Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/466272.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/
      Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Durarara!!
  Relationship:
      Ryuugamine_Mikado_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Boss!Kado, Moe!Kado
  Additional Tags:
      psychological_piece, nightmare_piece, monster's_in_you, we're_all_ugly_on
      the_inside, non-con, dark_dark_dark!!, self-cest(?)
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-22 Words: 4319
****** Mercurial Cognizance ******
by rightsidethru
Summary
     Every person has a monster hidden deep within.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
He was buried at the bottom of an oubliette.
Darkness surrounded him, filling the air that he struggled to breathe, and it
took everything that was within Mikado to continue staring about with eyes wide
open and yet still completely blind to the world. His breath was stuttering
out, hitching desperately--thoughts running high and fast and constant as the
line Can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe pounded rough and
hard in the hollow of his chest. Every gasp was a reminder that, despite the
oblivion that surrounded him, he was still alive.
"Someone…? Anyone? Please! Please, help me!"
The words fell flat, pressing in snug over his ears; the world had become flat
and two dimensional, and it wasn't until Mikado raised his hands upwards,
fingertips skimming ever so lightly over his cheeks, that he realized that he
was silently weeping. The dark brought on the primeval terror of the unknown,
and the flat blue-gray of his eyes dulled with memories of childhood and the-
monster-beneath-the-bed.
The teen shuddered and wrapped his arms snugly about his body, crouching down
towards where he thought that the ground might be--solid beneath his feet, and
yet it still almost seemed to become a surreal concept since he could not see
it with his own gaze. The ability to touch paled in comparison to the ability
to see, and without sight, without another human being to reach out to in the
dark, and without his computer--his connection to the wider world and the
people within it--Mikado realized just how truly helpless he was.
It was when that realization came to him in an epiphanic moment that a light
flared suddenly, flame flickering in a slight breeze that had started at the
first sign of not-dark. The flame was warm, heat-made-light shaded in tones of
gold and orange and red and, at its very heart, a deep, royal blue; it
illuminated the cool, flat plane of a mirror that had been placed against what
Mikado realized was the wall.
Mikado was left staring at his own reflection, eyes wide and tear-filled, skin
pale from the fright that still left him feeling shaky and uncertain, wanting
nothing more than to return home--where it was safe, where it was warm, where
colors illuminated his world and painted it in vibrancy and movement. It was as
he continued to stare at his reflection--a semblance of companionship, despite
the fact that the teen knew that it wasn't a "real" person--it was then that
the image in the mirror… moved.
It began to smile slowly, gestures independent of Mikado's own, and the boy
froze immediately, horror-struck.
His mirror-self reached out through the glass, parts of the reflective surface
clinging to skin and clothes like molten silver, and the other stretched
further still until too-cold fingers brushed over Mikado's cheeks to wipe away
the tears that still wet his soft skin. It spoke when the tears had collected
upon its fingertips, and the teen trembled at its tone: colder, harsher, more
sly and crueler than most others ever saw in him-his other self, the self that
he kept carefully restrained beneath layers of chains, hidden away and only
allowed to emerge into the light under certain circumstances. His truest self--
or, perhaps, one of them.
"You're so sweet when you cry," the doppelgänger murmured.
And Mikado was afraid.
The fear only seemed to intensify as the doppelgänger slipped out from the
mirror, and the teen could only watch in ill-disguised horror as the slick
surface continued to cling to his other self--droplets falling like twisted
version of raindrops from the other's skin and hair and clothes to pitter-
patter upon the floor with a quiet ringing sound that echoed the sound of
bells. Mikado swallowed audibly at that, shifting away, and the doppelgänger
watched the bobbing of Mikado's Adam's apple with an amused look in his blue-
grey eyes.
"Who are you?" Mikado asked the doppelgänger, scooting backwards with jerky,
almost crablike motions of his body; the fear that had come upon him in the
dark had never left and it was now, when the teen could see that there truly
was a Boogeyman within the quiet abyss of midnight, it was now that the fear
deepened and turned instinctive, the primordial desire to leave, to run, to
keep running until a person could once more huddle in the light.
The doppelgänger's flickered down, catching sight of the quickly beating pulse
at the bend of Mikado's throat, and he smiled at the open evidence of fear; the
tears had been just the start of what he truly desired--it was the terror that
whet his appetite, made the desire for what was to come--the breaking of this
pathetic, public mask--all that much more prominent within his very soul. It
was, quite honestly, a mask that made others look at Mikado as a doormat--too
nice, always smiling, ready to immediately offer a helping hand should another
person need it. There was a division within himself, a barrier that he almost
always kept up--a division into "me" and "other" that he very distinctly made,
and it was this "other"--the doppelgänger--that was so very tired of being
denied the light.
There was a hunger within him, and he ached from it.
As he continued to make his way closer, movements predatory, Mikado's gaze was
caught by the mirror image reaching into a pocket to withdraw something slim
and cylindrical; it wasn't until the other self began spinning it between
fingers that the teen realized what it was--a ballpoint pen--and, more
importantly, what it symbolized for him. Mikado's eyes went even wider with
shock and dawning realization, and he pushed himself violently away, fingers
scrabbling uselessly at the too-flat ground beneath him--so, so desperate to
get away.
"No," Mikado gasped out, the denial both a plea and a demand--and yet knowing
that, despite and because of it all, the other would not listen. It wasn't in
his nature, wasn't in his nature to forgive or be willing to be appeased--
nothing less than "an eye for an eye" would quench the insatiable darkness that
hid within both of their hearts.
It was with eyes that were barren of all feelings, glacial cold and echoing the
roar of the Arctic wind, that the doppelgänger stabbed down with the pen; it
punched through the meat of Mikado's hand, and he screamed at the pain (was
this what his kouhai had felt when Mikado had done this to Aoba?) as his vision
clouded with white: thick, thick, thick burning and Mikado's world became
agony--
Until a pair of lips pressed roughly against his own and Mikado could feel
himself being pushed backwards to sprawl out over the floor, pinned beneath a
weight that was his own, and barely heard words were whispered huskily against
his mouth as fingers began to ease beneath the waistband of his school pants:
"Disappear."
The word and the connotations attached to it made the terror spike further,
higher, heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in the cavern of his chest,
and pain-edged pleasure was all that Mikado knew. His hand throbbed in time
with his heartbeat, and he could feel blood trickling down over his palm and
wrist to puddle on the floor below. Warm and sticky and coming from inside him.
It was the agony and the morbid epiphanic realization that finally encouraged
Mikado to struggle against the weight upon him. He pushed and kicked and bit,
tasting blood upon his tongue and trying so desperately hard to stifle the
hitched sobs that made his chest ache with the temptation to pretend that none
of this was actually happening.
"Get away! Get away from me!" Mikado yelled as his uninjured hand came up to
shove the other body away from him. His hands scrabbled at the smooth floor
beneath him, good fingers curling uselessly for something to take hold of and
use to pull himself to some sort of make believe "safety." He didn't get far,
however, before the doppelgänger once again lashed out: with blue eyes that
were so incredibly cold--was this truly how he was, deep down inside?--his
mirror self slammed down on the pen still embedded in Mikado's hand. He
shrieked at the sudden increase of agony: all attempts to run away stalled
immediately, and it took everything within the teen to fight to remain
conscious. His body curled around the injury, huddling in on himself in some
instinctive move to appear weaker in the hopes that the other would let him be.
Even as his limbs hunched in on themselves, Mikado knew that it was a pointless
gesture.
He knew himself too well.
"Shhh… shhh. Here, let me help," the doppelgänger whispered, words barely
discerned over Mikado's pained whimpers. The teen looked at his mirror self
through watery, glassy eyes, and his hands trembled both in fear and shock as
the other coaxed the injured hand away from his middle with gentleness that
bordered on sadism; the gesture did not fool Mikado--he could still see the
look in the doppelgänger's eyes. And there was no kindness when the pen was
finally pulled out of the wound, the pull rough enough that Mikado nearly
passed out from the pain.
With hands that were graceful in their movements, the doppelgänger began
bandaging the injury; stemming the bloodflow so that Mikado wouldn't fall into
unconsciouness, and the strips of cloth were wrapped tight and secure around
the blue-eyed teen's still trembling hand. He glanced up to meet Mikado's gaze,
and a small smile tugged his lips upwards--a smile that borderlined on a
crocodile's grin, all sharp teeth and hunting intent and Mikado couldn't help
but wonder, belatedly, if he was going to die here in this dark, suppressed
place.
"You won't. I promise," the doppelgänger said suddenly, and Mikado shuddered
and broke eye contact to glance away. The other had somehow read his mind, and
it was… unnerving. (That thought alone almost allowed a hysteric giggle to
escape from Mikado's mouth: Out of all of the events that had happened thus
far, it was the mind reading that freaked him out the most?) His mirror image
chuckled softly and leaned forward so that his lips brushed against the shell
of Mikado's ear. "My point wouldn't be made if I killed you~"
*
There was nowhere to escape to:
Darkness.
A single flame, a will-o-the-wisp within the abyss.
The mirror that had revealed a personal sort of Hell.
And the doppelgänger.
The other's fingers wrapped tight around Mikado's throat, pressing on his
windpipe, and coaxed with passive aggression: forcing the teen to tilt his head
upwards or suffocate, and then he settled his mouth over Mikado's: his lips
brushed lightly, so temptingly light, against the teen's own--quiet teases that
would try to encourage the other to participate in the kiss, and a slick glide
of a tongue over Mikado's lower lip. It felt… good, surprisingly so, and Mikado
couldn't help but still distantly wonder if this was what it felt like to sell
one's soul to the Devil.
His doppelgänger's fingers began working on the knot of his tie, and Mikado
waited for the noose to draw tight.
It came as a surprise when the tie did not tighten about his neck and instead
loosened.
Mikado couldn't stop the quiet hitch in his breath as he tried to push his
mirror self away to see just what the other was attempting to do, but the
doppelgänger's quiet, forceful, "Don't." was almost enough of an incentive to
keep himself from getting too curious--the trump card, however, came when his
darker self shifted one hand's hold just enough to dig his thumb into the wound
that he had inflected with then ballpoint pen, and Mikado gasped at the sudden
onslaught of pain as tears immediately came to his eyes.
"Wh-why are you doing this?" Mikado still couldn't help but ask, breath
hitching in silent sobs that he knew better than to voice aloud, as the
doppelgänger finally tugged his tie free; it did not come as a surprise to the
teen when the thin strip of fabric wound around his wrists, pressing his hands
palm-to-palm--what did come as a surprise, however, was when his mirror self
flipped Mikado onto his belly so that he could tie the teen's hands behind his
back. The fact that he could not see the other, could not attempt to anticipate
his doppelgänger's various indulgences in his own, hidden, cruel streak.
The doppelgänger laughed quietly at that, pushing up the crisp white cotton of
Mikado's school shirt so that he could dot kisses down the line of the teen's
spine, put on display between the taut lines of Mikado's arms. His lips brushed
over the edge of the bandages around the blue-eyed boy's hand, and Mikado could
feel the other's words with each caress of his mouth. "You know better than to
ask that," the doppelgänger said, scolding Mikado--and the teen could just
picture the cold glint to the other's gaze, the hardness that he kept on such
an incredibly tight leash, never letting others see it unless it was absolutely
necessary. "When someone hurts you, you make sure that they see the error of
their ways."
"Then why are you doing this to me?"
There was a twist to the other's words when he finally answered, and it was all
too easy to close his eyes to picture what sort of expression would be upon his
mirror self's face--the whitening of the skin around his eyes as it bled of
color, the twist downwards at the corner of his mouth, the way that his back
teeth would bite down on the inside of his cheek while the taste of copper
would suddenly flood his mouth and his chest would become so, so tight. "You
kept me in darkness when all I wanted was the light."
What was left unsaid but that which Mikado understood all too clearly was this:
And now I shall give you a taste of the Abyss in turn.
"Don't do this," Mikado whispered softly as he pressed his face against the
cool marble-like surface of the floor, hoping that the chill would somehow
manage to leech the heat from his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes that were
still so incredibly wet with tears of sickness at the knowledge of what was to
come and of pain and of the instinctive terror of the darkness and the monsters
that resided within it. More began to fall from his lashes as he felt his
doppelgänger's fingers work at the snap at his waistband, tugging with deft
fingers at the zipper, and then it wasn't long before the other gripped over
cloth to drag his trousers and boxers over his hips and down his thighs. Cool
air suddenly nipped at bared, flushed skin, and Mikado shivered as he pressed
his cheek that much more firmly against the ground beneath his body. He hoped,
somehow, to perhaps burrow through the rock, that maybe by pressing as hard as
he could against the stable plain that the other would forget about him.
The words that came, however, showed that all the wishing was to be in vain.
"You deserve the hurt. An eye for an eye, right? Isn't that what you really
believe, deep down inside? Don't lie, Mikado-chan--I know better, after all.
I'm you."
As Mikado felt the barest brushing of fingertips over the sensitive skin of his
inner thighs, he screwed his eyes tightly shut when the touch began to make its
way higher, teasing at the soft skin just behind his balls and then moving up
and up and up, finally pausing at the tight ring of muscle of his entrance. His
breath hitched and stuttered out, and with his eyes still forcibly closed, he
began to chant in a never-ending litany within the confines of his mind--a safe
place, a haven that the doppelgänger couldn't touch, the way that he was
touching Mikado's body--over and over and over again, the teen whispered to
himself, This isn't real. This is just a dream. This can't be happening. When
the dream gets to be too much, I'll wake up and none of this will have never
happened. This is just my subconscious--only a figment of my imagination. This
isn't real because it isn't possible.
The lies shattered into a multitude of millions of pieces when the doppelgänger
finally eased two fingers within his body, breaching his entrance and pushing
deeper--not bothering with any preparation or form of lubrication, and Mikado's
eyes opened at the slow burning that built to a sharp pulse to meet the gaze of
the doppelgänger's through the reflective surface of the mirror, and his other
self smiled thinly as he said, "It's not a dream."
The terror that Mikado had felt when he had first come to this twilight
environment paled in comparison to the complete and utter abject feeling of
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod as he was forced to watch the doppelgänger's smile
deepen just a little bit further before easing his fingers out of the tight
burn that Mikado's body had become, as he was forced to watch through the
tarnished mirror as his darker self pulled away completely to fade away into
the shadows. The fact that the other had left gave Mikado no reassurance, no
hope that he was finally free--he knew himself, buried deep though some of his
consciousnesses were, and he knew that this wasn't the end.
The doppelgänger had a sadistic streak that was a mile wide, saw the world in
black and white: an eye for an eye, pain for pain, injustice for injustice. It
was that outlook that was the cause of Mikado stabbing his pen through his
kouhai's hand--and it was the same reasoning as to why the doppelgänger had
mirrored that gesture with Mikado himself.
But this injustice was a great one--sealing away this other self in the dark,
dark recesses of his psyche, and so the payment would have to be equally great
to make them once more on even footing. Mikado knew this, and yet he still
couldn't stop a quiet sob from slipping past his parted lips as suddenly
slickened fingers once more breached the tight ring of muscle at his entrance,
pushing and pushing and pushing their way deeper into his body. It was a
violation of self on so many different levels, and when Mikado finally reopened
his eyes to look up at the mirror before him, all he could see was an identical
pair of eyes watching back through the glass, dark blue eyes intent upon the
bound boy.
The fingers within his body suddenly crooked, and Mikado's eyes went wide as
pleasure slammed through his limbs, sharp and painful and drugging in its
intensity, and he gasped quietly as the doppelgänger's thin smile deepened and
became that much more dangerous. "Ne…" he began, tone musing. "You're still a
virgin, aren't you, Mikado-chan? Saving yourself for either Anri-san or Kida-
kun? Maa, maa, maa… sentimental."
Mikado swallowed then, the sound so loud--too loud--in the otherwise silence of
the Abyss. "Please don't do this. I'm… sorry, truly sorry… for what I've done.
I-I'll try to make peace. With this part of myself. But please don't do this."
The doppelgänger actually paused for a moment, head tilted to the side as he
mulled the plea over. His gaze was thoughtful, though still managed to glint
balefully as his fingers once more crooked and buried deep, pressing firmly--
unrelentingly, unmercifully--against Mikado's prostate. The teen shuddered
again and again and again, horrified as he felt his cock stir to life, fighting
against the pleasure and his body's reaction to it when it was something that
he had neither asked for nor wanted. This… this was wrong, and Mikado could
feel more tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, trickling in salty
rivulets down his cheeks to the cool floor below.
It did not come as a surprise to Mikado when the doppelgänger smiled yet again,
fingers thrusting to finger fuck him, spreading slim digits wide to stretch
Mikado for something else: it did not come as a surprise when the darker self
spoke the damning word aloud, "No."
Horror and fear and terror that caused his heart to flutter before skipping a
beat, pounding frantically against his ribcage the way that a person locked
away would pound and pound and beg for release from their prison--his skin ran
cold and clammy, and when Mikado felt something thicker and with a blunted head
press against his entrance--with the other's fingers still buried snugly within
him--he cried out in desperate denial and tried whatever he could to get away.
There was no escaping it, however:
A hand drew his struggling body backwards, fingernails digging into the sharp
wing of a hip, and Mikado could feel himself, his thighs, being pushed wider
apart, making room for another person, and Mikado's eyes snapped open as he
screamed when the doppelgänger finally thrust forward and buried his cock up to
the hilt, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, forcing himself deeper despite
the fact that Mikado had immediately tightened around him--pushing and pushing
and thrusting and grinding forward until his balls slapped against the teen's
ass and he was buried in to the base of his erection.
No escape.
His doppelgänger began to set a punishing pace, hips flexing forward, pressing
deep as the tip of the other's erection began to rub against Mikado's prostate,
and pain and pleasure and terror blurred together into a twisted, dizzyingly
blend of emotion, of sensation, and all Mikado could feel was a hard thickness
filling him to the brim over and over and over and over and over again-an
unstoppable force that took no pleasure in the act, doing it only to hurt and
to break and even as he was fucked roughly, Mikado still couldn't bring himself
to look away from the pair of glittering eyes that were so like his own. But
so, so cold.
And as the doppelgänger buried himself deep once more with a low, barely
audible hiss, Mikado couldn't help but wonder: Is this what I'm really like
Hidden away, placed behind shackles? Is this something that I would be capable
of doing to another person?
It was a thought that caused his mind to stutter and go static-white,
incomprehensible horror filling his throat and mouth with bile as the urge to
vomit suddenly flooded his entire being, making him sick and dizzy and nauseous
with a single, terrifying glimpse into his most inner self, the darkest corner
of his mind:
Was he capable of violating another person in such a way?
The fear was enough to have Mikado finally sobbing, body trembling as he was
filled over and over and over again, and his breathing hitched, wet and thick
and choking, at the acknowledgement that there was a monster that lived within
him that was capable of doing the most horrible acts--and, in the end, he had
to equally acknowledge the fact that that monster was him as a pair of
identical blue eyes, maliciously wide and lust-blown, met his own through the
reflection of the mirror.
"I'll always, always be within you," the doppelgänger whispered huskily as he
thrust forward one last time, burying himself as deep as possible--as if trying
to push his way into Mikado's body, a hidden, evil presence that lay in wait
for the perfect moment to strike--and it was with a flexing of his hips that he
came: the teen could feel the other's cock pulse as he orgasmed, filling his
ass with sticky, viscous fluid that overflowed and began to trickle down the
insides of his thighs. Another flex of the other's hips, and Mikado could feel
another pulse that continued to overfill him--the seed planted deep within his
body (planted and taking root), symbolic and truth, and Mikado closed his eyes
because he didn't want to see because feeling was more than enough.
"Please, please, pleasejust let this be a dream," he whispered against a cold
floor that was wet with his tears.
The doppelgänger laughed and began the slow, idle process of pulling out of
Mikado's tight heat, lingering for a little while linger when it was just the
head of his cock that breached the tight ring of muscle. The sensation was
enough to cause the teen to whimper softly, pleading still quietly to the
darkness that entrapped them both. It was only when he was completely out that
Mikado's other self leaned over his shuddering form to murmur against the shell
of a bone-white ear, "Wake up, Mikado."
:
Mikado opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through the window of his
apartment, tear tracks tacky and still wet upon his cheeks. His chest ached,
breathing still difficult despite the fact that only remnants of his dream
remained. Despite the fact that it had been only a dream, the dark-haired
teen's breathing stuttered slightly and he reached up with a hand to scrub at
his face.
His hand was bandaged.
"N-No," Mikado murmured, eyes going wide, wide, so impossibly wide, and he sat
up abruptly--a motion that caused sharp, biting pain to run up his back, ass
clenching around something that was no longer there, but still instinctively
remembered that feeling of being too full, and it was with a numb mind and a
numb heart that Mikado watched a new trail of semen began trickling down his
thigh.
And he remembered the look in the doppelgänger's eyes as he whispered,
"It's not a dream."
Mikado wept.
*
.End.
End Notes
     Prompt from the drrrkink meme: Boss!Kado x Moe!Kado sex, use your
     imagination on how Boss!Kado came to existence. Or maybe just "Dream"
     the whole thing.
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