Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5819506.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      カーストヘヴン_|_Caste_Heaven
  Relationship:
      Karino_Kouhei/Azusa_Yuuya
  Character:
      Azusa_Yuuya, Karino_Kouhei
  Additional Tags:
      Blood, Borderline_Necrophilia, Blood_and_Come, listen_whatever_you're
      thinking_it's_that_or_worse, Sexual_Content, implied_stockholm_syndrome
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-26 Words: 1376
****** we talked about making it, i'm sorry that you never made it ******
by koonutkalifee
Summary
     He’d been falling into Karino, started arching into his hands and
     letting him touch gently and opening, spreading, surrendering.
     And he’d rather kill both of them than accept that.
Notes
     lmao
     ok on one level this is hilarious because it's so far removed from
     anything even remotely possible
     but on the other hand it's so incredibly horrible that it couldn't
     ever be even slightly funny and i'm being serious those tags are all
     applicable i'm not tagging like that for shits and giggles
See the end of the work for more notes
Karino is heavy.
Karino is very heavy. He’s so much heavier than Azusa and Azusa can feel
himself being slowly crushed beneath his weight.
Karino isn’t moving. Of course he isn’t moving. He’s dead. He’s been dead for a
while and his body is still on top of Azusa. Azusa will get cold soon – he’s
only got his thin shirt on and he’s covered in dried, congealed blood and cold
semen.
The knife he’d stuck into Karino’s chest is jutting out, the handle digging
into his ribs and he considers moving it, considers shoving Karino to the
floor.
The door is locked. Karino had always locked it when he’d fucked Azusa, and now
it means that the police officers on the other side can’t get in. He could let
them in but if he does this becomes real and so he doesn’t move, doesn’t stand
to dress himself and doesn’t do Karino the decency of covering him in death.
The expression on Karino’s face will forever be twisted into horrified
betrayal, will forever be looking down to where Azusa’s hand had stabbed the
knife into his chest. It had punctured his heart, or at least that had been
where Azusa had been aiming, and the blood had gushed onto Azusa and stained
his shirt.
The police outside have been banging on the door for a long time now. Azusa
isn’t really there anymore. He’s drifting, Karino’s body still warm enough on
top of him that he’s not cold yet. Karino is still inside of him; Azusa can
feel his cock still half-hard inside him. He’s surprisingly not disgusted by
it.
 
He’d stabbed Karino and then he’d waited. Karino had died quickly enough,
quicker than he had deserved. He’d scrabbled at Azusa’s neck as he’d died,
choking on sounds of hatred that he couldn’t form into words.
Azusa had laughed.
 
His hands are still there now, wrapped loosely around his throat. Azusa thinks
about rigor mortis. If Karino stayed there long enough, would his hands
eventually tighten around his throat? Would he cut off Azusa’s breathing one
last time, even after death?
The life in Karino’s eyes had bled out and then Azusa had waited for the
screaming hysteria that was welling up inside of him to release. He’d screamed
until his throat had torn and then he’d screamed until he couldn’t make another
sound. Part of him wonders if he’s permanently fucked that up, if he’ll ever
talk again.
He doesn’t really care if he doesn’t though. He’s run out of things to say.
There’s a brief lull of silence outside the door. Azusa wonders what they’re
doing. Probably discussing how to break it down.
 
He’d finished screaming and heard people, other students, knocking frantically
on the door, shouting “Karino, Karino!”
No one was shouting for him, though he was the one screaming.
He’d heard “he’s stopped,” and “oh my god,” and “I think we should call the
police.”
And then they’d left, footsteps pattering down the corridor. Azusa supposed
that they’d left people to watch the door, to make sure he hadn’t escaped. He
hadn’t planned on going anywhere.
 
He hears the teachers outside questioning the students. It seems like they’ve
decided to wait for a key, rather than to break the door down. Azusa thinks,
through the foggy, murky haze that his thoughts are clouded by, that that’s
weird. If the students had told the police that there had been a boy shrieking
like a banshee they should have insisted on breaking down the door.
“Azusa just started screaming,”
“He’s always in there with Karino,”
“No, we don’t know what they do,”
Lies
Azusa reaches up and touches Karino’s face. His glasses are still on him, thick
black frames around his horrified eyes. Azusa likes that expression. He’d
wanted to see that expression since the first time Karino had raped him,
blindfolded and unconscious, helpless on the floor.
The semen and blood on his skin are itchy, dried and flaking and horrible. He’s
used to Karino coming on him but the blood is new and it’s worse than come.
 
Karino had come before he’d died. Azusa had waited until he had, until his face
had twisted with that sickening pleasure, waited for the moment he went slack
and his eyes closed.
And then he’d scrabbled for the knife under the cushion on the sofa and stabbed
upwards, just before Karino could fall onto him.
Karino had clawed at his neck and bled out and died with a twistedly ugly
expression on his face and his hands around Azusa’s neck, and Azusa had been
left hard under Karino’s body and feeling as safe as he’d ever felt.
Karino was dead. He was free. He would go to jail, or a psych ward, or be
sentenced to death (and wasn’t that all too likely, with Karino’s father) but
he was, right then, free.
He’d screamed himself hoarse and when he’d done that he’d reached between their
chests and wrapped his hand around his cock. The blood and semen he was covered
in hadn’t been sitting long enough to dry and congeal and so they were still
slippery, still slippery enough for him to slide his hand up and down himself.
Karino’s hands had been warm around his throat and his cock was still inside
him and he was heavy on top of him and it was all far, far too similar to the
many times he’d been fucked before only this time he was safe, safe forever.
He’d shuddered into his hand, come spilling over his stomach and mixing with
the blood and semen already on him. It had started sliding down his sides,
followed the sharp curve of his hipbone and collected in the creases of his
skin. His hand had slumped to his side and he’d let his eyes fall shut and his
head fall back.
It was over.
 
He can hear Kusakabe’s voice outside and frowns slightly. Kusakabe will throw
up if he sees this.
Kusakabe needs to get help. It’s not really his business and he hardly cares,
but Kusakabe had tried to help him which had been more than anyone had done and
more than Azusa had wanted.
But he’d tried.
He thinks, blearily, that he’s not really in a position to try and help
Kusakabe. But maybe with this, Kusakabe will be able to help himself.
The caste system won’t survive this, he doesn’t think. Not if the school shuts
down and the students disperse into other schools, healthy schools, where
social order isn’t determined by a box of cards and doesn’t allow this.
This is going to hurt his mother.
He had thought about that, when planning this. He’d thought about how it would
break her to know that her son was worse than her, that her son was a murderer
as well as a whore. He hadn’t wanted to do that.
But he’d been falling into Karino, started arching into his hands and letting
him touch gently and opening, spreading, surrendering.
And he’d rather kill both of them than accept that.
He’d considered suicide as well, considered taking the knife he’d stuck into
Karino and pushing it into his own chest. His plans hadn’t been set until the
very last minute and as he’d been thinking he’d wondered how much easier dying
would be than living after this.
But like hell he was going to die underneath Karino.
Like hell was he going to die by a knife still dripping with Karino’s blood and
like hell was he going to die covered in blood and come, being fucked by a man
he hated.
His suicide would have killed her. She would have taken a razor to her wrists
or swallowed a bottle of pills or put her head in a noose and jumped. He
doesn’t want that. He’s never wanted that.
He’d wanted, somewhere in his head, for his mother and he to be happy together,
in a small apartment where the water was never cut off and the heater worked,
with enough food for the both of them and where his mother didn’t have to work
like she did.
Maybe his mother can still have that.
A smile creeps onto his face as the door is unlocked.
End Notes
     sorry
     i actually know exactly what happens after this and tbh it's not
     actually too tragic but it doesn't fit the tone of this at all
     (title from wires - the neighbourhood)
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