possesses books he'd be interested in reading. Still, he figures that there will be more days from now on where he'll be left alone.

Lips almost touching Jade's neck, he takes a one last sip of water before putting the empty glass in Jade's hands again. "I've never been whipped before. I guess you at least had a virgin in that way."

"I'll find you something." Picking out something suitable for Shinjirou would be a challenge, but surely he has some old books or magazines lying around... Even if he can't think of any off-hand.

Then the topic suddenly changes, and he frowns slightly, more startled than he'd like to admit. His fingers curl around the glass. With a comment like that, Shinjirou must have enjoyed the experience. That's good, Jade supposes, it's what he had been aiming for after all. And it's even better that Shinjirou can't compare him to anyone; that might dilute the impact of the lesson.

At the same time, Jade finds himself wondering if he had gone too far. He has no control group to measure himself against, nothing to tell him how people usually went about things or how his technique could be improved.

...And he should probably be feeling guilty for taking so much from Shinjirou, but he doesn't, and that disturbs him more than anything else.

"I thought your seller would have whipped you," he comments, opting for a more neutral approach. "Or did he not want to damage his merchandise?"

Scratching the back of his head, he glances down at his bruised thighs. "Eh, for all that he complained about me being 'impure,' he didn't mind so much when I sucked him off. Apparently wasn't good enough to let me go, but good enough that he didn't do anything like that." He shrugs. At least he had tried a non-violent approach first, even if it didn't work out as planned. It just turned out that convincing a trafficker to let his goods go was a bit more difficult than offering a slack jaw.

"I don't feel damaged now." The opposite, somehow. And it's not just that the undercurrent of pain distracts him from his own thoughts. He's calm, but his head isn't foggy like after coming down from a mind-numbing orgasm. Rather like a foul tooth finally being gone, taking the ache with it as well. Though hesitant, he leans onto Jade eventually. If he's free for the rest of the night, then this must be fine, too?

Seeing Shinjirou lean towards him, Jade keeps himself relaxed, his muscles loose. Shinjirou seems more coherent than he had yesterday. Good, he doesn't want him to be high off hormones all the time.

It takes a little adjustment, but Jade slides a hand between them, pressing his thumb against one of the welts left by the whip. "I'm surprised. Aren't you in pain?"

Not just from the wounds on his back; Shinjirou had been screaming quite loudly too. With all the abuse he's put his throat through these past two days, it's a wonder he can still speak.