Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5797141.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      カーストヘヴン_|_Caste_Heaven
  Relationship:
      Karino_Kouhei/Azusa_Yuuya
  Character:
      Karino_Kouhei, Azusa_Yuuya
  Additional Tags:
      Choking, Bruising, Unhealthy_Relationships, basically_all_the_warnings
      that_apply_to_canon, Nightmares, implications_of_Stockholm_Syndrome
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-24 Words: 2665
****** Margins ******
by koonutkalifee
Summary
     There’s a crown floating above Karino’s head, just touching his black
     hair.
Notes
     fuck!!! caste!!!! heaven!!!!!
     ok there's no violent rape in here but like. every time karino has
     sex with azusa it's rape. i just wanna make that clear.
See the end of the work for more notes
Sometimes, when he dreams, it’s him on the throne. Other times it’s Karino.
It’s pretty lame symbolism but it’s fucking scary in the dream, knelt at the
foot of the throne in the dark. Sometimes there’s a collar round his neck and
sometimes he’s naked. It doesn’t make it any worse. It doesn’t make it any
better.
Those are the times it’s Karino on the throne. He’s always wearing his school
uniform, tie round his neck and white shirt nearly presentably neat. He leers
down at Azusa and Azusa shivers on his knees, his head straining up against the
foot on the back of his neck forcing his face to the floor.
The other times, it’s him sitting on the throne. His throat is bare and his
clothes are unfamiliar but they are clothes and they’re his. Karino lurks, just
out of the edges of his vision, or perhaps he’s just paranoid.
It wouldn’t be wrong for him to be.
 
Karino fucks him in empty classrooms and the toilets and in closets and
anywhere else he feels like. His fingers drip with lube as he forces them in,
and Azusa wants to be disgusted at the dripping squelching slimy-wet feel of
too much lube but the alternative is terrifying enough to put up with it.
Karino is big and he’d never been fucked before Karino had forced him to be and
sometimes he thinks about how many times he would have ended up in hospital had
Karino gone the other way, preferred fucking almost dry.
It’s still disgusting. It’s still slimy and cold and it makes him choke back
ugly gasps that Karino laughs at.
Karino laughs at lots of things he does. His punches and his anger and his
indifference and his whole fucking being seems to be a source of amusement to
Karino.
He lets Karino laugh. He’ll get him back someday. Karino will put his head on
the floor and beg his forgiveness and he’ll put his foot on Karino’s head and
grind his face into the dirt.
He hisses as Karino forces his hips to fold and he bends over the table,
digging crescents into the wood and Karino slides in. Karino will kiss his
shoes and beg forgiveness. His fingers grip the table's edges and he won’t
fucking cry.
 
The tie Karino wears eventually winds up around Azusa’s neck. When it’s not
being used as a leash Karino likes to tie it properly and make Azusa wear it.
Azusa’s pretty sure that the only reason Karino hasn’t made him wear a collar
yet is because he hasn’t thought to.
Karino pulls his tie too tight sometimes and cuts off Azusa’s air, and laughs
as his face turns red and his eyes start watering. Azusa won’t say anything,
won’t make a sound, until it’s too late for him to and he’s on the verge of
passing out. Karino hadn’t noticed the first time and Azusa had fainted back,
unconscious.
He’d seen something like guilt in Karino’s eyes when he’d woken up, though
maybe it was just worry that his toy was going to break. Karino had given him
barely half a minute to recover, eyes dripping with tears and dry-heaving
breaths into his lungs, before folding his legs back and fucking him into the
dirty couch they’d been sprawled on.
 
He comes into Karino’s fist more times than he cares to remember and turns away
from the hideous victory that dances through Karino’s eyes. He hates this and
he hates how good Karino is at making his fall apart. His taunts of virgin
don’t seem to hold much merit now. Nothing he’d done seems to be of much merit
now.
All the times he’d draped himself in Karino’s personal space, all the times
he’d made obscene, fluttering faces and whispered filth at Karino, were they
the reasons why Karino had been so determined to fuck him? Karino must have
been laughing as he’d made a fool of himself. He’d been forced to do every
disgusting thing he’d ever insinuated, every time he’d teased Karino paid back
a hundred fold and then more, because Karino would insist that this wasn’t
revenge, this was just him taking what he wanted.
He was King. He could take what he pleased.
Karino’s trained him – and god he hates that word but there’s no other word for
it – to get off from being fucked and he’s started to enjoy it, to enjoy how
being spread and filled and split feels. He comes, shuddering, eyes rolling,
desperate, every time Karino fucks him. Sometimes more than once. Often more
than once. Karino seems to get off from seeing him exhausted.
 
He lies, naked and covered in come, freezing cold at the foot of the throne.
Karino sits and smirks and Azusa hisses up at him, face contorted horribly.
Karino only smirks wider.
He drags himself to his knees and sits, shivering. There’s a collar round his
neck only this time there’s a chain too, a chain that Karino holds the other
end of. Enough of him knows he’s dreaming to dull the edge of fear but the only
thing he can see is Karino on that fucking throne and the darkness around them.
He tries to lift his arm up, to push Karino off his seat but it’s too heavy,
his arm is too heavy and too cold and clumsy to lift further than his elbow. He
lets it fall and lolls back against Karino’s knees. The warmth of his skin
bleeds through his slacks and Azusa huddles closer, lets Karino run his warm
hands through his hair.
It’s just a dream
He’s so fucking cold.
 
He cuts his face once, after the time that Karino had licked the wound on his
face and tried to clean it.
Karino pins him to the sofa and painfully cleans the cut, wipes it with
stinging antiseptic and sticks a bandage to his cheek. He does it so thoroughly
and so perfectly that Azusa is almost convinced he cares, and doesn’t just want
his pretty face not to scar.
He’s pale enough that a scar would hardly show up, and it had hardly been a
deep cut.
Karino stays on top of him, uncomfortably heavy against Azusa’s chest, and
Azusa is forced to stay there while Karino reads his book. He complains until
Karino holds a hand above his cheek and then he shuts up.
Karino takes care of him, the way one might take care of a particularly fragile
and beautiful piece of art. He supposes he could have been that, if Karino had
valued him highly enough. He’s a pretty ornament, prettier than any of the
others in their class. It’s no wonder Karino got obsessed with his face, Azusa
thinks lazily, stuck beneath Karino as he is. What a pain.
It’s warm and quiet and the weight on his chest isn’t comfortable as such but
it’s constant, and he’s tired and aches and these are the perfect conditions to
fall asleep in.
If he falls asleep it’s guaranteed that he’ll wake up with Karino fucking him,
so instead he focuses on the grain of the ceiling and waits for Karino to let
him go. Karino fucks him slowly once he gets bored of just lying there and
Azusa can barely be bothered to fight back.
 
He’s on the throne again and Karino is nowhere to be seen. It’s deathly quiet,
the tapping sounds of his fingers against the cold metal arms swallowed up
before they can echo in the dark.
It’s colder still this way, without the feeling of Karino’s heat behind him. He
knows, at least a little, that these dreams are telling him he’s already
surrendered, that he’s Karino’s property already and that if Karino told him to
he’d drop to his knees in front of the whole class.
That had been their deal though. That Azusa wouldn’t have to do anything like
that in exchange for giving Karino everything he wanted. He thinks Karino will
stick to it, though there’s nothing saying he has to. He doesn’t have to do
anything, but he wants Azusa all to himself – Azusa had put the shattered
fragments of the glass ball thrown that first, terrifying time together – and
he wants Azusa obedient.
The rest of the class had been enough of a threat for that. It’s not like
Karino had been so possessive that he’d refuse to let the class touch him, even
if he’d disobeyed.
Maybe he would now though. Maybe, after being shattered into the Azusa Karino
wanted, he’d have some leverage over Karino and his sick, sick obsession.
He wakes up cold. He’s always cold now.
 
It would kill his mother, if she found out.
It would kill him if Karino found out about her.
She clings onto him as the last good thing in her life, and possibly the first.
He hates how she is, hates how pathetic she is but can’t really criticise her.
Not now. And letting her know even a fraction of what he’s done would probably
shatter her into pieces. He hates her but he hates the thought of letting her
shatter because of his own weakness more.
Maybe he’s just projecting. Maybe he just doesn’t think he could take it if
Karino found out and told him how similar they were.
 
Azusa is so fucking delicate and he’d never bothered to notice.
Thin, ice-white skin stretched over brittle bones and nothing close to muscle
or fat on him. He’s short too, shorter than Karino and Kuze and Kusakabe even.
Delicate and pale and fine and soft. He’d never thought about himself like that
until Karino had taken his hair in his hand and dragged him from the floor with
it.
Now he can’t fucking avoid it.
Some of the girls in his class are bigger than he is; built more solidly and
look less like they’re about to shatter. Kusakabe has almost as little bulk as
he, but he still has more. Azusa blames that on how much he’d had to eat as a
child.
He can’t land a punch on Karino. Karino mocks his ideas of punches, catches his
fists and twists him easily or just takes it, lets Azusa see how pathetic his
hits are.
Sharp and bony and fast. He’s fast at least but that means shit all against an
entire school. Which he’d have to face if he wanted to avoid even a day of
Karino fucking him whenever he felt like it.
Karino pins him to the walls, to desks and the ratty sofa and the floors and he
gets off on doing it, on forcing Azusa’s fragility to surrender however he
wants.
Azusa thinks of the dream lit only by himself on the throne and realises it’s a
pretty fucking stupid dream. He’d been there. He’d been on the throne. And
people had been laughing behind him and plotting to take him down and imagining
what he’d look like on his knees.
 
His legs won’t take much more abuse. Karino has fucked him three times already
and had sucked him off before that and his legs are shaking at how tired he is.
He stands before Karino, shaking, waiting. Karino stares at him, eyes blank
behind clear lenses.
There’s come dripping down his thighs. It’s both of theirs, both his and
Karino’s, sticky and cooling and slimy against his skin. It’s mixed in with the
lube and saliva and sweat and he thinks he’s going to vomit every time he
thinks about it.
Karino makes him ride him and Azusa blacks out before he finishes for the fifth
time. He’s semi-conscious and he can feel Karino flipping them over and bending
him over the arm of the sofa and doesn’t even offer a whine of protest and
Karino keeps going, keeps fucking him until he’s done. More come drips out of
his ass and he shudders at it, hates that feeling and knows that Karino knows
this.
There have to be bruises on him. He can’t feel this sore without leaving some
kind of a mark. He hopes they’re easy enough to hide, hopes he doesn’t have to
explain them to his mother or endure the hushed mocking laughs of his
classmates. He’ll check when he wakes up properly but for now he’s going to lie
there in the cooling room and ignore Karino.
He’s still half-hard, he realises, though he doesn’t think he’s got anything
left in him. He’d come dry if he came at all, and he’d done that enough times
to know that he’d rather just let it die. It would eventually.
Karino’s eyes are burning against his spine and he sluggishly turns his head
around to see Karino staring at him. There’s an ugly little smirk on his face
and Azusa wonders if he’s going to threaten to take pictures again.
Maybe he’s already got pictures of Azusa like this, passed out with come in his
hair and bruises on his thighs and Karino’s marks all over him. Maybe he sells
them. Maybe he keeps them to jerk off to.
Maybe Azusa is paranoid, and the threat had just been Karino’s sick way of
saying he liked seeing him like that.
 
The skirt had been something he’d seen coming. Karino was a little too obvious
in some ways.
Karino doesn’t even say anything, just glances at the skirt on the sofa with a
smile and goes back to ignoring Azusa. Azusa swears the whole time he’s
changing, the litany of fury barely contained in his quiet mumbles.
It’s short. It barely covers his ass and he can’t wear anything underneath it.
He’s slim enough to fit into it though. He thinks a larger size would have slid
over his waist and it’s not like Karino wants it to be any longer.
He leaves his shirt on and if not for his flat chest and short hair thinks that
he could probably pass for a girl, if he’d wanted to. He hopes Karino doesn’t
want him to but the fact that he’s put this much thought into it is enough to
make him worry.
Karino fucks him against a table and the skirt gets in the way, but less than
his pants do when he’s in the same place.
 
There’s a crown floating above Karino’s head, just touching his black hair. It
takes Azusa a moment to realise that he’s not dreaming, and another moment for
the crown to disappear.
He rubs his eyes. He hadn’t slept the night before (or the night before or the
night before) and every so often he feels like he’s swooping downwards, faster
and faster until he jerks back, away, awake.
He puts his head back on his desk and slumps, for a moment wishing he could
melt into it. The room’s busy and though Karino’s been detained by his royal
court but there are others. They can still get him, even if they can’t touch
him. It’s not even close to being safe to fall asleep.
He drifts anyway, too tired to care. The crown floats above Karino’s head
still, burning into his eyes. It’s not there when he looks at it and Karino
doesn’t turn around.
Azusa doesn’t bother raising his head when class starts. He’s too tired and if
he lifts his head he’ll feel Karino’s eyes in the back of his neck. If he runs,
if he runs really really fast, he might be able to get out of the school before
Karino can get him. He’s too tired for Karino’s bullshit today.
He’s also too tired to run that fast and he’s admitting defeat if he does.
Hopefully Karino will be distracted enough by something that he doesn’t catch
Azusa until Azusa is long gone. He’s not sure if Karino even knows where he
lives.
He doodles in the margins of his worksheet, thrones and crowns and chains, and
can’t even muster the energy to swear his revenge again.
End Notes
     disclaimer: i hate this manga, karino, myself, and this fic
     also ffs please don't come into the comments saying anything even
     remotely good about karino he's a piece of shit and my ideal ending
     of caste heaven is that azusa locks him in the school and burns it
     down he's abusive and disgusting
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