
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11433096.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      New_Dangan_Ronpa_V3:_Everyone's_New_Semester_of_Killing
  Relationship:
      Ouma_Kokichi/Saihara_Shuuichi
  Character:
      Ouma_Kokichi, Saihara_Shuuichi
  Additional Tags:
      endgame_spoilers, pre-game, how_the_HELL_is_this_romantic._weirdass_kids,
      read_notes_for_real_warnings
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-07 Words: 1400
****** the hand that cuts ******
by ninata
Summary
     Fake the smallest version of myself /Can't shake this moment inside
     of my head / Duck in shame and sink into my shell / And play it over
     and over again until the favors end (FULL GAME SPOILERS, CHECK
     BEGINNING NOTES FOR REAL SUMMARY/WARNINGS)
Notes
     Saihara suggests something new.
     -
     still about saihara and ouma knowing each other pre-game and
     being...uh. whatever you call this.
     warnings for: self harm, suicide, actual physical bodily harm, child
     abuse mentions, people drinking each others blood, getting off to
     physical pain, messy handjobs, and yet somehow it's romantic and all
     consensual
     back at it again with that edgy shit. MISS me with that dubcon.
See the end of the work for more notes
Hands wrap their knobby fingers together. Saihara's are softer, short nails
with harsh ridges in them. Kokichi envies the curves of his palms, the creases
on his knuckles.
Box cutter, disinfected. Kokichi's sleeve is rolled up to the elbow. Is he
afraid? Is he excited?
Saihara's left in his right. A reassuring smile, its corners pinned to the
middle of Saihara's cheeks. Kokichi smiles back, if only on reflex. "Ready?
One, two…" A sharp sting; the pain warns against pressing deeper, but once it
does, numbness sets in. His wrist feels wet. He doesn't want to look-- like
getting a shot, it's hard to watch as it happens. Saihara paints neat red lines
in the flesh of Kokichi's forearm. Shallow. He can tell.
Throb. He feels the blood rush to a stranger place than the wounds. He releases
the breath he was holding, shifting in his seat.
"T-There. Is that…?"
Kokichi nods.
Saihara breathes, Kokichi feels it rush over his lips. His hands are shaking,
it's not the pain. It's not the blood, either. It's never been like this, every
time he hurt himself he  hated  it, but he needed it. Needed to. This is
different.
Saihara sets the box cutter down and takes Kokichi's hand. Delicately, he
raises up his arm. Something in Kokichi's lower body tightens. He wants to say
something, but he can't think of anything. Saihara's lips press against the
hurt.
His tongue rolls against it.
Kokichi's almost jealous. If his whole face was bleeding, would Saihara give it
that kind of attention? Aha...that's a joke. Like cleaning the wound, his mouth
works against Kokichi's skin. Kokichi rocks forward on his legs. "Saihara-kun,
that's not...clean…" They'd never gone this far before. It was Saihara's
suggestion, idly as his eyes ran over the scabbed over cuts on Kokichi's
thighs.  What if I did it?  Saihara had hurt him before at his request, but it
was never this serious. They just kept growing more and more depraved. If
anyone knew, they'd look down on Kokichi even more...haha, what a laugh. The
model student his parents wanted him to be was a fucking masochist. Was this
beyond masochism? Whatever it was, he wonders if half the reason it turns him
on so much is because he knows everyone would hate him for it.
Kokichi's heart is pounding. The shitty thing stuck in his ribs, pitifully
churning out blood that passes through Saihara's lips. Something in him is
still scared, but something else needs more. Wants Saihara to slice him into
ribbons, slam the boxcutter into his chest and drag it down, down, down. Pull
out all the garbage that rots inside him, his tar colored organs that ooze
green and hate. Leave his corpse to decompose in the middle of Tokyo station,
so that everyone trying to get on with their disgusting mundane lives has to
see him.
His head feels fuzzy. He shifts again. Saihara's head lifts-- his lips are red,
his saliva stained. Kokichi hates blood. He squeezes the hand that's still in
his, and he leans in.
His chest heaves. He's too nervous to grab, too nervous to tug. Saihara tastes
like you'd expect, metal and punches to your teeth. It's disgusting. It's his.
"We need to--" Saihara tries to speak. Kokichi doesn't want to let him. He's
afraid of what he's going to say, if he's going to call him a freak for the
tent in his pants, if he's going to laugh at him. His vision is cloudy. "W-We
need to bandage you up--"
Kokichi isn't sure if he's getting faint from the blood loss or the weird
pleasure, but it's probably both. The pain's already gone, but every thump of
blood hits him in the crotch. It's funny how being hurt by one person makes him
want to kill himself, but being hurt by Saihara makes him desperate for more.
He doesn't cooperate at first, twisting his tongue against Saihara's, but he
can't find the strength to push back when Saihara pulls away, stays put when
Saihara gropes around for the disinfectant. How much blood did he lose? He
couldn't tell how much time passed. His pants are littered with dark red
splotches, and a glance at his arm makes him queasy again. As he sways in his
place, Saihara dabs the cuts with a soaked cotton swab. This time the pain
doesn't feel quite as good. The gauze wrap winds loosely around his forearm.  
Kokichi never lived his own life. After his brother left, his parents directed
their attention to him. Scholarship to a college prep school, welts and bruises
whenever he got less than an A. Hid his interests. Forgot he had them. All he
had were secrets, hemmed uniform pants and gaudy underwear that no one could
see. His rebellion was secret, white cross-hatching up and down his arms and
legs. Secret secret secret. It'd be a surprise if his classmates even knew he
had a personality. If they could tell his timid nature was a farce.
He was nothing. He was just an outlet for everyone else's frustrations. You
can't live like that. You can't feel happy like that. No one understood. Not
until he met Saihara, at least.
The lotion on Saihara's hand smells nice. His hand's wrapped around Kokichi's
dick, jerking him off in short strokes. They can't let Saihara's neighbors
hear, so their tongues keep each other busy. Kokichi thinks Saihara might be
taking care of himself with his other hand, too, but he can't tell. The idea's
nice. He feels like they're linked, that way. The room is full of water, and
everything shifts when he tries to look at it. His body feels light, floating
next to Saihara's, clutching his sleeve in trembling fingers. Maybe they'll
drown together. He'd like to drown.
He comes embarrassingly fast. Saihara sinks his teeth into Kokichi's lip. He
still smells the blood. He wants to bleed more.
It's a blur, but he's lying down on Saihara's couch sometime soon afterwards.
Saihara's making him eat a granola bar and drink juice.
But why? He wouldn't mind passing out, bleeding out. Dying just like that.
Wouldn't it be funny? How would they explain that to his parents?  Yeah, his
gay lover cut open his arm. He died with his dick hard.  Maybe he should carve
a 'go fuck yourself' into his stomach so they know how he feels.
"Are you...feeling better?"
Kokichi is snapped out of his fantasies by Saihara's voice. His lips still have
color to them, still wet with spit. Soft features, sharp golden eyes. His
hair's a little messy-- he only takes his hat off when he's at school or at
home. Kokichi likes it, the little cowlick and the even trim. It frames his
face perfectly, round and gentle, a white moon framed by smooth clouds. It's
jarring-- he forgets what he was thinking about.
"I...er…"
"Let me get you another granola bar..."
"No! It was...er. You just...look nice." Kokichi ducks his head, as if someone
were going to swipe at him for saying that. He directs his attention to the
couch cushion to his left. It's very interesting, charcoal grey with no
patterns or inconsistencies in the stitching.
He thinks of the collection of things he's stolen from Saihara's apartment,
neatly confined in a shoebox in his room. He thinks about how he can't stop
himself from doing it. He thinks about how Saihara never complains. He thinks
about the food Saihara makes him, the times they go grocery shopping together.
He thinks of the spare key in his jacket pocket. He thinks of how nice it
smells here. He thinks of a lot of things.
Saihara breaks the silence.
"...Um...would you...l-like to share the futon tonight?"
Kokichi turns his head back around. Saihara's face is full of color.
"...Yeah. I think I'd like that."
He doesn't deserve this. Does he? Was something good just bound to happen
eventually? It doesn't feel like that. It'll be cruelly torn away from him,
just like everything else.
But Saihara is beautiful, a cool September evening with stars hanging off his
eyelashes, a promise that when the time comes, Saihara will be the one to take
Kokichi's life. And when Kokichi finally dies, Saihara will follow shortly, and
then nothing would separate them ever again.
And they'll be happy.
End Notes
     i cannot believe i've churned out four entire fics and the game isn't
     even out in english yet? anyway if you want Hot Opinions on what i
     think they were like pre-game...feel free to ask, i'll be writing
     lots more. kleptomaniac ouma has so much canon backing let me HAVE it
     kodaka. once again, miss me with that dubcon/noncon i'm here for
     consensual edgy shit and consensual edgy shit only. i really hope i'm
     getting ouma across well enough, i'm tired of everyone being like
     UWAHHH HES SO MOE AND INNOCENT uwu he's obviously an edgy shitlord
     too!!! he just acts like that so no one bothers him!!! anyway theres
     uh, canon info that he went to a really good school and he IS really
     smart and :( :( :( sorry i'm emotional about my boy. the brother
     thing is also kind of uh, a conclusion we came to based on the lies
     he tells in game but it's got verrrry little evidence other than "he
     lies a lot about having a brother that killed his parents/left" and
     "it would make sense".
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