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If there is one thing Kotomine Kirei doesn’t understand, it’s persistence. The need to continue fighting against all odds is one of the most baseless and pathetic tendencies of human beings, so heroism and stupidity are pretty much synonymous in his vocabulary. His own wife had been like that; sickly, rust-colored mucus clotting her tissues every time she so much as sneezed, but she’d smiled nonetheless, assured him every day that she loved him despite his inability to return the favor. The only time he enjoyed sex with her was when it obviously hurt her, and even then he always had to stop out of disgust with himself. The thought of homosexuality or sex without the purpose of procreation never crossed his mind until he met Archer, whose logic behind committing sin was that it can’t be sinful if it feels good. God forbid Ryunosuke Uryu had come upon him first, although, part of what appealed Kirei to Archer in the first place was his uncorrupted evil. People like Uryu are too easy to encourage, and the King of Heroes likes a challenge, which is also rather stupid to Kirei- why chose someone difficult when you can have something just as mediocre without trying?
Kariya Matou stands before him, clinging to his bad arm much like he clings to life. Sitting is more comfortable, which is why Kirei elects to remain in his position…what’s the point in standing if you can barely walk anyway? There are plenty of places to sit, this is a church after all.
Matou’s left eye darts around uncomfortably. Perhaps he’s not as stupid as he looks. Maybe he feels that Kirei could kill him easily, which isn’t necessarily true, Archer or no Archer. He’s not even sure if Archer could properly handle Berserker in a fight, knowing his tendency to underestimate opponents and Berserker’s ability to hijack anything he touches, but that doesn’t matter to him. Distrust him though Kariya may, Kirei has no intent to betray him…at least not in the killing sense. In a psychological sense, perhaps he’s already betrayed him, since Tokiomi’s body is hidden a mere 30 feet away. He’s preserving it, saving for later if you will…curious to see just how much pain this man is capable of weathering, but if he makes it through to the end…why would Kotomine Kirei deny him of something so trite as a wish? Kirei has no wish, no motive to kill this man right now, puppet or not. Killing him would be too merciful at this point anyway, which was the same reason he hadn’t taken his own wife’s life.
They look alike, he notices now…superficially anyway. The white hair, partial blindness, sickly pallor, painful attempt at cheeriness. Disgusting, fragile creatures, both past their expiration date and riddled with worms.
“Sit down, Kariya.”
Kariya does not wish to sit beside him on the pew, and so he takes his seat on the floor. The functional eye strays to the side, a reflection of his honest unease. Clearly he can’t understand the Priest’s reason for calling him here. Kirei reaches down, places his hand on Kariya’s head. The Matou failure does not refuse him- he flinches slightly at the initial shock, but almost seems to lean into the touch when Kirei makes his intent known. His left eye closes, and Kotomine allows himself to smile nastily.
Kariya Matou is probably as strait as they come. The move is one of desperation, a need for affection on an intrinsic level that Kotomine will never understand personally. Pain and pleasure overlap for this man. He is obviously a masochist who clings to ideals that only cause him misery, like a pathetic notion of first love, or a family that understands and cares for you, or getting the revenge you deserve; romantic ideals that rarely exist outside the realm of storybooks. Kirei drags his fingers through the ashen hair, brushes his hand against the rotten side of the other man’s face. Kariya bites his lip, the blood pooling under his nearly transparent skin as he attempts to keep his eye shut. Obviously he isn’t used to this kind of touch. Kotomine wonders if Kariya ever fulfilled his carnal urges. He doubts it. Pleasure conceived without love is probably a foreign concept to someone this stupid. At least they are similar in that respect- Kirei is not incredibly experienced himself, but the concept of experience means nothing to him, nor does the meaning of intimacy.
“Are you punishing yourself?” Kirei asks him softly. Kariya looks up at him apprehensively as Kotomine runs his thumb across his cheek, relishing the feeling of the worm-trails blazed into his skin. “If you don’t want me to touch you, tell me now. My desire is to help you, to heal you as I did before. It is your right to deny me as you see fit.”
The first time he and Gilgamesh fucked, the King of Heroes had asked him who he would go to bed with if he had the choice. Archer’s choice, of course, was Saber- he would make her submit to him and destroy her nobility, how classic! He’d said it with such casual amusement, as though talking about nice weather, and Kirei chastised him for poor morals. To take someone against their will…would the King of Heroes defile his own body for a moment’s pleasure? He’d been quite convinced, however, that Saber would submit to him willingly- who would dare defy he who had surpassed the gods?
“I wouldn’t rape someone, Kotomine…doesn’t that seem more like your thing?”
His fingers twitched, he imagined the feeling of soft white skin collapsing beneath them, the sound of metal piercing through flesh and retracting.
“Kiri…tsugu….”
You’re nothing. An empty chalice masquerading as a human. Nothing. You stupid, stupid woman-
“Oh my, that face…what exactly is on your mind, Kirei?”
“No,” he replied simply. “That sort of thing doesn’t appeal to me.”
Even still.
Kirei doesn’t see the purpose in raping someone like Kariya Matou. Who would it harm? Who would it upset? He has already been violated on such a level that he doubts it would even phase him at this point. The idea of someone touching him in a positive way, on the other hand…that could very well break this man’s spirit. This interests Kirei, who has never been affectionate with his partners. Gilgamesh’s utter depravity and disdain for morality makes them fitting bedmates for this very reason. But this is a (mostly) human man. His motives, the driving force behind his terminal condition make them ill matched. And he is not Archer, with his perfect curvature, his golden skin, his glitzy smile. He has the look of a feast that’s been sitting out for days, undoubtedly cold and bacteria ridden and rotting on the inside.
“If this benefits our alliance…” Kariya says softly. The denial in his voice is starting to falter, his will crumbling. His body trembles. His expression is hazy, lustful in a shame-ridden way. His skin is becoming hot to the touch, and it makes sense now. Kirei has to grit his teeth to hold back the manic grin that threatens to swallow his face.
” …Zouken really is a disgusting creature,” he murmurs, and Kariya tenses, tries immediately to look away but finds his chin caught in the other man’s firm grip. A feral hiss escapes his lips; deluded into thinking his indignation has any value to a man like Kotomine. Kirei placates him gently, his own insincerity and the horridness of his words stirring him in excitement. “The creatures in your body…are they by chance causing this reaction?”
He says nothing, his features contorting, betraying his intent to leave that particular question unanswered.
How disgusting. Zouken’s level of evil is admirable in its own sense. His own child, however indirectly, subjected to such petty humiliation?
“You don’t have to be ashamed, Kariya. It is not my place to lay judgment on you,” Kirei says deeply, his victim too stupid to sense the sadism steeped in his actions. The smaller man inhales sharply, stubbornly trying to keep his resolve. “How torturous, to deny yourself even basic gratification.”
“I don’t need gratification. Revenge is gratification enough,” he blurts out.
Oh, look, Tokiomi again.
Tokiomi is dead, Kotomine sings to himself gleefully. Tokiomi is dead and the revenge you’re fighting for is hopeless. You’re so hopeless, so pathetic. I could watch you for hours and never get bored.
“What if I said I could gratify that wish as well, Kariya? What if I told you you could fight him again with no interference?”
The resigned lustfulness has changed. He pushes himself to his feet with great difficulty, grips Kirei’s shoulder and shakes him desperately, the glimmer of hope blooming in his eye begging to be stamped out.
“Would you really help me? Would you really…”
His weak half-smile is annoying now. Kirei places his hand on Kariya’s arm and nods complacently. Knowing that this happiness will be torn down in a few days time, he permits it, he encourages it, expects double the payment in despair. Kariya sits next to him now, bracing his paralyzed shoulder against him, leaning closer, hesitant and awkward. Kotomine moves his hands back to the other man’s cheeks and kisses him with a tenderness he didn’t know himself capable of. Kariya’s jaw slackens, he makes a small huff of breathlessness, Kirei licks his lower lip and traces it into his mouth, strokes Kariya’s tongue with his own. The other man’s movements are feeble but enthusiastic, his body is trembling. Kotomine Kirei pulls away to relish the glazed-over expression, the embarrassed excitement that has replaced his reluctance.
All because of Tokiomi.
Why does this bother him? Why is this even remotely upsetting? Even if he feels territorial towards this man (and why would he? Reduce himself to the status of a vulture protecting his carrion?) Tohsaka is dead. He’s hardly competition, and Aoi has made too rational a decision to go back on it now- they are no threat to Kotomine’s possession of Kariya Matou. Why should he monopolize this man’s despair? After all, their obliviousness is what feeds his insanity even now, without them Kariya would have no reason to suffer.
But, perhaps that’s it, then.
It’s always someone else.
Archer is right- the feeling of completely defiling something with your own hands…he does not know that kind of joy yet. His father, his wife, they were taken by other means. Kiritsugu’s playings had been salvaged- he can’t even lay claim to their deaths. Tokiomi’s demise had been so brief, so fleeting, it lacked the proper buildup.
Kariya Matou is a reservoir of despondency, polluted countless times by the malice of others. He is the perfect breakdown waiting to happen.
But Kirei cannot take credit unless he takes it to the next level.
Persistent, Kotomine presses his lips to Kariya’s forehead. His skin is clammy and soft, the skin of someone twice his age, fragile and papery against his mouth. He inhales. Matou does not smell pleasant; he spends a great deal of time lying in an alleyway after all. Perhaps these factors in combination with the dregs of the magical world swimming under his festering skin should disgust Kirei, but they only serve to amuse him. It’s cute in the way a stray dog is cute; the attention-starved reaction, the stifled whine he makes is rewarding. The corner of Kariya’s mouth is still wet. His one eye is clamped shut as Kirei winds his arms around his back and pulls him closer. He’s trembling as though the temperature has dropped below freezing, but his flesh is blazing. Kirei moves his mouth to Kariya’s neck and shifts their bodies, pushing him gently onto the bench and looking down at him predatorily.
How funny. Like a bug under a microscope.
Kariya’s mouth is open, he’s breathing heavily, the frame of his chest rising and falling in pained intervals. Kirei slides his hand under his jacket, the difference in temperature almost causing him to draw back. His hands are always cold like this. Kariya does not complain, but he’s starting to look frightened. Kirei hooks his fingers under the waistline of his pants and stares down at him expectantly.
“I-is that necessary?” he stammers, causing Kirei to crack the tiniest of grins.
“Really? How did you think we were going to do this?”
“I understand, but…my skin,” he says, turning his head to the side. Candlelight illuminates the traitorous stain in his cheeks, but Kotomine pays no mind to self-consciousness, just starts to work on removing the obstacle. Matou lifts his rear with some difficulty, cringing from the effort of supporting his own weight as his pants, shoes, and socks are removed, clamps his left eye shut and grimaces as the cold air within the church claws at his mangled flesh.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Kotomine assures him, running a cold hand across his mutilated thigh, which elicits a choking sound. Kariya gazes at him in mingled horror and disbelief, bringing his hand up to his mouth to stop the unwanted trail of saliva from running down his chin. “It’s a mark of courage, of sacrifice, is it not? Are you ashamed of your decision to become this?”
“I’m not!’ Matou protests. He seems on the verge of tears, the physical and sexual torture he shoulders not nearly as painful as the thought of regret. This man is young, and has ruined his body, his mind, his chances of a normal life, for a family that will never understand or return his affections. No number of people, including himself, will deter him from securing their happiness.
He is the antithesis of Kiritugu.
Kotomine recompenses him, moves his mouth between his legs and exhales a puff of warm air against the suffering flesh. Kariya can’t even hold back against an action that small. He cries out, tries to stifle the pained moans that result when Kotomine’s mouth descends upon him. He becomes hard almost immediately, he wiggles stubbornly, tries to sit up and Kirei holds him down, moves his tongue against his shaft cruelly.
“I can’t!” he whimpers helplessly, thrashing his head from side to side. “I can’t take this!”
It’s so vile, nearly pornographic in its intensity, but it’s an honest reaction, there’s no faking the fear in his voice. He’s afraid of exhausting what remains of his humanity by giving in. Kirei pulls his mouth away and Kariya stills momentarily, his leg spasming when nothing happens. He opens his eye reluctantly to meet the blank gaze above him. Kotomine replaces his mouth with his hand and leans forward so his face is close to Kariya’s neck, positioning his own legs on either side of him to bridge the distance.
“Do you think Berserker understands anguish?” he whispers, his fingers coated in what remains of his own saliva, sliding up and down Kariya’s length as he speaks.
“I don’t know,” Kariya whines.
“Think about it,” he urges.
“I can’t!”
“Then you must be close to understanding your servant’s feelings, right? Think about this, Matou Kariya- a fox caught in a bear-trap will chew it’s own leg off to escape- something a human being is incapable of doing. An animal’s survival instinct outweighs its fear of pain.”
The more he speaks, the faster his hand moves, Kariya’s breath becoming ragged and desperate.
“Why are you saying this?” he manages between gasps.
“What do you have to lose, to be afraid of? Your death is certain, whether untimely or natural. What use do you have for pain? Enjoy what time you have left in this world. Rejoice in your mortality and abandon fear, and you will cease your suffering!”
Kariya’s hips jut forward, but he does not finish, as Kotomine expects. Kirei stops his ministrations. The man beneath him is breathing shallowly, still hard as a rock, the jacket covering his upper body pushed up to his ribcage, toxic sweat running down his pale skin.
“If I can’t suffer…I can’t love either,” he whispers. A stubborn, watery smile forms on his lips, as though the thought of ‘love’ is worth any number of atrocities.
“Perfect,” Kotomine croons. The mingled disgust and arousal is amplified. He starts to remove his robes. Kariya watches apprehensively. His own flesh is naturally tan, though years indoors and a dislike of short sleeves have given him a seemingly permanent winter complexion. His muscles are developed, they strain as he lifts his shirt over his head. Kariya watches helplessly, fingers rubbing the fabric of his own jacket apprehensively before he starts to unzip the front with difficulty. He struggles out of it as though shedding a cocoon, slides back from Kotomine enough to sit up, cross-legged, and try to remove the turtleneck underneath. Kirei helps him, holds his useless arm so the garment will pull off easier. He tosses it aside and once again focuses on Matou, whose utter nudity seems to have discouraged him once more.
“Kariya,” he whispers, stroking the other man’s chest. He enjoys the way it sounds, saying this man’s silly name.
‘Goose.’
Not even a songbird or something to be caged and treasured, an unremarkable creature that flies far from home but must inevitably return. Something prone to being shot down and cooked for dinner.
The Matou heir’s ashen fingertips claw at his side, itching to grab his bad arm. He stares at Kirei resolutely, cranes his neck obediently as the other runs his hand across the good part. The skin there is smooth and unbroken, its softness and sallowness, the delicateness of his structure…everything about him is vulnerable, ready to shatter. Even his will threatens to break, his shuddering heart a misplaced thud under his ribcage.
“Once you have Saber, what will you do with her?’ Kotomine had asked Archer, lying across his chest, marveling at such tangible perfection but uncomforted by its existence.
“I don’t know,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll probably tire of her, won’t I? But that’s the truth of these things, isn’t it? There’s no passion, no entertainment in someone who ceases to struggle.”
“How are we doing this?” Kariya murmurs as the hand moves to the smooth half of his face, the fingers touching his lips, moving into his mouth itself. Kotomine’s eyes are half-lidded. He strokes the inside of Kariya’s cheek, runs his fingertips over the contours of his teeth. When he pulls his hand back, there is blood on his fingers. Kariya Matou says nothing, offers no explanation.
“What can your body best endure?” he asks, knowing full well the other doesn’t have the stamina to do a damn thing himself. That is quite fine with Kirei, however. That Kariya lives, that he struggles, is satisfying enough.
His expression says what his mouth refuses.
“Very well then.”
Kirei moves him onto his back once more, pulls his legs so they wrap around his torso- to the best of Kariya’s ability, anyway. His humiliation is overflowing; he moves his head back and stares momentarily at the ceiling before clamping his eye shut and inhaling sharply. Kirei hasn’t even touched him yet, but he whimpers from anticipation. Kotomine was prepared for this from the beginning, and begins to lubricate his partner casually. This is hardly the passionate experience of fucking Archer. He usually receives in those situations, and so the unfamiliarity and embarrassment Kariya shoulders at this moment is relatable in a sense. On the opposite spectrum, his face undergoes such a complex array of emotions in the span of time it takes to loosen him up that Kirei is quite sure he’s unable to rationalize.
So the brain-damage is already that extensive.
Kariya is already moaning lowly, trying to stifle it by placing his wrist over his mouth inconspicuously, perhaps in the guise of wiping drool again. Amused, Kotomine spreads his fingers inside of him and rubs them against him until his body has a visceral, uncontrollable reaction, the nerves that still function jumping, his toes curling inward. Kotomine chuckles. He does it again, feels Kariya convulse as though hit by a defibrillator, the engorged veins decorating his right side squirming sickeningly, their inhabitants agitated and desperate. Reduced to a pool of instinct and emotion, Kariya reaches his arm around Kirei’s back and rakes his fingernails against him. Kirei bears down on him now, smirks at his muddled expression. Matou is too proud to beg, even in a state like this. It’s not admirable, it’s pathetic in its own sense.
“If you want it that badly,” Kirei chuckles, withdrawing his fingers. He’s aroused already, which is fortunate- Kariya’s clumsiness would probably be a deterrent to the act of getting him off, which is difficult to begin with. He slides in easily, Matou’s body twitching uncontrollably in his embrace. He doesn’t make a sound, not even when Kirei starts moving, bites his lip until that red taint spills down his chin. The Priest closes his eyes and wonders if he should imagine something, someone else, something more appealing than a bleeding wreck of a man who is functionally impaired.
He sees nothing. Perhaps his imagination is unable to live up to reality.
Upon opening eyes, his blank expression meets Kariya’s unfocused gaze. Kariya smiles reassuringly, which makes Kirei frown. Why is he attempting to comfort him? It should be the other way around, and Kirei has to fight the strong urge to hit him.
Worthless, pathetic man.
Why do you smile? What do you even have left to smile for?
They have to shift positions several times, due to the awkwardness of the pew. Finally, Kotomine lifts him entirely and moves them to the ground, pins his arms down starts to move quickly, tries to erase his own consciousness. Kariya’s self-control weakens again, his sputtering cries echoing through the church. They drive Kirei into a near blind rage, his heart thumping painfully, body coursing with adrenaline. He makes sure not to blink, to take in every inch of Kariya Matou’s experience, a parasite feeding on his incomprehensible emotions. It starts to feel good- it feels really good, and the faster he moves, the less gentle he is, the better it feels. Kariya is beyond caring. His body is also a parasite that wants nothing more than to swallow him whole, that disgusting mana feeding off him like a starving animal.
After a while, the sounds Kariya makes become vague attempts at words. His expression is an emotion not found on those descriptive charts in elementary schools and psychologist’s offices. It means nothing, indeterminately the result of Kariya’s deterioration or Kirei’s alexithymia. Somehow the man beneath him manages to come twice, and Kirei not once, no matter how hard he grinds into him, no matter how loud Kariya screams. It’s not enough. He forces their mouths together again, tongue searching desperately for something inside this man that can satisfy him. His brow is knotted in exertion, his eyes intent on Kariya’s but denied; only the dead one stares back at him, like the awful short story written by that overrated American Alcoholic. Perhaps he’ll go crazy too, kill Matou and let him rot alongside Tohsaka and his father, not even aware of how he died or why. A tear squeezes through those bone-white lashes, spills down Kariya’s cheek, and it finally happens, he’s done, the sound he’s been withholding escapes all at once and he collapses, his muscles aching from the exertion.
Kotomine wipes the tear away from the other Master’s cheek after Kariya turns onto his side, the delineation of his spine clear beneath his translucent skin. He’s trembling, curled inward to shelter himself, and Kirei pulls him close. The room is cold. Everything is cold but Kariya’s body, he’s more aware of this than ever as the candles on the alter melt into pools of red and white, fizzling out and casting them into darkness. The symbiotic act is done, all that is left is to lie, to placate his ally’s fears, even if it does nothing for Kirei in the short term.
Kariya is incognizant, and passes out against Kirei’s chest. He feels no guilt for this, but is far from satisfied. His fingers slip through the shock-bleached hair and he once again inhales, the classic smell of Matou putrification now laced with sweat and musk and his own particular scent. That’s a nice touch, he thinks idly.
And still, he feels he’s done nothing. Kariya whimpers in his sleep, tucks his head into the crook of his neck, probably dreaming that he’s embracing Tohsaka Aoi. Kirei is satisfied and unsatisfied at once, because he’s sullied this man, he’s made his mark on him, he will contribute to that grand collapse in a few day’s time, when Matou finds Tokiomi’s body propped up like a doll on the same bench he just fucked him on. But dirt is dirt, and in the grand scheme of things, Kirei has done nothing.
What’s another maggot to the squirming pile of misery that is Matou Kariya?