better than chocolate

The Death Of Pure Japan

Wed, 31 May 2006 05:54:42 GMT

Title: The Death of Pure Japan
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi, Gackt/Hyde
Rating: PG-15
Summary: Miyavi breathed into the phone, slowly, painfully, “Ba-by.” That was the beginning. But for every beginning there is a past (Hyde), a middle (Megumi and Ryoko) and an ending.
Written: 02/2006; 05/2006; 08/2006; 02/2008

( Part 1 : "Strip poker." )

Note: The part marked *, see note at bottom for explanation. Just in case. ^_^

The Death of Pure Japan
Part 2

The very first thing Gackt noticed as they sat down to play, the glass coffee table between them, was that Miyavi’s fingernails were painted a dark colour. Like melting chocolate. Like a girl. Sometimes, the latter thought made that deep and curling hate that lay in between his ribs and his guts explode so powerfully that he would have killed Miyavi, if it could have made things better, if he could have made him a girl. But mostly it just stirred the poignant feeling that tingled in the back of his throat and behind his eyes.

“You know we can’t actually play right? We need another two people,” Gackt said.

“Yeah, whatever. I just wanted the strip part of the game.”

Hints of the young boy beneath the surface peeked out when Miyavi smiled, long and slow, like a cat. Miyavi shivered as he leaned back into the chair to take a drag of his cigarette. Gackt merely blinked and wiped the sweat on his palms onto his pants. He resisted the urge to warm him.

“Sho, trust me,” Miyavi said suddenly and threw the cigarette at Gackt.* He laughed.

A second of silence. Gackt realized his fingers had automatically arranged themselves as if to catch the cigarette between them.

“Why are you so fucking annoying?” Gackt asked and dropped the deck of cards onto the floor. Miyavi immediately stopped laughing. Gackt picked up his packet of cigarettes and walked towards the door.

Gackt stood a moment in the doorway, wondering if he should slam the door. That was his official excuse for waiting.

“WHY ARE YOU SO ANGRY?” Miyavi shouted. It was partly confusion that stopped Miyavi from apologizing -he didn’t know what he had done wrong- but it was mostly pride.

Gackt turned around, fist already in the air, ready to make Miyavi bleed as much as he could. But Miyavi was on his hands and knees. One hand supported his body while the other frantically picked up the cards Gackt had dropped. He arranged them in a neat pile, just as if Gackt hadn’t thrown them at all.

He stopped when he saw Gackt looking.

The shadows highlighted the harsh outline of Miyavi’s clenched jaw and his piercings glinted. His skin almost glowed against the dull gray of the carpet. Miyavi’s utter loneliness was suddenly apparent, if only because Gackt felt the same way.

Sometimes, he thought that was the only thing they had in common.

Gackt closed the door quietly and knelt down quietly next to Miyavi, picking up the cards he had missed. The shadows that sat sadly beneath Miyavi’s eyes had diffused his anger.

Miyavi handed him the cards without looking at him and said, “You win.” That was the closest thing to an apology that he would get. Gackt looked at him, sitting on the floor, almost naked. He swayed a little from left to right, as if he would fall over at any given moment. Gackt sighed, shook his head and ruffled Miyavi’s hair.

As expected, Miyavi looked up at him and scowled playfully. “Don’t do that, old man.”

“Then don’t talk about Hyde,” Gackt said, tone dead serious. And then, jokingly, “I’m not that old.”

Miyavi laughed and when he did, he tossed his head back a little and his lips pulled upwards to reveal his teeth. His eyes gleamed and the sound radiated throughout the room. It seeped into Gackt’s ears and Gackt lost track of all his senses. Gackt wished he could laugh like that.

The kiss happened suddenly. Gackt’s tongue moved to trace the cold metal of Miyavi’s lip ring and both of them stopped thinking.

When you kiss him, you can almost feel the smoke from his lungs invading your own. No amount of Platinum Egoïste can mask the underlying scent of tobacco and tar and everything that is bad for you that has soaked into his skin. His mouth tastes of cigarettes, not unlike your own. And this is it, you think. This is it.

Sometimes when you’re lying on your back and the metal of the bedpost is digging into you, he inhales and breathes the smoke over your face.

You hold him like you hold your guitar, the only way you know how to hold something precious.

“I’m not going to be your safety net,” he says as you run your tongue against his collarbone.

“Don’t need one,” you whisper. “I’m not goddamned Hyde.”

But he doesn’t hear you.

+++

After it was done, Gackt just casually slid off the bed and put on his clothes. Miyavi was still sprawled on the sheets, nicotine in his blood. Gackt only looked back once as he was leaving, as though Miyavi was no more than an afterthought.

“Wait. I’ll go down first,” he said.

But Miyavi was already standing there, guitar in hand.

Gackt sighed. “If you insist on coming, try not to look so obvious.”

Miyavi put on his sunglasses.

“I meant, put on some pants.”

+++

He let Gackt step out of the elevator first while he adjusted his baseball cap and jacket to make sure his hair and tattoos were covered. He had removed his lipring and slipped it into his pocket. He fiddled with the cold metal as he tried to make out his reflection against the shiny surface of the elevator walls. He almost failed to recognise himself without his lipring and the other physical markings that screamed Miyavi. It was kind off like being naked.

Of course, any person with half a brain could figure out they had come down together. Not many people shared an elevator at 4.36am.

Gackt was immediately approached by two girls who looked like they had just turned 18. They were already snapping pictures from afar. Although upon closer inspection, it was evident that the dim lighting and thick make-up concealed a woman of at least 30. Neither noticed Miyavi as he lurked behind.

“Picture please please please?” she said, trying to sound cute.

Miyavi’s lip unconsciously curled upwards.

“Of course,” Gackt said graciously and laid an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in towards him and Miyavi was sure Gackt was close enough to catch the scent of her hair.

More and more often now, Miyavi felt Gackt slipping away. It was with a rising anger and sinking desperation that he realized there was no way to stop it. He had never really owned him at all.

Miyavi buried his face in the long collar of his jacket as he pushed past Gackt and the woman, making it a point to push her with his shoulder. At that exact moment, the flash of the camera temporarily blinded him and that was fine. It was not like he wanted to look at Gackt anyway.

“I love you too,” Gackt said and laughed.

The woman could barely contain her squeals.

Liar, Miyavi thought.

+++

Hyde woke up that morning to a strangely beautiful sky and the crisp smell of morning. He dumped the newspaper onto the table and pushed his hair back impatiently. He found himself turning to the entertainment section without consciously thinking about it. Old habits. He tried to stop his eyes from looking for the word “Gackt”.

Unfortunately for him, the headline couldn’t have been more noticeable.

“GACKT AND UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN. NEW LOVE AFFAIR?”

Next to it was a picture of Gackt and slightly behind him, a woman in a baseball cap and a large jacket. They had just exited an elevator.

The sky suddenly seemed rather ugly.

---------

Note: *In case anyone got confused, this is a reference to the scene in Moon Child where Kei (Hyde) and Sho (Gackt) were trying to perfect this trick with a cigarette. They failed the first time but then Kei told Sho to trust him and Sho said, “I do!” and caught the cigarette between his fingers.

The Death of Pure Japan
Part 3

She was standing at the entrance, invitation in hand. She walked as if she owned the place, her 100,000yen hairdo making up for what her features lacked.

“I think they pay you to open the door for people like me,” she said and smiled.

The bouncer, taken aback, quickly pushed it aside and bowed slightly. “Welcome,” he said.

He didn’t recognize her but he was almost dead sure she was famous. Only famous people were that hateful. Her name was vaguely familiar and he looked at the guest list again to see if it would jog his memory.

Oishii Megumi.

+++

“I bet you saw the headline,” You said.

“And a very good morning to you too.” Gackt’s expression remained cheerful. He was, in fact, very pleased with the headline.

The staff casually walked by with unassuming expressions on their faces, trying hard to look as if they weren’t listening. Rumours about Gackt and his affairs were hardly anything new to the staff but they still spread any gossip in rushed whispers, the facts getting murkier and murkier as they passed from mouth to mouth.

You laughed but ignored the greeting. “Intentional?” he said. He was referring to the picture. Gackt was someone who rarely ever made a mistake, unless it was to his advantage.

Gackt grinned. “Of course.” Lying to his best friend was surprisingly easy.

And then they were alone in the meeting room and You said, “It wasn’t even a woman, was it?” Once, You might have said this with at least a hint of anger but the tone that came across now was more frightening than that. It was the tone of defeat, of letting go. Gackt felt a streak of naked fear course through his body and then it was gone, like a sword so sharp you don’t even realize it has cut you before you’re dead.

Gackt doesn’t like apologies so he settled with a peace offering instead. “The press doesn’t know that. And it wasn’t Hyde, if that’s what you mean.”

The look of surprise on You’s face was immediately replaced by false nonchalance when Ju-ken walked in, picking his nose. Gackt shook his head in mock disgust. Ju-ken just shrugged and sat down on one of the chairs.

His manager came in next; a small, pock-mark faced man.

“You’ll put me out of a job, Gackt,” Shun said, laughing as he came in with the newspaper that had published the photograph. “Damn good way to promote the CM. The press loves the idea of you and Yonekura screwing.”

Everyday Gackt wondered why he still hadn’t fired him. “Of course, that means you’ll have to make sure she turns up for my party.”

“Because you can manipulate him, that’s why,” You had told him, once.

“Yonekura?” Ju-ken asked.

“Yonekura Ryoko. Takano Yuri CM,” You said.

Ju-ken whistled. “Now she’s hot. Nice catch, Gackt.” He then looked off into space to imagine Ryoko naked.

Gackt followed the manager as he walked out of the room. “I want you to do something for me. That guy who was on Pop Jam with me recently? The one with the colourful hair?”

“Miyavi?”

“I want him invited as well.”

His manager was gullible but not entirely stupid. “You’re sure you want him there? It’s not like you kno--”

“As sure as I’ll ever be.”

+++

Hundreds of guests had been invited, the women glittering in various colours like fireflies against the dark wood of the walls. Still, in the mass of humanity, Hyde had found him.

“Where’s Megumi?” Gackt said, a small smile on his face.

“She didn’t come,” Hyde replied.

Gackt frowned. He could have sworn his manager had said the guest list listed her as “present”. So Hyde had come alone. Megumi always tried to minimize any direct contact with Gackt and often guilted Hyde into doing the same

“A woman, eh?” Hyde said suddenly, referring to the rumours.

Gackt shrugged. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replied softly. He couldn’t help but notice the shadow that crept from the bottom of Hyde’s neck to the pools of his collarbones to the soft skin between of his chest. His hair was shorter now and Gackt almost had to turn away to keep himself from remembering his fingers intertwined in the strands.

“Who was it?” Hyde asked, quietly.

“It really doesn’t concern you,” Gackt said, eager to just walk away. He really didn’t need to hear Hyde’s voice. Not now.

“I hope she was worth it,” Hyde said and there it was again. That colossal grip around his lungs that made him feel like his ribs had collapsed against himself and he wouldn’t ever breathe again, not in this lifetime.

But as soon as Hyde turned around it was gone and Gackt was left with a distinct impression of Hyde’s malice. Without consciously thinking about it, he followed Hyde out of the hall.

“Hyde!” Gackt called and Hyde stopped just in front of the door to the mens’ rest room. And when he turned around, Gackt said, “Hyde, why can’t we be friends again?”

The utter absurdity of that question was apparent to the both of them but there it was, hanging out in the open, like an embarrassing smell that no one wanted to mention. It was fortunate that there was no one around but the two of them to hear it.

“Maybe you should ask yourself that question,” Hyde whispered, the anger dancing between the syllables. The colour of his eyes seemed much darker than they usually were.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” Gackt whispered.

“Sure, I believe you. Conscience better now?” Hyde looked towards his feet as he said this and his fingers rubbed the black beads of his rosary. His jaw was clenched.

“You’re the most fucking selfish person I’ve met, you know that?” Gackt said, not without pity.

“Is that why we can’t be friends?” Hyde mocked him. He said it in that annoying sing-song lilt that he liked to used when he was being sarcastic.

“Did you even think of her once?” Gackt fired back.

“DID YOU? I didn’t fucking ask for a baby.”

A short silence followed as Gackt thought about this.

“Neither did she, Hyde. Neither did she,” Gackt finally said. His voice was soft. The regret made it seem much more painful than it actually was. “If I hadn’t left you, she would have. Taken the child along with her, too. The press, well… You would have lost everything.”

Hyde offered him a lopsided smile.

“Maybe. But at least I would have had you.”

After Hyde says this, he leans forward, supporting himself against the door and…

…he kisses Gackt.

He smells like sweat. He tastes like sweat. Salty, strange, human. Just like you. Even through his clothes, you can feel the heat radiating from his body as his shoulders press against your chest, his feet struggling to keep his head up.

You are almost surprised by what he’s doing but you saw him leaning against the door, trying to push his body towards yours. You felt him moving closer against you.

And you just let it happen.

His tongue is wet and thick against the roof of your mouth and his fingers spread like a web against your abdomen, moving downwards. His palms are sticky, the moisture now trapped between his skin and yours.

Your feelings soar, joy mixed with guilt laced with anger.

It feels familiar, like having the same dream twice, and instinct takes over thought. You forget to breathe and instead try to suck the oxygen from his lungs. Toothpaste and alcohol and saliva. You imagine you can even taste coffee. But you can’t really taste anything, they’re all just memories.

Chocolate. Dark, melting chocolate. Just like Miyavi.

Gackt abruptly pushed him away and both of them stood there gasping for air.

A desperate aching followed the path of his blood around his chest and he thought for a moment that he would die from the sudden jolt of pain. So this is what it felt like to miss someone, he had almost forgotten. It lessened in intensity every time he exhaled until it was nothing but a dull, vibrating ache; the sadness of a dream.

“Please,” Gackt whispered. “Don’t.”

Hyde walked away from him.

The Death of Pure Japan
Part 4

He was wearing a white suit and a thin, sin-red tie. His hair was up in a careless ponytail that let his colourful extensions run down the side of his neck. Gackt noticed that Miyavi’s fingernails were an offensively bright pink that day and felt an inexplicable delight bubbling up in his chest at the sight. Miyavi had arrived at 2:47am, about ten minutes after everyone had decided it was time to leave.

He tugged a little at his tie. “I was trying to, you know, blend in with the crowd,” he drawled and grinned. Taunting. Just a hint and Gackt was already reeling.

Gackt felt like the guests were staring but when he drew his eyes away from Miyavi to look around, everyone seemed interested in everything but him. Still, it was uncomfortable. He really, really hoped Hyde had left.

“Happy Birthday, old man,” Miyavi said. “I have a present for you.” But his hands were empty.

“Thank you,” Gackt replied. He paused for a moment to make it sound casual. “For coming.”

“Sure. Annnddd…” Miyavi drawled, dragging the last syllable. “Since you’re wondering, your present is outside.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Gackt had followed Miyavi out of the hall and into the basement carpark of the hotel. The sound of their footsteps bounced against the cement walls and floor, creating exaggerated echoes. Logic told him that the CCTVs were bound to capture them together and everyone would know and that would be it and god-what-would-he-do-if-they-knew…

The first thing he saw was a shiny red convertible. It was breathtakingly beautiful against the plain grey of everything else, like fire against ash. His breath caught in his throat and he muttered, “Oh, shit.” He even took off his sunglasses.

Miyavi looked at him and laughed. “Don’t worry, that isn’t it.”

Gackt dragged his gaze away from the car to Miyavi’s face. Gackt raised an eyebrow and suppressed the smile on his lips. Half laughing, Miyavi turned toward him and placed a hand on the back of Gackt’s neck.

Mere millimeters away, he whispered, “I hate it when you make me wanna kiss you.”

His lips are familiar but they still surprise you, the cold of his lip ring against your tongue still makes you gasp. You try to memorize the shape of his mouth and the way his tongue drags across your teeth, so that you can recall the feeling when you’re alone but it never works.

You try to bury the feeling that happiness like this never lasts, which never works either.

Your euphoria is stained by a sadness that you can’t suppress.

This urgency, too, is familiar. He tries to suck the oxygen from your lungs and his hands are clumsy and fumbling in their eagerness. Saliva. His teeth knock against yours. They bite down on your tongue.

His mouth is now next to your ear, so close his breath caresses your skin. “Don’t worry, this isn’t it either.”

You follow him into the car, even if you know this is madness.

++++

100

236

899

1023 feet.

The first indication was the gentle pop in his ears, his body adjusting to the difference in air pressure. Next was the odd the sensation of leaving his gut behind as he soared up, up, up, his senses escaping the confines of his body for the tiniest instant. The world grew smaller and it was like looking through the wrong end of a never-ending telescope.

Black gave birth to sparks of bright light. Not quite organic greens and reds and candy-yellows. Buildings disappeared upwards into the dark, their lit windows like eyes. At that height, nothing but the beauty of the city remained.

“Happy Birthday,” Miyavi mouthed through his helmet. The roar of the helicopter blades drowned out everything, even the obscenely loud beating of his heart. “I got you Tokyo.”

Gackt placed a hand on Miyavi’s thigh. He was surprised by the sudden, gentle warmth in his chest when Miyavi smiled.

So many feet above Tokyo, anything could go wrong at any moment. They could crash and die in a blaze that would streak the sky.

He couldn’t have cared less.

++++

Hyde climbed into bed fully dressed, trying to find warmth under the thin sheets. Like a sad child, he hugged his knees to his chest and tried to keep the shadows out.

But unlike a child, he stank of alcohol. He reeked of his father.

“How was the party?” Megumi said suddenly, startling Hyde. She was usually asleep or at least, had the good sense to pretend she was.

“Was okay,” he muttered. And then, “My head fucking hurts.”

He used this as an excuse to try to burrow deeper into the sheets, into the mattress, into the dark wood floor. Anywhere was fine with him as long as he could shut out the world completely.

“How’s Gackt?” she said next and suddenly his jaw clenched up and he felt like his head might explode. He felt her turn around to face his back.

“Fine,” he answered. He noticed the sheets smelled of fresh laundry, not a trace of his scent on them. Strangely, not a trace of her scent either. His bed didn’t even smell like home.

“Oh,” she replied and seemed as if she was on the verge of just saying it -what they both knew she meant- but she just tugged at the sheets and was quiet.

A reserve of bitterness rose up in his throat and he suddenly felt like he might cry. Without thinking, he turned toward her and placed a clammy palm on her shoulder. Instantly, she jerked away. It was too late to hide the dismay in her expression. Her brow furrowed and she frowned apologetically. There really was nothing to be said.

His hand hung there for a moment, outstretched in the dark. Then he pulled it back around his knees and tried to sleep.

Everything had fallen into ruin.

+++

Hyde wasn’t sure how they had started fighting. They seemed to be always fighting anyway, about something or other. They had forgotten how to speak to each other without trying to cause hurt.

“You’re exactly like him!” she spat vehemently and he knew exactly what she meant.

Hyde was like his father. He even smelt like him, for the concentrated smell of alcohol and tobacco doesn’t vary much from person to person, even generation to generation. The smell of a rotting liver and blackened lungs. The strange and deep embarrassment that settled in his throat refused to leave. He paced the floor of their apartment while she sat on the couch, watching him.

“I…” he began, but found that he had nothing to say.

In the past, the backroom of his mother’s tiny restaurant is where his father laid sprawled behind the cardboard boxes. The aroma of his mother’s cooking combined with the overpowering smell of sake and sweat and vomit and his father, who had not washed for days. He had tiptoed up to him and peered at his father’s puffy and liver-spotted face. His father who had turned to him, eyes rolled back into his head, seeing nothing.

“You don’t even know your own son!” Megumi shot at him.

“I…” Hyde whispered.

He looked up slowly and said the next few words softly but firmly. “I can be better.”

When he could finally bring himself to look at her, he saw she was crying. Huge, terrible, ugly, painful sobbing that ripped the breath right out of her. She was almost choking with the effort and her chest heaved unsteadily.

Regret crept up behind him and embraced him in its painful grip. Without really thinking about it, he sat down next to her. Anything to make it stop. He tried to apologize at first but the words felt foreign to him, from lack of use. Awkwardly, he placed an arm around her shoulders and tried to ignore how her tears felt against his skin. Hot, wet, disgustingly human tears. She pressed her face against his neck and the sound of her sobs echoed on his throat. They reverberated against his collarbone and it almost felt like he was crying, too. They sat like that for what might have been hours, or perhaps only a few minutes.

When he woke up the next morning, he found her sleeping soundly on his chest and couldn’t find it in himself to wake her. He brought his head closer to hers, trying to locate that faint scent of… of something in the air. It was when he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply that he finally knew, with a deep and painful longing, that it was the gentle scent of her hair.

He thought, resignedly, that it smelt nothing like Platinum Egoiste.

Violin

Sat, 20 Aug 2005 05:05:25 GMT

Especially for postingwhore. I took long enough, but I didn't forget. ;) I hope you like.

Title: Violin
Fandom: Anime (Sailor Moon)
Pairing: Haruka/Michiru
Rating: G
Summary: Takes place directly after the rebirth of Sailor Saturn. The Outer Senshi has to murder one of their own to save the world and the weight of the task falls onto Haruka.
Written: 19/08/2005

It’s the end of the world.

The baby is crying and Haruka hasn’t even touched it yet. The sky is the colour of mud and the air tastes like sand. These fragile humans threatened by one child.

Michiru stands before her, green hair bright in the surrounding grey. Princess Serenity does not radiate light, not any more. Haruka remembers the days of destruction and how the moon bled to save the princess. The princess’ life weighs more than that of the baby’s, Haruka knows this much. Michiru’s life weighs more than hers ever will.

It doesn’t mean much, but Haruka would kill for Michiru.

The princess pleads with them to let the child live. Haruka hates to see her like this, dirt mingling with her long, long white dress. Haruka wonders how Michiru would look in that dress. The baby lies on the ground, also in white and Haruka understands that the baby could be another Michiru, another set of fingers on a violin and green eyes.

She looks at Michiru, who looks away.

Haruka’s eyes soften and lose focus. She can feel the acrid dust in her mouth. She won’t kill the baby, not today.

Zero

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 06:28:34 GMT

Title: Zero
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/Hyde, although not entirely
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A short ficlet done entirely in dialogue.
Written: 04/2005

( Zero )

Apples

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 06:26:37 GMT

Title: Apples
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/Leehom
Rating: G
Summary: Gackt and Leehom meet for the first time with some rather amusing consequences involving food and misinterpretation.
Written: 03/2005

( Apples )

まっしろ

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 06:22:40 GMT

Title: まっしろ
Fandom: Moon Child
Pairing: Kei/Sho
Rating: G
Summary: Sho remembers his childhood and that which he no longer has. A short ficlet.

It never snows in Mallepa. But I like it when the sky is gray and the sun falls complacently to sleep, leaving soft traces of pink in the clouds, like imperfect cotton candy. There used to be a tree outside our hiding place. The leaves had died, fallen in a transiently sad collection of assorted browns but still its branches reached high, a dark skeleton against the bright sky.

The night before Christmas it looked like this, and Shinji had bought miniscule flashing lights that looked like fairies in glass beads, burning in the dark. We threw the lights on the tree and it was beautiful, this explosion of green and red and pink, but what was most enthralling was the gentle glow of the lights on the dark bark of the old tree.

Just a little light and even dead things come to life.

He came to me that night, and I remember his coat smelt of sweat and ancient dust, of blood. As I rested my head against him, I strained and I strained but I never heard his heartbeat.

Aeronausiphobia

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 06:16:56 GMT

Title: Aeronausiphobia
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/Hyde, Hyde/Megumi
Rating: G
Summary: Megumi, Hyde and Gackt are on the same plane and as luck would have it, an unexpected storm sets in. Another sequence of events renders Hyde only able to save one of them. Who will he choose?
Written: 11/2004

( Aeronausiphobia )

二人のタバコ

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 06:04:06 GMT

Title: 二人のタバコ
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/You
Rating: G
Written: 05/2004

Gackt sat on the edge of the dock, cigarette dangling between two fingers, the slow curl of the smoke like an ephemeral snake in the dark air.

“Those things’ll kill you,” You said, taking a deep drag of his own cigarette. Gackt watched You’s lips around the cigarette’s edge.

Gackt smiled and leaned in to grab You’s cigarette. As he held it in his fingers, there was that small moment in time where he almost put it to his own lips. But he merely flicked it into the sea and both of them watched the white line arc into the air and fall silently into the deep water.

“So?” Gackt said but he laid his cigarette down in between them. Out of sight, out of mind.

“So I’ll have no one to stink up my room with Égoïste,” You said and leaned in close to Gackt. His breath was a miniscule breeze on Gackt’s collarbone. Gackt reminded himself to breathe. “And the rest of the world.”

“I’ll give you a bottle then. Ten, even,” Gackt said and his head moved just that much closer to You’s. “I could buy you a year’s worth.”

“Not the same.”

“And why not?”

The pause lasted just about an eternity even though Gackt knew exactly what You was about to say. He had said it many times before and would say it many times again but each time, Gackt’s breath hitched in his throat and Gackt had to tell himself that none of this was real. Addiction never is.

“You wouldn’t be there,” You said.

uncontrol

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 06:00:14 GMT

Title: Uncontrol
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/Hyde, Gackt/Megumi, Hyde/Megumi.
Rating: R (for slight smut)
Summary: Both of them want to break something, but they did not count on it being themselves.
Written: 02/2004

( uncontrol )

1000 Ways To Feel

Fri, 01 Jul 2005 05:56:53 GMT

Title: 1000 Ways To Feel
Fandom: J-rock
Pairing: Gackt/Hyde
Rating: G
Summary: "They are on a hilltop, overlooking the city with its bright lights and false promises. If Gackt closed his eyes, he could almost forget the presence of the photography crew with their cameras and its harsh lighting and irritating crew of people that insisted to fuss over him. But then again, being next to Hyde, there are a lot of things he could forget."
Written: 12/2003

( 1000 Ways To Feel )

The Night Whispers

Thu, 30 Jun 2005 13:56:54 GMT

Title: The Night Whispers
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: None (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry is dreaming of war, of blood and death. He is screaming as he sleeps and hoping that he will wake up but what he doesn't know is that reality can sometimes be much worse.
Note: This fic is meant to be read in the order presented. However, each part is marked by a roman numeral. If you find yourself confused after reading it the first time, read it again according to the numerals for the story in chronological order.
Written: 04/2004

( The Night Whispers )

Skeletons In My Cupboard

Thu, 30 Jun 2005 13:50:59 GMT

Title: Skeletons In My Cupboard
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry, Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: We all know Harry is connected to Voldemort by the scar left on his forehead so long ago. No one but Harry knows how much influence and power Voldemort has over him through the scar, especially when you're a young boy locked ina cupboard and the only voices you here are those in your head.

( Skeletons In My Cupboard )

Alchemy

Thu, 30 Jun 2005 13:42:22 GMT

Title: Alchemy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: boy!Blaise/Draco
Rating: R
Summary: It's such a tough life. Draco is horny but all Blaise wants to do is talk. About Harry Potter, at that. But nothing is as it seems.
Written: 11/2003

“My, my, you’re early.”

“Sorry, had Qui- err, homework. Let’s talk, I want to talk.”

“Actually, I prefer hot, animalistic sex.”

“No, we have to talk. This is important.”

“All right, fine. Hello Blaise. How’s the weather? Fine? Good, good. Shall we get to the sex? Yes? Good, good.”

And with that, Draco pulled Blaise against him.

The Slytherin dungeon’s stone floors and walls were cold to the touch, like melting ice pressing against Draco’s sweaty back. Draco smelt of grass, sweat and adrenaline – of Quidditch. Just back from practice. Funny, Blaise smelt that way too.

Blaise moaned and thought he would choke from the deliciously overwhelming smell as Draco traced Blaise’s jawbone with his tongue, moving closer, and closer to Blaise’s gasping mouth where tongue met tongue in the place where thoughts and words were irrelevant and the only thing that existed were Draco, Draco, and Draco’s tongue threatening to devour him. Blaise wondered if Draco was trying to saturate his mind with so much pleasure that Blaise would snap and lose himself forever in Draco.

But Blaise had always been too stubborn for his own good and he refused to buckle under the vicious thrill that was Draco.

“Talk,” Blaise said, pushing him away.

Draco sneered. “As much as do enjoy an intellectually stimulating conversation, I don’t think being naked is conducive to thinking. Besides, if I wanted to talk I’d be spending my time with Harry bloody Potter. That’s not what I need from you.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“What I need? For starters, less talking.”

“No, Harry Potter. Do you, you know, love him?”

“No.” His answer was immediate, and matter-of-fact as if Blaise had only asked him whether flobberworms could fly.

“But you fuck him,” Blaise’s voice was bitter, but Draco couldn’t understand why.

“It’s an essential part of the plan.”

“Right. And what plan may that be?”

Draco grinned but his eyes reflected a burning seriousness that made Blaise squirm. “The plan to destroy him. He needs to believe I love him, and I let him. In return he gives me information from their side and says things about redemption and light and good and evil, which is tiresome, but worth it. It’s a good trade off, and the sex isn’t bad.”

“It’s all just sex to you, isn’t it?”

This time, there was no grin. “When you’re a Death Eater, nothing is just sex. Life is never that simple.”

“Then what about me? I have nothing to offer but sex. Well, that and irresistible gutteral moans.”

“With you... it’s more than just sex, “ Draco said; hardly louder than a whisper, but its impact was stronger than a scream.

Blaise turned toward the window and Draco looked toward the floor, as if it held the key to all his problems. Draco didn’t notice the strange concoction of enlightenment, pain and anger in his eyes. He also didn’t notice Blaise’s hair turn darker.

Fortunately –through the reflection on the window panes- Blaise did.

“Am I just sex to you?” Draco asked but by the time Draco heard the rust-covered hinges of the wooden door creak open and the bottom scrape across the stone floor, Blaise was already gone.

++++

Harry let out a sigh of relief. He had managed to get out of the dungeons before the effects of the Polyjuice Potion wore off.

He watched through the mirror as his features changed and moulded themselves back into his own.

He smiled weakly, “The wonders of alchemy.”

But he couldn’t erase the sound of Draco’s voice in his head.

He needs to believe I love him, and I let him.

Flying in Silence

Thu, 30 Jun 2005 13:42:09 GMT

Title: Flying In Silence
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Draco often wondered, in these silent moments, if he could fly."
Written: 08/2003

( Flying In Silence )

Fingers

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 15:00:11 GMT

Title: Fingers
Fandom: Original work
Pairing: Tenshi/Paris
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They were two at first. Then there was the girl. And everything changed.
Note: This is actually a short original ficlet based on two characters from my 2003 NaNoWriMo novel entitled "Light". Tenshi is an angel, Paris is a boy with a hole where his heart should be and Chardonnay is beautiful. The three fell into hell and inevitably form bonds trying to get out of it.
Written: 12/2003

“Go away,” Tenshi said.

He was on the floor, puddles of paper around him.

“No,” Paris replied, sitting down next to him.

“Go the fuck away,” Tenshi said, shoving Paris aside with hands that barely knew anything but the plain of her skin under his fingers.

The papers shifted around, and the wind danced with them, throwing them around the two figures.

Everything was in shadows.

Tenshi turned away from him, throwing the small piece of tired paper he had been worrying in his hands at Paris.

“Look at this.”

Goodbye. I’m really sorry about everything. I’ll try to come back. Sometime.

Paris threw the paper aside. He knew the handwriting only too well. It had been on the papers now strewn around the room. Those precious papers used to lie hidden beneath layers of dust, and wood and memories where Tenshi kept his most valued possessions.

Paris had pried open those boards under his bed and he found:

A silver cross pendant (her gift to him)
A lock of silver hair (her hair)
A picture of Tenshi and her, laughing
A picture of her, laughing
Letters to Tenshi (from her)

And while Paris searched, he was certain that he would find it. Tenshi had said he would keep it forever and while he said it, he had brushed his finger along Paris’ collarbone softly and made Paris gasp. Then he pulled away and laughed.

He hated Tenshi, sometimes.

“LOOK AT IT!” Tenshi shouted, eyes wild and hair in a mess.

Paris smiled at him and brushed away a lock of Tenshi’s hair. “I already have. Everything, everything here. I’ve read it all.

The shadows made it impossible to read Tenshi’s expression but Paris thought he looked beautiful all the same.

“You kept everything she ever gave you,” Paris said softly. But what he really meant was but you lost what I gave you.

“I hate her,” Tenshi whispered and he leaned closer to Paris.

He was so close Paris could smell the smoke in his hair and the musty smell of the dust settling into his clothes.

And again, just like old times -before she came- Tenshi leaned in and brushed a finger across Paris’ exposed neck.

But there was no laugh this time.

His finger travelled the length of Paris’ collarbone, tracing his shoulders in soft gentle motions, like ghosts of feelings long dead.

Paris held still, afraid that if he moved, everything would collapse around him, leaving nothing but the memories of Tenshi’s finger on his body. He closed his eyes as Tenshi’s fingers moved along his arms, drawing invisible marks against his skin. He could imagine the shapes coming back to haunt him in his dreams, reminding him of what he could not have.

He could hear the humour in Tenshi’s voice, “She used to like that, too.”

Paris’ eyes snapped open. Tenshi’s fingers now gathered around his chest and pushed him away, making him fall on his back.

“But I hate her.”

Paris pushed himself up, not questioning what had passed between them a moment before. Speaking of it would make it real and neither of them liked reality. They both preferred dreams and whispered words and harsh breaths along each other’s skin.

Neither of them said it, but both heard it.

But I love you.

Promises

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 14:52:01 GMT

Title: Promises
Fandom: Anime (Slam Dunk)
Pairing: Rukawa/Ayako
Rating: G
Summary: Rukawa is a man of his word or at least, he tries to be.
Written: 04/2004

Looking up at Sendoh, Rukawa offered a rare smile. Sendoh looked slightly alarmed at this sudden show of emotion but quickly masked it behind a wide grin.

A casual spectator might have thought they were merely exchanging pleasantries but they would have been mistaken. Very severely mistaken.

Rukawa was not one to smile without having something behind it. Sendoh felt strangely unnerved.

This time, it was not a battle for supremacy. It wasn’t a battle to defend a title. It wasn’t even a show of skill. This time, it was war and Rukawa was determined not to take any hostages.

He analyzed the battlefield. His mind did quick calculations while his heart beat so loudly it threatened to obscure his thoughts. The adrenaline was blasting through his veins in a haze of excitement.

Do or die.

I promise.

It was not just mere pride that was at stake. Trust was at stake here and Rukawa felt the thrill of being trusted and the paralyzing fear of possibly disappointing that trust seize him at the same instant.

Never in his life had he felt like he was playing for someone other than himself. He never had to deal with expectations, at least, expectations that he cared to reach. And now, as those expectations rose to confront him, he almost backed away.

Almost.

But he didn’t. Rukawa had never been the type to cower before a challenge and he wasn’t going to start now. A new feeling rose up in him; determination.

He was going to win, whether the others liked it or not.

I promise.
In his mind, the position of every person was clear. The strategy was already being born as he faked to the right. Turning to the left, he made a mental check of everyone.

Miyagi. Guarded.

Akagi. Too far away.

Mitsui. Guarded.

Sakuragi. Free.

Dismay started to cloud his mind. He couldn’t possibly pass the ball to that idiot. It would ruin everything. No, it was too risky.

Who knows what would happen the moment Sakuragi had the ball in his hands? Rukawa mentally grimaced at the thought of what Sakuragi and his misguided search for fame and respect could do to his precious strategy.

“He’s the only one that’s free,” the unbiased side of his mind argued.

“Shut up,” the other side snapped.

I promise.

Again the burden of that trust ate away at his conscience. He wanted to win. No, he had to win.

But what of his strategy? Sakuragi had no place in his strategy.

I promise.

He was only partially conscious of the time ticking away as he slowly resolved this conflict.

Taking a deep breath and praying fervently inside like he never had before – he mused for a split second how it was only in times like these we looked to God – and threw the ball to Sakuragi.

He had doomed his strategy to hell.

Even as the ball sailed toward Sakuragi, he knew he had made the right decision. Between having to let someone down or resolve his petty differences with a teammate, he much rather have the latter.

It was indeed very rare for Rukawa to care about someone. Actually, it was very rare for Rukawa to care about anything but basketball. Seeing him so determined was almost frightening.

And that slight fear, like almost everything else, he used to his advantage.

Sakuragi, rather surprisingly, caught the ball without fumbling and immediately started a full-on charge toward the defense line.

Rukawa suppressed another smile. He wasn’t such an idiot after all. Rukawa recognized the same determination to win and that driving spirit that served to inspire the rest of the team.

Rukawa didn’t bother to watch Sakuragi. He looked up as the crowd went into a frenzy. Sakuragi had scored the winning shot, but Rukawa didn’t have to look to know that. After all, he was the one who had made the pass, but he would let Sakuragi have his moment of glory. He didn’t need that. He had something far more important.

I promise.

“Rukawa.”
“Ayako-sempai.”
“Nice play. We won!”
A smile.
A grunt in response and then, “I promised you didn’t I?”

Ayako smiled again, her hand falling gently onto his back. The warmth shot through his veins.

He was, after all, Rukawa Kaede. How could they not win?

Shadowed Shapes

Sun, 26 Jun 2005 12:30:33 GMT

Title: Shadowed Shapes
Fandom: Anime (Slam Dunk)
Pairing: Rukawa/Hanamichi
Rating: R
Summary: "...but he found that he was always drawn back to those beautiful hands."
Written: 06/2003

At the sound of his voice, Rukawa’s head snapped up instantly.

“Do you love me?”

And in spite of everything he believed, of everything he wanted, of everything he knew, he said yes.

His voice was interlaced with huskiness, sexiness, lust and many other sinful things in between.

Rukawa could hear the smile playing cruelly on his lips, even if he could not see it in the far-away light of the street lamp. It seemed a strange time to be asking such questions but it was not – or in this case, not to Rukawa. In fact, it was perfectly routine for him. Every night Rukawa would come here to be asked these questions and every night Rukawa would go home feeling like a liar.

“What would you do for me?”

This time Rukawa did not reply. He attempted to look away; to protect what little dignity he had left.

Even before he felt it, he knew it would come; the touch that had so enticed him before now enticed him even more. He wanted to be revolted at this manipulation of his being but found that he couldn’t and that for a brief horrible moment, he realized that he didn’t care. As long as those hands stayed with him forever, he would do anything, everything. And this last thought he voiced.

That smile again.

“Anything? Really? Would you kill/i> for me?”

Again Rukawa was horrified that a strong affirmative yes wanted to roll of his tongue. He bit down on this rebellious appendage.

Anything, everything.

The answer was clear in his eyes and again he wanted to look away but he found that he was always drawn back to those beautiful hands. They were large, rough and ungraceful but somehow seemed to dance over the plain of his skin. Rukawa found himself wanting to pull them into his own hands and caress them endlessly. He did no such thing of course, he would never have dared. He had never been the one in control and as much as he detested that, that was just the natural order of things.

“Would you die for me?”

He felt the tears brimming in his eyes. Oh, but he was dying. He was dying every time he let in to that craving and that mad illusion of love. The light caught for a moment in that mop of bright red hair and ignited his senses. Then it was gone again and for that he was thankful. It would never do to see too much. Lies were always easier if you didn’t have to consider the truth.

“Then come for me,” he said, leaning in to whisper into Rukawa’s ear. Another brilliant flash of red.

And so Rukawa came; all over himself, all over the floor and all over those cold, cruel hands. He found himself absurdly thankful for one moment, as he always was, that he could barely see in the dark. If he had so much as glanced much more than fingers and red hair, his dick would have gone limp and the illusion would be broken forever. It was good to be in the dark. Very, very good.

He wanted to linger in this moment forever and shut off the world. To hell with it all, they would live without him. But even as those thoughts crossed his mind he made the gargantuan effort of opening his eyes and slowly pulling up his pants.

As he turned to walk away, that blasted voice was heard again. Now though, it had no husky edge. It was cold and emotionless, much like his own and again, though he had heard that voice a hundred times, he found himself wondering at just how it frightened it. That voice could destroy him now, and the voice knew it.

“Pay. Now.”

Rukawa sighed and reached into the pocket of his soiled pants. He wondered absent-mindedly how he would explain the stain to his mother when he got home.

As he walked out of the back alley, he saw what he usually saw, which was Rave. Rave was a fat old man that could be mistakenly called pleasant if he smiled and wasn’t wearing a bright green and yellow shirt.

“Sorry Yuko couldn’t be in today but I’m sure Hoshi back there was just as good. Every one of my boys is in top shape! And I even insisted he borrow Yuko’s red wig!”

Rukawa wished the old pimp would just shut up and let him be on his way. He didn’t care much which prostitute had decided to done the red wig today, it was better he not know. It made pretending easier and the guilt less.

As he trudged home slowly, he promised himself he would not come back again tomorrow.

But he knew, he knew all too well, that tomorrow he would walk to school and have a glimpse of natural red hair, tanned skin and an idiot who called himself tensai. The yearning would flare up and burn inside him. Then his utter need for the redhead would drive him straight back to this alleyway and its red-wigged prostitutes.

Walking home, with only shadows as his guide, the sudden emptiness he felt was unbearable.