[Fic] Deep Inside
Summary: AU Naoto finds Naoki fascinating.
Characters: Naoto, Naoki, Hiro
Rating: T
A/N + Disclaimer: I tried. If the flow isn't very good, it's because I'm trying to approach this from a less-ordered point of view. Everything is haphazard. The other AU Under Watch features a psychopathic Naoki, so I thought I'll try writing a Naoto with anti-personality disorder. I'm not well-versed in personality disorders, so this serves as a disclaimer that everything is fiction.
When Naoto first lays his eyes on him, he is nearly bowled over by a gripping force which sends a deafening tidal wave rushing to his head, sweeping him down under. His surroundings fade, tunnelling towards the source. In the muted silence, he can hear the familiar ba-dump ba-dump in his chest, amplified a thousand times.
It is exhilarating. Bizarre even.
Every time his gaze finds Naoki's form, Naoto's mind immediately stands still, recording the image and dissecting it piece by piece. His dark hair - how the light falls onto the long strands - still as black as midnight. His tall, lean build, lines etched in muscle. A fine work of art, no, a masterpiece. Michelangelo’s David.
Naoto wonders how it feels to slide a knife slowly into him. Maybe it will cut through like butter, smooth and precise. He imagines a crimson flow of nectar and ambrosia, like sweet wine upon his lips. The essence of life for his taking.
Once, when they are alone, he brings up these topics to Naoki, expecting him to turn away from him with scorn and fear. Like those boring humans surrounding him. Tetsuya and Kenchi tolerate him with a degree of wariness. Shokichi is a precious cinnamon roll who suspects nothing. Nesmith does not care. Keiji, well, they share similar tastes in fashion, and that’s about it.
Naoto braces himself. Instead, he is momentarily thrown off guard.
“Naoto-san, thank you for finding me fascinating.”
Is that gratitude? How sickening, is Naoto’s first thought. But in a split second, he realises that Naoki knows.
Naoki knows and he has not repelled from him. Naoki knows and he's still smiling that nauseatingly sweet half-smile.
Smart boy. So proud of him.
Naoto wants to bite on his lips and taste his blood to see if it's as sweet as he imagines. Maybe he will like the taste.
Afterwards, Naoto finds it easier to engage him in deep discussions. Naoki is so, so different. He looks unassuming. He is an enigma. Naoto wants to dissect him, peel him layer by layer, scoop out his brain and his heart and preserve them in separate jars of formaldehyde, and maybe he would know exactly what Naoki is made up of.
Naoto can see the firm conviction in Naoki’s steely gaze, cutting through him like the prisms, painting him, dividing him into colours. He wants to break that faith, rip it to shreds, and rebuild it piece by piece. His thousand-piece jigsaw.
He knows that Naoki indulges him, because Naoki is such a saint. A saint he wants to corrupt, to leave him bare before his assessing gaze. He sees Naoki’s faults clearly - all his imperfections excite him - and loves him still. He doesn’t want perfection. Perfection is so mundane, so boring.
He knows that Naoki loves him, not in the same way he loves Naoki, but it is still a special kind of love. Naoto loves with a selfish intensity. He wants to devour Naoki, to inhale all of him, to literally suck out his soul.
He wants to kiss him.
He wants to mark him.
He wants to debauch him.
He wants. And more.
Naoto will kill for Naoki. Only Naoki. Anyone who badmouths Naoki will suffer. And Hiro knows.
Hiro sees everything. Hiro knows everything. Naoto respects Hiro, because Hiro is god, in all literal sense of the word. But Hiro is not Naoki. Naoki is different - Naoki is his fallen angel, Naoki is his.
Naoto knows why Hiro pairs them together. He is most pleased; Hiro's train of thought has his stamp of approval dipped in blood. He cannot be grateful - he knows the term, but he does not understand what it means, what it entails - but he can appreciate Hiro’s decisions. Because Hiro gave him Naoki, presented to him on a silver platter. Make that gold. Or even platinum.
“Don’t harm him.” Beneath the stoic, authorative surface, Hiro’s message is clear. “Naoki is important.”
Yes, he is important, isn't he? Without him, there may be no Exile, there may be no Sandaime J Soul Brothers. Without him, Naoto's life will feel incomplete, the tsunami of adrenaline fading away just as suddenly as it comes.
I won't hurt him, Hiro-san, but I must correct you.
Naoki is mine. I will take him away if I must.
Characters: Naoto, Naoki, Hiro
Rating: T
A/N + Disclaimer: I tried. If the flow isn't very good, it's because I'm trying to approach this from a less-ordered point of view. Everything is haphazard. The other AU Under Watch features a psychopathic Naoki, so I thought I'll try writing a Naoto with anti-personality disorder. I'm not well-versed in personality disorders, so this serves as a disclaimer that everything is fiction.
When Naoto first lays his eyes on him, he is nearly bowled over by a gripping force which sends a deafening tidal wave rushing to his head, sweeping him down under. His surroundings fade, tunnelling towards the source. In the muted silence, he can hear the familiar ba-dump ba-dump in his chest, amplified a thousand times.
It is exhilarating. Bizarre even.
Every time his gaze finds Naoki's form, Naoto's mind immediately stands still, recording the image and dissecting it piece by piece. His dark hair - how the light falls onto the long strands - still as black as midnight. His tall, lean build, lines etched in muscle. A fine work of art, no, a masterpiece. Michelangelo’s David.
Naoto wonders how it feels to slide a knife slowly into him. Maybe it will cut through like butter, smooth and precise. He imagines a crimson flow of nectar and ambrosia, like sweet wine upon his lips. The essence of life for his taking.
Once, when they are alone, he brings up these topics to Naoki, expecting him to turn away from him with scorn and fear. Like those boring humans surrounding him. Tetsuya and Kenchi tolerate him with a degree of wariness. Shokichi is a precious cinnamon roll who suspects nothing. Nesmith does not care. Keiji, well, they share similar tastes in fashion, and that’s about it.
Naoto braces himself. Instead, he is momentarily thrown off guard.
“Naoto-san, thank you for finding me fascinating.”
Is that gratitude? How sickening, is Naoto’s first thought. But in a split second, he realises that Naoki knows.
Naoki knows and he has not repelled from him. Naoki knows and he's still smiling that nauseatingly sweet half-smile.
Smart boy. So proud of him.
Naoto wants to bite on his lips and taste his blood to see if it's as sweet as he imagines. Maybe he will like the taste.
Afterwards, Naoto finds it easier to engage him in deep discussions. Naoki is so, so different. He looks unassuming. He is an enigma. Naoto wants to dissect him, peel him layer by layer, scoop out his brain and his heart and preserve them in separate jars of formaldehyde, and maybe he would know exactly what Naoki is made up of.
Naoto can see the firm conviction in Naoki’s steely gaze, cutting through him like the prisms, painting him, dividing him into colours. He wants to break that faith, rip it to shreds, and rebuild it piece by piece. His thousand-piece jigsaw.
He knows that Naoki indulges him, because Naoki is such a saint. A saint he wants to corrupt, to leave him bare before his assessing gaze. He sees Naoki’s faults clearly - all his imperfections excite him - and loves him still. He doesn’t want perfection. Perfection is so mundane, so boring.
He knows that Naoki loves him, not in the same way he loves Naoki, but it is still a special kind of love. Naoto loves with a selfish intensity. He wants to devour Naoki, to inhale all of him, to literally suck out his soul.
He wants to kiss him.
He wants to mark him.
He wants to debauch him.
He wants. And more.
Naoto will kill for Naoki. Only Naoki. Anyone who badmouths Naoki will suffer. And Hiro knows.
Hiro sees everything. Hiro knows everything. Naoto respects Hiro, because Hiro is god, in all literal sense of the word. But Hiro is not Naoki. Naoki is different - Naoki is his fallen angel, Naoki is his.
Naoto knows why Hiro pairs them together. He is most pleased; Hiro's train of thought has his stamp of approval dipped in blood. He cannot be grateful - he knows the term, but he does not understand what it means, what it entails - but he can appreciate Hiro’s decisions. Because Hiro gave him Naoki, presented to him on a silver platter. Make that gold. Or even platinum.
“Don’t harm him.” Beneath the stoic, authorative surface, Hiro’s message is clear. “Naoki is important.”
Yes, he is important, isn't he? Without him, there may be no Exile, there may be no Sandaime J Soul Brothers. Without him, Naoto's life will feel incomplete, the tsunami of adrenaline fading away just as suddenly as it comes.
I won't hurt him, Hiro-san, but I must correct you.
Naoki is mine. I will take him away if I must.