Ashes of Hope

Words are overrated

Tue, 26 May 2009 06:14:50 GMT

Title : Words are overrated
Pairing : Akame
Rating : NC-17
Genre : drama, angst
Summary : Kame has a problem. His problem is Jin.
A/N : I need to go to the dentist today and have a half-day. No insuations or otherwise intended
For ayuzak and zsuness and everyone who loves Akame on my flist. Thank you for encouraging me to write. Emotionally beaten-up characters ftw. <3 Comments loved.

He grounded his hips against his, fabric against fabric and he could hear Jin gasp out loud at the sensation. His nails dug into Jin’s waist, sinking into flesh. He didn’t care that he was hurting Jin, he hated him. Maybe tonight he wanted to force his name from Jin’s clenched mouth. Maybe tonight he wanted Jin to come in his mouth. The endless possibilities stretched before him like a loaded gun.

Jin started to protest, out of habit, because this was what they did, the games they played. In the vacuum of space, Kame clamped his hand over Jin’s mouth.

“Shut up.”

He could make out the dilated pupils, the slight slant of the eyes before he felt teeth biting down on the fleshy part of his palm. He took that as consent. They never mentioned it in the light of day or gave the slightest indication it ever happened. It was the only way they could keep themselves deluded, the only way they could think that this was a secret and that they kept everyone in the dark. Kame fumbled with Jin’s belt buckle, he wanted to feel Jin full flush against him. He wanted to feel Jin’s sweat trickle down on him, to feel that maybe in the cold darkness of the night, some part of Jin would dilute some part of him and that this time he could walk away changed. Because when he was with Jin, the ache inside him became less like pain and more like emptiness yearning to be filled. And he had tried all sorts of things available. None of them worked as well as Jin, and he had come to learn that Jin was the problem, and Jin was the antidote.

***

“I don’t like the idea of you fucking with my head.” Kame raised his glance and took in Jin standing in front of him, leaning against the doorframe, his casual effortless stance in contrast with the way his voice sounded. Clipped, harsh and frustration just simmering underneath.

“Yeah? I didn’t know I was doing that” Kame said, folding his clothes and tucking them into his duffel bag.

“Well, you could try talking to me once in a while instead of talking to everyone except me and pretending I didn’t exist.”

Kame could feel his temper fray, as he stuffed his clothes haphazardly into his bag. Screw neat. Akanishi Jin was capable of messing up his rhythm with a single word, and years later, he was still treading the same spot. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked up to Jin.

“Is this the part where you suggest we be friends again?”

There was a pause, as though Jin was actually thinking about the possibility in his head.

“Maybe.” Jin said laconically, his eyes shadowed.

A smile quirked Kame’s lips as he stared back at Jin.

“May I remind you that that didn’t work the first time.” He stepped aside from Jin, and walked past. Jin didn’t try to stop him. It was always the case, Jin never stopped him. Jin always thought Kame knew exactly what he wanted, as was the case with his career, his ambition. But sometimes, just sometimes, Kame wished Jin would make the decision for him.

***

Kame was heading to the showers when Jin accosted him in the hallway, hand firmly around Kame’s arm. He took him into a darkened room, cramped and dusty. He could feel the barely restrained annoyance bubbling inside him, threatening to splinter his legendary control and composure.

He was a control freak. With people like Jin around, he had to be. He had to squash those little stray desires of his, dark twisted desires that listened to no reason or rationale. And right now, those voices, those voices that whispered about what he wanted to do to Jin, were becoming louder, almost pounding in his ears. It was becoming near impossible to shut them out, with Jin so close to him, the heat emanating from his body seeping into him.

“I’ve thought about it.”

“What?” Kame said, his voice a mere whisper in the secluded silence of the room.

“The question about being friends….” Jin’s voice trailed off, his attention derailed by a strand of hair that was slick wet with sweat and plastered against the length of Kame’s neck..

“What I want to do to you, has absolutely nothing to do with being friends.” Jin said, a vicious feral smile curling his lips. If Kame was slightly more coherent, he would say the smile looked sad, almost self-deprecating in some way as though Jin hated himself for wanting Kame the way he did.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a zipper rasping. Jin’s fingers delved into his pants, the groove of his palm rocking against him and all thoughts about right and wrong were obliterated. Right now, he didn’t care about anything, not the concert in the afternoon, not the juniors separated from them by the thin breath of a wall. He cared about getting his hands on Jin. He struggled with Jin’s belt and when his hands finally encountered warm skin, he closed his eyes, wanting to commit this sensation to memory so that it would take him through the endless lonely nights ahead.

“Don’t do that.” Jin’s fingers tightened around his nape, and he could hear Jin’s voice in his ear. Those shaky syllables were the only indication that Jin was as affected as he was. That and his turgid erection in Kame’s hand. And then they were flushed against each other, the ridge of their cocks sliding against each other, and it was so so good that the fantasies that Kame had thought about were actually an insult to reality. It didn’t matter that it was rushed, that it was frantic. Both of them threw themselves into it like they were two soldiers about to embark on their last mission and this was the last piece of action they were going to get.

Jin worked his hand between their bodies, his forehead resting against Kame’s. He stroked, in time to the desperate thrust of Kame’s hips and Kame’s hand tightened into a ball against Jin’s shoulder. Words had transpired between them in the past, painful hurting words that cut like a knife. Kame wasn’t close to forgetting those words, but he would rather remember the weight of Jin on him, the ragged breath that escaped from Jin’s lips and sounded oddly like his name, and the exact moment when the world fell away. Where all that mattered was Jin’s hand on him and that burgeoning feeling inside him that he couldn’t give a name to.

***

Kame straightened his clothes, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He opened the door, his eyes adjusting to the jarring brightness. Behind him, he could hear Jin’s shuffling footsteps, heading in the other direction.

This was not going to happen again, Kame told himself.

***

Kame looked at the grainy photo of Jin and some Vivi model in the spread of Friday Magazine. Jin was slouching on the couch, listening to his music and a slightly sleepy look on his face. He left Ueda and Junno to peruse the article as he took his clothes and went to his locker. Suddenly he felt someone standing behind him, and the frisson that ran down his spine told him it could only be one.

“Yes Jin?”

“Thoughts on the picture?”

“You should have worn something else other than that jacket.” He turned, leaning on the locker, hands crossed behind his back and daring Jin to get close. Jin reached his hand out, catching Kame’s hair between his thumb and forefinger as he rubbed it with the calloused pad of his hands. The silence was static.

“I thought about you when I’m with her.”

“What?” Kame’s breath stuttered.

“I thought about you wrapping your legs around me, no fabric between us, just you and that noise you make when you come. I thought about smearing that goddamned lipstick around your mouth and then licking it all away.” Jin’s forefinger circled Kame’s lower lip. His eyes widened and it wasn’t because of shock.

Jin’s forefinger was replaced by his mouth and he demonstrated what he wanted to do and it was more eloquent than words.

***

It was the fourth day of their summer tour and Kame was tired. It felt like he was depleting the last of his energy. He was early when he reached the dressing room. What was surprising that Jin was early too, lounging on the couch, his long legs swallowing up the space. Kame walked to his table and he saw a packet of strawberries, still in the supermarket’s plastic bag and resting on the corner of the table.

He stole a glance at Jin from the reflection of the mirror. He decided that words were overrated.

***

Jin thrust into him, and he was sleek and ready. The friction was unbearable and to-die-for.

Jin was the problem, and Jin was the antidote…
...and Kame doesn’t ever want to be cured.

Slow Burn

Sat, 23 May 2009 06:29:22 GMT

Title : Slow Burn
Pairing : RyoKame (with a bit of Jin thrown in)
Rating : R
Genre : drama
Summary : it's time for Kame to move forward after Jin.
A/N : Thanks for everyone who replied at the fanfic writer's meme, it made me feel like I should start writing something. I've actually finished the first half like ages ago, I just have no idea where to fit Jin. Go easy on me. :P Probably a one-shot, unless I feel like tormenting them further. XD
Comments loved.

Kame was fully aware that Nishikido Ryo and he had very little in common. They didn’t move in common circles, and in another life, Nishikido Ryo would be the kind of person Kame steered clear of on sight. Not because he hated him, oh far from it, it was just that people that inherently confident as Ryo frightened him. It made him feel like he was lacking and maybe that was the truth. He lacked in the most important of places, in the most acute sense. And it seemed only he himself knew it.

-----

“Hello.”

That was the first official beginning of their relationship. Nishikido Ryo saying hi to him like he didn’t know him, like he was the kind of person to be swept off his feet by grandiose ideas of screwing a Johnny’s. Kame just stared back at him, having perfected the mastery of deterring people with a single disinterested glare. But he forgot that Nishikido Ryo wasn’t most people and he was persistent, as though he had sunk his teeth into him and wasn’t going to let go until he shook something out of him. Something like a wayward emotion, or some semblance of frailty, something to prove that Kamenashi Kazuya wasn’t half as perfect as he would like people to believe. So Kame smiled back, the winsome sparkly smile that won over producers and difficult co-workers, the kind that almost always got him exactly what he wanted.

“Hello back.” Ryo smiled crookedly. And Kame knew he should just form an excuse and leave but he didn’t. “Want an autograph too?”

That was how they had met, outside the jimusho, surrounded by the possibility of a dark Tokyo night. They had indulged in anonymous chit-chat, safe unintrusive stuff until Ryo stubbed out his cigarette like he was a little sick of the pretense.

"I think we should get together, sometime." Ryo had taken a step forward and he was crowding him, and Kame thought that it was funny how Ryo asked someone on a date as though he was threatening them and daring them to refuse.

"I don't do relationships." Kame said with a practiced kind of calm but he couldn't escape the raw quality of his voice, as he laid the truth bare. Just when he thought Ryo would back off, like plenty of people do, Ryo flashed him that lopsided smile, a little taunting and very much intimate like they now shared some kind of private joke.

"Well, Kamenashi, neither do I."

-----

Kame remembered the first time they went on a date. It was to the movies and both of them had trucker caps on, the brim pressed low. They missed the first fifteen minutes of the movie, because both of them liked to sneak in when the lights had dimmed and everyone was engrossed in the movie so that no one would notice them. With anyone else, the date would have been a big failure. Kame would have to explain why they couldn't go into the movies on time like any other normal couple, why he couldn't hold their hands, and why they had to keep a distance apart even when walking on the streets. But with Ryo he didn't have to.

"Quite frankly, I think that was a crappy first date." Ryo said, before he looked at Kame, one of his hands still on the steering wheel, a self-deprecating smile on his lips.

Kame had always kept a tight rein on his emotions, sometimes he thought there was such a well of feelings inside him, just waiting to be tapped, that he would scare anyone if he didn't keep that tight control. But Ryo, Ryo messed all that up, and all that neediness and desire to be touched came gushing out of him, as though all this period after Jin, all he had been doing was waiting for the right person to come along before endangering himself.

"I know of a way to make it better." A soft throaty whisper followed by a wicked smile, that promised all the kind of wrong things. And it was one Kame had perfected, just that he hadn't really tried it on anyone outside of the glaring lights of the stage. Kame closed the gap between them, the stick shift poking into his ribs, as he slanted his mouth over Ryo's. And that first taste of Ryo teased out the inevitable, the neediness and all that craving and yearning he had kept tightly suppressed inside him. Ryo seemed to know exactly what he needed though, his hand moved into his scalp, palming his head, keeping him in place. He could hear both their gasps of breath, like the pounding of a loud bass in his ears. His hands grappled between their bodies, seeking for skin beneath the layers of clothing. And his hands settled on Ryo's hips, just above the waistband of his jeans, his fingernails nearly biting into his skin as Ryo's tongue, hot and insistent, melted against his mouth. And then there was a honk, a car speeding past theirs, and they jumped apart, the fear of paparazzi lurking around long ingrained into them.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence, the kind that lingered in the mornings after you had a one night stand with someone you barely knew and Kame just stared at his boots, searching for the right words to defuse the situation, all the while thinking of how Ryo's touch seemed to linger on his skin.

Then he felt Ryo's fingers on his cheek, tilting his face towards him, and Kame thought he was going to kiss him again, and hated himself for thinking that.

"We're not in a relationship. You don't need to justify yourself to me. You're safe." He felt Ryo's soft whisper like a tightness in his chest, and he felt like telling Ryo that he had never been safe. Not with the one before, and definitely not now.

-----

When they finally got together again, both of them were honest enough to just skip through the preliminaries. The funny thing was how Ryo kissed him, like he wasn't his for the taking, as though Kame might actually change his mind. There was some strange beauty in being that open and vulnerable, beneath Ryo, feeling that he was being turned inside out for the first time and his thoughts being sieved through. Ryo's hand rested on the concave of Kame's stomach, as if to restrain himself from touching Kame and his lips brushed across the skin below his navel, just a brief lingering touch. Then Ryo circled his erection, thumb swirling around the bulbous head, teasing strokes and Kame's whole body was just thrumming and quickening with energy.

He could feel Ryo watching him even as his eyes were closed in exquisite pain, studying him with that same inhuman intensity he did with everything else. His fingers, cold with lubricant, entered him and Kame felt like he was being devoured by the bed's warm gravity. There was something liberating about this nakedness, that he had nowhere to hide and Ryo wasn't going to let him. His fingers dug into the flesh on Ryo's shoulders, when he felt Ryo pressing up against him. The initial pain finally gave way to the pleasurable sensation of accommodation as Ryo rocked against him. Kame had opened his eyes, and he had drunk in Ryo's expression. Sweat-drenched fringe falling into his eyes, forearms taut with tension and teeth digging into his lower lip to smother the egress of a moan. Lying beneath Ryo, he could see his pulse throbbing fast and erratic in the hollow of his neck. He angled himself upwards, licking that exact spot and he could hear Ryo making a sound like a stunned whimper as he bucked forward in surprise.

And Kame remembered why he loved this, because sex threw his inhibitions away, and in bed, there was no need for conversations, no room for second-guessing and uncertainty. It was as though he was swept away by the undertow and he wished life consisted of this, and this alone. And as he felt the spasms of pleasure hitting him, he remembered he had once felt like this before, and that maybe this time he was meant to lose it all over again.

-----

Sometimes Kame wondered how easy it was for other people to forget their past mistakes, and how in his case, the transgression of his youth was staring him in his face every day. Hell, the transgression probably liked it this way, Kame thought, as he angled his head upwards and quirked an eyebrow at Jin. His fringe was falling in his eyes, and he had a cigarette clasped between his lips. His shirt brushed him, as Jin reached forward for his cell phone.

“You ought to quit you know.” Kame said, his voice deceptively casual.

He saw a glint of defiance in Jin’s eyes before he took a deep drag from his cigarette, the end of it glowing and his strong cheekbones becoming even more pronounced as he inhaled.

“Some of us need intoxication alright?” Jin said, before turning away. “When did you quit anyway?”

Kame stared at his back, before turning his attention back to his schedule. He had quitted when he realized his whole bedroom smelled like Jin, that peculiar blend of Marlboro Light and Jin’s cologne, even when he wasn’t there.

-----

“When we weren’t having sex, we were quarreling.” Kame could feel Ryo studying him and he shrugged, as though that could somewhat lighten the mood of the conversation, as though that could make the truth less hurting. The truth was he had loved Jin, and for that three or four years, he had felt as though Jin was the only part of his universe that was not attached to the rest of the phony world. The rest, the rest was all a big giant act staged and revolving around his onscreen persona. And while he gave so much of himself mindlessly to the fans and jimusho, he guarded Jin fiercely, like Jin was the only modicum of sanity holding him together.

He felt Ryo’s hand closing over his palm and he looked up.

“Why did you guys break up?” There was a lengthy pause. There were too many reasons, and in the end none of them really mattered.

“I guess….we simply ran out of ways to stay together.”

-----

Jin stared at the ceiling, as he felt a hand settling lazily on the dip of his waist. His female companion leaned over and gave him a kiss, she didn’t seem to notice his lack of response. She got out of bed, stopping at the dressing table as she reached for a brush, tugging it through her long hair. Jin’s eyes moved dispassionately over her as he lit his cigarette, feeling the familiar scent of the tobacco fill his lungs.

“Who is this?”

Jin stared at that picture for a minute. It had been relegated to the back, behind all the other framed photos of him and his friends. In fact, he had almost forgotten about its existence. It was a picture from years ago, and Kame and him were bundled up in their sweaters and they looked like any two ordinary colleague boys. Jin felt a knot in his throat as the cigarette burned down to its filter, scalding his finger. He let his glance linger a while more on the photo, the faces barely discernable in the darkness.

‘Nobody.” He said, as he pulled the covers over him.

-----

Kame sometimes thought Ryo looked like a younger James Dean, all bravado and overboiled vulnerability, the look in his eyes practiced to keep people out. Other times, he thought he looked like a petulant child, all ready to get into a brawl with anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way. He liked him, he liked the fact that Ryo didn’t give a shit, didn’t seem to want to smooth away the sharp edges of his character. There was some kind of excitement in being with someone else again, like trying to learn a new habit, like Kame had to start anew and get some part of himself reconfigured. The years after Jin had been a blank, filled with plenty of faces and meaningless flings. It was as though time had stalled and now it was going extra fast, making up for the space in between.

-----

Kame stared at the pot of bubbling soup and he looked uneasily at Ryo, who was stirring it with a practiced kind of ease.

“Ryo, are you sure you don’t want my help?”

“No, I‘m good.” Ryo said, not without a sideways glance and a knowing smile. “I’m not going to burn down your kitchen, you know.”

“Fine.” Kame said as he sat down on the dining chair, chopping the parsley. Ryo had been on tour the last week and he had insisted on coming over today. His apartment didn’t seem so sparse, or the silence so deafening with Ryo around. And in the last few weeks they had been together, it was as though Ryo had left his own little imprint in the apartment, taking over the corners like his prized Gretsch lounging on the couch, his ipod forgotten on the bedside table and a shirt draped carelessly over the back of a chair. It was nice, disarming even, to realize how fast Ryo had assimilated himself into his life, how easy it would be to fall prey to this kind of pattern.

“Kame, can you get me some coke please? And a cigarette?”

“Okay.”

Without thinking, Kame took out a pack of Marlboro lights from the drawer and handed it to Ryo. There was a stilted pause and Kame could hear the soup boiling furiously, some of it spilling over the edge of the pot.

“Jin smokes the same brand.” Ryo said, like it was an afterthought, as he turned his attention to the stove.

Kame’s fingers tightened uncontrollably over the pack of cigarettes. He had quitted but sometimes in the depth of the night, when sleep eluded him, he would turn to the comfort of the familiar scent. He would light up the cigarette, not smoking it, simply letting the tobacco fill up his bedroom. It would linger for days, the smell clinging to the bed sheets and pillows and it reminded him of Jin, made the nostalgia slightly more bearable. He hadn’t done this ritual for some time, but the cigarettes remained, conveniently tucked away in his drawer just in case. Just in case Jin’s eyes met his in the studio today, just in case that smile hadn’t been directed at TTUN alone. It was a spark of hope Kame kept close.

“I thought you quitted.” Ryo’s tipped Kame’s chin upwards, his thumb slowly moving over his lower lip. He couldn’t bring himself to lie, not to Ryo’s strangely impenetrable eyes. So he crushed the pack of cigarettes in his fist, so hard that his nails bit into his own skin. And he threw it into the dustbin, before walking gratefully into Ryo’s arms.

“I’ll start quitting. Today.”

-----

There was always the gnawing notion that he was setting himself up for another heartbreak, another great fall but Kame had always been a risk-taker. The more Ryo seemed to take up the space in his too-big apartment, the more it seemed to eradicate the memories of Jin. The taping of their program had ended when Kame was walking along the darkened hallway, his fingers moving rapidly over the buttons of his Blackberry. He raised his head and saw Jin walking from the other end, his lazy arrogant saunter striking an unknown chord within him. He briefly contemplated turning the other way, but it was too late. Jin had advanced on him, his fingers curling on his forearm and staying him in his steps.

“Are you with Ryo now?”

Kame knew he wasn’t obligated to answer him. There was no big secret in their circle of acquaintances and workmates, and eventually Jin would figure it out for himself. But he owed him, owed him for all the happy times, times when Jin had made him forget that he didn’t really have a youth, that his youth consisted of practicing backflips and countless rehearsals in the dreary dancing rooms.

“Yeah.” His voice caught in his throat and he could feel Jin’s fingers loosening his grip around him. They were back to being two strangers brushing past each other in the corridor, civil and detached, together but apart.

“Are you happy?”

“It’s enough for me.” And with that, Kame felt as though he had ruthlessly cut the last thread holding them together, the last bit of connection that was still between them. And frankly, it hurt.

free writing

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 13:24:46 GMT

RyoKame. Random writing inspired by the idea of Kame in a kimono and 1582 and this.
Not sure whether it will ever be developed into a full story. Prob got the terms wrong too but I know I haven't been writing for some time, so just something for the pple who still has this lj friended. <3

He had long hair, hair that dusted his lower back with its ends. The hair contrasted with the bright vivid reds of his kimono. He moved, fluid motions as though somewhere in the room, a shamisen was playing. Dark kohl lined his eyes and those hands, hidden under the long intricate sleeves, rested on his obi. And outside the room, Nishikido watched. Watched as those fingers undid the obi slowly, and silk rustled against skin. It was as though the surroundings were hushed, breath held in anticipation as the kimono dipped from his shoulder, revealing the pale smooth expanse of skin. He raised his hands, twisting his hair and pinning it at his nape. And Nishikido felt as though he was witness to a secret performance, each action designed to titillate and arouse. His fingers tightened on the katana, as Kamenashi Kazuya lowered his head to the wooden tub, fingers running through the ends of hair. He looked like a painting, the cascade of kimono pooling on the tatami, and tendrils curling around the graceful arch of his neck.

--

He stood immobile outside the room, watching the attendants with their expressionless faces walking in the doorways with their eyes lowered. Outside the room, he could hear the soft pants and the grunts building to a crescendo. And in his head, he imagined Kamenashi’s body, limber beneath his, flushed with passion and head thrown back. The truth was Kamenashi and him weren’t very much different, they offered their services to the highest bidder. Only that for Ryo, his best was already beyond him and he was contented leaving the memories of battlefield and war to the past.

--

"I would love to go for the viewing of cherry blossoms."

Kazuya smiled a little at the perplexed look on Ryo's face. "The ochaya is always busy during Spring. When I have time, it's already autumn." He said this without any inflection in his voice, no hint of complaint and it only made Ryo feel worst.

"I'll take you there." The rash manner in which he said it made Kame look at him with a slightly quizzical look on his face. He laughed, as though he was trying to placate Ryo. "I've missed so many cherry blossoms. What's one more?"

With a slight bow of his head, he excused himself and Ryo knew it was the furthest Kazuya would ever go to revealing his true self. Looking at the effortlessly graceful way he carried himself, he wondered how much of his life Kazuya had spent in the ochaya. He seemed to enjoy a certain degree of freedom and yet in some ways, he reminded him of a butterfly with clipped wings, reduced to flitting amongst guests and patrons looking for entertainment and diversion. And Kazuya seemed to accept it with quiet resignation, maybe because he had never known anything else.

--

Kamenashi Kazuya looked at him from those slanted eyes, expression undecipherable. Then he took his hand, cradling it. He ignored the colloidal scars lining his palm, the long dark line that twisted and gnarled at the skin. And then he placed it against his cheek. And Ryo couldn’t remember the last time his left hand had touched skin. It was well-acquainted with the cold metal of his katana but it had forgotten the warmth of a human touch. Then Kazuya smiled, guiding his hand down the V of his kimono, over the arch of his collarbones and Ryo watched as his hand disappeared beneath the silk. He could feel the soft tattoo of a heartbeat, desperate as though trying to convey something. And they sat apart on the tatami, Ryo’s hand closing the distance between them.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.” Ryo said, tasting his words on his lips and even that sounded false to him. He already knew what was going to happen, perhaps he knew it right from the start when he saw him dancing to the strumming of the shamisen, hair dusting his lower back with its ends. Even then, in the flurry and cascade of colors, his eyes had followed him. He had stood beside his daimyo, fingers wrapped around his katana and it was as though there was only him and Kazuya in the room.

----

Slowly, he peeled the kimono off Kazuya's shoulders, easing the clothing and bunching it at his waist. He could see Kazuya shiver slightly at the abrupt cold, head turned sideways looking at him. He didn't look reluctant though, just at peace and comfortable in his own skin. He placed his katana on the tatami and with one hand, touched the deep groove at Kazuya's back, finger dipping inside and tracing down till the tapering small of his back. He could see the goosebumps trailing in its wake and he moved closer, as though transfixed. Leaning forward, he placed his lips against the concave of his shoulder. Kazuya shuddered, and Ryo wasn't sure whether it was because of the cold or his proximity. His hand rested on the flare of his hip, bringing him close and lips moving demonstratively over the back of his shoulder. His fingers played with the knot on his obi, and he felt Kame closing his palm over him with strained fingers.

And Ryo robbed and hushed whatever little protest Kazuya might have with his lips. He guided Kazuya until he was lying face-down on the tatami, face flushed and hand near his open lips. And he revelled in the sight, the peek of a bare foot from beneath the hem of the kimono and the fabric puddling on the floor. He extricated his hand from Kazuya's grip, and laid his weight onto Kazuya's back, pressing kisses onto his neck. Kazuya squirmed beneath him, as though spurred on by the unbearable friction of the coarse fabric of Ryo's yukata against bare skin.

--

Kame bit down hard on his bottom lip. Ryo was so gentle, as though he was exploring foreign same and texture, unashamedly exploratory, as if committing every nuance to memory. He couldn't remember any time when his paid patrons had unabashedly dedicated such attention to his pleasure, and he knew Ryo expected no such reciprocation in return. He was just a wounded man seeking refuge in him and somehow it felt like Ryo and him were kindred souls. Both damaged and hiding from the world in their respective little corners, never daring to hope or expect anything more. He felt like he was being swallowed by the warm gravity of the heated floor as Ryo's fingers grazed him, over the sole of his foot, up the back of his knees, undeterred by the harsh egress of Kazuya's breath.

Trigger

Thu, 27 Nov 2008 15:13:51 GMT

Title : Trigger Chapter 9
Pairing : RyoUchi
Rating : PG-15
Genre : Crime, drama
Summary: Nishikido Ryo was a disillusioned investigator in the Tokyo Major Crimes Division, filled with self-hatred and regret for not being able to save his sister. Uchi Hiroki was a journalist looking for a scoop. A macabre crime by a killer with a personal vengeance soon brings the two together.
A/N : I feel awkward with the sex, maybe cos I'm out of practice with writing it. :P So nope, no full-blown sex but thanks for the comments to the previous chap. They make my muse very happy.

And for everyone who commented, esp Dina cos she's alwis so encouraging :)

Chapter 10

Ryo looked at Uchi, sitting quietly beside him, hugging his laptop to his chest like it could defend him from all the evil in the world.

“You could just drop me at a motel.”

“You know, I would appreciate it if less people are dying on me.” His words didn’t even earn a cursory look of contrition from Uchi. Instead Uchi just looked grim and tired, his fingers curling tighter around his laptop as he looked out the window.

Finally Ryo stopped at a hotel just at the outskirt of town and Uchi stayed quiet the entire trip. Ryo wondered whether he was still reeling from the shock, or whether the initial fear had subsided. Sometimes it was when people started thinking and rearranging the facts in their heads, that they truly realized the implications of what happened. Nothing about the incident was deliberate, it had been planned right down to the minute detail and Ryo could not help but think that everything seemed to string together. The tape Uchi had gotten, the article Uchi was working on and now his sister’s death being dug up. Truth was some things were meant to be buried, because it was the only way he could move forward. Because sometimes when you stayed in one place for far too long, it was only a matter of time before you got crushed, by the boulder weight of regret. And Ryo knew that only too well.

--

For a moment, both of them stood at the doorway to the hotel room, looking at the double bed. Finally there was a sigh of resignation from Uchi who placed his laptop on the bedside table and propped himself up on the pillows. He switched on the television, staring at the screen. Ryo settled on the other side of the bed, distance between them, listening to all the depressing stuff going on around the world. He glanced sideways at Uchi, who now had the remote control in his hands as though he took some comfort in that control. Finally Ryo grasped the remote control out of his hands.

“Look I don’t want to sleep.”

“Maybe you should.” Ryo tucked the remote control somewhere beneath his body and Uchi glared at him, finally throwing the covers over himself. Uchi closed his eyes, and he tried to ignore Ryo sitting on the bed, right beside him, propped up against the pillows. The television program was now set on mute and the room was bathed in the lights from the television set. He hated how vulnerable he was just now, hated how he who had always written about crime scene, was now almost part of one himself. He didn't like the exchanging of roles, didn't like the thought that somewhere out there, someone had planned this, with him as the intended victim. And most of all, he didn't like how grateful he was for Nishikido Ryo's company and protection.

The idea of being on the front page of news as the newest casualty in the latest city crime had never crossed his mind but it felt as though some part of him was violated and compromised, that someone could just waltz into his apartment. And the worst part was that the person hadn’t even gotten started, all he did today was make sure that his warning got across and it did. All that inexplicable anger was mostly directed at himself, because somehow he had implicated himself by trying to get to Nishikido Ryo.

He wanted to sleep and at the same time he didn’t. At this moment, slipping into sleep seemed like a terrifying idea. And unconsciously he rubbed his hand against the front of his pants. Maybe he just needed some diversion, he could do this quietly. Nishikido Ryo looked as though he was lost in another world. He once heard someone say they could only face the memories of their past through the bottom of a Scotch glass. Maybe that was true for Ryo too, because he looked like an apparition barely tethered there by the force of his willpower.

His hands moved idly, fingers stroking but his mind kept going back, going back to that bedroom with the stink of blood. It was blood alright. He could recognize that coppery stench, that aftermath of violence anywhere.

He let out a soft moan, muffled by the pillow when he felt the pleasure building up. Then he heard Ryo's voice.

"Uchi go to sleep."

Uchi flung the blanket aside and frankly he was quite upset at Ryo for having deprived him of his only escape.

"I can't alright. How do you sleep after all those murders?"

There was a lengthy pause, and Ryo switched off the television before he put the remote control onto the table. The sudden silence seemed to indicate the prelude to something else. Something frightening that Uchi didn't want to be a part of. He knew what was coming, and he could deal with Nishikido if he was a waif of a ghost, if he was bitter and hell-bent on revenge. But he couldn't deal if he was real and pulsating with life.

"I don't." Ryo replied, his voice a lover's caress, as he wrapped his arms around Uchi's waist, holding his wrists prisoner in his hands. And the strange thing was Uchi believed him, and he could almost picture him, with his eyes closed at night but mind still regurgitating over the crimes he saw in the day.

“Don’t tell me part of your job includes babysitting scared civilians too.” He could feel Ryo’s breath tickling his nape and it was like he was swallowed up by the bed, by his arms, in this safe little world isolated from everything outside.

“I don’t want your kindness.” Uchi said, his voice rough from the tightening in his throat.

Then he could feel Ryo’s hand guiding his wrist back, and he could feel the hardness beneath his fingers.

“This has nothing to do with kindness.” And before Ryo could speak any further, Uchi had already turned back, kissing him before the first press of their lips together. At the very least, he could direct all that anger and frustration to someone other than himself. Because Ryo was the culprit, with his broken down eyes and crazy obsession with his job that mirrored his own. Sex had always been his leverage and his bargaining chip. Sex wasn’t supposed to be like this, like being on the brink of death if his skin wasn’t flushed against his. His whole body seemed to hum with nervous energy and anticipation, and Ryo’s hand settled on his hip, fingers digging in like he was trying to steady him. He caught Ryo’s wrist with his own, pinning it onto the bed. And Ryo was just looking back at him with those eyes which made him feel like he was being profiled and categorized like many of the criminals before him, that it scared him just a little.

The seconds elongated, before Ryo toppled him over, in a tangle of limbs and sheets. There were no preliminaries or niceties, just Ryo laving him with his tongue, his scotching hot breath burning its own imprint on his skin. He tilted his head back, the lights blurring into a kaleidoscope, struggling to breathe and contain the onslaught of sensations. When Ryo finally entered him, the discomfort was almost liberating, that he didn’t have any room or excuse to fight his reactions anymore. And Ryo was still holding his gaze tenaciously, inching in before easing out again, all the while withholding what he really really wanted.

“I don’t owe you anything for this one,” Uchi whispered, his voice dying on him when he felt Ryo pressing deeper. Then he heard Ryo’s voice delving into his ear, like an archaic tongue, and a confession of sorts.

“No you don’t. Not for this one.”

Trigger

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 12:48:22 GMT

Title : Trigger Chapter 8
Pairing : RyoUchi
Rating : PG-15
Genre : Crime, drama
Summary: Nishikido Ryo was a disillusioned investigator in the Tokyo Major Crimes Division, filled with self-hatred and regret for not being able to save his sister. Uchi Hiroki was a journalist looking for a scoop. A macabre crime by a killer with a personal vengeance soon brings the two together.
A/N : I dun care that most of u probably forgot about the existence of this fic, I love this story. Comments still appreciated. XD

Chapter 7

Uchi Hiroki looked at the words on the computer screen, then with a grimace, hit the backspace. His article was far from the revealing exposé he had hoped it would be. He couldn’t look at Nishikido Ryo from the objective viewpoint he had hoped to maintain, but then this was the guy who had fed his obsession for years. And for a long time, he had equated scoring an interview with him to the Holy Grail of interviews, the one to land him on the front page. Who knew he would find his conscience in the process? As Yokoyama would say, serve him right. He probably deserved this, he had wanted to make use of Nishikido Ryo and now all he could come up with was this lackluster, totally uninspiring piece. If he was lucky, he would still have a job after this.

In the bathroom, he let his mind wander as he washed his hair. He was about to reach for his towel when the lights flickered and the whole bathroom was doused in darkness. He thought that the building must be having one of its monthly electricity meltdowns. The faucet was still dripping and he could hear the pipes churning overhead. Odd, he could hear his neighbor going about his usual business upstairs, voices rising and falling. He couldn’t really see in the dark, but he reached his hand out, coming into contact with the tiled wall. There was a little niggling uneasiness settling inside him, after all he had written about too much crime and murder to not know this seemed like the perfect setting for a burglary gone wrong. He thought he heard footsteps, muffled by the ratty carpet; as the darkness held its breath around him. The sound got nearer and nearer, the scuffling of boots in a slow, measured way, and then they stopped. Like the person on the other side of the room was listening, gauging. Fear reverberated in him like the hum of a vibrating fork. And he waited, waited for the doorknob to rattle, waited for the door to open, all the time thinking it was maybe his own flustered imagination. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but when the lights came on, he had to blink several times to readjust to the brightness.

He opened the door and looked at his apartment, nothing looked disturbed, and everything looked relatively untouched. The only thing that could be of interest to a burglar was his laptop and the stark white screen stared back at him. He was beginning to think it was a false scare when he saw his bed, the bedsheets neatly turned down the way they were, when he realized the intruder wasn’t a burglar at all. And the only thing he wanted from him was his fear.

--

Nishikido Ryo stepped into the night wind, he needed cigarettes. Or a rush of caffeine to help him make it through the night. He also needed to forget about Uchi Hiroki’s little impromptu visit and the discomforting feeling that Uchi Hiroki was quietly coming to his own conclusion about him. He had worked fine in the last two years, cornered off in his own world of maddening silence and memories. And he had realized that nothing screamed louder than that silence, and that void of empty space murder left behind. There was no finality, no acceptance and no deliverance from the endless self-questioning. In his mind, he had rebuilt so many hypothetical situations, all of them with a better ending than this. One of the scenarios that appeared most often in his mind was that he wasn’t a cop, because he would rather keep his own sister safe than have that badge pinned onto his chest and do such a successful job at keeping all the criminals locked up. The criminals had found him anyway.

On the way to the kombini, he had hitched a ride with a patrol officer on duty working the midnight shift. The car cruised smoothly along the deserted roads, and Ryo wondered whether there were actually people who voluntarily worked the night shift. He did it only because he had no one waiting for him at home, no one who would worry if he didn’t return. The slight drizzle slicked over the windshield, and maybe he stayed overnight because he liked being alone. After being reminded on a daily basis of the perversity people could be capable of, he found loneliness the safest of all.

Suddenly the walkie-talkie crackled over the stagnant silence, and he could hear the operator calling for a vehicle in the vicinity, talking about needing a unit to investigate a break-in. He wasn’t overly concerned, until he heard the address being rattled. The address he had committed to memory that night he was driving aimlessly around the city centre looking for escape. Uchi’s address.

--

He could tell Uchi Hiroki was surprised when he saw him there. Being caught offguard in a moment of vulnerability probably wasn’t part of Uchi Hiroki’s plans. Ryo thought he looked like a fresh college student in his old faded tee and pants. His hair was still damp, with a towel draped around his shoulders. He had looked at the police officer, before his glance settled on Ryo.

“I didn’t realize Detectives investigate break-ins too.” There was none of that defiance and hostility Ryo was expecting, just a slightly tired expression before he tugged on the corner of the towel, like a little habit of comfort.

“What did the burglar take?” The accompanying officer asked and Uchi Hiroki stepped aside, revealing the open hallway to his bedroom. Now, his hands were gripping the towel, bunching it around him as if it was something holding him together.

“It wasn’t a burglary. I just didn’t know what else to call that.” Uchi gestured towards the bedroom, his head slightly averted as though he didn’t want to set his eyes on it again. And there was a vicious blotch bleeding and staining the white bed sheets red.

Uchi sat on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees before Ryo heard his soft voice.

“You don’t really think that’s blood do you?”

“We’ll have to take it back to the lab. Who has keys to your apartment?”

Uchi faltered for a moment before he replied.

“The landlord. I changed my lock a few months ago.” Uchi looked over at the bedroom where the police officer was taking preliminary photos of the scene.

“God, tell me it’s a sick vicious joke.” There was a flare of anger in Uchi’s eyes as he directed his gaze towards Ryo.

“Lots of things start out this way, as sick vicious jokes. And quite frankly I wish I didn’t see you at every crime scene I’m going to.”

Uchi stayed quiet. As Yoko would say, serve him right for choosing to get embroiled with Nishikido Ryo.

--

Two streets away, a man took off his gloves, after he tossed the bucket into a back street garbage dump. It was close but worth it. Pity he couldn’t actually see Uchi Hiroko’s face. Because Uchi Hiroki was getting too close to the truth and he couldn’t have people digging too near the murder two years ago. He needed things to stay the way they are, and this was just a small warning. And if this didn’t work, there’s always more.

Beneath it all

Sat, 08 Nov 2008 04:40:51 GMT

Title : Beneath it all (4/?)
Pairing : Akame
Rating : PG-13
Genre : AU. Angst/Drama
Summary : Kame was a future Waseda student, not exactly sure about his direction in life until he met Jin and found out that maybe plans in life were meant to be disregarded.
A/N : Honest confession : I have no idea what I'm writing. Written to White Xmas. Comments appreciated.

Chapter 4

Kame liked working in the Japanese restaurant right at the edge of the ski resort. It was interesting to come across the various people who all congregated at the ski resort during the winters and the small sleepy town would come alive with the bustling business the tourists brought. In any case, it provided a nice diversion from Jin and for the first time in his life, he realized that Sapporo was actually big enough for two people to never see each other again. They were entrenched in their own sections of the city and Kame could forget about the embarrassing incident at the club, or everything after that.

In the restaurant, he worked the day shift and normally Koki would fetch him home in the evening. However that day, one of his colleagues had fallen sick and Kame had to do the night shift. The restaurant was extremely busy during the dinner period and Kame was taking orders when he heard the bell chime. He was about to greet the customer when he realized it was Akanishi Jin, decked in an all-black outfit and he realized Sapporo wasn’t nearly big enough. Because fate had a seriously odd manner of bringing people together, people he didn’t exactly want to lay eyes on again.

“That’s Akanishi Jin, he works the night shift. He’s been here for one year so try to learn from him.” His boss patted Kame’s back and he probably mistook Kame’s stricken expression for one of unease. He offered an encouraging smile and gestured for Jin to come over. Jin made his way over and his boss introduced them, totally unaware of the tense undercurrent. And then Jin offered his hand, and Kame looked at it in surprise. He tentatively placed his hand in Jin’s palm and they shook hands. Maybe this was how it was done in the adult world, real feelings veiled with grace and magnanimity. And Kame decided he could get used to this because he would rather pretend he was meeting Jin for the first time, his knowledge of Jin’s illness and that little glimpse into Jin’s world a blank canvas. Throughout the busy dinner period, Kame maneuvered his way through the fully-seated restaurant, his gaze occasionally drifting to Jin. And Kame was glad for the never-ending flow of patrons because he didn’t think he was quite at adept at pretending. He didn’t want the awkward gaps of silence he would feel compelled to fill but as the night rolled on, the snow got bigger. And he thought he could almost hear the floor-length glass panels rattle and quake against the gusts of wind. The crowd dwindled and time slowed to a crawl.

When it was time to knock off, Koki hadn’t come yet and Kame wondered whether he could have gotten held up by the heavy snow and skid on the road. He sat at the barstool, his hands cupped around each other. He had forgotten his gloves again. Jin had switched off the main lights and the dimmed lights from the bar cast a warm glow in the small restaurant.

“So you’re waiting for Koki?” He heard Jin’s voice snap him out of his reverie and he nodded. He watched Jin look at his watch before he beckoned for Kame.

“I’ll send you home.”

--

Kame was acutely aware of the silence inside the car. The drive was slow, stuck in the long line of traffic. And the taillights of the cars blurred into a single straight line that seemed to stretch beyond the snowy landscape.

“So you go around rescuing people like stray puppies?”

“What?” He was about to get pissed when he saw the little teasing smile playing on Jin’s lips, before he realized it was a joke. And a twitch of a smile crossed his face.

“Only if that puppy is bent on self-destruction.” And Jin laughed, a genuine one and it felt like his heart lurched in kind and the space inside the car was getting smaller, boxing the both of them in.

“You’re going to college next year right?”

“Yeah. I wanna get away from here I guess. Sometimes, I get the feeling that the smaller the place, the easier it is to get lost here.” Kame stared outside the window, watching the snow draping over the land. Whoever said snow came down in flakes obviously never come to Hokkaido before. As much as he loved this place, it was so easy to become conditioned, to become stifled. And he didn’t want to be like this, didn’t want to not know what it was like to wish for something more.

Then he heard Jin’s soft voice in the car, and Kame wished he hadn’t heard it. Wished it didn’t sound like a personal confession of sorts. Like a secret divulged to someone you trusted because Kame didn’t want to be that person for Jin. All he wanted was to get past this winter, and then go to college next year. That had been his lifelong dream, and somehow Jin was making him veer off course, like a car lost control and heading for collision.

“I wish it was easier to get lost here. Or anywhere for that matter.”

“If there’s such a place, I’ll go there with you.” Kame heard his own voice, so full of false bravado. And he felt that in that second, he made his conscious decision even if his heart and mind seemed to be speeding in two different directions. And he could see the emotions flicker across Jin’s face, emotions too vague for him to decipher. He could feel the enormity of those words he had spoken, and he had to clench his wrist in his hand, just to stop himself from opening the car door in fear. He wondered if Jin could see the hope, the fear and the unspoken question in his eyes.

Then Jin spoke and he wished it had been a mocking derision at his childish naïve words. Words spoken by someone who had never been truly close to losing. But Jin proved him wrong, like Kame had somehow known he would.

“Then let’s go there.”

Kame knew there was no room for reverse, no room for treading back. He didn’t ask any questions, neither did he offer any explanations because contrary to what Jin thought, he didn’t go around trying to save wounded people. There were too many casualties in this world, and Kame knew Jin was only one of them. One of the only Kame wanted to be reckless for.

--

The car swerved slightly as it drove along the road with the potholes and bumps. It felt as though they were at a higher altitude, but Kame wouldn’t know. Finally the car halted and Jin stepped out into the snow. He followed blindly into the biting chill, dragging his bare hands across each other. He wondered whether this was how it was like to get lost, to reach the far ends of the world, because he felt like he was the only one here, cocooned in the snow with Jin and time had come to a silent standstill. He could see the specks of light from this height, from the buildings. His feet sunk onto the snow, and Jin held out his hand. Gingerly closing the distance between them, Kame reached for Jin. And the warmth seemed to seep into his bones, and he let Jin hold his hand, pulling him slightly closer to the verge.

Kame could hear his teeth chattering, almost blinding out his own thundering heartbeat.

“I guess this is how it feels to be standing close to the edge, never knowing when this will all end.” Kame looked at the smile from Jin, as he tucked Kame’s hand into his pocket. And he clenched and tightened his fingers around Jin, as though trying to offer some vestiges of comfort. Finally he wrapped his arms around Jin from behind, his hands barely enable to encircle him. The coat irritated his cheek and he could almost feel the rise and fall of Jin’s breath and it comforted him on a level so basic that he allowed himself to close his eyes. They stayed like that for a long time before Kame pulled back.

“I’m sorry Jin…I…”

“Kame, don’t allow yourself to feel sorry for me.” Jin aligned his thumb with the curve of his jaw, gently stroking and in that second, any thought of self-preservation vanished. He closed the distance between them, meeting Jin’s lips. His own lips felt bruised, swollen and he was braced for rejection, when he suddenly felt hands cradling his face, angling his head and then a kiss, so delicately it was barely there. He could feel the hoarse unrestrained emotions just shimmering beneath the surface and he leaned into Jin’s embrace, flushed skin and ragged breath. That night, they never went beyond that point, never went beyond the kiss. There was no need to. Kame was lost, and he had no intention of going back.

Sadness doesn't make a Sound

Sat, 18 Oct 2008 16:18:53 GMT

Title : Sadness doesn't make a Sound
Pairing : RyoKame
Genre : angst, drama.
Rating : PG-13
A/N : written on a whim because I am pissed. Quite frankly this fic is mediocre at best maybe cos I wasn't even sure what I wanted to convey. But comments are nice. Go easy, it's been some time since I write. :P And it's nowhere as deep as the title sounds. XD

He sat in the dim light of the room, the four little panels of windows letting the light shine through the grime and dust. For years, this had become his secret sanctuary and sometimes when he couldn’t sleep, he would sit here, just waiting for the sunrise, knowing that at least he wouldn’t need to try his hand at sleeping anymore. Today he had come straight from a performance and he had sat there in his pants, the sequins sewn and woven into the material of his pants scraping against his skin. He didn’t know what he found so riveting or comforting about hearing the churning of the old freight train along the railway track, hearing the slight tremble of the window panes as the rumble of the train neared but it was. It soothed him, put a salve on his wounds the way he didn’t know how. Because in exchange for being good at everything everyone wanted him to be, he was nothing more than a blank canvas to himself. He donned the different colors to suit the different occasions, there was the flamboyant red, the sombre mysterious midnight blue and recently, recently he was just a muted grey hue. It was like the different characters he had assumed had all gradually seeped their colors into him and blended into a palette of mixture. And somewhere in that mixture, was him.

--

“Why do you always look so sad?” Kamenashi Kazuya heard the low voice pitched at him, felt the calloused pad of his thumb lightly tracing over the contour of his lower lip.

“I do?” He curved his fingers around the carousing hand, felt the pulse drumming against his fingertips. Good, it wasn’t just him who was nervous.

“You always look like you’re hiding off in your own world. Like people can get near but you are allowing them to because you cordoned part of yourself off.” Kame looked at the Ryo surveying him with quiet intensity. Frankly he wanted to tell him to back off, because there was nothing accidental about this deliberate invasion of his personal space. Honestly he had this feeling Ryo had planned this ambush for weeks, like he had escaped his attentions only because Ryo had enjoyed the chase and the cornering.

“So does it sound like the truth?”

“Quite frankly I think you smell like bullshit.”

--

Kame had gotten used to the loneliness, to residing inside his own head. In his own mind, he was anyone he cared to be. Thought most of the time, he didn’t give two hoots as long as he was reeling in the cash. It wasn’t so much materialism, but the fact it made him feel like he was different. That the money was his able accomplice and that was the only way he derived his validation and self-worth. That at least he didn’t have to scrape by on meager earnings by squeezing in the bullet brain with the clones of suited salaryman all living in fear and uncertainty. All he had to please was his fans and they were notoriously easy. For an idol, love was cheap, love was abundant; love was measured in album sales and drama ratings. For an idol who was this well-loved, he was supposed to be happy.

--

Nishikido Ryo was always in the perpetual state of being freshly and unceremoniously dumped. It had become a long-standing joke amongst his friends and bandmates. Always dumped and always on the lookout for a rebound. Then again he being constantly dumped might have to do with the fact he was constantly dating, several at a time. He had been called selfish so many times it had become a perfect synonym for his name. Being the sadistic self-torturing bastard he was, he accepted it all with good grace. Except one. That one hadn’t just been a defeat, it had been a self-inflicted blow because as livid as Kame made him, as much as it hurt knowing he would never be inside, he could never bring himself to say “Go.” So they fought, they exchanged vulgarities and childish spats and warring silences, before they would tentatively gather the pieces and make a truce. Save today, and fight another day because there was always something that could go wrong with the both of them together. But after every fight, it felt like he was memorizing Kame anew. With every fight, he clung desperately to every awaking morning, keenly aware of the fact that maybe the next argument could be the last straw and this morning would be his last memory, his last sustenance. With Kame, he was always walking on eggshells, treading carefully, bloodying his own feet but he was never nearer, never any closer to closing the distance.

“What did I do wrong this time? Never mind, I don’t need any explanations.” Ryo slammed the wardrobe shut, the clothes hangers rattling against each other. Of course he wanted one. Of course, because it was only common sense to want an answer to a question or a problem he couldn’t solve.

But of course, being Kame, he had to do the opposite. They never said what they meant, and what they said could never be further away from the truth. Kame reopened the wardrobe, started pulling off the shirts, tugging them off the hangers and hauling them onto the bed.

“Good. Because I have none.”

--

Ryo liked it best when Kame was sleeping. It wasn’t even about the prelude to sleeping, the frenzied lovemaking, or the whispered words of apology and regret that never made it past their lips except in the form of slow meandering kisses. In sleep, at least he could convince himself their love was a two-way street. Kame slept on his stomach, with every breath straining his skin against his ribcage like it was a painful thing. He didn’t cling, didn’t cuddle, didn’t even look like he needed a warm body against his. But he couldn’t object. And every morning, Ryo would wake up, way before dawn, just listening to the soft rhythmic breathing and running his hand softly along the arch of his back, memorizing the landscape of his body beneath his fingertips. This little morning ritual of his reminded himself why he was here, he had no illusions of grandeur, or trying to make this thing between them sound better than it actually was. He just knew they were capable of so much more. And he would be here, until he crashed back to earth from the best dream he could ever have. Sometimes he thought they would only be done with each other, until they had scrubbed each other raw and bloodied, just to see who admitted defeat first. Until then, there was always the dramatics and the other people, who filled in the blanks in between time.

--

When Ryo was busy filming Last Friends and being vilified for his performance nationwide, Kame decided to go to California. To escape from seeing Ryo on television every time he switched it on. California was like the poster child for fake sun tans, bottle blonde and flashy cars. In short, it was pretty much like Japan, only with a lot less edge. He spent his time in the laidback cafes with his books and coffee. Trying to forget about things, until he realized the things he was trying so desperately to forget were the ones he was trying to remember and hold onto all along. Of course, being the kind of person he was, it took him half a world away to figure that out.

--

“You have the worst taste in women.” Kame said, his voice hoarse and eyes red-rimmed, from too much anger and whiskey. He grappled with the buttons on Ryo’s shirt, his hands unsteady, and finally he slipped the first button through. Ryo could feel Kame’s hands, too thankful for warm skin against his, curving around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair at his nape.

“Worst taste in men too.” Kame continued, his fingers digging into Ryo’s skin, daring him to deny that. There was something askew with Kame today, like he was blurred around the edges and he was shaking inside. But with Kame, you never know, because with Kame, sadness doesn’t make a sound. Not even a defeated whimper or an echo of a cry. But some things don’t have to make a sound to be heard.

“You’re getting slow. I realized that long ago.” Ryo cradled Kame’s face in his hands, feeling the tears decked in his hands.

“Ryo I don’t like to fight.”

“Then we won’t.” Knowing him, they would probably fight about this tomorrow morning. But with Ryo, if it wasn’t difficult, if it wasn’t full of tumultuous ups and downs and going back and forth, then it wasn’t love. There would always be the sidestepping and the second-guessing, but there would always be the making up. And making up, was the best part.

fic prompts!

Sat, 18 Oct 2008 02:40:57 GMT

so I'm having more free time nowadays so feel free to give some fic prompts. :) RyoKame preferably, they've been invading my thoughts these days :P

And now I realised short entries screw up my layout rly badly.

Atlas of a Difficult World

Tue, 23 Sep 2008 13:04:03 GMT

Title : Atlas of a Difficult World (2/2)
Pairing : Akame
Genre : Drama. Angst. Journey fic.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : "Back then, they were like two halves of an equation"
A/N : Been three months since I wrote something and I'm glad there're people who miss my writing. :) Been stressed with work and yes I need to finish this because lol I can't believe not being able to finish a two-parter fic. No other meaning or insinuations attached to it. Comments loved.

Chapter 2

Living in LA was comfortable. In fact Jin realized there was no greater pleasure than spending the money he earned doing somersaults in air and other ridiculous acrobatic stunts on utterly meaningless things. He went to his language class as and when he felt like it. He practiced those lines of broken English in the noisy nightspots where he suspected the girls couldn’t even hear his words and where it probably didn’t matter what he said, because they thought he looked all exotic and mysterious. After a while, the easiness of everything started to get to him. It started to become an identical routine to his life in Japan, except in a totally different tangent. Here, there was no hidden code or rule he had to abide by, he was pretty much free to do whatever he wanted. Sometimes he wondered how Kame would fare here, whether he would feel lost in the sudden presence of freedom and liberation. Then he realized that maybe Kame was different, that maybe he didn’t want to be free from those things Jin was escaping from.

***

He was lounging on his couch, his fingers moving across the frets and strings when his cellphone rang. He flipped it open and the voice were drowned in the static, distorted and muffled.

“Jin?”

“Kame?” It was funny, how both their voices seemed to echo each other’s. The disbelief and uncertainty and hesitation all in the single utterance of the other’s name.

“How are you?” There was a lengthy pause at the other end and Jin realized it wasn’t a rhetorical question. He was supposed to answer it and believe Kame didn’t know from the messages he left occasionally on Ueda’s cell and the emails he sent Pi.

“I’m fine Kame. I’m living it up.” He said with a dry humorless laugh, clasping the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he shifted the weight of the guitar on his lap.

“Jin, it’s been four months.” And he could hear the unspoken question weighing between them, and he stubbornly refused to allay Kame’s doubts and fears. He didn’t offer a single consoling word because he didn’t want a truce, didn’t want Kame’s friendship when it only came along bundled with the promise and reassurance that he was going to return.

“Kame, I don’t know.” He said, and he felt the distance between them was somehow shortened because this was the first conversation they’ve had in months that wasn’t stilted with false formality or underlying accusation. And frankly Jin didn’t know exactly what question he was answering because those words could have fitted right anywhere; his future, KAT-TUN’s future, and their relationship which had been at a standstill for years.

And oddly enough Kame didn’t press for a more substantial answer; it was as though he had become conditioned to Jin’s nonchalance, his indifference and dispassion towards the things he didn’t care for.

“I see. Have fun in LA then. Take care Jin.” But Kame, being Kame, still managed to convey what he thought of his answer, in those last few clipped sentences.

And at that time, Jin thought he could finally lay the ghosts of his former relationship to rest because as much as Kame mattered to him, he had come to accept the fact that they had never quite figured out a way to stay together.

***

When Kame set foot on LAX, he knew exactly where he wanted to go. He was here on a personal endeavor and he could feel his stomach churning in apprehension, and he wished it was the aftereffect of the ten hour flight rather than his body’s honest reaction to the prospect of facing Jin. And as he got into the cab, the memories came back to him, sometimes with sharp piercing pain, sometimes with mellow sadness. All of them had one thing in common. Jin had always been there.

***

Jin hadn’t been surprised when he saw Kame standing in the narrow doorway, his beret pulled low over his hair. That was how far Kame would go for his work. Halfway across the universe apparently. And when he heard Kame saying that maybe they should start talking, he thought that Kame and he had always been talking through their intentional disregard of each other’s presence, and that had been working perfectly fine for Kame as long as Jin was reined in KAT-TUN.

***

It was surreal to be sitting across the cheap dining table, across from Kame with the bowl of instant ramen in front of both of them. None of them was really hungry but he supposed anything would be preferable to starting the real conversation. He watched Kame stir the noodles listlessly with the wooden chopsticks, before he saw the distinct frown between his brows.

“What is this?” Kame looked at him with slight distaste.

“Ramen. American style.”

Then he heard the wheezing sound, that sounded like it was being stubbornly suppressed, before it came out in a derisive little snort of laughter. And Jin thought that no matter how distant they were now, some things from the past hadn’t been scrubbed away by anger, pain or jealousy. And it was just beneath the surface, visible to anyone who cared to look hard enough.

***

Sometimes Kame would wonder why Jin would give up the familiarity, the friends and family he had known back home, for a dream halfway across the ocean. It was then he realized Jin’s dreams and aspirations had very little to do with the person he was molded to become, and what he had come to represent to so many people.

He was trying hard to integrate himself into Jin’s life here when he realized that he would never have made it in LA. He would never have made it being anonymous, being normal. Watching Jin banter with the cashier in bits of broken English and animated gestures, he realized that Jin was really happier here and that if he really cared, he wouldn’t be trying to make Jin go back.

***

Kame was talking, about their recent single and Koki heading a new drama, all keen earnestness in his eyes. Jin’s fingers played with the buttons on the remote control, finally settling on an old rerun of an American drama. He wanted to tell Kame to stop trying so hard, but Kame derived his validation from his work and obviously coaxing Jin back was part of the task entrusted to him. They were so far deviated from their original starting points that all they could do was try to retrace their misplaced footsteps of their adolescent years and maybe figure out what went wrong. He watched Kame sitting at the other end of the couch, arms wrapped around his bent knees.

“I think I’ve gotten so used to having you around. It’s weird without you.” Kame said, his eyes downcast and his small frame almost eclipsed by the shadow cast by the floor lamp beside him.

“Kame…”

“I’m not lying.” This was how strange and tense it was between them. Kame’s defense had come before Jin had even tried to accuse him of anything.

“Kame I didn’t even say anything.” Jin kneaded the back of his neck. Their reunion felt like it came two years too late, and it read like every cliché in the book. Two people, hesitantly testing the waters, prodding each other with that safe little stretch of distance between them because they were both too afraid. His chest felt heavy with words, words that had been weighing there for this few years. But he never said them, because he was always liable to say something true, and with the truth, it always hurt.

And in the next second, Jin leaned over, pulling Kame into his arms, just cradling that feather light body against his. It was awkward, the way Kame’s angular knees were pressing into his ribs and how Kame’s breath sounded surprisingly loud and erratic, like he was one second away from pushing him away. It wasn’t what he imagined it would be; it wasn’t soft and murky and dreamy and nice, the way he had imagined how their misunderstandings would eventually give way. It made him ache. Each quivering touch, each brush of Kame’s hand, settling slowly on his back and Jin did not understand. Did not see how it could be possible to have something and want more of it at the same time. Or maybe it was because he didn’t have Kame, and they could keep pushing, pressing and seeking and maybe one day they would stumble onto the intersection point where they could find it in themselves to let go of the past.

And until then, this would always be what they do. Fumbling blindly about the conundrum, with the brief little respite and truce in between, before they go their separate ways again.

***

Los Angeles shimmered at night, like his friends promised it would. It was his dream, it still was, but Los Angeles could wait. In the meantime, he would go back to his former life, which resembled the overrated, forgettable lyrics of a summer pop song. Because somewhere in that superfluous pop song, was his real love.

Atlas of a Difficult World

Sat, 26 Jul 2008 21:38:16 GMT

Title : Atlas of a Difficult World (1/2)
Pairing : Akame
Genre : Drama. Angst. Journey fic.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : "Back then, they were like two halves of an equation"
A/N : Trying something different which is why there are no big words, no running-on sentences, the kind of writing I usually prefer. Purely a fictional story because my Akame facts might be jumbled up. And no other meaning or insinuations attached to it, other than I miss Akame (actually more Kame) and I feel like writing something simplistic. Still for Shirls, because I suspect she loves Akame most of all. XDD

Atlas of a Difficult World

When Kame was young, he often imagined that he would succeed in Johnny’s. He would become one of the first names everyone mentioned and associated with when the thought of JE came to mind. He also imagined the fans would love him, and he could balance the differences between his public image, the one that posed effortless in the gleaming shiny pages of the idol magazines and his real self. The one stripped bare of all the charades and fancy costumes. Later in life, he grew up; he achieved the first one, grew accustomed to giant billboards of his own image staring back at him and grew resigned to going out with the safety of shades and jackets with the collar turned up. The second one, he never achieved. Somewhere along the way, his public persona blended into his personal one, until they were one and the same. And Kame supposed he should be glad for that too, because he no longer had to labor to keep them apart.

***

Okinawa was somewhat a hallmark in Kame’s life. The memories might fade but the reminder was always there. The azure blue clear skies, the soft soothing wash of waves over the shore and the pristine white beaches. Sometimes he went there when he felt like a social recluse, when he tired of going to the same clubs with the same group of friends. It was like making a yearly pilgrimage and paying ode to his childhood memories, his naiveté and how simple it had all been there. There was no double-edged words, no undercurrents of tension within the group, and no constant need to be perfect. He could be the gangly awkward little boy with the thick brows and Jin was always there beside him. Back then, they were like two halves of an equation and Kame was always shadowed in his presence. Back then, they hadn’t seen anything wrong with that.

***

If Okinawa was somewhat an awakening chapter in Kame’s life, then Shuji to Akira was the one which tore the frame apart, which started the unspoken underlying rule that Jin and him were no longer the teenagers who tagged together wherever they went. They were now capable of commanding their own fanbase, capable of jealousy and a great deal many things. And sometimes Kame wished he had the time or energy to set things correct, to rearrange the facts and pieces but most of the time, he felt too drained to do anything. So he let the wounds fester, let the misunderstanding and gap between them widen until every word became a snide remark, every applause and accolade the other garnered a challenge and a bitter sore. It didn’t help that they had done everything right, the six of them, but they were still not amongst the ranks of those who were already debuted and well-established. And it was alright when it was six of them all suffering the same fate, all struggling to get through the same routine of photoshoots and endless concerts and hoping that one day, they would break the ranks and stand on their own. But when Kame appeared on the various varieties with Pi, under the name of Shuji to Akira, all that bitterness and exasperation found its way to a common target. Him.

And strangely enough, it was during that period that Kame realized just how far tenacity and resolution could get you and how much you could be prepared to forsake when your career was in the balance. He soldiered through the tense silence in the changing room, the incriminating looks because they were a team, above everything else, and now he was the one who had turned his back on them. Koki was straightforward with his dissatisfaction, and Kame learned to smile in the face of adversity, learned how to smile even when there was dissention among his group mates. And he told himself he could live with his growing popularity for company, that it was a more than adequate consolatory prize. And he had almost convinced himself when Jin, always the silent observer, took his stand. And it wasn’t on his side.

One year later, they debuted amongst much fanfare, with a grand press conference and the scheduled release of both a single and an album. The voices of dissent ceased and the six of them presented a united front. And Kame remembered thinking the cracks should start to mend with time. Except that his conversations with Jin became nothing more than the perfunctory small talk, his interactions with him reserved to the spotlight and glare of the cameras and in front of the adoring fangirls. Then Kame realized his childhood friendship with Jin had manifested into something entirely else, a business venture and a profitable marketing strategy and that wasn’t the way he had imagined it. Not at all.

***

Kame had always thought there was nothing he couldn’t fix once he set his mind to it. He didn’t believe in weakness, he didn’t believe in limitations. But over time, he realized there was one thing he couldn’t fix and restore. His relationship with Jin became a question mark, and the resulting answer really depended on how Jin was feeling that day, it could be nothing more than a mumbled greeting; sometimes it was a few lines exchanged in the presence of Koki and the rest who acted as a buffer. But overall, the awkward silence reigned, and it was awkward because they used to know each other so well. And Kame found it so hard to reconcile the difference between whom they were back then and who they had become now. Sometimes he wondered whether that was the prize for growing up, that you gave up some things in exchange for the other. When he finally accepted that inevitable fact, he would sometimes wondered whether the exchange and sacrifice was actually worth it.

Normally the doubts and regrets could be silenced by the fact that he saw Jin every other day, in the studio, during rehearsals and he supposed he could take the little comfort that they would always be linked inexplicably. Outside of their work, they never crossed paths. Tokyo was more than big enough for two people to get lost; both entrenched in their own sections of the city, without worrying about stumbling into old heartbreak and memories. It got surprisingly easy for Kame and he suspected it was even easier for Jin. He got lost in the rigors and demands of his work and the expectations foisted on him. Jin got lost in the loud pulsating music, the endless company of hangers-on and nubile willing girls. They both found their own drug of choice and Kame was sensible enough to know something had to change. Something had to give. Maybe a gesture of peace and appreciation, maybe a dinner with the safety of company. And of course, nothing ever does.

***

Kame and Jin aren’t friends. Not in the strictest sense of the word. Friends didn’t have that much unstated history between them, the lines and verses that would never make it into their autobiographies but were very common knowledge amongst their bandmates and friends. And Jin supposed they could never be anything more either. Things between them were vague, unpredictable and always teetering precariously on the edge. Maybe it was the constant pressure and competition that broke them up. Maybe it was his own possessiveness that skewed their friendship and at first, the guilt and hope that he could make amends made him stay until gradually home with its bright lights and never sleeping nightspots became strange and foreign. And he wanted to get away from it all, the adoration and unwritten rules and demands from people who only knew him from the covers of magazines and television screens. And most of all, he wanted to get away from the one person who mattered the most.

***

“Why are you doing this Jin? You don’t have to sabotage everything…..” Kame’s voice softened and the silence burgeoned with a dozen unspoken accusations and apologies.

“You don’t have to leave even if you hate me.” And Jin supposed Kame would start on how they had grown accustomed to separating their own personal grudges and grievances from their work, keeping the two sides untouched. Fuck accustomed because Jin didn’t want to get used to apathy, didn’t want to have to make do with indifference. But in the face of Kame’s pleading beseeching voice, that anger never made it into words. And instead he relied on what had always been his crutch, the glue holding him together when honesty became too much to bear.

“I don’t hate you. I’m just tired.” Ambivalence and avoidance. He knew his answer didn’t explain anything, didn’t ease Kame’s uncertainty and worry and it sure didn’t indicate a time as to when he would come back from his self-imposed hiatus. And he watched Kame’s eyes harden, the disappointment before he looked away, to draw himself away from the verge because Kame wasn’t going to break down in front of him or anybody else.

“Fine then, Jin. When are you returning?” Kame said, his arms crossed and Jin flicked the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray. He supposed this was the pivotal question Kame had been driving at and he didn’t know whether Kame was asking it as a colleague whose career was intertwined with his decision or as a friend who was concerned. Or whether there was any difference with Kame, because they could very well be one and the same.

“And don’t give me the politically correct answer of six months.” Kame interrupted Jin’s words and Jin lifted the cigarette to his lips again, took a deep draw. And when he stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray, he leaned over on impulse, hugging Kame in his arms. He could feel the slight body frame going rigid and tense and the funniest thought crossed his mind when his fingertips lightly grazed the ends of Kame’s hair. He wanted the tobacco smell to cling to Kame’s clothes, to his hair like a branding touch. For the briefest of seconds, he tightened his arms, and there was a familiarity and yet a startling newness to having Kame's body flushed against his.

“You want the truth Kame? Maybe never.” Jin murmured, his lips inches away from Kame’s ear. And he was glad he didn’t have to see Kame’s reaction. He had told half-truths with sleek expertise, had whispered honeyed words and empty promises as though he meant them and sung cheesy lines of sap with emotion. And none bothered him as much as that single revealing sentence of truth. And somewhere he thought he could feel Kame’s chest hitch in response, but he released Kame.

“Maybe never” became the last words of farewell, the words that embodied everything he was reluctant to say. It became five months worth of lost time, five months which were more than enough for Jin to realize Los Angeles with its burning heat and palm trees was no different from Tokyo. Five months for him to realize he could fare very well as a commoner with no fame or preconception attached to his name, no paparazzi tailing on his trail. Five months to realize he could do without all of those things he left behind, because they never really mattered in the first place. Because he left the only one who did.

And all the days after

Wed, 23 Jul 2008 16:34:08 GMT

Title : And all the days after
Pairing : Sosuke x Uchi
Genre : Dramaaaa.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : AU. Sosuke after losing Michiru and Uchi, former delinquent who had crossed paths with Sosuke, trying to help him start anew.
A/N : Dina wanted to read this, so I tried. ): I hated how Sosuke was portayed so hopefully a more redeeming portrayal than that of the scriptwriters' monstrous villain. And also for Shirls, tho I don't think this fic would be her cup of tea. Because both ironicdawn and diac are the kind of readers a writer would wish for :) Comments loved

And all the days after

Uchi Hiroki looked at the man who lay on the bed, pale scars that lined his wrist like a mesh of crisscrosses. Day was gradually slouching into sight and still the apartment remained untouched by brightness, as though trapped in eternal twilight ever since the female owner had left. Uchi sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the wedding gown of lace and taffeta draped over the couch. He should have thrown it away, bundled it into a garbage bag but he couldn’t bring himself to. He couldn’t forcefully evict Michiru from Sosuke’s heart if he tried. The pristine white of the wedding gown was now streaked with vicious red, and it looked like a sad sorry reminder of what it should have been, donned on a joyous day to be showered with blessings of well-wishers. He felt a soft tug on his wrist and Sosuke’s hand had now enfolded itself around his hand. He looked at Sosuke’s knuckles, darkened with angry bruises and he wondered how many of those wounds he inflicted on Michiru were felt by Sosuke too. He was feeling sorry for the aggressor, he who had once been a victim too, but he knew that his sympathy had more to do with his own feelings than anything else.

“Stay.” He heard the barely unintelligible murmur from Sosuke’s parched lips and those eyelids flutter open, disoriented eyes looking at him but not recognizing. He wondered how long he would wake up from the deep dark crevasse, and come to realize that the life he had carefully constructed around one woman had all fallen apart. He smoothed his hand across Sosuke’s forehead, pushing the tangled hair away from his face.

“She left didn’t she?” He heard the hoarse crack of Sosuke’s voice and he managed a feeble smile.

“Is she…” He didn’t wait for Sosuke to finish.

“She isn’t coming back.”

He watched the collision of emotions in those eyes, denial, anger, confusion and then resignation. And the grip on his hand tightened until it hurt. Because it should; because coming to terms with the truth always did.

He could feel the jealousy within him burgeoning, suffocating him and cutting him out of breath. He reached for her and she flinched. As though she was ready to duck, ready to cower and some part of it hurt. He had become the very antithesis of what he had dreamt of becoming and he couldn’t find anyone else to blame but himself. He had been the very engineer of their downfall, just like he had been the one to draw up the draft for their future.

“I just want to have my own life too. I can’t have my life centered around just you.” As a child welfare officer, he had seen so many cases of violence, mindless ones, and deliberate cruel ones. With himself, he had always known the exact moment his self-control snapped, and it wasn’t what Michiru said. It was how she said it, her voice trembling with revulsion and fear. He took a step forward and he felt as though he was in a movie, and the plot was already laid out, the audience anticipating his next wrong move. They were all ready to prosecute him. And it felt as though nothing he said or did could change anything, because the script had been written and the scene set.

And it felt he was someone else, watching the movie play out, watching him pull Michiru forward, and her small body careening, her head hitting the jutting edge of the coffee table. There was the sickening crash of glass breaking, and he watched, almost with disinterest, as the telltale crimson of blood spread across the floor.

It wasn’t the blood who spurned him awake, it was the tears, the signs of shutdown and learned helplessness as Michiru laid there. And it reminded him of an old memory, which was imprinted in his mind in shouts and screams and helpless cries.

He sank to his knees, and he took a deep shuddering breath as he took in the new wounds that faded into the old ones. He loved her, he really did and that was the weakest of justifications. He watched the crazed desperate fear in those eyes and he reached out his hand.

“Michiru…..”

And he saw the rare resolution in those eyes, the strength he had known was always there. Michiru slapped his hand aside, the gift of defiance lent by her new-found friends and the one thing he had truly owned was no longer completely his.

He walked into his bedroom, silhouette disappearing into the darkness as he pulled the sliding doors behind him. And behind him, he could hear the rustle of clothing, a bag being hastily zipped and the click of the door being shut, and he knew that he had just single-handedly driven Michiru to her friends. Friends who protected her with laughter and good intentions, people who provided a safe sanctuary for her to heal her wounds and bruises from someone like him. And because he was alone, he wrapped his arms around his knees, before he heard those sobs as though they were wrung out of him. And the words of apology that were lost in his string of coughing as his world spun out of axis.

Oikawa Sosuke was on one of his home visits. It was in one of the districts hit the hardest by the economic decline, full of abandoned rundown factories and messily constructed apartments with narrow alleyways connecting them. It was there he met Uchi Hiroki, elvin wary eyes inspecting him because he wasn’t exactly sure whose side a welfare officer was on. He saw the long sleeve tee-shirt which barely concealed the purplish bruises and he wondered just how battered this teenager was. How much of life’s unrelentless blows he had withstood with that frail body.

And Uchi Hiroki just stood there, leaning against the railing, taking a drag from his cigarette as though that was all the sustenance he needed.

“Where’s your house?” He watched the eyes narrow, looking at his shoes and suit before he took another puff from his cigarette, almost burnt to a crisp.

“Why do you care?” The teenager retorted back, eyes skittering away at a sudden shout and a crash.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be caring.” He took the cigarette and threw it onto the floor, crushing it beneath his sole. He watched the flare of anger in the teenager’s eyes, but it was ridiculously easy to subdue him with a single grasp of his wrist. And he reached inside his pocket, giving the youth a name card. Better for him to be lost in the far reaches of the social welfare system than to waste away here in the bowels of nowhere.

“Call for help if it gets too hard.” He watched Uchi Hiroki crumple the name card in tightened fist, shame threatening to splinter his composure, but he didn’t throw it away. He simply stood there, rigid and drawn to his full height, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. And before he left, he adjusted Uchi’s shirt, methodically like he would for a small child.

“You don’t have to be ashamed of these bruises. They’re not your fault. They’re committed by people who should have known better.” And Uchi Hiroki’s eyes followed him as he walked down the flight of steps, before returning to the phone number listed on the tattered name card.

He watched Sosuke drain the noodles, chopping the carrots, his gaunt face taking on a ghoulish appearance in the harsh kitchen light. He had no idea what he was doing and he simply stood there like an unwelcome intruder. It was as though the stage was primed for Michiru’s return except he knew she was not coming. Uchi had pleaded with her to come, but it was as though she was just as disappointed with herself for tolerating Sosuke’s violence, for allowing things to spiral this out of control that she had hung up. And he watched Sosuke line the table, the cups that mirrored each other placed besides the plates of noodles. It was like a usual routine being played out, as the clock ticked and the silence cloaked the both of them. The food grew cold and Sosuke didn’t touch his cutlery. Not once. Occasionally his eyes drifted over to the clock, before he resumed his posture. Waiting for that person who would never come.

Finally, Uchi strode over to the dining table, small enough only to accommodate two people, and he was reminded that this apartment, the décor, the neon orange floor lamp that had gotten broken and replaced numerous times was all done with one person in mind. And he gripped a handful of Sosuke’s rumpled sweater, the light blue one Michiru had loved.

“Didn’t you hear me? She’s not coming back. She’s gone, gone to Takeru and Ruka. Because they treated her miles better than you did.”

He was silent, scarily so as though the volume of his shouts didn’t register in Sosuke’s mind at all. As though nothing could intrude on his self-imposed loss. And the first exhaled sob took Uchi by surprise, that he released Sosuke’s shirt, lost his footing and the cup toppled over, shards of broken glass littering the floor. And the memories of his childhood swarmed back, memories of committing a mistake and knowing that the punishment would come swift and painful. Sosuke stood up, the chair skittering back and Uchi didn’t want to run. He knew how easy it was to get used to this, to justify your own actions, to fall into the roles of victim and aggressor as though it was a regurgitated pattern.

Sosuke gripped him by his collar, jerking him inches away from his face. And it brought back so many reminders from his childhood where his worst fears were realized when he was wide awake and unblinking.

“Don’t show me your repentance, only after she’s gone. Don’t tell me your regret or your pain or how lonely you are without her. Because when she was here, you were the one driving her away.” Uchi said, his breath escaping him in a nervous gasp. And Uchi thought Sosuke would lash out, the only way he knew out, with his fists and kicks but he didn’t. He released his hold and sat on the floor, fingers biting into his forearm before he fisted his hand, hitting his own arm again and again. Uchi stood there watching, his head bowed and hands craving to fold Sosuke into his embrace. When the anger had ebbed, when Sosuke’s hand lay unfurled on the floor, Uchi squatted down and placed his hand in Sosuke’s palm amongst the shattered pieces of glass. For a long moment, there was silence before he heard Sosuke’s voice.

“It wasn’t her fault……I should have known better.”

We all should have known better.

But today was a small step in progress. Sosuke didn’t raise his hand and tomorrow would be a new battle, a new challenge. There was no easy solution for violence. Or for heartache but he would be here tomorrow. And all the days after.

Diabolos

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 15:53:40 GMT

Title : Diabolos Chapter 9
Pairing : Ryo x Ohkura
Genre : I refuse to slap a label on this fic
Rating : PG-15
Summary : Psycho!Ohkura with a God Complex. Ryo the unwilling accomplice fighting a losing battle against his conscience. And their twisted relationship you can either see as self-inflicted torture or a warped kind of love.
A/N : Uchi still hasn't made his appearance, somehow this scene became longer than I expected. Comments appreciated, that is, if no one's too intimidated by the psychotic killing duo of Ryokura here. Even a comment like "I like this fic" is nice to have. :)

Chapter 9

Ryo followed Ohkura in the morning light and in the distance he could see the smog weighing down on the city, filtered orange by the awakening sun. He couldn’t remember much of last night, except that Ohkura and the night seemed to blend into one seamless entity. He remembered how he would close his eyes, body drained and tired, only to be jolted by a particularly bruising thrust. His eyes would swerve wildly across the room until they met Ohkura’s and Ohkura would fuck him. Slowly and forcefully, in a clear demonstration of his ownership as their eyes were caught in the deadlock, neither willing to look away and concede defeat. As always, sex with Ohkura was never just plain sex, it was a power trip, a game of dominance and Ryo’s defiance was his only defense. The one he clung onto when he was divested of all his clothing and spread eagled beneath him, knowing that Ohkura was taking in every heightened quiver like a latent predator.

This morning, Ohkura seemed to have a plan of his own and quite frankly, what plan, Ryo wasn’t sure he wanted to know. With Ohkura, it could be a flippant whim or it could be an ingenious plan months in the making. Ryo never knew. He was not an accomplice; he was at best, a minion and at his worst, he felt like a rag doll dragged on one too many adventures. A rag doll in which the stuffing was taken out and then carelessly sewn in, all without the oblivion offered by anesthetic.

Sometimes he wondered why Ohkura could seem to effortlessly engage in manipulation and deception without any apparent pangs of conscience, coupled with that callous disregard for others. These past few years, he had given up wondering. There were times when he simply attributed everything to Ohkura’s narcissistic arrogance, there were other times Ohkura seemed more like a child, the killings his very own way of assuring himself that he was special, and that he would never be caged by the moral boundaries of this world. But the one thing that had begun to plague his mind more often, like the wraith of a ghost, was why he had continued to accompany Ohkura on this journey, through the desolate lands Ohkura traversed with ease, through the madness and unpredictability, through the drab grays and viscous red. And now he realized that the trip to hell and eternal damnation didn’t come with a return ticket. And neither did his feelings for Ohkura.

And when he realized that he was back in the park where he had met Uchi Hiroki, something flared and then died inside him. Ohkura knew. He knew. And times like this, he wished he didn’t have his soul or the faint whispers of his conscience within him. He wished that those things he had long discarded, long bartered away for the one illusion of love wouldn’t come back to occasionally haunt them, as they did. Because he wouldn’t forgive himself, if Ohkura had somehow set his sights on Uchi Hiroki only because he had been irresistibly tugged towards him. Because Uchi Hiroki represented all that he could be, because somehow his soft eyes filled with regret awoke something in him and just for the moment, he could forget who and what he was. He stood there in the shade of the tree, with Ohkura, the laughter of children so incongruous with the thoughts going on in his head.

He watched Ohkura light a cigarette and he felt like an underdog being thrown into the ring with the full knowledge he was going to lose. And Ohkura simply waited, as though he had all the leisurely time in the world.

“I didn’t know you were into children now.” If anything, he was good at pretending. His voice didn’t waver and he didn’t have to look at Ohkura to know that his lips had quirked into an insouciant smile.

“Why, it doesn’t hurt to try something different once in a while.” There was no anger seething underneath, just a sentence delivered in a deceivingly genial tone. And it was as though Ohkura was anticipating something else, awaiting the grand unraveling of his plans and Ryo could feel the tension cutting into him like the serrated edge of a knife. When he saw Uchi making his way into the park, knapsack on his back, he knew Ohkura had made his point. And Ohkura stood behind him, both of their eyes trained on Uchi for very different reasons, as he made his way across the length of the park.

He could feel Ohkura’s breath on his neck, before his teeth dragged lazily across the wrought tendons.

“Maybe you’re getting tired of our little arrangement. And maybe I should expand my woeful social life.” He could feel Ohkura’s arm snaking around his waist, pulling him back into his embrace. “Just like you did.” The tone of his voice dipped into sweetness before his teeth clamped over the skin where shoulder joined neck. Somewhere in the vastness of the park, a child laughed and the peals of the laughter seemed to shift the tentative equilibrium in their relationship. Ryo turned to face Ohkura, shoving him back against a tree, into the dark impenetrable darkness of the shade where they would wage their war and fight their own personal demons unseen.

“Don’t you touch him. Don’t you dare touch him.” Those words escaped him in a vicious rush. He could see the tantalizing frailty of Ohkura’s neck exposed by the open collar, all he needed was to tighten his fingers and the gasps of air from his throat would fade into strangled gurgles. He knew this too well, had seen this scene played across their apartment so many times that it came frighteningly easy to him. And somehow in the back of his mind, he wondered whether Ohkura’s careless disdain for life had been somehow ingrained on him too, like a dark splotch of ink and the very weight of what he had almost done, what he was about to do steered him away from the edge. And when his fingers loosened, he watched the pained smile on Ohkura’s face but Ohkura didn’t make an effort to shift away. They stood facing each other, inches away, breath mingling and the tension wrought beneath the surface.

Ohkura cupped his chin and he leaned down, voice lowered to a malevolent whisper. “Look around you Ryo. This world with its laughing children and little family units of four and rules and dictations has no place for people like us. So don’t pretend you’re better Ryo. You’re not.” The last of his words rose in volume, and each word felt like something sharp knifed into him in a staccato rhythm to prolong the pain. And with those words, it was so easy to conclude the victor, as it had always been. For all his pretensions and hesitations, he had been one and the same, tired of this world’s mundane quests and worldly preoccupations. He had set out on this journey to find a purpose, a diversion but instead, had ended up losing himself in the labyrinthine darkness that straddled right and wrong, love and aversion.

“This was a test Ryo and you failed. You know, for a moment, I was afraid you wouldn’t.” Ohkura delivered the last of his verdict before he walked away. And he was like something inconsequential that Ohkura brushed aside as he straightened his clothing, free again to weave into the normalcy of the other, lesser, world. And Ryo realized he shouldn’t have cracked, shouldn’t have given Ohkura the satisfaction of any reaction at all, because he had given Ohkura the driving force for targeting Uchi. Because Ohkura only needed impulse or a sudden whimsical desire and that was all the justification he needed.

And no doubt, the stage was set, and he was the main draw, the one Ohkura was going to demolish bit by bit because in his world, that was the punishment for betrayals. And Ryo had to see this fight to the end, because of this shred of new-found morality he had to protect. Eventually, he couldn’t escape from the clichés of this world however much he wanted to, and he was only capable of destroying the people he loved and not much else.

Substitute for Love

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 09:16:09 GMT

Title : Substitute for Love
Pairing : RyoKame
Genre : Drama.
Rating : PG-15
Summary : As far as mistakes went, Ryo had been the best.
A/N : Birthday fic prompt from Dina aka diac. She wanted KameRyo but I think the lack of smut doesn't seem to make it very obvious. )): I hope u like it nonetheless and I hope I did justice to the lyrics or smth. The prompt she gave me are the lyrics from Madonna's Drowned World/Substitute for Love.

I traded fame for love
Without a second thought
It all became a silly game
Some things cannot be bought

I got exactly what I asked for
Wanted it so badly
Running, rushing back for more
I suffered fools so gladly

And now I find
I've changed my mind

Famous faces, far off places
Trinkets I can buy
No handsome stranger, heady danger
Drug that I can try
No ferris wheel, no heart to steal
No laughter in the dark
No one-night stand, no far-off land
No fire that I can spark

The face of you
My substitute for love

The fic doesn't follow chronological order so the memories are all jumbled up with the present. Comments appreciated and once again Happy birthday to Dina ♥

Substitute for Love

After walking past the syncopation of flashes and the phalanx of paparazzi ambushed outside the Jimusho building, Kamenazhi Kazuya finally reached the safety of his car. The engine of the car revved and the journey was smooth, undisturbed. The car cruised along the highway and the blinking lights from the buildings looked like stars scattered across the night sky. For a brief unguarded moment, he wondered what he was doing. He wondered whether he was even in the same city, because he had always remembered him saying home was Osaka, even if work was in Tokyo, even if the person who mattered the most was here. He could still remember how Ryo had said it, his fingers tracing the contour of his cheek, lightly, as though he was aware of how much of a luxury it was, as though he was ready to be rebuffed any moment. He had mapped out his own confession of love on Ryo’s body beneath him, short little bursts of kisses interspersed with laughter as they struggled with their clothes on the cramped confines of the couch.

Back then, they had all the excuses on the world, youth and inexperience on their side. It had been perfect, at least right until the end where everything started unraveling and Kame preferred to remember the good things. The times where he slept in the crook of Ryo’s arm, when he would open his eyes and see Ryo sitting on the couch, cradling the guitar with the jagged edges of his dark hair obscuring his face. After a while, he had learnt to sleep with those errant notes for company and he always imagined that for Ryo, those emotions he couldn’t put words to crystallized in the melody. He never got to hear the finished piece. After a while, the Jimusho had given Kame a warning, that he was getting too close to Ryo for comfort. And that was the irony of being a Johnny’s, they encouraged you to banter and flirt with your peers onstage, to feed the avid imagination of the fangirls, but developing any true feelings was prohibited. It happened before with Jin, put the irreversible wedge between them and Kame never knew how it would have turned out if both of them had the bravery or the strength to say no. And they had offered Kame a script, a leading role, and in that negotiation, Kame had traded away that little seed of hope in his heart for an illusion of fame.

---

The countdown had been so contrived. An extravagant contrived act of bubbly joy and enthusiasm scripted and rehearsed right down to his stage position; between Yamapi and Jin so that Jin and Kame could stand together. He supposed it was charitable of the Jimusho to want to throw a little nugget of hope to the long-deprived Akame fangirls. It might be nice of them to ask him beforehand what he thought, because he and Kame was a couple. Actually that might be his own wistful thinking because he had no idea what they are exactly. Fuck buddies yes. He just had difficulty discerning whether there was anything more than that.

He had just inserted the card into the slot of his hotel room when he felt a hand settling on his back. He would have startled at this sort of uninvited advances, which he got rather often, but he recognized the touch.

“Finally got back from Jin’s hotel room?” He said without bothering to turn back. He couldn’t help his tone being vaguely accusatory. It must have been the noise and all the reckless abundance of cheers that greeted Kame and Jin. One would have thought it was the coronation of some prom king and queen, which Ryo supposed Akame was. Kame just stood there at the threshold of the door, leaning against the doorframe with all the insouciant grace in the world.

“You’re such a kid.” He heard Kame say and the sting of those words was negated by the way Kame let his hand drift through Ryo’s hair, playing with the tangled ends. Something about Kame’s muted expression made Ryo’s chest tighten and Kame would never tell him about what was bothering him anyway. He doubt he could pry open the doors to Kame’s heart, even if he had all the time in the world.

“I’m tired Ryo.” In his mind, Ryo wondered what he was tired of because the possibilities were endless. In the end, he didn’t ask.

---

Kame traced his finger above the very edge of a tan line, inches above the boxers Ryo wore, the pale white skin so at contrast with the newly-acquired tan on Ryo’s body. Ryo was just on the edge of awakening, eyes fluttering open and his mouth curving into a smile. He stretched himself beneath Kame’s touch, the tension seeping out of those knotted muscles.

“What?” Kame shook his head, more absorbed with letting his fingers play across the taut skin. He braced himself over Ryo and he thought he saw Ryo quirk a brow at this sudden intent of domination. It felt exquisite, all that naked feeling of his skin against his and he could hear the sibilant hiss from Ryo’s clenched teeth. He leaned forward, the muscles in his back protesting awkwardly and he pressed his palms against Ryo’s shoulder blades when he saw Ryo trying to angle himself up. Slightly resigned, Ryo simply laid there, his body humming with anticipation.

He wasn’t prepared for the glint of pain when he felt Kame’s fingers entering him. But the pain morphed into something more complex, when he saw the depth of emotion in Kame’s eyes. And he knew Kame needed this submission to him, needed to feel him sensitive and vulnerable underneath him. When Kame entered him, he could still remember Ryo’s slightly glazed eyes, the befuddled expression on his face with that near-wince. And it felt like this joy blooming inside him, close to bursting, that someone who had never done this before would endure all that discomfort and pain for him.

---

The hand roved boldly over the dip of his hipbones. Kame could see it clearly like he was a bystander. The same dragged out foreplay, the same rushed frantic coupling and the hollowed-out feeling after, lying amongst the rumpled sheets. In the pub, he had looked enough like him. Dark onyx eyes that gleamed, short hair and a nasal husky voice. In the unforgiving light of the hotel room, he realized he didn’t have the smile, the smile that made Ryo’s eyes crinkle at the edges and transform the face of a brooding male to that of a child-at-heart. He didn’t have the careless scatter of moles either, some of them in the most obscure of places. That Kame would know, because he tried to do a tally of them and Ryo had balked and resisted but he had let him anyway. He was too acquiescing, too pliant, too willing. In short, he wasn’t Ryo. And Kame sat back on his haunches, dragging his hands over his hair.

After the man got the hint and left, he flopped onto the bed, starring at the ornate decoration on the ceiling. He flipped open his wallet, and took out a photo, a puri-kura hidden in one of the numerous compartments. The bright colors had faded into a yellowish tint, and the outlines of their smiles had become blurred. He still kept it with him, like a little amulet of charm, or maybe just a remembrance, an ode to the mistakes of his youth.

And as far as mistakes went, Ryo had been the best.

---

Ryo was washing dishes. So much for Johnny’s boys having an exciting social life outside of work. He supposed he could always call Jin. Then again, they would end up commiserating their fate over glasses of bourbon. One word. Pathetic. Maybe he had known it was going to turn out this way, when it came down to the choice between his career and him, there had been no doubt about which one Kame prioritized and placed importance in. At least Ryo hoped he was happy. That the adoration and accolades lavished on Kame by the press and general public was enough to fill the void in Kame’s heart because it hadn’t been enough for Ryo.

Suddenly he heard the doorbell chime and he opened the door. Kame was standing there, his Louis Vuitton carrier in his hands and cap pulled low. He tugged off his cap and his disheveled hair fanned across his forehead, making Ryo have the urge to smooth them behind his ear. And Ryo felt like he was in some kind of turbulence that made his heart beat in double time. Because Kame was supposed to be in Tokyo, not standing at the door of his apartment in Osaka. They didn’t talk, just stood there, eyes trained on each other, wondering why time seemed to be just a passing metaphor, because nothing had changed at all.

Kame dropped his carrier onto the floor and he realized Ryo’s hands were wet. He just stood there, hands slack at his side, wearing a worn cotton shirt. He took one step forward, one step to place his hand above the furrow of Ryo’s spine, one step to realize no trinkets in the world, no fissure of desire ignited in the crowded pubs could compare to this. The soft, inviting cotton against his cheek, the smell of dishwasher liquid and the wispy strands of Ryo’s hair tickling his nose.

As far as mistakes went, Ryo hadn’t been one at all, because he would go through all the frippery in the world to arrive at this.

Diabolos

Fri, 20 Jun 2008 16:22:37 GMT

Title : Diabolos Chapter 8
Pairing : Ryo x Ohkura
Genre : I refuse to slap a label on this fic
Rating : R
Summary : Psycho!Ohkura with a God Complex. Ryo the unwilling accomplice fighting a losing battle against his conscience. And their twisted relationship you can either see as self-inflicted torture or a warped kind of love.
A/N : I attempted Diabolos. Which is a very bad idea when I haven't been writing for months. And it's short because I lack inspiration. Think of it as a bridge before Uchi makes his grand reappearance. Comments are nice.

Chapter 8

The room was thrown into darkness and Ryo could hear the incessant droning of the air-conditioner. In the dark, every one of his senses was heightened and he could feel Ohkura studying him. A flash of lightning ensnared the room in brightness, and he could make out Ohkura looming above him, his fingers tracing the contour of his lip, the slightest of touch whispering across his lips. Ryo felt like he was straddling two emotions; fear and desire. A familiar remorse mingled coldly with the helplessness he felt in his gut. For such a long time, he had been submerged in this perpetual darkness that he had forgotten Ohkura could be capable of tenderness too. But of course, it only came on his own terms, when it suited him and Ryo had learnt that with Ohkura, the tenderness was only a lure, a bait to seduce the unsuspecting. And yet, he allowed himself to be fooled, again and again.

Another crash of thunder tumbled down from the angry skies and Ryo flinched. He hated the thunder, hated the howling dirge of the winds that sounded like the shrill cries of his victims. He hated the shadows that played across the walls, shadows that reminded him he wasn’t safe at all. Not even within these walls.

“You’re still afraid of thunderstorms Ryo. Still afraid.” He heard Ohkura’s soft voice, goading him, priming him for submission.

“Maybe I’m just afraid of you.” Ryo said, and in the glint of the lightning, he saw Ohkura’s looking down at him, and his own breath sounded obscenely loud in his eyes. He felt Ohkura’s hand, moving down to his chest, pressing down hard and it felt like he was drowning. Drowning in all the silk and cotton and being swallowed by darkness. And the only company inside the smothering night was Ohkura. He couldn’t see him but he could feel his presence like static electricity, making him crackle with the unwanted energy.

Then he felt Ohkura wrap his hand around his throat and he wondered whether his confession of fear had finally made him useless to Ohkura. Because he had ceased to be different from everyone else, because maybe all Ohkura had wanted from him was his subjugation and now that Ryo had willingly relinquished it, he was no longer of relevance. It felt like there wasn’t even air in the room for both of them as Ohkura’s hand tightened and his lips hovered above his, even as he gasped for air.

Finally something in him snapped. He didn’t even realize it had been there, but he heard it with resounding clarity. He struggled, his hands clawed and he cracked the back of his palm across Ohkura’s face. He thought he saw Ohkura’s face illuminated by the slant of light, and he could feel arousal blooming in him, pooling in him like blood. With Ohkura, it always came entangled with the violence, and it was searingly erotic and frightening all at once.

Then he felt Ohkura leaning into him, grinding into him obscenely in a parody of sex.

“The hell you’re afraid of me Ryo.”

That mere sentence, whispered into his ear was like a match struck on sandpaper. And Ryo grabbed a fistful of Ohkura’s hair, yanking him down. It was like a rude collision, a crashing of bodies as he bucked upwards and Ohkura forced his weight down onto him. Fine, he didn’t want anything resembling tenderness from Ohkura. That way, he could pretend he was not trapped in the heart of the storm, stuck in the swirl of that entire tempest around him because he was blindsided by love.

----

In the brief seconds of intermittent light, Ohkura could make out Ryo’s profile. And he knew how close both of them were straddling the edge, but he fisted Ryo’s cock with his hand, watching Ryo throw his head back with that despaired cry of helplessness he had come to hate because it always ignited something in him. Something that tried to gnaw and claw its way out, only to die within him with the faintest of whimpers.

It irked him that Ryo remained an unfathomable mystery to him. It also irked him that although he wanted to turn Ryo inside out, to rummage through all the secrets, he always stopped short of that single essential truth. Maybe it was to prolong the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction when he finally found out what made Ryo tick. Then he could discard Ryo, just like he did with all the ones before him, for a shinier toy, one that offered a bigger challenge.

And as he thrust himself into Ryo, he knew there wasn’t a single ounce of truth, or conviction to be found in that. None at all.

Beneath it all

Sun, 04 May 2008 04:51:57 GMT

Title : Beneath it all (3/?)
Pairing : Akame
Rating : PG-13
Genre : AU. Angst/Drama
Summary : Kame was a future Waseda student, not exactly sure about his direction in life until he met Jin and found out that maybe plans in life were meant to be disregarded.
A/N : Work is a pain, therefore I never posted this one although I actually wrote it some time back. My chapters for this fic are longer. And seems like this fic moves slow. Oh well comments appreciated.

Chapter 3

Akanishi Jin leaned against the wall, wondering why he had snapped at Kame the way he did. He had managed to keep everyone at a safe distance; someone like Kame shouldn’t perturb him. But the truth was he did, he had seen Kame with Koki before, but after the last two encounters, he realized those brief glimpses didn’t do justice to Kame at all. He doubted Kame knew how alluring his innocence coupled with his intelligence was or that the way he moved his hips to the music in the middle of the dance floor wasn’t very innocent at all. It was like Kame had an unfinished quality to him, something that intrigued people to take a closer look.

He hadn’t expected his persistence though, normally it had been easy enough to ward away the questions with intimidation and charm, but it seemed as though Kame had made it his personal mission to prove everyone wrong, that Jin wasn’t that callous bastard they all believed him to be. Kamenashi Kazuya was almost like the stuff of what his nightmares were made of, that strange openly pensive gaze looking into his eyes as though he didn’t believe him at all, as though he thought Jin was holding back something. Well, maybe he was, but he didn’t plan on letting anyone near it. He thought Kame was a nice diversion, except that he symbolized everything he had run away from, all those people who cared too much and those he was going to eventually hurt.

Jin didn’t like shouldering that responsibility, didn’t like how his father’s happiness was wholly dependent on his health. There was nothing he could do about it, the condition of his health was beyond him and maybe him settling far north in Sapporo had more to do with his version of a self-inflicted punishment. His father was going to lose him, whether he liked to admit it or not, cutting off all forms of contact with him had been his last parting gift to his father, not that he would have understood. The idea of watching your son waste away, while you remained helpless was probably the cruelest thing in the world, and if Jin could, he wanted to spare his father that pain. In the end, the only person he didn’t mind hurting over and over again was himself.

Finally Jin fished inside his pockets and took out the pill bottle. He uncapped it and swallowed the two pills. This was his life now, dependent and centered around these pills. He managed a bitter smile before he tossed the pill bottle with a careless flick of his wrist, into the dustbin. Except that the pill bottle didn’t end up where Jin wanted it. Instead it ricocheted off the wall, rolling onto the floor. And Jin, heading into the washroom, didn’t see the slight figure of Kame in the shadows, stooping down and pocketing the pill bottle.

~*~

“Koki, I saw someone downing pills on the way to the restroom just now.” Kame omitted mentioning Jin, because he had come to the conclusion that Koki didn’t like Jin and whatever opinion he had was likely going to be colored with his own prejudice.

“Maybe they’re recreational drugs. It’s not that unusual you know.” Koki said, more preoccupied with messaging Nakamaru on his cell. Kame leaned his head back and brushed his fingers over the bottle, snug in his pocket. Koki’s reply didn’t answer his questions at all, instead it only served to confuse him further. He had brought it up to the light in the narrow doorway earlier and it looked like one of those prescription medicine bottles dispensed at clinics. He had tried to make out the English words written on the label but it was too much of a scribble. The next few days, Kame forgot about the pill bottle. It was as though he forcibly shoved it to the back of his mind as he got busy with registering for university and trying to figure out his living arrangements in Tokyo. Finally he summoned up enough courage as he looked at the barely intelligible words on the label, trying out all the possible combinations. It was as though Kame’s sense of self-preservation had forbidden him to take that one step forward, as though something would change and alter irrevocably with this action. When the internet explorer took a longer time to load and Kame sat up, somehow knowing that he had hit the right word.

Maybe it was medication for stomach flu. Maybe it was just a random container and when Kame saw the words that glared back at him from the glaring screen, those thoughts fell apart. And he could feel his entire mind go blank as he blinked. Somewhere, he could hear the ticking of the clock and even with his knitted sweater draped around him he felt cold. And he thought about Jin, the intimidation in his stance and the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes – as though he was wary of his questions. And he began to slowly see an equation between how the pill bottle and Jin’s behavior were related. His shoulders slouched, just barely, as he tried to control the ridiculous urge to cry. Kame braced his hands on the edge of the computer table, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned white, before he flung his bag over his shoulders, armed with the pill bottle in his pocket.

~*~

This time, since Koki wasn’t with him, Kame had to wait outside in the cold just like all the other patrons. And he didn’t feel cold, the strange thing was he didn’t feel anything at all. It was as though he had shut out all the bustle, all the raucous laughter and the merry-making around him. For the first time, Susukino didn’t seem all that pretty and mesmerizing. It seemed like a sad place adorned with Christmas lights to hide the sordid and the seedy, a place where people drank away their loneliness and tried to put behind the unpleasant. When he finally got inside the pub, he held onto the strap of his sling bag as he looked around, lost and unsure. Then he saw Nakamaru and Koki lounging around in the usual booth and he walked right over. There was a look of surprise on Koki’s face and Nakamaru was already leaning drunkenly into his girlfriend.

“Where’s Akanishi Jin? I need to speak with him.” He ignored the disapproval in Koki’s eyes and he tiptoed, trying to see above the bobbing heads of the crowd.

“Jin? That guy’s probably well-known in Susukino’s male and female population already. Love them, leave them. That’s his motto.” Maru’s words stung Kame even if he knew there was no real malice in it.

“I don’t get why you guys are so ready to judge someone from what little you see of him.” Kame’s voice raised a few octaves as he took one step forward, his knees bumping against the table.

“And you’re trying to say you know him better than we do?” He heard the terse anger in Koki’s voice and Koki simply stood up, looking at him with that unreadable expression and he knew if he apologized now, Koki wouldn’t hold it against him. Koki was always like that, tender and giving and he had always been the one on the receiving end. He had never questioned it, in fact he had taken it all for granted. Did Jin have someone like that? All he had heard about was the malignant rumors circling around him, the endless stream of people around Jin, but did any of them stay long enough to unravel that mystery? He doubted anyone knew enough of Jin, or actually cared enough about him to come to his defense.

“You don’t see me sitting around and passing judgments on him do you? And yes, I think I know him better. At least more than you do.” It came out harsher than he intended and he could see the words, like a series of cruelly inflicted blows in Koki’s eyes. He could feel his conviction wavering and he reached out tentatively for Koki. Instead Koki shrugged his hand aside, and Kame’s hand swung against the glass of drink on the edge of the table. The glass toppled over, shattering on the floor and he could feel the eyes of everyone drawn over to their table. Koki sat down, his back to him and this was the first time he felt Koki was so unreachable. Swallowing his pride, he bent down to retrieve the shards of glass before he saw Jin sitting at a distance, his piercing eyes looking in his direction. For a moment, the tears threatened to spill over, because Jin had already tried to warn him away. And here he was, quarreling with Koki because of a label on a pill bottle, because of a person who had meant too much to him in too short a time.

He hurriedly picked up the largest shard of glass, placing it onto the table before he dashed towards the exit. He didn’t know what he was thinking, or why he was so eager to come up to Jin’s defense when the person himself made it clear that he didn’t care. He walked mindlessly to the car park, which was encrusted with white and he could feel his lungs constricting. Finally he squatted down in the narrow space between two cars, his body shivering violently at the sudden change in temperatures. It was only then that he felt the pain and when he opened his palm, he saw the streak of blood and the small piece of glass embedded in his flesh.

He gripped his wrist tightly with his other hand, trying to stem the flow of blood even as his tears fell onto the dirty trodden snow beneath him. Jin was nothing to him, they had a dance and that was the only time their paths had actually intersected. It should have remained that way, their lives running in parallels to each other, but knowledge of the fact that Jin might have an illness made it impossible for Kame to look away. He looked down at the blob of blood on his palm, viscous and sticky. It was the very thing sustaining his life while Jin’s was slowly killing him from within. He wished Koki was here, wished he could ask Koki how Death chose its victims, and why there didn’t seem to be any fairness in either life or death. At that thought, his composure crumbled and his silent sobs gave way to loud wretched crying. Part of him was amazed that those sobs came from him. Kame couldn’t remember the last time he cried like this. But then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he had shouted at Koki.

Kame didn’t know how long he squatted there, his hands numb from the rasp of snow and the frost gathering around his boots. When he saw a pair of feet in front of him, he raised his head, expecting to see Koki. Instead it was Jin, and Kame thought he looked like an apparition in the blurry snow. Jin squatted down until he was eye-level with him, and he grasped Kame’s hand towards him. Kame wondered whether he had heard his outburst just now and he pulled his hand back. There was a little smile on Jin’s face.

“What’re you doing here? Come on, let me look at your hand.” Jin’s voice was strangely persuasive, and it was so different from the last time he spoke to him that Kame relented. He watched Jin look at his palm intently, before he raised his gaze to Kame.

“You don’t have to defend me, I told you I didn’t mind.” Jin’s fingers were gently caressing his hand, and Kame could feel some of the heat seeping into him. “And Koki’s very worried.”

“Really? How can anyone not mind?” Kame said, his teeth chattering. And then something changed in the way Jin looked at him, as though he had reached his decision about him as he looked at him with those lucent eyes, moving his thumb slowly, sinuously over Kame’s wrist, over his accelerating pulse.

“You know Kame, you’re the strangest person I’ve ever known.” He heard that honeyed whisper and Jin leaned forward, closing the distance between them. When Jin’s lips brushed against his, it was nothing like he expected. It was like a breath of soft air fluttering against his chapped lips and it was so delicate it seemed like fear and sweetness bundled into one.

And in those brief few seconds, the long endless Hokkaido nights, they didn’t seem so lonely after all.

Broken Sonnet

Fri, 18 Apr 2008 17:13:18 GMT

Title : Broken Sonnet Chapter 13
Pairing : Ryo x Kame
Genre : Angst. drama.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Something breaks and mends in their relationship, all in the same day. (yay for cryptic synopsis?)
A/N : lol I check my previous chapter and it was 2 months since I updated this. XDD Actually I should be finishing this, since it's nearing the end. Written to Jack's Mannequin's 'Rescued'. Anyway for all the people who commented and said somehow RyoKame didn't seem that far-fetched or impossible after reading the story. Thank u. :)

Chapter 13

Inside the dim lights of the recording studio, Ryo took off his headphones. Outside the panel of the glass, Kame was nodding his head to whatever Shingo was telling him. When Ryo finally caught his gaze, it was as though Kame had armed and prepared himself for that moment. And with a single stare, he brushed aside Ryo’s entreaty as though he was irrelevant to his pain. Ryo knew there was no justification for what happened yesterday night. It had been so long since he was genuinely wanted or needed, that Kame’s presence had jettisoned himself into the centre of a storm, with all the dust and mess of the world swirling around him. It made him afraid to know that he was somehow equally dependent on Kame, to know that some part of his recent happiness was because of Kame’s proximity. As he exited the recording studio, Kame fell into step beside him but this time, there was an empty void of space separating them, and no songs, no melody could bridge that.

He watched Kame walk ahead of him. He half-expected Kame to fall apart in front of him, to somehow break down in the middle of the parking lot, but he remained strangely intact as though yesterday didn’t happen. And the only person he ended up breaking was himself as he found himself gauging every slight nuance of Kame’s expression.

“Kame let me drive today.” There was a slight impatience in those eyes before he tossed the keys at him, walking over to the passenger side of the car. The silence stretched between them, Ryo didn’t offer to switch on the radio and Kame didn’t ask. Kame simply held onto the seat belt as though it was some sort of safety harness that could protect him from all the things that had happened. His head was tilted towards the window, eyes trained on some invisible spot and he looked as though he had gone somewhere else. Anywhere but here, someplace where he was safe from people like him. Now he was probably right alongside Koizumi, people Kame had taken one last look at before he turned away. When the scenery changed from the concrete of the city to the pockets of green before them, Ryo could tell that Kame panicked. His fingers tightened around the strap of his seat belt and he looked as though he was swallowed up by all that leather. When Ryo steered the car inside one of the narrow roads, Kame’s gaze flitted to him before he turned away again. The gravel crunched beneath the wheels and the car slowed to a stop.

“Kame, I don’t know why but someone caring for me? It scares me…it didn’t used to be like this..”

“Don’t try to cheapen everything Ryo. Don’t try to offer your past as some kind of apology for what you did. And the worst part is you bringing me here to hold me hostage so that I can listen to you. So that you can feel better.”

The truth in those words stung like a slap. And Ryo felt that he was turned inside out, that Kame had tumbled all those frayed feelings out of him, and anyone looking at him could see his thoughts. So much for him trying to remain inert and untouchable. That vulnerability was like a foreign thing, thrumming in his veins, dying to make itself known. And when Ryo didn’t deny those words, Kame looked at him with lips slightly parted, tears shielded behind those eyes as though he was floundering with that final betrayal. When those tears spilled, he looked so beautiful and lost that it hurt like a handful of broken glass against his heart. Kame lowered his head, frantically grappling with the buckle of his seat belt, and what he had held as his safety harness was now a trap pinning him in his seat as he struggled with it, yanking it hard. The discordant sound of his sobs reached him and Ryo finally leaned over, undoing the seat belt for him before he cradled his hand in his.

“I don’t wanna listen to you. Not your fucking sob story, not your reasons or excuses.” Kame reached for the door handle, turning away from Ryo’s touch and Ryo finally lowered his hand.

“I won’t tell you anything you don’t want to hear Kame. And I wasn’t bartering my past for your forgiveness.” Ryo’s hand fell to his side, the urge to smooth Kame’s cheek too strong as he watch the calm inch its way back into those eyes.

“And you’re wrong. I don’t want you to forgive me. The fact that you hate me, it makes me feel better.” Ryo closed his fingers around the steering wheel and he figured if he couldn’t accept Kame’s love, then he could very well deal with this anger and hatred that he had done everything to invite. He drove smoothly along the highway, trees, houses and sidewalk whirring by. He was free, just that he hadn’t expected ‘free’ to hurt so much.

~*~

Ryo swerved his car onto the side of the road. “I’m getting some coffee. I’ll send you back later.” Ryo’s eyes were heavy with asking permission and Kame didn’t bother to deign him with a reply. He left the engine running and from the safety of the car, he let his eyes linger on Ryo, his trademark brisk ambling walk with his shades low on the bridge of his nose.

The beginning of a headache began to bloom in him, and he rested his fingertips against the glass window. He thought of Koizumi, how he had fought for her in the beginning, until he received her wedding invitation in the mail. It was the final blow meant to make him give up and after that it was easy enough to convince himself. It was as though he had stopped at an invisible barrier and he had stood there, watching her figure getting smaller and smaller in the distance. His whole life, it was as though people accompanied him on a certain part of the journey before they decided his presence was no longer needed or convenient. And he would watch them disappear, sometimes he stood there, his goodbye not yet articulated, wondering whether they would turn back and see him there. Hoping for a farewell, hoping for some words of guilt and apology they wouldn’t have meant. Ryo had thought he was so stubborn, so certain in his conviction. Frankly, he had always thought he gave up too easily. The only reason he hadn’t given up on Ryo was because despite all the brusque warnings, it was as though Ryo had been intentionally slowing his steps so he could catch up with him. And it seemed even that, the last hope he had been clinging onto, was exposed as an illusion. He swallowed his grudge and his pain. Just as well. He didn’t need to quicken his steps to catch up with Ryo anymore.

His mind drifted, watching the pedestrians outside walking under the afternoon sun. It was so bright it hurt his eyes. And he looked absently in the direction of Starbucks. Ryo was taking a long time, and he knew he should have offered to buy it. Finally he turned the ignition off and walked into Starbucks. Ryo was standing there in the queue, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. Not working. He saw some of the girls darting surreptitious glances in his direction, their laptops and school work forgotten.

“What were you thinking?” Kame stood beside Ryo and hissed at him. Kame pulled him towards the counter, right past the people in front of them.

“Place your order and get out of here before you attract more onlookers alright?” Ryo took off his shades and both of them stood there, beside each other, pretending to look at the all the different kinds of overpriced coffee available. Their elbows bumped against each other and they were granted some faux normalcy, even as Kame could hear the whispers behind his back. Ryo’s fingers drummed against the countertop and if he wasn’t feeling so disconcerted himself, he would have find it amusing that Ryo didn’t seem to like the attention. Then Kame heard the sudden clicking of a shutter before he heard the expletive from Ryo’s lips. Obviously someone had informed the paps and the only person holding their line of offense was a flustered barista.

“Can we go by the back door?”

Ryo put on his shades, the coffee forgotten in his hands.

“They’re probably back there too. Call Shingo.” Ryo sat down on one of the chairs with resignation, trying to ignore the errant screams from overexcited fangirls and the blinding flashes of the cameras. Kame sat on the other chair, waiting for security to come. The irony of the situation was not lost on Kame. Just an hour ago, he didn’t even want to be anywhere near Ryo and now they were trapped here, feeling like some kind of exhibit in a fucking enclosure.

When the security arrived and managed to part the crowd outside, Ryo reached over and held his wrist in his hand. The delicacy of the situation was diffused by all the chaos and Kame thought he should be the one to brave the crowd first. His protest was swallowed by the noise outside as Ryo opened the door. Ryo’s hand reached back, just resting on his waist, as though to ensure himself that Kame was following behind him. And Kame thought he hadn’t faced anything so scary in his life before. So many people closing in on him and he didn’t even try to raise his head up to see where he was going. All he felt was Ryo’s hand guiding him forward and he followed. Suddenly, there was a jostle and someone barged into his side, and the blunt edge of an object knocked against his forehead. Kame winced and pressed his hand against his forehead. He almost thought his legs were going to give way before he reached the car door. Ryo stood behind him, his body shadowing his, and they finally got inside the car.

He was so grateful for the silence that he didn’t realize he had lowered his head to his knees. He felt Ryo’s hand sculpting the curve of his nape, the hesitant touch of those fingertips that wasn’t quite intrusive. Kame tried to shrug off his touch but it was a feeble attempt and Ryo simply threaded those fingers through the loose ends of his hair, slow, comforting touches. Maybe it was the headache but Kame felt like he was derailing right off the edge. And it seemed he was always the one chasing and Ryo running that he wasn’t quite sure of how to deal with Ryo taking the initiative this time. The connection lay between them, unbroken and Ryo cradled his head upwards. He could feel Ryo’s breath on his skin, and those fingers touching his forehead idly, lightly.

“Owww.” Kame brushed Ryo’s fingers away and he rested his head against his palm.

“You got a bruise there. Dammit Kame, stop pressing your hand against your forehead.” He wondered whether Ryo knew how devastating that concern in his voice was. And whether he knew that his tenderness was causing him more headache and pain than that crazy humming sound in his head. Finally he closed his eyes, resting back against the seat.

“The bruise wouldn’t have been there, if you weren’t so stupid.” Kame muttered. Behind the darkness of his closed eyes, he was aware of being watched. The gentle awareness that began and intensified in the back of his mind. When he was nearing sleep, he thought he felt Ryo place his drooping head on his shoulder. His eyelids fluttered and he thought he should just blame everything on that bruise. But deep down inside, he was glad that Ryo hadn’t walked that far away and that this time he didn’t have to stray from his original position at all. Somehow unlike all the others in front of him, Ryo had been the one to turn back and close the distance between them before Kame could say his final farewell.

Trigger

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 14:37:58 GMT

Title : Trigger Chapter 7
Pairing : RyoUchi
Rating : PG-15
Genre : Crime, drama
Summary: Nishikido Ryo was a disillusioned investigator in the Tokyo Major Crimes Division, filled with self-hatred and regret for not being able to save his sister. Uchi Hiroki was a journalist looking for a scoop. A macabre crime by a killer with a personal vengeance soon brings the two together.
A/N : Messed-up Ash = messed-up jumbled fics that don't necessarily make sense. Not really very good with the crime scenes, just ignore the mistakes with criminological phrases if they aren't too glaring. And comments are always loved.

Chapter 7

Ryo was once again back in his nightmares again. He knew he was going to wake up from this, just like he had countless times before but this time, he felt an urgency, as though he was running on borrowed time. In the twilight realm of his dreams, there was always the overpowering smell of ammonia, the smell used to cover up rotting flesh. There were hands reaching out for him as he tripped over the things on the floor. He looked down. Dismembered limbs and torsos. Great. He drew out his Glock, eyes getting attuned to the darkness. Suddenly he heard the sound of a boot scraping against the floor and he whipped his head around, his finger poised to empty the gun cartridge……

Ryo sat up in bed, his shirt clinging to his back and he ran his hand haphazardly through his hair. He finally reached for his cell which was vibrating on his beside table.

“Detective, we have a crime scene down in Osawa, right at the edge of Nogawa Park. Jane Doe, ME’s estimated time of death to be yesterday 7pm-ish. I think she might be related to your case.”

“Okay, I'll be down in twenty minutes.” Ryo said as he stepped out of his drawstring pants. He grabbed a shirt from his wardrobe and shrugged into it. Finally he strapped the holster to himself and the bulge of the gun against his hip proved to be reassuring. On the way to the door, he noticed it was barely dusk yet, the smog still covering the city in a layer of purplish pink. As he stepped into his leather shoes, his own personal demons and nightmares forgotten and shelved to the back of his head, he heard the dry wry voice in his mind. That he had woken up from one nightmare, only to land right in the pit of another.

~*~

When he arrived at the crime scene, the area had already been cordoned off, the yellow tape flapping ghoulishly in the wind. His deputies were already there, when he exited the car, there was the smell of evergreens in the breeze, the smell of moist leaves and undergrowth and beneath that, the musty decaying odor of death. This area was on the edge of the park, and the rain in the last few days had made the soil waterlogged and muddy. Here, the jogging track curved away from the main road, cutting into a slope and Ryo walked closer to the embankment. Down the descent of the slope, the young crime lab technician was cleaning up the scene.The sight of the body was like throwing him back two years ago, the pale pallor of the face crusted with dried mud and the limbs stiff and unmoving, her last breath robbed away by death.

Ryo pulled on the latex gloves, making his way down the slope. There were going to be no footprints, the torrential rain had ensured that. Then again, he doubted they would have found the body that quickly without the help of the rain.

“She was slashed, across the throat. From one ear right to the other. Would say it requires plenty of strength to make a clean cut like that.” The crime lab technician elaborated. Ryo squatted down right next to the body, cradling her wrists almost reverently in his gloved hands.

There were deep indentations along her wrists, corrugated blood beneath the bruised skin. He wondered how long she fought, how long she tried to tolerate the pain before her mind shut down. His gloved index finger trailed over her fingertips, wondering whether they would find fiber or tissue beneath them. Unlikely, the profile of their killer had been established as someone who planned, someone who believed in control; she would most likely have been scrubbed down before she was dumped.

He turned towards one of his deputies, Ohkura and he could smell the strong scent of mint rub. Ohkura had been one of the most promising newcomers under his tutelage, if he could excuse his habit of rubbing mint rub under his nose whenever they neared a crime scene.

“This area of the park, it isn't exactly deserted right?” Ryo asked absentmindedly as he surveyed the surroundings.

“No, there're quite a few joggers in the morning. In fact, one of them found the body.”

Ryo bent down and picked up a fistful of the soil.

“So why do you think he chose such a place? Did our perp panic? Or is it just part of his strategy?” He heard Ohkura's question, and part of him wished it was the earlier. A reckless killer was likely to accelerate his violence and commit mistakes and a single mistake was all he was going to need to apprehend him.

“I think our perp's on a schedule. We're having the press con today and we received the tape yesterday and this morning, we found the body. You wanna bet this is his way of guaranteeing a spot in the front pages?” Now he could add narcissistic and egoistic to the profile of killer. Interesting, though he suspected part of it was meant to throw the police force off-balance, to throw a big target on their backs as the press mowed them over with questions. For a moment, he just pondered, running through the facts over in his head before he raised his head to Ohkura.

“Tell the chief deputy to cancel the press conference. Give a press release instead. Leave out details of the tape.” Ryo said, finally feeling more in control. He imagined the killer watching the evening news, getting more and more agitated as he switched between channels, no mention of his careful elaborate set-up. No official press conference to give him the recognition and acknowledgement he craved. He wondered how much that would unsettle him and push him over the edge. One more murder, one more and he would have him.

“Detective, I believe we found something.” Ryo turned to the lab technician who was brushing off the soil off the woman's naked torso and right below those pronounced collarbones, was the unmistakable imprint of a cross, almost similar to that of Michiko's cross pendant, burnt into her skin.

~*~

Uchi Hiroki walked down the hallway, it was late and there were still several officers on the phone, poring about the old case files they had pulled out from the archives. He wasn't quite sure why he was here, or why Nishikido had granted him entry. The press conference had been cancelled and frankly his first reaction had been one of anger and disgust because all he was getting was a stingy press release in return. Of course, he could always include that little detail of the tape the police had deliberately omitted. Except that this time round, he had been hesitant and unsure, and it disturbed him that his conscience had conveniently decided to rouse at such a time after a long, deep slumber. Or maybe that was the aftereffect of getting too close to Nishikido Ryo; he had been compelling and fascinating when he was merely a photograph on the newspaper, it was only getting closer that he saw the devastating somber eyes that he realized Nishikido wasn't a subject, wasn't a mere article, that he was real. What other detectives investigated, Nishikido probably breathed them, slept on them only to wake up and mull over them first thing in the morning. Uchi Hiroki couldn't imagine what kind of obsession that was, to be steeped so deep that your life was spent sorting through possibilities and questions, and the endless quest of those answers. He wondered whether there was peace to be found at the end, some kind of closure he didn't understand. When he arrived at Nishikido’s office and saw his head bowed low over his desk through the blinds, he realized there was none.

“Here to file a complaint that the press con was cancelled?” Nishkido raised those eyes to Uchi before he turned his gaze back to the open case file on the table. Uchi thought he saw the rare crack of a smile on his face before his attention was diverted to the board behind Nishikido, colorful tacks pinning the crime scene photos and notes and taking up ever available inch of the board, with the rest of the polaroids in messy disarray and scattered on Nishikido's desk.

“Why, do I get a refund if I file one?” Uchi leaned against the wall, crossing his legs at his ankles. Nishikido twirled the pen in his hand, and the sight of those fingers made a raw shudder run through him when he thought about the way those fingers had moved over his body with maddening tenderness and familiarity.

“If I recall correctly, I'm not the only one enjoying myself yesterday.” Uchi Hiroki couldn't believe how relaxed Nishikido Ryo seemed to be, leaning back in his chair. Maybe it was what it felt like to finally have someone to converse with after being caged in a small office with only grisly crime scene photos for company. He liked this neutral safety ground, where he could actually catch a small glimpse of who Nishikido had used to be, before a killer had taken his life apart. Outside, lightning like the metallic glint of a knife slashed across the dark canvas of the sky.

“Seriously, why are you here?” He heard Nishikido ask.

Uchi Hiroki's fingers curved around the cool steel of the doorknob, and wondered whether Nishikido would be displeased if he told him how predictable he was. One thing he had realized about people working in the police force, they didn't like ambiguity, didn't like 'maybe ors', that they spent so much of their time demanding answers that it became the only conclusive truth to them.

“You wouldn't have believed me anyway.” He knew Nishikido was going to be peeved by that. Let him sleep on it because the truth was, quite frankly, Uchi Hiroki didn't know the answer himself.

~*~

He watched Uchi Hiroki walking down the sidewalk, disappearing into the apartment building. He raised his gaze to the third floor, waiting for the lights to come on. He was almost too easy, at first he had simply noticed him because he had been doing a little too much research into the Michiko case and he couldn't decide whether he was a help or hindrance. Now he was glad he had waited, because somehow Uchi Hiroki had wormed his way into Nishikido Ryo's heart with his conniving lies and that pretty face. He swore he was almost disappointed. He had thought Nishikido Ryo was above such plebeian wants like lust. The truth was Nishikido Ryo would have made a good accomplice; he was ruthless, cold and merciless. He probably thought himself smart for withdrawing the press conference today. He had surfed the numerous channels and he felt the twitch, the throbbing and the restlessness overtaking him when his carefully crafted plan had been reduced to a short news clip. No mention of the tape either. He could feel the rashes surfacing, and he resisted the urge to scratch. Nishikido Ryo saw through his foil, but he had more. He always had more. He dug his fingernails into his arm, the pain making the itch retreat and he knew just the right activity to channel that anger to.

He was going to beat Nishikido at his own game, and tonight he was going to conduct a little experiment. If he was correct, Uchi Hiroki would prove to be Nishikido's weak spot. And instantly he felt a lot better.

Trigger

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 08:31:12 GMT

Title : Trigger Chapter 6
Pairing : RyoUchi
Rating : NC-17
Genre : Crime, drama
Summary: Nishikido Ryo was a disillusioned investigator in the Tokyo Major Crimes Division, filled with self-hatred and regret for not being able to save his sister. Uchi Hiroki was a journalist looking for a scoop. A macabre crime by a killer with a personal vengeance soon brings the two together.
A/N : I had alot of fun writing this ( yes I know I'm weird ) so hopefully u guys will like it. Comments loved because the fun is just beginning.

Chapter 6

Uchi Hiroki simply quirked his brows upwards, still leaning his frame against the door and making no effort to invite Ryo inside.

"So why would one of Tokyo's elite take an interest in me?" Uchi said with a slight melodic tilt in his voice, taking pleasure in having control over the situation and Ryo was willing to indulge his little fantasy. Meanwhile he indulged his very own, the visual of Uchi being soft and flushed with his head tilted beneath him. Mussed, sore and yielding.

"There's going to be a press conference held at the keishicho tomorrow." Ryo said, his hands lax in his pockets.

He watched the lines around Uchi's face soften as comprehension dawned in those eyes and he raked them blatantly over the length of Ryo's body. And finally he shifted his body, and he knew with that, he had wrestled Uchi into submission. Uchi had something he desired, and he had something Uchi wanted. It was a match of convenience, and perhaps more now because he was already hard, cagey and terse from the contents of the tape. Every fiber of his being was wrought tight and there was nowhere he could go. He didn't want to return home, to see the cardboard boxes of criminal files that were the grand sum total of his life. He had been driving aimlessly around the city, under the cover of the dark, his mind regurgitating the contents of the video over and over again, until he remembered the name card inside his shirt pocket. And upon seeing the address at the back, he had driven here.

"Then Detective, this isn't a booty call. It's a transaction." Ryo took that as the invitation it was supposed to be and since Uchi didn't move away from the door frame, he brushed against him when he crossed the threshold of the door. The apartment was warm, so different from the plummeting temperatures outside. And he stood there, as Uchi started to unbutton his sweater and fold it over the back of a chair. He let his gaze roam over the interior of the apartment. Very sparsely decorated, with just the bare essentials. The area most cluttered and where Uchi evidently spent most of his time was at the computer table in the corner with the thick ring files shelved and stacked. He looked at the laptop and the open document on the screen before Uchi closed it with a click.

"Occupational habit." Ryo shrugged, standing his ground as Uchi advanced on him with a glint in those eyes.

"Someday, Detective, you've gotta stop being suspicious of everyone around you, thinking they're murderers or something."

Ryo never told Uchi that he thought everyone was capable of killing someone, just that those he was responsible for catching made sure their thoughts manifested into reality. And as Uchi got closer to him, he realized that Uchi towered over him, and that he was using that difference in height to his advantage. It was slightly oppressive, being in foreign surroundings being stared down by another person. No doubt this was payback for this morning’s questioning session, and Ryo almost wanted to smile. He was a connoisseur of mind games, knowing exactly when to retreat and when to prod but this was the first time his opposition wasn't a half-crazed demented killer with a ridiculously high IQ. Uchi took small little steps forward, and his knees bumped against Ryo's shin, until the back of Ryo's knees ended up against the couch. And with a slight little push, Ryo sat down on the couch and Uchi stood between his spread legs, those hooded eyes roaming over him. The silence stretched and grew until it was almost a palpable thing in the room.

"You haven't changed your mind have you?" Ryo's voice was lazy and wry as his mouth twitched in a half-smile.

And Uchi went down to his knees in a single fluid motion, leaning back on his haunches as he rested his palms on Ryo's thighs. Then he heard the voice full of incredulity.

"Not a chance in hell."

~*~

Ryo leaned his head back against the headrest and through the filter of his mind, he could hear the angry wailing of a baby, the loud noises of the television next door and then he could hear his own desperate groans. He could feel the reluctant shudders that ran through his body, the feeling that pooled and intensified at the base of his abdomen as Uchi drank in his reactions from beneath the those eyelashes. Uchi hadn't even done anything yet, just molded the palm of his hand against the hardness through the cotton of his boxers. He was good though, he knew when to exert pressure, unlike some of the people Ryo had been with. The pleasure bordered on pain as he gripped him, before his hands curved into the hem of his boxers and Uchi pulled it down with one fall swoop.

It was a dizzying combination of need and panic as he struggled to breathe, as he realized that using sex as his trump card, Uchi had overturned the tables on him. His mind might abhor the idea, but apparently his body liked it very much. He watched Uchi looking at him, as though gaining strength from all the conflict Ryo was going through, before he licked the head of his cock. And Ryo could hear the gutter swear words in Kansai-ben from his mouth, and it had been so long since he used Kansai-ben, because he had been so successful in eradicating the old traces of him. He didn’t give anyone a chance to know his beginnings, his origin and there was nothing those perps could use against him. He was that good, and now he was crumbling to pieces in Uchi Hiroki's hands. He heard the little hum of pleasure as Uchi took the swelling ridge of his cock in his mouth, his tongue fluttering and he knew he wasn't going to last.

He cupped Uchi beneath his arms, dumping him unceremoniously onto the couch. He was in control again, order reinstated. He rolled up the hem of Uchi's shirt, halting at the nipples which puckered in the cold air. He flicked one finger across it and he heard a little keening sound as Uchi threw his arms over the armrest of the couch, eyes closed and lips parted. His cock was throbbing painfully but he intended to make this bargain very well-worth on his side. There was no blame, no culpability and best of all, no emotional baggage involved. He leaned down, taking one nipple into his mouth and Uchi's reaction was so violent that he thought Uchi was going to overpower him. His knee jerked upwards, missing Ryo's balls by just inches and his fingers tangled themselves in his hair, as his body arched, forcing more of himself into Ryo's mouth. He was turned on, by how unabashed and honest Uchi's reactions were. The surge of dominance was so titillating and powerful that Ryo understood why sex was often an intricate part of the kill. But even when looming above Uchi, he wondered how much of that power was an illusion granted to him because Uchi had relinquished that control.

For a reporter's pass.

That unwelcome thought maneuvered itself into his head and he could feel himself withdrawing. He let his hands wander down the expanse of smooth skin, taut over the ribcage and he unbuckled Uchi's belt. When Uchi lay naked beneath him, he could feel the resurgence of all that need. He reached for the lube inside his discarded pants on the floor, smeared it over his hands and scissor his fingers inside Uchi. Uchi's fingers were biting crescent shaped marks on his forearm. Uchi was tight and pulsing inside, and he curled his fingers demonstratively. And he could feel the ring of muscles clenching tight on him. In his hazed state, he kissed Uchi and that kiss hadn't been included in Ryo's sexual repertoire for today because a kiss changed everything. A kiss was intimate, the tangling of tongues and the viscous saliva and it wasn't so much the kiss, but how Uchi kissed. He did it with the same unrelenting intensity as he lavished on his work and that mere thought was enough to make Ryo pull away.

~*~

Right now Uchi hated the couch with a vehemence he had never felt before in his life. He felt like he was being swallowed up by the couch as Ryo thrust into him in a rapid staccato beat. His own engorged cock rubbed against Ryo's abdomen, leaving trails of stickiness on his skin. Suddenly Ryo stopped, the ridge of his cock just barely notched inside him. He got angry, and he scraped his fingernails down the ridge of his back, down the furrow of that spine and he watched Ryo's eyes gleam at him like black onyx. Then Ryo surprisingly caught his ankle in his grasp and he made a soft whimper.

Ryo just let his fingers trace over the arch of his foot, his thumb pressing down hard on the groove and it was like a string pulled taut within him as his body went rigid. And Ryo slammed in, as Uchi was sandwiched between Ryo's and the couch, his body quaking before he felt the warm splash of fluid inside him.

~*~

Ryo lay idly on the couch as he watched Uchi put on his clothes. Uchi was very neat, methodical almost as he put on his clothes and he looked very different from the person who had just lost control beneath him.

"So why me?" He heard Uchi and he didn't pretend to misunderstand the question.

"Because all you wanted was a reporter's pass in return." Ryo said in his level voice as he got up from the couch.

"I'm sure there're others who wouldn't have wanted anything from you." Uchi replied, straightening his collar.

Ryo didn't tell him the rest of it as he let himself out. The rain had stopped and the sky was murky darkness as he walked out of the building. He had thought Uchi was safe, after all he understood enough of his profession and he recognized that ambition and drive in those eyes. Uchi wasn't one for sentimental emotions, not if it meant impeding his moving forward. He had liked that, and recognized a similarity in himself.

But as a cop, he should have known, should have thought longer about it before he gave in. Because those who appeared safe and harmless, were more often than not, the most dangerous of all.

~*~

He unlocked his door, the sound of water sloshing around in his boots annoying him. He hated the rain, but this time it came at the right time for it to be an able accomplice. He wanted his showpiece to be uncovered and found at the appropriate time, and he could already picture the flurry of commotion, the uproar. He felt that delicious tingle of anticipation coursing through him. He had spent much thought in this time's dumping site. Normally it was just logistics and planning to him but this time was different. This time, it was meant as a major f-you to the police department and he had no doubt the press would soon be thinking up monikers for him and splashing their front pages with the gruesome details. He walked across the room, staring at the newspaper clipping of Nishikido Ryo. A worthy adversary and he was going to prove himself smarter than all the rest. He was going to be the one who would end Nishikido Ryo's illustrious career and he let his gaze wander to the grainy picture of Uchi Hiroki, unaware of the camera.

And since he was at it, he was going to drive that stake right through Nishikido Ryo's heart.

Beneath it All

Tue, 25 Mar 2008 15:33:03 GMT

Title : Beneath it all (2/?)
Pairing : Akame
Rating : PG-13
Genre : AU. Angst/Drama
Summary : Kame was a future Waseda student, not exactly sure about his direction in life until he met Jin and found out that maybe plans in life were meant to be disregarded.
A/N : Wrote quite a bit yest and so u guys got a quick update. Yes surprise. I feel kinda shocked at myself. Anyway this shld mark the end of my updating spree. Thanks to everyone who commented to the 1st chapter.

Chapter 2

“Koki, I think I’m going to look for a job.”

Koki simply quirked his brows at Kame’s sudden revelation as his fingers continued pressing the Xbox controller in his hands.

Kame sat on his bed with his legs folded beneath him and he prodded Koki on the shoulder.

“Oi, did you hear me?”

“I did. You sure your mum doesn’t mind? Where do you plan to work anyway?” Kame almost had to suppress a sigh because he felt Koki was in cahoots with his mother at trying to keep him as sheltered as possible. He flopped back onto the bed with his hands laced underneath his head, looking at the ceiling. The truth was he knew even though his entry to Waseda brought much joy to his mother, it was also an unexpected burden. His mother had never said a single word about the school fees, merely telling Kame to not worry about it. As for Kame, he was too pragmatic to not think about it, he didn’t want to put extra burden on his mother who had been working as a housekeeping attendant at a hotel. And the pride in him made the idea of receiving financial help from his father something he didn’t even want to consider.

“The school fees for Waseda aren’t going to drop from the sky you know.” Kame said in a resigned voice. Koki finally put a pause to the game on the television and he set on the edge of the bed, his eyes studying Kame’s expressionless face. There were times when Kame could behave like a child and yet when it came to his mother, he could be very considerate and sensitive. And that contradiction made Kame impossibly endearing to him.

“How about your father?” Before Koki had a chance to continue, Kame interrupted his words.

“I don’t intend to take a single cent from him for my studies anymore.” There was a tense silence and Koki could almost hear the clunking of the heater pipes above, working hard to keep the room temperature a toasty warm. The truth was Kame didn’t forget easily and how he and his mother had been betrayed and forsaken by his father years ago was still fresh in his mind. Koki knew better than to dissuade Kame in regards to matters of his father. Frankly, he couldn’t understand why any father could not care about his son, not even try to visit once for six years. In a way, he thought Kame put so much effort in his studies because he had been trying to earn his father’s approval, as though his parents’ separation six years ago was his fault. It was like a baggage Kame towed around to give him strength, and after so long, it had fostered his prickly and headstrong nature.

“Okay, maybe you could try the ski resorts. They always need extra hands during the winter season.” Koki offered and it finally earned a little smile from Kame.

~*~

Kame raised his hands to his mouth, warming them with little puffs of air as he stood at the entrance of the restaurant, waiting for Koki’s black Toyota to appear from the blinding white. When he saw Koki’s car, he waved his hands and the car chugged to an abrupt stop. Kame hurriedly opened the door and leaned back against the worn leather of the seat, glad to get a reprieve from the temperature outside.

“You look like a damn refugee Kame. And you forgot your gloves again.” Kame simply grinned at the admonishment and shrugged his shoulders, bringing his hands closer to the heater.

“Guess what. I got the job!”

“Waitering at the restaurant?”

“Yep, the lady boss liked me so much she gave me the job right on the spot.” Kame said with a trace of smugness in his tone as he flexed his numb fingers. Six years in Sapporo and he still had the tendency to forget how harsh and unforgiving the winters could be.

“Let’s go and celebrate!” Kame said, raising his hand in the air and the car swerved dangerously on the road for a moment. Koki shot him a look of disapproval and Kame chuckled.

“I won’t get drunk this time. Promise.” And despite Koki’s protests and hesitation, Kame got his way as usual. And that night was the second time he and Jin crossed paths.

~*~

It was a weekday night and the crowd was much sparser. And this time Kame had to content himself with fruit punch as he darted envious glances at the bourbon Koki was drinking. The nights in his town which mainly thrived on tourist visits tended to be quiet, with most of the people working late in the ski resorts in the mountains. And it wasn’t very often Kame got to visit the main nightlife district since it was some distance away from his town situated right at the edge of the mountainous region. He liked the bustle and neon sighs that lit up the solemn blue-grey sky. He liked the buzz of excitement in the air as tourists and natives mingled, looking at the giant ice sculptures. If his hometown made him feel lost and trapped sometimes, then Susukino made him feel like he had unwittingly trespassed onto a fairytale where the myriad lights twinkled at him. Of course it never lasted, after the snow melted and the winter winds moved north, the lights were taken down and everything reverted back to normal. That was the same thing with snow and all things beautiful he guessed, they never lasted long enough.

Kame was tapping his foot to the rhythm of the music when Koki told him that he was going to the restroom. Kame paid no attention to him and merely nodded his head. He took another sip of his fruit punch and watched the ice cubes clink against each other in the glass. His eyes roamed over the almost-empty dance floor until they settled on a familiar figure. And he widened his eyes in surprise before he gave the fruit punch his full attention. Why was he here again? Meeting Akanishi Jin once in the pub was enough. He stirred the drink with his straw, hoping that when he raised his head again, Jin would have disappeared into the crowd. Instead he found that Jin was standing right in front of him, amusement apparent on his face.

“What’re you looking at?” Kame said and he realized how rude he sounded. He bit the inside of his cheek, and decided he should keep his mouth shut merely to stay safe. Koki had always said his honesty and impulsiveness were going to land him in trouble one day, and this was probably his unlucky day. Jin had unceremoniously settled onto the empty seat beside him, and Kame realized Jin moved with a confidence he had never seen or noticed before in the same sex. It was almost as though he did it unconsciously, with a lazy grace, as he eased into the seat.

“Here alone, without your protector?” He heard the slightly teasing lilt in Jin’s voice, and he knew Jin was probably finding it fun to bait him like this. But he couldn’t stop himself from reacting anyway.

“I don’t need a protector to come to a pub.” The lie was probably emblazoned all over his face in red. Kame resorted to stirring the drink in his hand more furiously, until some of the fruit punch spilled onto his hand. And out of habit, he simply brought his finger to his hand and licked away some of that sticky juice. He glanced at Jin who seemed to be mesmerized by his action and he quickly set the drink on the table. He didn’t know why he was so unsettled by Jin’s proximity and this time, he couldn’t even blame it on the aftereffects of too much whiskey. If Koki always managed to set him at ease, then Akanishi Jin always seemed to bring out the bumbling idiot inside him. And part of him was annoyed at himself for being so easily affected.

“Do you wanna dance?” He heard Jin’s careless invitation, those eyes in the realm of flaming red under the crazy lights. He was resting his head against the couch, hair a little tousled and all jagged, dangerous beauty. And now he knew why Koki had asked him to keep away, probably because Jin was too potent a concoction to try to ignore, especially after you had a single taste. And Jin was probably aware of the devastating effects of that smoky gaze, that lingered a little too long on Kame’s open collar. Kame’s mind came to a single overwhelming conclusion; Jin was a player and he was no match for that kind of charm. Which meant he should extricate himself from this situation immediately. Except that his mind was blank and he couldn’t exactly come up with an acceptable excuse. Not when his heart was pounding an erratic beat and Jin’s eyes locked onto his.

“I suppose that’s a no?”

“It’s just a dance.” Kame said, standing up and leading the way to the dance floor. He was probably a little too eager to escape from Jin’s intimate gaze, the beguiling softness in those eyes. And for a moment, he thought he saw something more, something dark and fleeting in the depths of his eyes. Jin walked in front of him, his ambling gait more like a swagger and in the safety of the darkness, Kame let his eyes trail over Jin’s back, how his shirt stretched slightly across the span of his shoulders, how those legs seemed to swallow up the floor in long strides.

And when Jin came to an abrupt stop, Kame nearly collided into his frame and he realized they were only inches from each other. Or more accurately, he was inches from the slope of Jin’s collarbone and the arch of his neck. Then the DJ conveniently changed the track to a slow one and the lights dimmed on them. Kame glanced up at Jin in panic and there was a lopsided grin on his face.

“Wanna back out now?” Kame’s eyes widened slightly at the provocation and he knew he should just tell him he was here with Koki who would probably lecture him the entire ride home. Except he remembered he had said he didn’t need to come to a pub with a protector and he would be contradicting himself. He felt like he was caught in some kind of self-designated trap and he placed his hand gingerly on the slope of Jin’s shoulder.

“Let’s just get this over with. Anyway…I never said thank you for that day.” Kame said, ignoring the unsettled feeling in the pit of his abdomen which wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

“Welcome.” He heard Jin’s murmur, lowered to a baritone whisper only he could hear and he felt like he was privy to some secret. Then he took Kame’s hand resting on his shoulder and clasped it in his hand. The press of their palms was like a sweet intimate kiss. He could smell Jin’s cologne and Jin had placed his other hand on the curve of his waist, the fabric of his pants brushing against his as he followed Jin’s lead. Although Jin was touching him, the slight pressure of his hands didn’t make him feel uncomfortable; neither did it make him feel like it was intrusive.

Suddenly his foot landed on Jin’s, and he could see the pained grimace on his face and he couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him. Jin staggered to the side a little as their balanced shifted but somehow his hand remained cupped around his waist.

“Sorry.” That incident loosened his frayed nerves a little and he finally felt like he was on some safe neutrality with Jin.

“I don’t understand why Koki’s so worried about me being with you, you don’t seem like such a bad person.” Kame mumbled to himself before he realized Jin might take offense. He darted a glance to Jin’s face but he only laughed dismissively. That laugh sounded bitter and forced to Kame’s ears and it seemed directed at himself.

“Maybe what Koki said is the truth. I’m not that nice of a person.” His voice was devoid of any emotions, almost like he was talking about some third person and not himself. Kame frowned, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to say that about himself.

“You saved me from the other guy on Saturday.” The music was slowing to a stop and Jin’s hand still remained on his waist, like a soft delicate touch. Jin gave him a careless roll of his shoulders.

“I did it only maybe because I happened to be in the mood for saving innocents. How about that?” He was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. When the music finally halted, he removed his hand.

“I believe Koki’s waiting for you.” Kame ignored his words and he held onto Jin’s hand. He believed Jin could have easily shrugged his hand off but he didn’t.

“Why are you so determined to let everyone think you’re some bad guy?”

“Why are you pretending to know me? Do you do that to everyone who comes across your path, thinking they need saving?” Kame stiffened at the derogatory reply and he loosened his grip. He didn’t know why but just on the verge of turning away, Jin’s gaze returned to him, before he left him standing in the middle of the dance floor, with plenty of questions and doubt. And fear because he didn’t know he actually cared. When he made his way back to their booth, he looked defeated and crestfallen enough that Koki didn’t lecture him. He simply patted him on the head and Kame slouched down in his seat, thinking whether he was really such a pretentious, self-righteous person as Jin had said.

Then in his mind, he realized that Jin’s reply was almost like a verbal warning for him to keep away, like a retaliatory gesture because Kame had gotten a little close. Finally he closed his eyes beneath the onslaught of those thoughts. That summer was meant to be carefree as Kame bade his fond farewell to his adolescent years and embarked on a new chapter in his life. At the start, he didn’t know that his chance meetings with Jin would unravel all his plans and that in the end, those plans hadn’t count for anything, not when it came to Jin.

Beneath it All

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 13:26:42 GMT

Title : Beneath it all (1/?)
Pairing : Akame
Rating : PG-13
Genre : AU. Angst/Drama
Summary : Kame was a future Waseda student, not exactly sure about his direction in life until he met Jin and found out that maybe plans in life were meant to be disregarded.
A/N : Idea's actually adapted from a chinese story I read online and I've been wanting to write it since forever. Wrote a one-shot on it before but I think I can try a new multi-chap since Adversary is done. Tweaked it a little for it to suit Akame and lol hopefully I'll finish this before the end of this year -gets bricked- And obviously I'm on an Akame roll.

If anyone wants to read the Chinese fic, it's here. It's really beautiful tho I probably changed some things. Comments loved. :D

Chapter 1

The club was full of smoky blue neon and darkness, club goers nursing their drinks at the scuffed barstool and the writhing mass of sweaty bodies moving to the pulsating beat of the music. Kamenashi Kazuya downed his third whiskey of the night, his eyes scanning the crowd over the rim of his glass.

“Kame, that’s your third glass.”

“Koki, can’t you let me celebrate? I’m off to Tokyo in three months. No more snow blizzards, and freezing temperatures!” He smiled at Koki and raised his glass of whiskey in the air. The carefree little gesture earned an indulgent smile from Koki even as he shook his head in slight exasperation.

Koki had been his senpai in high school and they had been friends ever since. It was as though Koki had self-appointed himself as his protector because Kame had a knack for getting into trouble. As for anything beyond that, Kame never allowed his thoughts to veer that way, and he had never given Koki any encouragement or openly tried to dissuade him either. Koki had been his friend for ages, and he wanted things to remain the way it was, the truth cloaked and Koki always trailing him on the nights he wanted to look for some excitement on the boring wintry nights in Sapporo. He knew he could always count on Koki to get him home safely and at least when he showed up at his doorstep drunk with Koki, his mother was less likely to reprimand him.

“I can’t believe a future Waseda student is acting like this.” That earned a little chortle from Kame, the truth was that the initial joy and excitement had bubbled over. He wasn’t quite sure about moving to Tokyo, he still remembered how he and his mother had left Tokyo six years ago, before they finally settled in the snowcapped grounds of Sapporo. His father still remained in Tokyo, newly-married and had probably long forgotten about the fact that he had a former wife and a son. The only reminder about the father figure long absent in his life was the alimony payment they received monthly, like some kind of severance fee given to them to keep them away. And when he received news that he had been granted entrance to Waseda, his father didn’t even offer a single congratulatory phone call. As much as he liked to complain about Sapporo, it was here that he built a lifestyle with his mother, learnt how to ski and made friends in his high school years. Sapporo was his refuge and frankly, he was worried about leaving his mother here. He knew very well they had learnt to depend on each other over the years, so what would become of his mother if he went to Waseda?

Finally he got tired of trying to unravel the messy thoughts in his head and he got to his feet.

“I’m going dancing.” He told Koki before he walked into the midst of the crowd, insinuated himself in the flesh of it. And he began to dance, moving his limbs to the beat of the music and swaying his body with his eyes closed. Everything was a dizzy and anonymous blur and it was in the middle of the dance floor, bathed in the iridescence of lights that he felt free. That euphoria welled up inside him. In the dance floor, everyone was lost in their own world and no one would notice his clumsiness or his inadequacy. He liked that. He was enjoying himself, lost in the music when he felt a stranger invade his space, pressing up against him. That clammy sticky feeling irked him. Kame flung his arm back in annoyance and the weekend crowd was too thick for Koki to notice him. He tried to elbow the man, to get him to budge, but his small frame was too easily swallowed by the crowd.

The whiskey rushed to his head and momentarily he felt dizzy. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and all he was inhaling was the acrid stale cigarette smoke as the ceiling closed in on him. He tried to reach his hand out, finding a surface to clutch because he knew he was slipping but he didn’t exactly want to touch that pervert. He saw a tall shadow in front of him and he saw his own hand reach out, as though in pixilated slow motion and his hand finally rested on that person’s chest. In that brief second between beats, that simple action dispersed all the fear he felt. Something that linked him to the stranger in front of him.

“He’s with me, fuck off.” He heard the stranger say. He had a nice voice, a deep husky timbre and Kame tilted his head up, looking into his eyes. The stranger had toffee brown eyes slightly obscured behind his fringe, a frown weighed down by the hostile look in his eyes as the other man moved back into the jostle of the crowd.

“Thanks.” Kame mumbled, his hand still resting on the man’s chest and he could feel his heartbeat through the cotton of his shirt. The intimacy made him retract his hand quickly and he stood there with his head lowered.

“You know if those prowling around took you, Koki would be really upset.” He held Kame’s wrist in his grasp, leaving no room for Kame’s protests and he towed Kame along, navigating and swerving between the bodies and piercing neon lights. Kame was already feeling dizzy and all he could do was stumble after him. After a while, he found himself standing in front of Koki who had a surprised look on his face.

“Ah Jin. What’re you doing with Kame?” Koki had straightened up from his sitting posture. Kame stood there, as Koki and that Akanishi Jin talked to each other, ignoring his presence.

“Your little lamb almost got lost, next time keep a tighter watch on him.” Akanishi Jin said with a level voice, as he looked at Kame and Kame obstinately kept his eyes on the floor. He was feeling embarrassed, an outing to the pub to celebration his successful university application had to turn out like this. Besides he didn’t really want to look at Akanishi Jin who had not only witnessed that whole debacle, but was also incredibly good-looking to boot. He was mentally berating himself when he saw Koki move his hand over the bristles on his shortly cropped hair, thanking Akanishin Jin.

“Come on Kame the celebration’s over.” Koki said, holding Kame’s hand and guiding him towards the exit.

“Who’s Akanishi Jin? How do you know him?” Kame asked, before he closed his eyes against the flurry of white snow and the cold air that bit into his skin. Kame tugged Koki’s arm insistently when it seemed the only thing Koki was concerned about was bundling Kame into his old Toyota as soon as possible and get him home.

“He’s a friend alright. Someone I know when I frequent the pubs. Stay away from him, Kame.” Koki said, without turning his head back.

“Why?” Kame asked, Koki’s warning having pigued his interest.

There was a look of impatience on Koki’s face as he trudged through the snow, and got Kame in the car. Inside the warmth of the car, Kame unwound the scarf from his neck and when Koki got in the driver’s seat, he asked again, undeterred by Koki’s unwillingness to talk about the mysterious Akanishi Jin.

“He’s nice and charming to everyone, especially people like you Kame. You’re too trusting, just don’t be taken in by him.”

Kame didn’t exactly know what Koki meant by ‘people’ like him, it sounded like a compliment and he leaned his head against the window pane, watching his breath condense on the glass. He thought about it in his mind before he laughed.

“What?” Koki’s hands remained on the steering wheel, carefully driving along the sleet-covered roads.

“Why would Akanishi Jin want anything to do with me?” Kame said trying to reassure Koki because he knew Koki could be overly protective when it came to things to do with him.

Koki turned his head sideways, looking at Kame with a flicker of something in his eyes, and it passed before Kame could try to decipher it. And Kame finally had enough asking about Akanishi Jin and he looked outside at the accumulating snow at the roadsides. During the winter, you couldn’t even make out the stars or the sky above. Everything was a blanketed white, like a pretty picture out of an illustration book but it was also scary. A cold landscape where there didn’t seem to be any entry or any exit. And it seemed to symbolize everything that Kame felt was wrong with him, because he felt lost.

“Koki…I don’t know what I want. You know that question Takahashi-sensei used to ask? Because he says it’s the most important to know what you want in life? I don’t know the answer, I don’t know….” His mumbling finally gave way to silence as he gave in to sleep, the car quietly gaining speed along the highway.

That was the first time he met Akanishi Jin. That year, Kamenashi Kazuya was eighteen, and he had believed there were few things in life that could daunt him, few things in life he couldn’t resolve with his positive attitude. That was the same attitude that made him follow Jin into his world, where there was only the two of them with their footsteps etched into the snowy ground in silent companionship. And that was one life experience he would never learn in the lecture halls or tutorial notes at Waseda.

Adversary

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 08:37:56 GMT

Title : Adversary Chapter 14 - Ending
Pairing : Akame
Rating : PG-13
Genre : Happy ending?
Summary : Jin and Kame finally reconcile their differences despite the obstacles.
A/N : Because I'm getting endlessly poked for this, and for takagi because she made me feel so honored when she said she felt like translating this fic into Chinese. And this marks the end of Adversary and my updating spree, so allow me to pat myself on the back. Written to Trust Company's "Silently" because I realise I play songs on loop whenever I'm writing.

Also, a big thank you to everyone who've commented & everyone who followed this story from start to finish. :)

Chapter 14

Kame looked at the distinguished man sitting across the desk. He didn’t falter in his gaze, even though he was secretly wringing his hands beneath the desk, obscured from the MD’s view. He had no idea what he knew, maybe it was a false alarm. That hope galvanized him and he waited for the man to start broaching the subject. Instead he started looking at his laptop, and Kame knew this was a form of slight, clearly talking to him was the lowest of his priorities. Finally he closed the laptop with a resounding sharp click, and it sounded like a death knell to Kame’s ears. Ominous and foreboding.

“Kamenashi-san, let’s skip the pleasantries. I’m afraid you have become an impediment. Hazuki really likes Jin. And I know Jin likes to have his fun, all boys do.” His lips pressed into a thin, whitening line and his eyes narrowed with disapproval although his tone remained purely conversational.

“But I’ve always kept those rumors away from Hazuki and I don’t intend to let her find out about you.” Kame felt a prick of fear rippling through him because it wasn’t a question, it was a bold presumptuous statement and Kame finally lost the battle to keep his mouth shut because clearly this was a confrontation.

“It isn’t up to you to decide who Jin likes.” He said, incredulity evident in his voice.

“But I can decide who stays in the company, Kamenashi you can either resign or I can terminate your services. For the record, you won’t be getting any references from me.”

There was a defiant tilt of Kame’s chin, as anger and indignance flared in his eyes.

“What makes you think I’ll accept your conditions? Love isn’t a business transaction.” He spat out the words as he pushed back his chair, the legs of the chair scrapping against the marble floor. The man looked at him, as though studying him with interest before he returned his attention to the folder in front of him, clearly dismissing him to the back of his mind.

“I plan to transfer Jin to Taiwan, I’ve got plans for him to take over the branch there. Maybe you’re right, love isn’t a business transaction but maybe Jin doesn’t think the same way.” Kame had already knew what it was leading to, but still he felt sucker punched, blindsided by that sick feeling in his gut and he could feel the man’s searching eyes on him, anticipating a reaction. He could feel his heart skidding out of control, and he managed a weak feeble smile. This was the MD’s last terrifying attempt to get to him, and Kame knew he had succeeded. He had taken his insecurity and contradictory feelings about Jin, amplified them until all Kame could hear was the warring voices inside his mind. And he needed to get out of here, needed to leave because more than anything, he wanted to believe, he wanted to cling that sliver of faith he had placed in Jin.

~*~

Kame was leaning against the railing, eyes hooded and seemingly indifferent to all the bustle and pedestrians walking past him. The autumn chill seeped into him and the light streaked over the solemn grey of the sky. So he had come to Tokyo, hopeful and ambitious at the prospect of working for a big company, a fresh graduate and he could still remember the joy and jubilation etched on the lines of his mother’s face as she tucked an amulet into his shirt pocket, sending him off. And years later, he hadn’t had anything to show for it, except for a broken heart and a job he lost because he had allowed himself to fall for the intoxicating lie that was love. He had let himself hope and he should have known hope placed in all the wrong people was eventually going to fuck him up. He figured that out a long time ago, except that in the arms of Jin, he found a most unlikely sanctuary. A place where he didn’t need to always armor himself and censor what he really wanted to say. He could be nasty, he could be difficult and he could always count on Jin to toss back the insults or to rip away the defenses. With Jin, it was hard and yet at the same time incredibly easy. Because Jin didn’t seem to look at Kame with preconceived perceptions, he didn’t look at him with expectations; he simply wrung Kame out of his shell by forcefully tugging and playfully teasing.

And right now, he wanted to go back, to detour back in time where he was standing outside the kombini and in Jin’s arms, watching the world go by in drab grey, where the only color in front of him was Jin. Now that he had a taste of what hope felt like, he wanted to keep believing in it. He lifted his head a scant inch and looked at the endless sky that loomed over Tokyo. Without Jin, Tokyo was merely an empty city, full of meaningless faces and there, he grappled with his own breath as he came to the realization that what he had found in Tokyo was a lot more precious than those ambitions he had harbored.

~*~

Jin looked at Hazuki and she was so pretty, so non-threatening. It made perfect sense to settle down with her but why was he finding the idea so abhorrent? Somehow in seeking out Kame, he had found the truth within him, he had always treated the world like his sandbox, with a certain flippancy and that was his attitude towards relationships too. He liked them, liked all of them when they were acquiescing and sweet and pliant in his arms, but none of them agitated him like Kame did. None of them unsettled him, provoked him and inspired the tenderness and protectiveness he didn’t know he had within him. And maybe he already knew who he was going to choose when the routes diverged in front of him. Who said choices got any easier when you got older? They were all the same, requiring the sacrifice and the giving up of one, because when you forego one person for the other, you were trading the happiness for the pain of the other. And it all came to who he was more unwilling to hurt, who he wanted to hold in his arms when the person was crying. Kame made him feel like he wanted to ward away the loneliness for him; he made him want to strive to be a better person and now he just had to deliver the news to Hazuki.

He could feel Hazuki’s uncertainty as she stood there, a perplexed look on her face as the silence stretched into awkward tension. He finally reached across for Hazuki’s manicured hands, just curving his fingers around her hand and he marveled at how soft her hands were compared to Kame’s.

“Hazuki, I can’t be with you….” His own voice sounded weak and gritty, barely audible to himself.

“Why? I….did I do something wrong?” He watched Hazuki flounder, the tears welling in her eyes as she looked imploringly at Jin. And he realized she was not hiding her vulnerability, giving him all of her naked emotions and he hated this. Hated that he was hurting Hazuki, and still part of him wanted to be where Kame was, comforting him and reassuring him and draining the fear out of him. It was as though some part of Kame had been embedded in him, had gotten under his skin and he was now attuned to how Kame would react in various situations. If Hazuki was crying now, so was Kame, except that those tears would fall unnoticed.

“Hazuki, there is nothing wrong with you. Maybe the problem lies with me all along. I never knew what I wanted, I settle for all the wrong things when those are the very things I should be fighting for.” His thumb grazed a path along her cheek and he felt humbled and unqualified because he had never felt the depth of emotions Hazuki felt for him. He had loved her like someone would love a pretty ornament; he had given her all the empty promises because of who she was, and not what she meant.

“Hazuki I think I finally found something I want to protect. Someone whom I want to hold in my arms and be that much more responsible for.” He watched the comprehension dawn in Hazuki’s eyes and he felt her hand squeezing his.

“You really found that someone?”

And Jin finally allowed himself to smile, as he thought of Kame, stubborn, strong-headed and an absolute annoyance on the worst of days.

“Yeah, I did.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he closed his arms around Hazuki who tucked her head inside the crook of his shoulder, his body absorbing the shuddering quakes of the sobs as she cried for her illusions and dreams. Her tears wetted the front of his shirt and he could feel her fingers fisting his shirt, almost as though the anger just shimmered below the surface.

When she finally released him, her eyes were red and her make-up was blotchy. This was the first time Jin had seen Hazuki like this because normally, she was nothing short of perfection and yet he thought this was her at her most endearing, devoid of all the baggage, something he hadn’t seen because he never allowed himself to look beyond the surface.

She straightened Jin’s collar and she tilted her head upwards, regaining her composure.

“I don’t suppose a managerial position in Taiwan will stop you?” A smile curved her lips even as she bravely suppressed a sniffle. Jin caught a strand of her wayward curl and rubbed the soft silken texture between his fingers.

“No.”

She retracted back her hand, the smile reminiscent of a fond farewell.

“Jin, I’m glad you found that person. I’m just sad it wasn’t me. Go and find him.” She said, her voice finally breaking on the last of her words as she turned her back to him. And Jin allowed himself the briefest of hesitation before he turned the knob and walked out, heading in the direction that led away from his comfort zone, the route that deviated from everything familiar and all he had known. And he knew he was making the right choice.

~*~

Kame sat on the bench, as the midday sun peeked from above the foliage. He curled his fingers around the cell in his pocket. No phone call from Jin, nothing and he felt like a certain part of him relinquished the hope with every second. He wished he had remembered Jin’s face, contorted with pleasure, as he was above him. He wished he remembered the infinite tenderness in those eyes that made his breath ragged and unsteady. And he wished he had stored those memories somewhere where they were safe, unmarred by how it had spiraled near the end. Finally he stood up, the gravel crunching beneath his soles. And he couldn’t bring himself to walk away because that would mean his surrender, his defeat, his giving up of Jin. Nonetheless he took one step forward, and after the initial pain, it became easier. So much easier to walk back into his previous self, and throw those silly emotions away. Much easier to ignore the emptiness as he braved his own pain, taking long hard strides.

Suddenly he felt a weight slamming into him from behind, and he felt like he was on the cusp, dangling from the precipice because he knew who it was. The abrupt force had him shutting his eyes tight, as he was jolted forward and kept on his feet by the anchor of those arms around his midriff. He could feel the warm breath ruffling his hair at his nape and he could feel some curious stares on them before the pedestrians averted their gaze at this blatant display of intimacy. He simply stood there, his back ramrod straight as his eyes searched for something to focus on, anything to coral his tears and keep them from falling. His heart was in such a turmoil that he didn’t know whether it was relief, happiness or anger. Probably anger at Jin having taken so long, at putting him through the torturous wait and endless self-questioning and a twinge of happiness.

“You sure took your own sweet time.” Kame finally said, and the moment the words came out, he hated how spiteful he sounded, how eager he was to hurt Jin back. How could he say something that was so contrary to how he was feeling? He felt shame, and the tears fell of their own volition. He lowered his head, wrapping his fingers over the laced hands at his midriff. He had prepared himself to mourn for his own loss, and yet Jin proved him wrong. Again. And he wondered what he was more upset at, his own inability to trust or Jin for exceeding his expectations.

Finally Jin turned him around, so that there was no buffer for him to hide behind. Jin looked like a blur behind the veil of tears and he rubbed the tears away with the calloused pad of his thumb, with something akin to regret in those eyes.

“I look like shit.” Kame muttered, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose. It amazed him that Jin whom he always saw as self-centered would choose him, would want to reach inside and pull him out of the jaded shell when he no longer had the strength to reach out anymore. No doubt, Jin was taking a risk too but he didn’t sense anything except his complete utter surrender as he cupped Kame’s head in his hands.

“Yeah you do look like shit.” He heard Jin and his own laughter got lost in the overwhelming relief and cadence of sobs because he was so glad to have all their verbal volley back. Because that was how they had started, from two complete strangers, from emotionless limbo to where they were now, Jin’s smell and his touch a promise just within his grasp.

“Jin….” He fumbled for the right words before those words were overridden by Jin.

“Wait Kazuya, I just want to let you know, that when it came down to making a choice, it was surprisingly easy.” And in Jin’s eyes, there was a complex intensity, different from what he had seen before, more reserved, more subdued. He didn’t know how to unravel that expression and he decided he didn’t want to. He liked Jin like this, a distance away and yet unbearably close.

“What did you want to say?” He felt Jin’s finger on his lobe, just idly caressing, he doubted Jin was doing it consciously. So this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of all that unnerving attention. He could feel Jin’s hand stroking down his back, loose flitting touches like he was undecided where to land, before he finally spread his fingers over the low of his back.

“I think…..I want to go for a date.” He watched the confusion bloom on Jin’s face before he caught a glint of mischief in those eyes.

“I guess secret illicit romps in the offices don’t count huh?”

Kame turned away from Jin, swinging his briefcase in his hand.

“No Jin, they don’t!” He tossed the words back at Jin and he could hear Jin’s laughter. A gorgeous clear carefree sound. He could feel the rush of air against his skin as Jin caught up and fell into step with him. And he didn’t feel the slightest of uneasiness or pretensions when Jin took his hand and for the first time, he felt like he didn’t need to reconcile his initial impression of Jin as a competitor with the person who was so important to him now. Because they were all the same.

FIN

Three Kisses

Sat, 22 Mar 2008 17:31:34 GMT

Title : Three Kisses
Pairing : Akame
Genre : One-shot. Angst, longing and all that jazz.
Rating : R
Summary : Kame and Jin long for each other in the silence of the night, and Jin finally did something about it.
A/N : Pls to excuse if it isn't written as well as some of my previous because it's written on a sudden whim and therefore the corny title that sounds like it belongs to some chick flick. Comments appreciated, been some time since I last wrote Akame.

Three Kisses

Under the cover of the night, Kamenashi gripped his hand around his throbbing hardness and in his mind, he envisioned Jin looming over him, those long graceful fingers fisting him, violating him, branding him. He tilted his head back, digging his heels into the mattress, seeking traction as his hand moved with escalating speed. But more than that, more than that completion and bliss afterwards, he wanted a kiss. A kiss to remind him how they were once, how easy it had all fallen into place with a simple tilt of the head or a wordless gesture, and how easily it had fallen apart with a single misunderstanding. The silence had stretched between them, even as their hands brushed against each other as they reached for the same hair gel in the dressing room, even as their eyes met over the space of the studio during the tapings of Cartoon KAT-TUN, the scalding intimacy hitting him like a giant volley of incomprehensible emotions. Totally unprofessional which was so unlike him, and he tried to tow his mind back to Koizumi, tried to harness his mind with binds and cuffs except that he could see that absurd longing in the vortex of Jin’s eyes. It was beseechingly clear as Jin steepled his fingers at his chin, his fingertips just grazing over the pout of his lower lip. Kame wondered if Jin knew how disarming that gesture was to his resolve; that across the space of the room, across the laughter and mindless chatter of the other four, he longed for just one taste. Just one taste to last him the rest of his life, even as they remained forever tangled and separated like strands of different colored threads, all caught up and meshed in each other. One taste and he would be contented to play the role of the indifferent observer all his life, contented to have Koizumi who was caring, who was understanding, who was safe. And he would never overstep his boundaries once more, never venture out for something that never was his.

But in his dreams, in the dead silence of the night where the voices inside him were too loud to ignore, he could imagine. He could recreate reality with the clarity of his memory, piecing together the past and rearranging the future. And every night, he wrestled with his insane need, his hand slowly circling his cock and fingers buried to the hilt. In his mind, it wasn’t Koizumi or any of the anonymous bed partners he had over the last few years. It was Jin, with his broad shoulders and arms shuddering beneath his own weight, braced above him, pounding him into submission and into confronting his own truth. And in his hands, everything heightened into a sticky viscous friction as his nails bit into his thighs, the sweet pain giving him away to the warm fervent frenzy. After the elusive love song faded, after he could no longer summon any energy to imagine the glinting flash of the keening sounds Jin made, he would pull the covers around himself, huddling in the warmth, trying to think of Koizumi. Trying to think of her acceptance and the warmth of her embrace except that the last thought on his mind was that he would rather be sliced apart, dissected, and nailed immobile all by the very same person.

~*~

He looked like a nymph, a soft delicate sylph cloaked in black and fur trimmings. He was glad for the coat that draped around him, because he was aroused and Kame was doing everything to get out of his way. He sidled close to Koki, and he could hear the soft whispers as Koki turned to look at him with an indulgent smile and adjusted Kame’s hat. And it was odd how Kame was all vivacious and sultry charm today, almost as though he was reveling in this costume, with those kohl-lined eyes and his ghoulish pale skin the perfect backdrop. But there was also the hum of nervous energy, and it was like a static field, drawing the unconscious attention of everyone present. And when Kame stood in front of the camera listening rapt to the directions, he realized how Kame cradled the microphone stand between his open thighs, how every inch of his slouched frame looked incandescent beneath the lights and there was a minute slip of tongue as he nodded in response. His mouth was glistening wet with the lip gloss, small and softly perfect. He wanted to slam him against the wall, make his lips part in a gasp of surprise and rob him of his breath. He wanted to mesh his lips against him with rough abandon, hands capturing the base of his head and making Kame submit to his plundering mouth. He wanted to smear all that fake embellishments, the black eyeliner and shiny lip gloss over his face, as his lips demanded and sought. He wanted to dismantle Kame, break him apart like a porcelain doll and make those sharp jagged pieces belong to him. Him and his entirely.

At the back of his mind, he wondered what sounds Kame would make. Protests that would be swallowed by his frantic stolen kisses as Kame pushed those hands against his shoulder? Or those dark low-throated murmurs of pleasure that begged for more? And he would rather be lost in Kame than face the emptiness and futility that awaited him in those fantasies at night where the only delicious press of flesh against his cock was his own hand.

~*~

Jin listened to the blaring music blasting in his ears from the headphones. Another recommendation from Ryo, which explained the angry lyrics and hard guitar riffs and pounding bass. The dressing room was empty, the other four having long left, each with plans of their own. Jin didn’t have any plan of his own, except perhaps to get his advances and peace offering rebuffed again. It couldn't be any worse, at least it wouldn’t be captured on tape this time. He just needed to hone in on the truth that eluded him for all these years, when Kame started lingering on those phone calls between sets, when Kame gradually had a life that didn’t include him. He was reduced to an outsider on the fringe, watching all the plans and dreams take shape with another person in his place. And now he deliberately sat on Kame’s seat, because he was tired of this play-acting and he wondered whether Kame was too. The Kame he knew wasn’t all cold precision and professionalism, he didn’t know when but Kame started to treat him with courtesy reserved for people he didn’t know well. And today, all the affability Kame had exuded didn’t extend to him, because he was, at his best, indifferent towards his presence.

The door finally clicked open and Kame appeared, devoid of all those pretenses and stage theatrics. His face was scrubbed raw, unadorned and pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. And Jin’s immediate overwhelming realization was that he wanted to fuck Kame to within an inch of his life. He watched the alarm and wariness wax and wane in Kame's eyes, his fingers winding into the clothes he held in his hands. The lines on his face betrayed a sorrow that couldn’t quite hide the surprise in those eyes, as the sensual lips were pulled into a weighty frown. He wanted to erase the traces of worry from Kame’s face, the burdens of adulthood and fame that Kame heaped onto himself. He finally stood up and the chair skittered backwards. He thought he saw Kame flinch at the sound. And the distant between them was a diagonal, too far to be bridged by a single breath and too close to be relegated to yet another flippant want. He crossed the room in five strides and he gripped the clothes in Kame’s hands, snatching them from his deathlike grip, tossing them onto the floor carelessly.

And Kame just stood there, his eyes tremulous and Jin could smell him, clean and underneath it, a hint of musky male arousal. It was as though he was waiting, just beneath the calm of the surface, waiting for Jin to make the second bumbling move of the day, before his lips curved into yet another condescending smile. But this time, Jin wasn’t going to let him have the chance to sidestep his advances, or to give him the cut-direct. He simply clenched the lapels of Kame's denim jacket, fisting the material in his hands and forced his tongue between his lips. The extent of his own brutality and roughness shocked him, even as he backed Kame into the wall and he ground his hardness into him. There was a deceiving lull of silence from Kame, as though he was a mannequin giving in to Jin’s sudden whims, before he felt hands grappling with the buttons on his shirt, tugging and jerking. Those lips were real, uncompromising strength and hardness on his mouth and tight in his hair. And right at this moment, the world could go away for all Jin cared, all the walls and rules and the past, except for this kiss he salvaged from the ruins of their relationship. And when Kame tugged his hair back, his leg hooking around Jin’s waist with amazing dexterity, he saw those ponderous suspicious eyes surveying him with caution. He simply leaned forward, grazing his lips against Kame’s bruised ones and he watched in amusement as Kame blinked in rapid succession. He lingered at the fullness of his bottom lip, drawing it in between his teeth, as he pressed his thumb against Kame’s chin, making him subjugate to his tenderness.

And when he drew back from Kame, he saw Kame lick the folds of his lips, his tongue darting out to wet them.

“You seriously don’t think a kiss is just going to undo everything between us, do you?” He could hear the harsh neediness in Kame’s voice and that was all the permission he needed.

“That was two. And no, that was just the prelude because we aren’t stopping at two.” He seized Kame’s lips again and he could hear the soft hum of pleasure as Kame undulated against him, all the tension ebbing out of him. Three kisses, one unbridgeable chasm and one final distance. And all routes led to his eventual destination.

Trigger

Sat, 22 Mar 2008 03:32:40 GMT

Title : Trigger Chapter 5
Pairing : RyoUchi
Rating : PG-15
Genre : Crime, angst
Summary: Nishikido Ryo was a disillusioned investigator in the Tokyo Major Crimes Division, filled with self-hatred and regret for not being able to save his sister. Uchi Hiroki was a journalist looking for a scoop. A macabre crime by a killer with a personal vengeance soon brings the two together.
A/N : So once again, I'm back to macabre crime and sick humor after writing too much angst. :\ Oh well, comments are much needed because lol the amount of things I have to read through for criminology & all that stuff is far outweighing the fun. So comment away.

Chapter 5

The room was small, the sharp irregular corners all too jarring under the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The paint was peeling off the whitewashed walls, and the fine spiderweb cracks spread over the surface like a creeping vine. Ryo liked it. It reminded him of his office and the cramped space always worked in his favor when he was questioning a witness. He studied Uchi Hiroki sitting in front of him, sleeves rolled up and collar unbuttoned. He looked sleepy but unperturbed.

“So the letters came and you saw the envelope?”

There was a flicker of fatigue and frustration across Uchi’s face but he simply reiterated his statement with numb patience.

“The readers’ mail comes every Tuesday. I don’t see anything different. I signed for it and when I looked through the mail, the bulky envelope caught my attention.”

There was no trace of inflection in his level voice, as though his voice would betray some of his struggle to be nonchalant. Underneath those dark lashes and pretty eyes, the lines of his face were tense and drawn. He wondered how much more he needed to push before he broke him. How long he needed to drag this out before the anger flared in Uchi’s eyes and he gave up his pretenses. The thought of Uchi being angry and losing control caused liquid heat to surge through his body, and the idea was more arousing than disturbing. Maybe Ryo didn’t have any conscience or moral preconceptions to be shocked or disturbed anymore, not after day in day out of seeing the atrocities men do to each other. He had long gone numb from seeing the ingenious ways men killed each other, the cold calculation behind the crimes of passion and part of him was amazed he could still feel lust, courtesy of Uchi Hiroki who looked like a choirboy in his white shirt and black pants. He had tried to use sex as an accomplice, as a friendly diversion to make him forget the demons he saw in the light of the day, except that his mind drifted when he was just short of completion. It careened through the sharp sharp bliss to the empty rooms of acrid sweet smell and blood-splattered red. And there was nothing he could do to harness his mind, because it went wherever it wanted to, at all the wrong times. And he had long thought that the Tokyo Crime Division should include erectile dysfunction as one of the occupational hazards of being a cop, because God knows how many of those in the major crimes division were suffering from it.

Of course, it was an inside joke muttered only in the confines of the locker rooms, where the cops themselves got world-weary and took off their badges and holsters, trying to prepare themselves to make the transition from vigilant combative cops to people ready to return to the mundane normalcy of the world outside. And being suckers for punishment, they kept coming back for more, poring through the grainy polaroids and trying to understand evil itself. And just when he thought he had closure, just when he thought he had thrown Kobayashi into lifelong imprisonment for good, bits and pieces were coming back to haunt him in the form of video tapes. And frankly, he had gotten so tired at this long drawn-out chase that he wasn’t even sure whether the person sitting in front was him was a friend or an enemy.

“Was the envelope addressed to you?” He could hear Uchi Hiroko’s long deliberate drawn-out breath before he spoke.

“Detective, the office has our letters separated before they reached our desk. So no, the letter was not addressed to me, but I presumed it was mine. I looked through it and then I called the police.”

Only the lazy swirling of the fan overhead disturbed the long silence that followed, after Uchi sat back in his chair, with his arms crossed on his chest and his eyes stubbornly evasive. There was something incredibly boyish about him, even though Ryo recognized those eyes as his own, eyes that were too perceptive, eyes that had long seen too much and known too much for him to choose ignorance. Every inch of that long lanky body was held stiff and taut, except the bare feet peeking out beneath the hem of his black pants. It curled into the foot of Ryo’s chair, his stretched legs bridging the distance between them, and there was something erotic about that bare pale skin and scrawny toes and unexpected vulnerability. Then Ryo decided to go in for the kill.

“So how long was the tape? Watched the whole thing before you remembered your civil responsibility didn’t you? Thought about the opportunity this meant for you before you even decided to play the part of a cooperative citizen and reached for that bloody phone?”

His voice was a soft croon and he felt as though he had gleaned something hard and shiny and real when he saw Uchi straighten up, leaning forward and lips parted.

“You just get off on this don’t you?” Uchi looked like an unholy beauteous mess, rising up from the pyre and fire of his anger and indignation.

“Maybe I do. Mighty few things I can get off on these days.” He watched the gleam in Uchi’s eyes, wondered what he was thinking before he felt one bare foot rubbing against his trousers like a kitten in heat, insistent and impossible to ignore. And when their eyes met, there was a smug victorious look in Uchi’s eyes, belying the fragility of that terse brittle smile. Ask me to stop. And since Ryo wasn’t the kind to ever concede defeat or relinquish control, he wrapped his fingers around Uchi’s bare foot, bringing it onto his lap. The intake of breath between Uchi’s lips sounded obscenely loud to his ears. He had a rough day, he had his sleep interrupted and Uchi had given him nothing but more questions, more dead ends for him to work through as a copycat killer was at work, or worse, Michiko’s real murderer who had eluded him because he had been so desperate to convict someone, anyone back then.

And he wasn’t sure when, but somehow the panic in Uchi’s eyes had changed into a warped kind of pity. He didn’t withdraw the foot Ryo was cradling in his hand, just skooted the chair closer and he was all pale skin, wide innocent eyes and soft curves, and the cool touch of his skin grazing against the cotton of his trousers was enough to shoot Ryo’s adrenalin high. And when Uchi closed the distance between them, Ryo thought he was going to place his lips on his. Only when his cheek brushed his did he realize Uchi was standing up, his back bent, mouth near his ear.

“Glad to be of service, Detective. Call me if you need to ask any more questions.” He felt the roughened voice of Uchi like the silken flick of a tongue at his ear, and he raised his head to look at Uchi as he slid a name card into his shirt pocket, an indulging smile on his face, all the previous anger forgotten. And before he straightened up fully, he ghosted those fingers over Ryo’s cheek like an afterthought, like an uncontrived thing of habit.

And for the first time, he wondered who he had unraveled in the questioning process, Uchi Hiroki or himself.

~*~

In the perpetual darkness of his office, Ryo pressed the play button on his remote and the video started whirring. The grainy images lit up the room and he could hear the shuffling of feet. The room was stripped of its identity, and there was a woman in the corner, wires corrugated around her ankles and wrists and the blood a dried rivulet along her thighs. And in the back of his mind, he realized this didn’t fit Kobayashi’s M.O, because Kobayashi slit his victims in the throat after the initial rush of power and sexual gratification, but his victims had died quick. The woman on her knees, in the darkened corner of the room, Ryo suspected her death could be torturous and slow in coming. Suddenly the film swerved and it rested on the front page of the papers. To be exact, yesterday’s papers which meant that either the woman wasn’t dead yet or the Tokyo Crimes Division now had another fresh murder on their hands. And there was no avoiding the press conference now, where the accusations would be flung at the Tokyo Crimes division and their negligence, where everyone would be alarmed and afraid because evil was once again walking in their midst.

~*~

Uchi Hiroki’s fingers danced across the keys of his laptop, and he should be working on his column tomorrow. Instead he found himself drawn to a more interesting subject, namely Nishikido Ryo. He unsettled him on so many levels that Uchi didn’t know how to explain it or where to start. It was as though the man had exchanged his safety of mind for a glimpse into the world of those serial killers he was obsessed with catching, and Uchi had to wonder whether it was worth the compromise. To witness so much evil that you knew nothing would protect you and keep you safe if it truly wanted to find you. Maybe the idea of self-sacrifice and nobility were so foreign to Uchi that he didn’t know whether Nishikido was just one poor obsessed man worthy of his pity or someone so hell-bent on annihilating evil that he was worthy of admiration. Outside, flickers of lightning dashed across the sky and the rain started, soft and gentle, tapping out a gentle lullaby. Then he heard the faint chime of the doorbell, drowned out by the pattering of the raindrops.

When he opened the door and saw the person crowding the doorway, he wasn’t surprised. He simply leaned against the door frame with a languorous ease and he allowed himself to smile this time.

“More questions Detective?”

Nishikido, with his hair and coat slightly drenched, simply stood at the threshold. He had the name card Uchi had given to him this morning in his hand, and he flipped it over, revealing Uchi’s handwritten address on the underside.

“You didn’t write your address here for me to conduct another questioning session, did you?” He looked at him from beneath his wet fringe, lashes spiked with moisture and he resembled a traveler who was seeking shelter from all the rain and havoc outside. And being the opportunist he was, Uchi Hiroki found it impossible to refuse anyone who had come to his doorstep looking for a much-needed respite from their personal demons.

“Actually, no. I already had all the questioning I needed this morning.”

“Good, then this is a booty call.”

From Where You Are

Mon, 10 Mar 2008 15:19:53 GMT

Title : From where you are [2/2]
Pairing : Ryo x Kame
Genre : One-shot. Fluff masquerading as angst.
Rating : PG
Summary : Friendship between RyoKame morphing into something else
A/N : Continuation to part 1. Written based on a prompt given by kamexkame as part of her birthday fic. The prompt she gave me are the lyrics from Mel C's song "Never Be The Same again". So enjoy because this should probably conclude the crazy roll my muse has been on recently :P And most of all, Ana Happy Birthday! ♥

Chapter 2

It occurred to Kame that they hadn’t spoken in hours, just spent their afternoon here watching the light shift across the water and the sun dipping below the lake. He could smell autumn in the air, moist rain and desiccated leaves. And he had been staring at the trees and the birds soaring overhead, trying to formulate the right words to breach that unspoken topic. The fact that they were so attuned to each other and yet so dislocated when it came to this, only served to murk up the waters of their relationship further.

“What’re you thinking?” He heard Ryo’s sleep-laced voice, as Ryo rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes and then turned to look at him. And he felt this warm hum coursing through him, unsettling him and he was made more aware of Ryo’s bare legs lying inches away from his, the exposed tanned skin below the hem of his shirt, all that smooth skin stretched over muscles.

“Ryo?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you love Marie?” Without consciously making the decision, somehow he had opened the door, just the slightest of crack to allow the light to spill in. Because he was tired of being in the room beside Ryo, hearing his thoughts through the buffer of the wall. Because he was tired of seeing Ryo as a cleverly fashioned illusion, the distance blurring his silhouette. He wanted to hear the strong throb of his heart against his, to know that in this world of delusions and half-truths, at least this was real. Those numerous times when he felt that Tokyo was too big, too bustling and his apartment too sparse and empty when Ryo wasn’t there. Sometimes he thought about the 250 miles separating Osaka and Tokyo when Ryo went back to his hometown, and the fact that his feelings for Ryo resembled a one-way trip that didn't come with a return ticket.

And now that he started, he couldn’t hide these words inside the deep-dark anymore. The distance was gone and the way Ryo looked with his inscrutable face made him want to take them all back and push them to the dustiest, furthest corner of his head.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I like her but love? I – have you been in love before?” Ryo turned sideways to look at Kame, taking his bottle of beer and tipping the rest of the contents down his throat.

“Yeah.” Kame said, his whisper taken away by the gentle breeze and he could see Ryo’s glance dart to him. Surprised that he didn’t know about this, probably disappointed that he hadn’t shared it with him. And it was none of the reactions Kame wanted.

“Who was it? Noriko? Or….someone I didn’t know?” He heard Ryo’s strangely subdued voice and Kame could feel the pain inside him becoming a thin taut line, slicing into him and the bloom of anger followed like the viscous red of blood.

“None of them Ryo. It isn’t any of them.” He said, pushing himself up from the grassy slope as he headed for their cabin. He should have felt a sense of elated freedom, that finally he had some semblance of an answer. Ryo never knew, and now he could exorcise the flicker of hope far away from his mind. This was the closure to five years of silent longing, five years of sitting across the person who never knew he loved him. Five years that finally made him realize that distance had nothing to do with the physical, but the fact that their thoughts go in two different directions and would never collide.

Suddenly he felt Ryo’s hand wrapping around his wrist and holding on fast. He finally stopped in his tracks, his back to Ryo.

“Wait, what’s wrong Kame?” Ryo entreated softly, and the grip on his wrist loosened, his thumb gently circling over his racing pulse. He could feel a knot gather at the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to see behind the tears in his eyes.

Finally he spun around, the look of concern on Ryo’s face unwinding him further.

“Ryo you’re always so wrapped up in your own world. I’ve been waiting outside for years, for you to notice and let me in, but you never do. And the stupidest part is that I still can’t stop myself from looking sideways at you, still can’t stop myself from missing you. Whether you’re here with me or whether you’re not.” Kame said, his harsh intake of breath punctuating his words before he looked right at Ryo, a trickle of tear breaking free and falling from his downcast lashes.

“And you just have to bring me to bumfuck nowhere where I’m stuck with you for the next two days don’t you!”

Kame yelled the last sentence simply for the pleasure of watching the color drain out of Ryo’s face, still reveling in the staggering buzz of his anger. He then turned in the opposite direction of the cabin, snapping the twigs beneath his soled feet, hating himself for the confession that had turned out more like an accusation directed at Ryo. He knew it wasn’t Ryo’s fault, he had done such a good job at camouflaging his feelings and yet he had expected Ryo to somehow pick up on them. He picked up a pebble and threw it at the lake, watching it skid across the surface. The sky was getting dark and he knew if he didn’t return soon, Ryo would start to worry and he trudged wearily back.

When he opened the cabin door, he could smell the aroma of food and even though his stomach groaned in protest, he headed upstairs for his bedroom. He was tired of coveting Ryo from afar, tired of the fact that every waking thought and dream during these past few weeks had been about him. No doubt he would recover and their friendship would be back to the gray safety of neutrality as it once was. But not tonight. Tonight he just wanted to mourn the death of his adolescent crush, the crush he had held and cherished so closely to his heart. He stripped off his clothes in fast, crisp movements until he was in his boxers. Even now he could feel the anxiety tingling in his body, his mind reeling with it, and the sick sick feeling in his gut. Finally he gave up all his pretenses and admitted that he was afraid. Afraid of seeing rejection etched onto Ryo’s face, afraid of the two days that stretched ahead of them as they were boxed up here in such awkward circumstances.

He climbed into bed and it wasn’t long before he heard the sound of bare feet whispering against the carpeted floor and he threw the cover over his head, tucking his head into the crook of his arm. He felt another weight settling onto the side of the bed and the cautious glide of Ryo’s fingertips over the covers.

“You planning on hiding under that sheet for the next two days?” There it was. The amused, unaffected voice that goaded Kame’s anger into rearing its head once again.

“Maybe. And it’s called avant garde stupid.” Kame snapped in return, pulling the covers tighter around him.

“Kame….” The two syllables hung embodied in the air and Kame couldn’t help but feel as though he had broken free from the spell Ryo was capable of weaving around him, and now he was slowly being reeled in again. Because Ryo always had the ability to render him floored and helpless with a single glance. He could disarm his carefully prepared weaponry of words with a single expression and Kame hated how he had willingly and unquestioningly given up that control to him just like that.

Just when he was engrossed in his thoughts, Ryo had tugged down one side of the covers and snuck in, his fully-clothed body radiating delicious heat against Kame’s bare skin. And Kame had to fight to control his breathing as the close proximity made it so much harder to ignore Ryo’s presence. They just lay there, both of them under the covers, not touching, their low harsh intakes of breath and the hissing sound of the heater filling the vacuum of the room. Then he felt Ryo’s hand resting on his back, and he almost startled at the sudden feel of those cold fingers spanning the narrow of his waist. It just rested there, unmoving, the imprint of his palm and fingertips all pressed and etched onto his skin and the dim sexual charge of the situation was not lost on Kame.

“Go away Ryo.” He whispered and he could almost feel the slow rise and fall of Ryo’s breathing behind him with just mere inches separating them.

“Not going to.” Ryo’s hand began to draw slow circles on his back, steady like a metronome and warm fission welled up inside him. Still, he couldn’t resist kicking Ryo in the shin and he heard a curse behind him. He turned his head slightly back, and all the annoyance he saw in those eyes paled in comparison to the longing that was there. Those eyes locked onto his, intent and insistent and it scared him to be the single recipient of all that focused single-mindedness. He felt like he was being taken apart, dissected and gutted from the inside out, and now laid open for perusal. He blinked back at Ryo and he saw a smile, so reminiscent of the first smile he saw from him. Then Ryo kissed him at his nape, with his fingers fluttering at his tailbone, just above the hem of his boxers. Kame bit down on his lip, as Ryo kissed him along the notches of his spine, unashamedly exploratory as though he was learning his shape and his body for the first time. It was bluntness and unabashed sensualism, it was Ryo and he was powerless to resist.

Ryo’s fingers curled, just slightly into the hem of his boxers and he flinched in surprise. But he didn’t go further; instead he locked his arms around his waist, the front of his body molding to his back, the rough material of his jeans chafing the back of Kame’s thighs.

“I’m not easy, I know. And I don’t believe in a lot of things, even how I feel sometimes, but I believe in you.” His voice lowered to a whisper and it was like a match flicked on sandpaper, igniting all the desperate yearning. Kame turned his head sideways, almost nuzzling Ryo’s face with his own. And he could feel the rough stubble on Ryo’s face, even the fluttering blink of his eyelashes. He wished he could commit every strange nuance to his memory, wished that years later he could remember this as the one defining moment in their relationship. Ryo’s body engulfing his own comforted Kame on a level so basic that he finally relaxed his weight into the crook of Ryo’s arms and closed his eyes.

“And wherever you want to take us, I’ll go.” He heard Ryo’s voice, so measured, so afraid.

He couldn’t stop the smile from twitching his lips before it was overtaken by a yawn.

“You’ll regret this tomorrow.” Kame mumbled even as he curled his toes into Ryo’s legs, and wriggled into his warmth.

“Yeah, maybe it’s just the alcohol talking.” He heard Ryo’s voice, so distant and faraway and he heard his own reply, in the form of a derisive snort. And Kame finally gave in to the lure of sweet oblivion, because he knew that with this, they had finally landed safe and unscathed on the other side where everything was unlike whatever he had imagined. And where everything still remained the same.

Silence all These Years

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 12:19:51 GMT

Title : Silence all These Years (3/?)
Pairing : RyoUchi
Genre : Drama, angst, a little of everything
Rating : PG-13
Summary : The journey through Ryo and Uchi's growing up years that traced the growth of their relationship.
A/N : This fic has been on hold for ages. I'm not sure whether I would keep updating, I guess all depends on my mood. So if u want to read this, please start from the beginning. For ironicdawn, who has really been a faithful reader with her encouraging comments. And blufox_o7 who has been asking me to continue this fic. Thank u both. ^___^

Chapter 3

Ryo was deep in sleep when he heard the soft padding of feet across the floor. He instinctively knew who it was, and he opened his eyes to see the warm glow of the oil lamp painting the darkness in his room a gossamer orange. In the silvery moonlit shadows, he saw Uchi standing there, holding the oil lamp in his hand, the paleness of his knitted coat in stark contrast to the night. In the quiet hush of the night, Uchi didn’t look real, he looked like a vision that had walked out of Ryo’s slumber, ethereal and untouchable.

He felt a small tug on his sleeve and Uchi’s weight settling down on the side of his bed. He knew if waka-sama knew this, no doubt Uchi would be subjected to another harsh scolding and he would be punished. As the years passed, Uchi’s health hadn’t improved. It was as though they had exhausted all the methods possible, and Uchi himself had somewhat given up on the idea of freedom, of one day soaring beyond these walls. And because he was kept confined in these walls, away from the bustle and chaos of the outside world, Uchi had retained the one thing that could be afforded him - his simplicity and innocence.

“Ryo, let’s go and see the hatsuhinode.” Ryo angled himself up from his bed and he could see the arch of Uchi’s collarbones, the indent in the middle, heartbreakingly evident above the opened collar of his shirt. He looked impossibly beautiful with his features illuminated by the dim light, and there were so many times Ryo wanted to tell him that that his over-reliance and his dependency on him was a burden. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not in the face of Uchi’s utter lack of defenses. And during these times, he would feel crushed beneath the weight of the immense trust Uchi had given to him, and it was during these times, when he thought he could stay here in the mansion forever, contented with the shadows and ancient whispers for company, if it meant he could accompany Uchi on those long sleepless nights.

“I can’t go. Tomorrow I’ve to wake up early to help Keio with the preparation of the dishes.”

Uchi lowered his head, a barely perceptible movement of his head and the wind rattled the trees outside his open window.

“I see.” Just two words, two words that seemed to embody all his disappointment, all the bitterness at the unfair hand life had dealt him, two words to signify all the dreams and normal mundane things in life he had forsaken because of his poor health. His calm, unquestioning acceptance hurt more than the tantrums and the theatrics Ryo had gotten used to. It was so unlike Uchi that Ryo felt the instant pang of guilt like a searing pain and he reached out, curling his fingers around Uchi’s hand.

“Wait, where do you want to see the sunrise from?” In his hand, he felt Uchi’s fingers surrendering to his hold and he could hear the slight wheezing of Uchi’s breath, too soft and yet too audible to his ears.

“I think….I want to see the sunrise from the hill near our house.” He heard Uchi’s uncertain voice, as though he was afraid to be too hopeful and he looked back at him, unfathomable thoughts in those wide searching eyes that resembled a battered child's.

“Okay Uchi. I’ll go but it’s a secret between us okay?”

Upon hearing his reply, Uchi smiled back, a beam that lit up the pale pallor of his face. Ryo’s hold on his hand didn’t falter, and he felt Uchi squeeze back before he went back to his room for a change of clothes. When Ryo was alone, he looked outside the window to the vast grounds of the estate and he knew that while Uchi didn’t know, there had been no question about it on his part. He couldn’t refuse Uchi or the faint yearning inside his heart, because there was no one else whom he would rather share the first sunrise of the year with.

~*~

A twinge of concern flitted across Ryo’s features as he looked behind him. Uchi was trudging along, supporting his weight on the branch Ryo had picked up for him. To his credit, Uchi hadn’t voiced a single word of complaint; he just followed behind Ryo, occasionally stopping for a break. Ryo had a twig in one of his hands, using it to part the field of wheat that seemed to stretch before them. The slope was not steep, except the higher altitude made it harder to breathe and for a moment Ryo thought of giving up the idea. But he caught Uchi darting an inconspicuous glance in his direction before he took longer strides, trying to catch up and he knew he wanted to be the person to fulfill Uchi’s insubstantial wish. He wanted to cradle that little hope in his hands, nurture it and one day, be able to convince Uchi that he was capable of anything. But for now, he had to be contented with this pretense of normalcy, as he ignored the staggering breath behind him, punctuated with the occasional dry cough.

Finally without looking back, Ryo extended his hand out, palm open and fingers curled. And there was no hesitation between this moment and the next, when Ryo found himself holding onto Uchi’s hand, with Uchi’s weight tugging him downwards and slowing his pace. For a moment, Ryo was blindsided by the force of emotion coursing through him, as he finally recognized his feelings for what they were. Uchi might be a burden, but he was his very own that he had no desire of relinquishing ever.

Finally they reached the highest point of the hill where the ascent had gentled into an even field. Beside him, Uchi had leaned down, his palms resting on his thighs and in awe of the backdrop of dusky purple that loomed, large and uncompromising, before them. He felt the surge of protectiveness inside him and he simply reached across and rested his hand on the small of Uchi’s back, fingers splayed and feeling the quiver of Uchi’s body beneath his touch. His hand stroked the column of his back gently, with nothing but silence and awakening dawn between them. And he felt those long-dormant feelings inside him flare to life as Uchi straightened up and turned to him with a smile on his face.

Uchi was like the subject, cast in the perfect portrait of dawn and ebbing night as the dense overhanging shadows in the sky was chased away by the emerging sun. Then Uchi’s hand found his, clutching tight as though Ryo was the one anchoring him. And Ryo thought how mistaken Uchi was, because Ryo had placed all of his faith, all of his reason and prayers onto those frail shoulders, right down to the last breath. And the two of them stood in almost reverent silence as they shared their first sunrise, with their figures silhouetted in the burgeoning light and the land around them gradually coming to life.

And Ryo still remembered the last thing he said, as he glanced sideways just in time to catch the expression on Uchi’s face. The fragile crescent of lashes resting against his cheek and a contented look on Uchi’s face as he inhaled the morning air.

“I’m glad I did this.” Ryo said. For a moment, Uchi looked at him with a strangely detached curiosity, as though he comprehended the meaning beneath the mere words being spoken. It was as though while Ryo was still preoccupied with protecting his young master, Uchi had ducked under his arms and run recklessly ahead, and now he had already reached the cusp on adulthood without Ryo’s help or knowledge.

“Me too, Ryo. Me too.” He heard Uchi’s voice and that knowing look in those eyes was replaced by a benign smile. And when the sun rays blanketed across the field ahead of them, they walked home, hand in hand, leaving their secret in that sanctuary where time had come to a standstill for the both of them.

Hatsuhinode - The first sunrise of the new year, a custom observed by the Japanese who believed it to be meaningful.

And since this song is my inspiration for this fic,