Chapter Text
Oikawa doesn’t wake up for a long time. Iwaizumi doesn’t know if its the fact time feels slow in the white tiled room, or if it’s been literal years since he’s heard Oikawa’s voice. Regardless, the man remains bundled up on the floor, his chest moving rhythmically with his breaths.
Kageyama hasn’t spoken either. He sits by Oikawa’s sleeping form and keeps his gaze on the floor. Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to talk to the boy. Guilt and self loathing wreak havoc on his guts.
Ushijima is using the ladder by the tank to practice pull ups.
Iwaizumi knows he’s next. He longs for it. A reprieve from the guilt of being the inflictor. All things considered, he, out of everyone present, had been given the most leniency. If anything, he’d failed his own task and Oikawa had taken the brunt of the pain.
He was supposed to be reliable. An ace. A protector. But all he had done so far is hurt.
He can’t stand it.
He glares at the dark screen as if demanding it alight to punish him.
Punish me, he thinks, hurt me. Make this fair.
The screen beeps.
Ushijima lets go of the ladder.
Kageyama looks up.
Oikawa does not stir.
Room 7: Iwaizumi Hajime make them all yours, mark them up, don’t let them make a single noise.
Fail Condition: Ushijima’s tongue shall be severed.
And with those words, a new doorway opens in the wall.
Ushijima’s lips press into a thin line.
Kageyama nudges at Oikawa, but the man does not awaken. Iwaizumi moves, but Ushijima is faster, picking up the sleeping man in one easy motion. He cradles him in his arms and Iwaizumi hates it.
He says nothing.
They all move on to the next room.
The next room is smaller but with a greater amount of space for them to move. A large wooden table sits in the middle, with ominous shackles attached at each edge. Beside it sits a cabinet. Otherwise the room is empty.
The screen in this room repeats the same order, and below it another countdown. This time, for 2 hours.
It has already begun.
Ushijima sets Oikawa carefully back down on the floor. He nudges at him again, a bit more sternly, and finally Oikawa’s eyes flutter open. He looks dazed but after several more blinks, the color starts to return to his face.
“Already?” he murmurs. His voice is quiet and hoarse. He sounds younger than he is. He is young. Freshly eighteen. They are all young. Ushijima feels his hands fist at his sides. He wants to go home. He can’t. Instead, he just nods and motions with his head toward the screen.
Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say to Oikawa so he busies himself by opening up the cabinet.
He wishes he hadn’t.
There’s what looks to be a portable propane gas burner on the bottom largest shelf. Beside that sits a roll of sterile wipes. Above it, a long steel rod. Next to that, a wooden case. He takes it, but in the process the steel rod rolls off and clatters to the tile floor in a loud clang.
He pales.
The end of the rod flattenes out into a disk. It’s more of a ring, with the center cut out except for two shapes that, upon sickeningly closer inspection look like an I and an H.
He swallows and picks up the rod to take a closer look.
It’s a brand.
It’s a brand with his initials on it.
He can’t do this.
He won’t do this.
He’d rather pull it on himself.
Kageyama takes the wooden case from Iwaizumi and opens it up to find a series of clamps, needles and two small metal rings.
“What is this stuff?” Kageyama asks.
“Let me see,” Oikawa croaks.
Kageyama obliges, dutifully carrying the case to where Oikawa sits. Oikawa purses his lips, glancing back up at the screen. “I think, these over here are piercings. Nipple piercings. This must be a kit to, to uh, do it.”
Ushijima frowns, rubbing at his already sore chest at just the thought. “Are there more pairs? Or is Iwaizumi to choose who will receive these?”
“The command is plural,” Oikawa says, ‘There must be more.”
“Whoever doesn’t get those,” Iwaizumi hisses, coming over, “Gets….gets this.”
He hands the rod to Oikawa but can’t bare to be there when the man realizes what it is. Instead, he moves to kick at the wall beneath the screen as if that may somehow force it to change its instructions or better yet, turn off completely.
Oikawa doesn’t realize what it is. Ushijima does.
“This is insane,” he says, “Unsanitary. Dangerous. Inhumane.”
“What is it?” Kageyama asks.
Oikawa traces his fingers along the end of the rod, realization turning his face into a grim line after a long moment. And then he squints, anger surging in him, paranoia flooding his sense, and he sets his eyes upon Iwaizumi Hajime.
“Why does this have your initials?” Oikawa asks, gathering the strength to stand up, “How did they prepare this? How far ahead did they know we would be here. Why you?”
Iwaizumi looks over at him, “How would I know?”
Oikawa stares at him. Hard.
Iwaizumi’s face crumbles, “You can’t be serious.” He shakes his head, “Tooru, that makes no sense! You think I’d….I’d be a part of this?”
Oikawa looks away, a bit disgusted with himself, but unable to shake away the thought completely. It settles in his gut, fermenting in acid. Because it isn’t fair. Each round grows more and more unfair.
“What is it?” Kageyama asks again.
“How do we decide who gets which?” Ushijima continues instead of answering, “There is only one pair of piercings. But all three of us are included in the orders.”
“What’s the other thing?” Kageyama begs to know.
Oikawa tightens his grip on the rod in his hand, “Well, we know who doesn’t have to suffer at all this round,” he spits, unable to keep all the poison inside him.
Iwaizumi wilts completely to the floor, a sad heap with his fists trembling on the tiles. But he has nothing to say. Oikawa turns away from him and looks up at Ushijima instead. His gaze is firm unlike the state of his shaking hands. “Tobio-chan is not getting branded.”
“Branded?” Kageyama squeaks.
Ushijima swallows thickly and after a moment gives an acquiescing nod, “Agreed.”
Oikawa snorts, and it’s the closest he’s come to smiling in a long time.
“Branded?” Kageyama repeats.
“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa sings instead, “Have you ever gotten your ears pierced?”
The boy shakes his head.
Oikawa tuts, “Well, it only hurts for a moment. Probably. Anyway come here.”
Kageyama looks terrified, but regardless, he steps up to Oikawa’s side.
“Good boy,” Oikawa replies, and Kageyama feels better immediately.
“I assume this is here to keep us still,” Ushijima says, examining the table.
Oikawa nods, taking hold of one of the shackles, which, upon closer inspection, is just a thick leather strap with a metal buckle. They look similar to the bindings that had surrounded him. In the tank. The darkness and sudden attack when the door had shut in front of him. The disorientation. The efficiency of his bondage and then sudden drop into water. The coldness. The darkness. The pain.
He shudders. His hands shake. He takes a deep breath. He tries to push back the fear.
“Tobio-chan, can you hop up on here?”
Kageyama nods, using his hands to hoist himself up onto the table. He scooches himself into the center and, with Oikawa’s coaxing hand on his chest, lays down on his back.
Ushijima digs through the cabinet for anything else. He frowns. “There is nothing to, to gag him with.”
“That would be too easy wouldn’t it?” Oikawa sighs. He keeps his focus on Kageyama, taking hold of one of his wrists and guiding it up above his head to buckle in place. Kageyama stares at him as he does so, doing his best to not to look like the scared child he is. Oikawa can’t hold his gaze for long.
“Kageyama can you be sure not to make a noise?” Ushijima asks.
“I’ll make sure of it,” Oikawa replies for him, moving on to the other arm. Ushijima looks unconvinced and Oikawa supposed he can’t blame him. It’s Ushijima’s tongue on the line.
“I won’t scream,” Kageyama says, gritting his teeth and looking up to stare at the ceiling.
“Good boy,” Oikawa murmurs, without even thinking. The words just slip out of him now, but he can almost feel the way the boy seems to preen at the positive attention. It’s cute. He pats his head before moving down to this legs.
Iwaizumi has not moved.
“Iwaizumi,” Ushijima says, “Do you know how to do this?”
Iwaizumi does not move.
Ushijima frowns, “Iwaizumi, we do not have time to waste.”
Iwaizumi shakes his head. He gets up slowly, numbly, and makes his way back over to the table where Kageyama is tied down and splayed. His stomach swirls. Ushijima moves beside him with the case. “We should do our best to disinfect these needles. I can set up the propane flame to do so.”
“Have you done this before, Ushiwaka?” Oikawa asks, moving back to Kageyama’s side and undoing the knot of his robe. He asks it as a tease but Ushijima nods sincerely.
“I have done similar things to cattle.”
Oikawa’s lips purse into an o shape and decides not to comment. Instead, he tugs Kageyama’s robe open, so his chest is bare to the world. He can see the quick breaths the poor boy is taking. His panic is clear to him.
He’s going to end up screaming.
Oikawa bites his lip.
“Do I have to be tied down?” Kageyama suddenly asks, testing his binds.
“Do you want Iwaizumi to stab you somewhere else if you move?” Oikawa counters.
Kageyama grows still.
Iwaizumi stares at Oikawa, caught off guard by the name. His full name. He hates how much it hurts to hear it from Oikawa’s mouth. He turns to Ushijima and narrows his eyes at the needles in the case, “Walk me through this.”
While Ushijima and Iwaizumi get to work on sterilizing the needles, Oikawa stays by Kageyama’s side. The boy’s breaths are quickening with each anticipated moment. His face remains grimly set on the ceiling.
Oikawa puts a hand on his heaving chest, and the boy startles. Oikawa shushes him. At first he’d only meant to urge the boy to breathe by the motion, but now that his hand is here, on the smooth toned skin, he sees another potential issue to mitigate.
His hand migrates to the left, long fingers gliding along Kageyama’s nipples. The boy practically jumps, legs jolting in place.
“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa snaps, perhaps more roughly than necessary, “You can’t move.”
“What are you doing?” Kageyama asks, straining to lift his head up to look.
“Iwaizumi needs something to pierce, doesn’t he?” Oikawa responds, flicking his gaze back to Kageyama’s chest. He brings his hand back to the nipple, pinching it almost clinically. Kageyama lets out a strained squeak and Oikawa almost smiles.
Slowly, the nub comes to life beneath his fingers, but he doesn’t stop. He rolls between his fingers, even gives it a firm pinch. Kageyama flushes, snapping his head to the side and letting out another muffled noise.
“You have to be quiet, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa reminds. He says it teasingly despite how necessary the order is.
Iwaizumi and Ushijima return to the table and Oikawa moves his hand to the other nipple. He decides to bend down, close to Kageyama’s face, “I’ll tell you when,” Oikawa whispers.
Kageyama stares at him. He winces, as Iwaizumi takes his erect nipple and secures the clamps over it. His neck strains back, gritting his teeth.
Oikawa glances back at Iwaizumi’s shaky hand holding the needle, the other gripping tightly to the clamp.
Ushijima looks pale behind him.
If Kageyama shouts, Ushijima loses his tongue.
What do you even care, a thought pops up in the back of Oikawa’s mind, It’s not like Ushiwaka has ever said anything worth hearing.
Iwaizumi stabs the needle through. Oikawa sees it slowly. He works without thinking. He rushes forward and grabs Kageyama’s face in his hands and swallows any possible sounds that could come out of him.
Oikawa has only ever kissed Iwaizumi. Even after the countless hours in this hell doing unspeakable things to each other, they haven’t crossed this boundary. And here he is, willingly pressing his lips to his stupid, stupid kohai’s.
When he pulls back, Kageyama looks at him dazed.
When Oikawa looks over at Iwaizumi he looks just as shocked. Looks like he’s about to say something.
Oikawa doesn’t want to hear it, “Hurry up and do the next one!”
Iwaizumi blinks. Oikawa looks away, still holding Kageyama’s face in his hands, and leans back in.
Kageyama is less tense this time, but just as unmoving. It’s like kissing a dead fish. Wet, slimy, and unresponsive. Or at least at first.
Kageyama has always been a quick learner when it comes to the body. It’s his tongue that swipes across Oikawa’s lips this time, shocking him enough to open up and give the boy the upper hand. He falters though, most likely as the needle pierces him, and Oikawa gets to claim his mouth.
When they pull back Kageyama is heaving, his face completely burnt. And Oikawa does smile then. He even lets out the lightest of chuckles.
Kageyama gapes at him.
Oikawa simply moves to unbuckle his bindings.
“Easy parts done,” he announces.
“Oikawa—,” Iwaizumi starts.
Oikawa ignores him, looking at Ushijima instead, “Any preference on who goes first, Ushiwaka?”
Ushijima swallows, “I have branded cattle. I feel I should walk Iwaizumi through it for the first time.”
Oikawa nods. Kageyama is still sitting their, rubbing his wrists and trying his best not to look down at the metal rings dangling from his red and sore nipples. He looks like he might faint, but time is of the essence. He tries to close his robe, but even the soft fabric against his chest is enough to have him shuddering. Ushijima helps him climb off the table.
Oikawa hops up and lays himself down.
Ushijima stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “The more fat the less it will hurt. We should have you turn around.”
“I’m not doing this,” Iwaizumi says, “I’m not branding you. Either of you. This is insane.”
“Iwaizumi I would rather have a burn than lose the ability to speak,” Ushijima replies.
“I can’t,” Iwaizumi pleads, “I won’t.”
“Get over yourself,” Oikawa growls, making a point to turn and shove his robe off with little ceremony, “All you have to do is hold it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you!” Iwaizumi insists.
“That didn’t stop you before!” Oikawa shouts right back, and he hates the way his voice cracks. He hates the way now that he’s on all fours they can see the marks of the whip along his back and ass. Most of all he just hates himself.
Useless.
Pathetic.
“Just hurry up,” he hisses, “We’re running out of time.”
Iwaizumi doesn’t respond.
Oikawa rests his forehead on his forearm. Someone straps his ankles into the shackles. He doesn’t let them tie his wrists. He can’t stand being bound again completely, even for a moment. He promises he won’t move. Something in his steely gaze has them believing it.
The heat of the propane flame can be felt even from this distance. He swallows.
Kageyama appears by his face.
“Do you need…” he starts, awkwardly, still flushed.
How dare Kageyama Tobio be so sweet?
“Don’t worry, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa replies, “I’m made of much stronger stuff than you.”
Kageyama frowns but decides to stay close.
A hand presses against Oikawa’s back. Ushijima’s he guesses. Making sure he stays still.
“Prepare yourself,” is all the warning Oikawa gets from Ushijima before hot searing iron is pressed against his ass.
He almost screams, but is quick enough to bite down on his forearm. His vision whitens. The world deafens. He feels like he’s in the blindfold again, confused, hurt, and his skin is on fire. He tries to jolt away, but Ushijima holds him firm.
Copper floods his mouth but all he can do is bite down harder. Salt runs onto his tongue from his streaming eyes.
And then the iron leaves and he collapses onto his stomach. Someone takes his arm out of his mouth, and through his bleary eyes he can see the blood streaming down over skin.
He can hear Iwaizumi cursing and apologizing. He sounds far away. Why is he so far away?
A water bottle is held to his mouth and he drinks. He wishes it was cold and not lukewarm. Anything to distract from the fire burning his ass.
“Oikawa, can you stand?” Ushijima asks, and Oikawa doesn’t know, but he nods. Someone’s still got a hold of his arm and now that he can open his eyes more he sees that Kageyama has ripped the tie off his robe to wrap around Oikawa’s bleeding wound.
His skin stretches uncomfortable when he gets down from the table. He realizes that no he cant stand. Not at all. So, as gracefully as he can, he falls down onto the floor to lay on his stomach.
“Tooru!” Iwaizumi cries.
“Don’t!” Oikawa shouts back, wondering if banging his head against the floor would give him a reprieve from the constant burn, “Just hurry up and end this!”
“He’s right,” Ushijima says, “Kageyama, stay with Oikawa. We will be quick.”
“Do you need—”
“No, you have given me an idea,” Ushijima cuts the boy off, as he slips off his robe to climb onto the table. However, he grabs the tie from his robe, folding it in half and in half again, so on and so forth until it’s small and thick in his hands.
“Iwaizumi, do as I just instructed you,” Ushijima orders. Iwaizumi looks hollow, his gaze far off and his eyes glassy. Ushijima has to shout his name several times before Iwaizumi finally acknowledges him.
With that, Ushijima shoves the makeshift gag into his ow mouth and bites.
Oikawa can not be bothered to care what is happening above him. All he can think about is the pain of his ass. The fiery agony. All he wants to do is scream and cry and sob. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed. He does not know if that would be considered a failure if he does.
“Tobio,” he hisses—pleads—really, with an outstretched hand. Kageyama doesn’t comment on it. He just appears, obediently in front of his face, eyebrows earnest and drawn tight against his eyes.
Oikawa grabs at him. He feels disgustingly needy. Pathetic. Worthless. How low of him, to use this boy for comfort. But he can’t help it. He drags Kageyama’s obedient body down and kisses him again.
He sobs into the kiss, hoping Kageyama is able to swallow the noise. He shakes, fingers digging into Kageyama’s hair. The boy’s own hands move to Oikawa’s face, and he does not pull away. If anything he pushes impossibly closer, like Kageyama has wanted to do this for a long time.
He’s much more animated this time. Greedily swallowing down every pained noise that Oikawa lets out. Oikawa has no strength to take the lead, but Kageyama forces his way through by determination alone. Their teeth clack occasionally, but what Kageyama lacks in skill he makes up for in passion. In the need to get it right.
Oikawa actually moans, into the kiss, the soft feeling a blessed reprieve. He’s so preoccupied that he barely registers the ding of the screen.