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50 Kinky Ways Challenge #07: Non-Con
It had been a bad idea to go out in public alone, but the stress of incredible fame tended to well up inside Gackt, building pressure, until it burst out unexpectedly at random angles, making him scream and cry and devour huge, trans-fat containing fast food meals in the space of only a few minutes, causing friends, family and staff members to back away with terror in their eyes. He knew for a fact they had the mental health institute on speed dial, number five on every office phone, and their fingertips would stray warily over the button when he showed up for meetings with flat, dark-rooted hair and suspicious ketchup stains on his shirt. It was shameful, but the fact of the matter was he had to sometimes do something stupid or he would die from sheer stress at the tender age of thirty-five.
And so, cleverly disguised in heinously unhip and ill-fitting clothing (jeans and a t-shirt), a fashionless baseball cap and very dark sunglasses, Gackt meandered toward the train station with a self-satisfied smirk, pleasantly tired by a relaxed and unrecognized day in Tokyo proper (he'd eaten a lunch crepe, followed by a dessert crepe).
The train station was crowded, and with a sigh of irritation, he realized that it was rush hour - all the students and many workers were packing themselves on to the trains for the trip home. A thin fracture of acute worry lanced through his relaxation, and he tugged his baseball cap lower to shadow his face as he tucked himself against the window, near the door, and tried to look inconspicuous.
As more and more people impossibly boarded at every stop, and personal space became a luxury not available for the small price of the ticket, he found himself huddled against the bar beside the door, pressed in on all sides by other bodies politely ignoring the necessary breech of common courtesy and opting instead to read a crunched magazine or simply stare into space. Gackt tried to shrink himself impossibly more without looking too suspicious.
When he felt a hand squirming against the back of his leg, he assumed it was an accident as someone tried to arrange themselves more comfortably, assumed so automatically that he didn't give it a passing thought. When the hand seemed to glide up and over his posterior, he made a conscious decision to ignore it. When it slid 180 degrees to the front of his loose jeans, and the fingers curled carelessly through the fabric and into the soft flesh beneath, he couldn't help but jump and glance down to see what could possibly require such a motion.
There it was, a foreign hand at the front of his pants. He blinked at it and tried in vain to crush himself even closer to the window and away from this perverted passenger.
Heat laid itself across his back as the perpetrator pressed in close, and to his utter mortification, Gackt realized by the hard thing pressed into one buttock that this could not be a woman.
He didn't want to be molested on a train by a man!
The body behind him shifted until the cleft between Gackt's cheeks could be put to better use, and Gackt's other cheeks tingled with a harsh blush. He couldn't believe what was happening. It was one thing to exploit himself on magazine covers and videos, and sure, he pretty much assumed that people got themselves off to his half-naked, full-lipped likeness on a semi-regular basis (hell, that one birthday when he'd gotten so drunk, even he'd gotten a little excited by the cover of his new single and done some things he wasn't proud of), but that certainly didn't give anyone the right to exploit his actual, physical person.
Suddenly, it occurred to him that this mysterious pervert might not even know who he was. If his disguise was really as effective as it had seemed all day, then there was no way to recognize him from the back at all. This realization seemed to make things impossibly worse even as the hand unzipped his baggy jeans. Molested as a faceless body, used simply as something to glean pleasure from... His face burned in shame. This person might get off (both of the train and in other ways) and never even know that he had had the privilege of feeling up Japan's most notorious pop star.
Gackt whimpered, and it was only partially because of the hand searching through his pants for a way to get through the boxers. Thank god his disguise had included underwear, he thought, although his relief was short-lived. The fingers were hot, and the palm sweaty as they wrapped around his soft member (he wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or not that it wasn't ready to go) and squeezed gently. Gackt jerked and his hands pressed against the plexiglass window. Quickly, his ponderings were answered, as it appeared he actually was more embarrassed by his cock responding to the attention.
The body behind him was grinding shamelessly against him, pressing him closer to the window, and suddenly his gaze darted around as he tried to ascertain whether or not anyone would be able to see what was happening. The city landscaping rushed past him in a blur, and he hoped their speed would obscure anything should someone happen to glance towards the passing train. The hand around his member began to move, quick and hard, and Gackt's mind was suddenly too busy keeping him standing straight and breathing more or less normally to give any other dangers any thought.
The flush that stained his cheeks seemed to spread over his whole body in a horrible, shamed and aroused tingle. The hot press of the body behind him, wriggling and grinding incessantly, made him feel powerless to resist, and every passing moment took another sliver of his inclination to fight away. He should have been ashamed of his behavior, but then again... Getting closer...
The hand obviously knew what it was doing, and within only a few minutes Gackt was pretty much counting on it finishing what it had started and he could explain to himself why he had let it happen later. The rough thumb swirled in a practiced movement over the head, and he felt his body forego any remaining dignity and release as he gritted his teeth and clutched with one hand at the bar to avoid collapsing to the floor in a heap.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Before Gackt could gather enough of his scattered wits to understand what was happening, the hand and the body were gone, and he suddenly realized that the train had come to a stop and people were shifting to exit. He blinked in confusion, then, in sudden mortification, attempted to discretely but quickly stuff everything back into his pants and identify which station they were at. A sign outside the window informed him that his stop was the next one.
...the window.
Gackt glanced at it. Immediately, he identified a small, indistinct splatter in front of himself. Face red and eyes wide beneath his glasses, he hurriedly exited the train.
Still shaking and breathless, he stole away to a corner of the station and leaned against one wall as he took out his phone from his pocket. He didn't want to waste any time getting back home and to his security and his guards and his pre-planned sexual escapades, where he belonged, and he certainly wasn't going to take another train. His fingers were having trouble lining up with the buttons, and dialing the number of his driver (who was supposed to be having a nice day off and probably wasn't going to like being bothered) seemed nearly impossible.
Just as he had managed to type the numbers correctly, a familiar voice beside him said, "Fancy meeting you here."
Gackt dropped his phone with a startled noise, and Hyde laughed at him. "You seem a little shaken. Everything okay?"
As Gackt bent to pick up his phone, knees shaking, he glanced up. Hyde was slouching easily against the wall, wearing baggy jeans and large sunglasses. Oh, why had Hyde chosen today to go out? Why was he here? Gackt coughed. "I'm fine. Just out. Going home."
"Are you sure? You look pretty shaky." Hyde cocked his head, eyebrows knitting in concern. Gackt nodded jerkily as he started to painstakingly dial the number again.
"Going home. Calling my driver now."
"Oh, here, let me take you home, I was just leaving." Hyde reached out a hand for Gackt to take, evidently feeling that Gackt might not be able to walk by himself. Gackt blanched.
"Oh, no, that's okay, I can just call-"
"Gacchan, come on, let me give you a lift." Hyde gestured with the outstretched hand again. Gackt deliberated.
"Well, all right. Thank you." Maybe a little time with his friend was just what he needed. Maybe the normality of talking with Hyde in his car would calm his frazzled nerves. He reached out and took Hyde's hand, feeling like a little child as he marveled over how warm Hyde's hand was.
Hyde smiled as he turned to lead the way, and as their palms moved together, Hyde's left a smudge of sweat against Gackt's own.
Gackt paused. Just what exactly was Hyde doing at some obscure Tokyo station, anyway?