Hi! I'm new!
...but not new to D.N.Angel. X3 I'm Marina! I was really into it when I was 11 years old [that was like... 7 years ago. O_O] and it had not been translated yet, so I had to read all the old translations, like from Offramp! I lost interest in anime/manga two years ago, but guess what brought me back. :3
My favorite character [not only in D.N.Angel but in anime/manga PERIOD] is Krad. :D I really don't know what sets him apart from the other manga-psychos that aren't my favorite. But recently since my new obsession, I've cast a new light of appreciation on Satoshi.
Okay, I do have a fic. I promise.
Good Evening, Gentlemen
Fandom: D.N.Angel, AU-ish
Pairings: Dark/Krad, Krad/Satoshi, Dark/Daisuke, Satoshi/Daisuke, et.al.
Rated: NC-17; sex, graphic violence, drug use, general surreality and weirdness
Summary: Night after night, a party for each. A different hat, a different tie, different sets of laughter, new faces, new drinks, colorful lights--electric, eyes, hands, clothes, diamonds, pearls, teeth, breasts--
Every experience, a blur; blues and whites and yellows and greens run together to form brown and then black and then bleach white, a blank memory.
You'd think it gets old.
But it doesn't.
Author's Notes: So Taylor and I were just shooting the shit about how D.N.Angel fanfiction is extremely redundant and fucking boring--everything that can possibly be done, has indeed been done. While she set to writing about Krad raping babies to break the habit, I hummed and hawed and cried and cussed niggas out because I wanted to write a D.N.Angel story so fucking bad and I couldn't think of a topic. And, well, you know. I just can't write something that's been done a million times. That night I went to sleep a sad, frustrated, pissed off writer.
And then I had a dream. A very surreal, non-linear, strange, fucked up dream.
This is the result.
One: Strangers
Every night, a different suit. Every night, a different tie. Every night, a different brand of wine or a new cocktail. Every night, a different girl--sometimes the same, but in better lipstick; I collect the colors around my cock. Every night, new scratches, burns, bruises and cuts.
Every night, new party.
"What's the difference between new," Krad asks absently as he pushes aside hanger by hanger, suit by suit, shirt by shirt. The metal hooks scratch out his soft, elegant, lightly accented lull for their own selfish fixtures.
"And different?"
Nylon by nylon, silk by silk, rayon by rayon, acryllic by acryllic. We stand in Satoshi's closet, both only in our shirts, ties and socks. My clothes are laid out on a chair out in the kid's room, but I'm looking to see if there's something Krad has that I might like. The walk-in-closet is smaller than it needs to be; hangers drift between wire and plastic, tangling with each other and twisting the should-be-neatly-pressed clothes. I'm surprised with Satoshi, but he hasn't been home lately and his house is in more disarray than I would expect. I have to yank the shit off of the iron bar that holds the wardrobe and it's the kind of thing that makes me really frustrated and hot, flushes my cheeks unnecessarily.
"Shit," I say, the metal resonating. The hanger is bent. I take the shirt off and throw the hanger outside. It nearly catches onto Krad's hair. "What kind of question is that? New means you haven't seen anyone else wear it, Krad. Because it's new." I try on the shirt over the shirt I'm already wearing, and mutter the rest with an irritated frown. "Different means nobody else would wear it."
"That's not true," he says softly, with a laugh. I move a bit; the backs of our thighs slide against each other and I look down. His shirt is long, white, barely covering his ass. His tie is a shiny, cerulean blue. "Different means that you haven't seen anyone else wear it."
I sigh. "New also means you haven't seen anyone else wear it, because they haven't had the opportunity to, because it's--"
"New." Krad smiled, genuinely.
"I swear to God," I fume. "Didn't you wear that tie last time?"
"No, I did not." Already, he's getting defensive.
"Yes you did." I turn him around, yanking him by his tie. "It looked just like this."
"You're thinking about--" he reached up to the wooden hanger that he and Satoshi kept all of their ties--"this one."
"What the fuck. It's the exact same tie."
"No, it is not; look."
The one in his hands is a single shade lighter than the one around his neck.
"Okay, Krad." I leave the closet, taking off the shirt and letting it fall on the floor. I grab my pants and start putting on my suit. The boys have been in Satoshi's room, talking beside the bed, looking like either teenage sweethearts or best girlfriends. I chuckle at the two of them, still in their street clothes.
"You two decided what you're going to do tonight? Do I need to order a pizza? Go out and rent some movies?" I wink. "Hey, Dai, I'll even get some porn for you. The dirty illegal shit, where they actually show the guy's cock? I know a place. Don't worry, I won't tell your mom."
Daisuke, of course, turns red. "We're fine, thank you, Dark." Satoshi laughs at him.
"Where are you two headed?" Satoshi, while glad to have Daisuke in his company, doesn't really seem too thrilled for some reason. Hm.
"A party."
"What kind of party?"
"A party, party."
"Don't worry, Satoshi-sama," Krad says in the closet, pulling up his stark white pants and buckling them. He slid his belt into the loops. "When you're eighteen, I'll take you."
"I wasn't talking to you," Satoshi snaps, the ugliest, snottiest look on his face, as though an uninterested girl had just told off a classmate of lesser standing.
"Nee, Satoshi-sama," I hear him whine through the snap of his buckle, and he turns around, taking his white jacket off the wooden hanger. "Don't be like that."
"I'm still not talking to you. Anyway, be safe."
Krad finishes dressing, and we both put on our coats.
"Boys," I say, because it's the custom for party nights--which is every night. "How do we look?"
We pose next to each other; my violet suit, red shirt and black tie contrasting with Krad's frigid, solid white suit and shirt, and icy blue tie. I grab my fedora hat, holding it in my left hand.
Daisuke holds a frame up with his two index fingers and thumbs, closing his right eye as Satoshi hums pensively in the background. "Perfect."
"Krad," Satoshi says neutrally, "Move your tie a bit to the right. It's crooked."
"Like this?" Krad says. He doesn't show it, but I know that he's delighted that Satoshi is speaking to him.
"No, you're making it worse. Let me do it." Satoshi stands up and goes to Krad to fix his tie for him. Krad can't help but smile.
"I thought we weren't speaking, Satoshi-sama," he whispers. Satoshi grabs a silk hankerchief of the same blue that Krad's tie is, folds it, and tucks it eloquently into the pocket on the right.
"Not speaking to you," he mutters under his breath, "doesn't mean I can allow you to go out looking retarded. Change your earrings."
"Oh," Krad says suddenly, embarrassed that he'd forgotten that the studs in his ears were bright orange. I roll my eyes. "Look at you," I tease. "I thought you were the master of style. Here a sixteen year old is telling you how to wear a suit."
"I forgot," Krad droned. "It was an accident."
"I should accidentally slap you."
"Dark," he says through gritted teeth, pressing through a smile, "I have had about enough of your shit tonight. Now, threaten to hit me again, and I should accidentally forget that I don't want to slit Daisuke's throat."
The room went silent. "God, I was just fucking kidding," I say. Satoshi glared at Krad before turning his head and walking away, but not before Krad snatched him back and forced a kiss.
Satoshi wrenched away from him and hit him hard across the face with his palm. Krad winced, but he looked satisfied.
"Thank you, Krad," I say, seriously. "For that chilling reminder that you are, in fact, fucking crazy."
He gives me his trademark grin, a would-be cliche if he weren'tthe owner. "Will you let it ruin the night?"
"No, not at all." I lean down to give the boys a kiss on the head, each, and then feign a stern voice. "You boys, stay out of trouble now."
"Don't worry, Dark," Daisuke replies loyally. That corny child.
Krad dips his head to do the same. "Got to keep up with the illusion," he comments with a smirk. He pecks an uncomfortable Daisuke on the head, and lingers on Satoshi, who moves away, trying to twist his head out of reach. But Krad succeeds, planting a huge wet kiss on his head, accompanied by an "Mmmmmmm--mwah!" I hear his lips smack and watch humorously as Satoshi wipes his face, like a child.
"Shall we?" Krad looks at me with those crazy eyes, blue cyclones and cold needles on their targets. He holds out his arm for me to take.
"Let's."
--
Things aren't as sweet the moment we leave the apartment. From then on, it's a complete war between the senses; a race between alcohol, fingers and sunlight. A competition between Dark and I.
Life is a game, as I say. The rules are, that there are no rules, so it doesn't matter exactly what you do to win--it's how hard you do it.
Or perhaps I'm a liar. It does matter what you do to win, because each time I have emerged the victor, respects have been paid to my being--what did Towa-chan call it--morally challenged? And it never takes much effort for me to be myself. I've had some pretty impressive victories. Satoshi is often surprised.
I could not tell you the competition for tonight. That would break the rules. Truth be told, it's really because I don't know what it is. Then again, neither does Dark. That's why telling you would break the rules--because there aren't any, and if I knew, then that would set some kind of boundary and overall negate and break the only rule:
That there are no rules.
But I do set my sights on winning, as I do every night.
The fun thing about this game, I think, is that no matter what, Dark and I are usually both the winners.
We leave Satoshi's apartment, and he puts his fedora hat on as we walk down the street, arm in arm. I'm sure it looks very cute to the humans.
"Do you know who all is going to be there?"
"Towa-chan, for sure," Dark says. I watch his lips move; soft, dark things that make me want to betray myself and make love to them. He turns to look at me. "You should buy a hat, Krad."
"A hat?" I finger my long bangs. The cross tied to my hair swings side to side, occasionally knocking the back of Dark's knee. "Why? I don't believe I look very well in hats..."
"Well," he said, "your cross is driving me insane. You've got to do something with all that hair."
"Are you suggesting that I pile it into my hat, so that it can just be sweaty and dirty when I enter a building and take it off?"
"We can figure something out."
"Absolutely not."
Dark can do some pretty entertaining things when he's drunk. Regardless of the state I'm in when we stumble back to our boys in the morning, I feel like a winner: Dark has some interesting ways of putting a smile on my face.
--
I can do some pretty entertaining things when I'm drunk, but Krad can do some pretty fucked up shit when he's high, too. I don't know what's with the Hikaris and their history of self-hate and self-hurt, but Krad... well, in all honesty, Krad makes me not want to intervene.
He tends to make me out to be that drunk asshole who always ends up making a fool of himself. You know, the prick that all your friends have filmed for endless hours on their video cameras? The one that sticks his head into a strippers crotch and doesn't feel it when she shoves her fist into his nose, or the one grabs a married wife's ass and falls asleep when her husband beats the shit out of him?
Nah. I ain't that kind of guy. I got more class than that. Probably not as much class as Krad has, though, for whenever he does something--no matter how despicable and how disgusting--he does it with impeccable style. Hell, he could rape an infant child and still pull it off gracefully.
Besides, making myself look like an idiot doesn't win the game for me.
I'll tell you my secret: surprise. By far, a better weapon than Krad's weak "shock" card. I think it's been done before. Still, every now and then, the psycho tends to surprise even me.
The club Towa invited us to is called "Coco's," a ritzy joint downtown that's bathed in warm lights--orange, red and yellow. The doors are revolving--I haven't seen those type in awhile--and mirrored, so that one can't see the inside. They spin as two guests leave, spouting drunken fits of laughter, and I see a sweet, plush red couch in its reflection. I'm not sure why but my groin longs to sit in it, to stretch out on it hedonisically or a couch exactly like it. Perhaps get a lapdance on it. Maybe sink into the lush interior while the girl rides me. Perhaps have Krad join us in a threesome; the girl on my cock while he bites my neck with those sharp teeth of his and I slip my hands between his thighs to toy with him.
I wish I had made myself a drink before I left.
Two: Hell Above Water
"Good evening, gentleman," the nice, elderly usher says. Usually Krad and I play a mini-game, where we rate the hotness of the bellboy. Or bellman in this case.
"Good evening, sir," we reply in near-unison, politely and posh-like, before giving each other "gross!" looks as the man looks down to refer to his guest list. He looks up and we become gentlemen again, instantly.
"Party?"
"Towa," I say.
"Ah. Towa, our regular." He grinned, knowingly. Guess he knows that Miss Towa is a fucking drunk. "You two are the last to be joining her this evening. I'm guessing you're..." he squinted at the list.
"Dark and Krad," I finish for him. I look around the dark night club. There are many couches like the empty one on display up front, mostly occupied by women in red and stone-faced men as the nightwalkers of their desire perform some mating ritual around them with little clothes on. I swear, those men don't make any sense. I don't understand how a male of any species can just sit there while a woman spreads her legs all over him. Beats the hell out of me.
I want my own couch, dammit.
"This way, please."
--
The main room of the club reeks of expensive incense and lubricant, but it suits Dark more. The atmosphere is smokier, steamer, much more sultry--dark, but there are lamps and bulbs with high wattage in very carefully selected parts of the rooms, illuminating it just enough so that the person in front of you is a person and not a silhouette.
But Towa's party room is my realm. The walls are bleach white, the couches are elongated and red velvet--just like the ones outside. High contrast, expensive furniture, priceless wine--from my favorite French winery, no doubt--and well-dressed others. There are a couple of girls that Towa probably borrowed from the night club--they are all in red, and they all look the same. I would guess that they are mostly for Dark's entertainment. He can be so boring sometimes.
So far, Towa is the only one I really know, but there are other familiar faces. Plenty of personalities in the historical art world, from paintings uglier than the one which Dark and I were bred. I feel myself, proud. As I said, though, they are not too unfortunate looking.
I do not care much for Towa, and she knows this. She looks too much like me. However, she continues to invite me because her guests like me, and I continue to come because I am polite. Fact of the matter is, that I'd really like to snap her fucking neck. She's too cute. Too peppy. Too happy. She reminds me of the Twins, and I shudder with annoyance in memory. I nod to her, as she jumps up to kiss Dark on the cheek, her white mink trailing behind her. She squealed his name girlishly when we arrived, and her squeaky voice still rings in my ears. She heartwarmingly smiles at me, takes my hand in hers and welcomes me anyway.
"Krad," she says, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek, rather hesitantly, as though she is afraid I would bite her face off.
Well, she does have reason to believe I would do such a thing.
"So good of you to come. After last time we met, I was afraid that you didn't like me!"
"What would have given you that idea," I say, returning the kiss on the opposite cheek. Perhaps the fact that I called her a drunken whore at her last engagement? Certainly not.
"Oh, I don't know; a silly vibe. Shows how much I know!" She exploded into an obnoxiously sound fit of laughter, throwing her head back. I joined her, mockingly. Dark stifled a laugh.
My attention turns to the wine on ice. I pull it free and examine it to make sure that it is what I think it is.
"Ah," I say, satisfied. Towa has succeeded in bringing a smile to my face. What a surprise. "Alsace wine."
"I hear it's your favorite," she sings happily, perhaps too eager to learn that she's pleased me. Hm. "May I pour you a glass?"
--
Towa. What a fucking lush.
There were already plenty of people here to start with, lounging about with glasses of hard liquor in their hands. I enviously eye the brown liquid swishing around in the genuine crystal held by one man's hand, and while Towa serves Krad--don't mind if I do, thank you.
All the booze and mirroring flutes, shot glasses, et cetera stay on one main "bar," a circular table made of white marble, Krad's favorite material--I watch as he paws it while Towa talks his ears off, his glass of blood-colored Pinot swirling in one hand and his other smoothing the surface in circles, nodding slowly as he ignores Towa. I make myself a drink--scotch, stealing two cubes of ice from the wine, and flop down onto the couch next to the man whose glass I was eyeing beforehand.
"Less lively than I expected for a Towa-induced party," I say, fidgeting in my seat. I knock the drink back in one motion, setting it down loudly on the small table nearby.
"Well, it's still quite early," the man says. I turn to look at him and begin to say something, but completely forget when I see that the man is faceless.
--
Pinot is good, but vodka is even better. I know she has some, but the bottles are unmarked and I can't tell the difference between vodka and Everclear by just looking.
Shit.
Towa moves to the center of the room and urges everyone to grab a drink from the bar.
"Everyone's here!" She looks as though she's about to drop her wine all over the floor. She has only had but a couple of sips from the glass she poured just a few seconds ago; however, I imagine she's been drinking since she got here. Oh--too late. There goes the rest of her Pinot.
"Okay, um," she hics and giggles a bit. "Hi!"
The room of fifteen or so chuckles at first and says, "Ossu!," raising their glasses to her.
I imagine she doesn't have much to say. I really do not blame her. Parties are usually meaningless, save for the purpose of getting drunk, high or laid. Or all three.
If either of us can achieve all three, I would say that whichever does, wins.
"Well, I invited you all here for a reason," she finally says, for lack of better introduction.
"So... go fucking crazy!" She ends that statement with the most sinister, puke-inducing witch laugh I have heard in my hundreds of years. And to my horror, everyone joins her. Glasses clink together, and an uproar of laughter comes out of nowhere. Music injects the whole place with some kind of adrenaline that shocks the party into life. This is perhaps the most abrupt beginning to a party I've ever seen, but I really couldn't care less. I am much more worried about getting shit faced before Dark does, because unless I'm drunk, socializing gets incredibly boring. I lose pieces of my personality as I drink--whilst, in fitting contrast, Dark gains his--which is good, because then people leave me be.
Vodka or Everclear.
The taste testing begins.
--
A couple of shots later, I'm completely comfortable with the fact that I am talking to a man without a face--funny, because I swear to God he had one before I took that shot of... what was it? Rum? Fuck it.
I let him lead me back to the bar and he makes me a drink. I look at Towa, and she seems to be losing her lovelier qualities. Either that or it's the drink. I watched earlier as she mixed brandy and whiskey into her Pinot, and absent-mindedly throw in a couple of dashes of Tabasco sauce as she swooned over... another... faceless dude. Ew. She's getting louder than ever now. I never noticed how big her mouth is until it just gaped open as she speaks to the man in the black silk suit, as if she were advertising its many uses.
Krad seems to be conversing well with a female across the ways, his arm draped on the back of the couch, nearly around her shoulders. Her legs are gorgeous. Her hair is fire-engine red, her skirt matches its color and is hiked up to her thighs as she holds her purse in her lap. Of course, no face. Again. But Krad, no matter how hot a woman is, would never just speak to a girl unless she had some kind of interesting quality about her. And I really don't mean the whole "brains" and "ability to carry on a decent conversation about business and politics" shit.
Yep, ah-hah--seconds after my thought process, she snaps open her purse to descreetly reveal a tiny baggie, filled with--well, what I'm guessing is China White. Brown sugar. Dirt. H.
I'm a little uh... I'm a little uneasy about the idea and the sight makes me nervous, but Krad is a big boy. I, on the other hand, prefer something less dangerous. I'll keep my hard liquor, thank you. Perhaps a bit of coke now and then. Okay, a little more than now and then. In fact, God help me if someone has any here.
My friend--whose name is Akio, by the way--catches me staring at the two. I watch as the Krad samples the shit: right off the bitch's finger. Hot damn.
"Your friend," Akio says, "Is speaking to Miss Harumi. The best businesswoman in the district."
"I'll fucking say," I blurt out, looking back at her.
"She cuts the best deals and sells the most dope on the drug market."
"Shit," I say, lewdly out of breath as Krad asks for another sample and fucking... deepthroats her finger. I think she's laughing, but I can't see anything except for her hair vibrating. "Is that all she sells?"
Akio laughs. "Any chance," I say, taking a sip of the cocktail he made me. "Mm. Nice. Any chance she might have some coke?"
"I sell the coke in this district, Dark," he nearly interrupts me, with a negative tone projected at Harumi. "That's one side of the market Harumi has promised to leave me."
"Well, then," I say, turning my back full circle on Krad and Harumi. "I guess you're the man I'm doing business with."
--
Harumi is pretty, but I couldn't fuck her. She's immaculate and so am I, so neither of us would gain anything from it.
It's definately vodka, I think to myself as I finish the drink. I winced the first couple of times, but now it's losing its touch. It's definately a different brand than I normally drink, though. A higher proof.
Her facial features seem to be fleeting. I keep blinking away bits and pieces of her--first her nose, then her eyes, and then every last freckle until her lips remain, which is quite fine. I'm happy to receive a sample of perhaps the finest heroin I've had since I began my new life, but I came to quite a sad realization.
"How silly of me," I say softly. "I seem to have forgotten my kit at home."
"That's unfortunate," she says, a hint of tragedy in her voice; albeit, tragedy that can be remedied. "I would offer you mine, but I really wasn't expecting to sell, let alone do any of it myself tonight. But there's no reason to disrupt the night," she then offers, with a smile.
"What do you suggest?"
"Come," she says, standing. "Perhaps my friend Akio has some spare equipment."
--
"Taste it."
It's interesting how Akio just opens a large bag of what he says is cocaine in the middle of a fifteen-or-so-person party, dips a knife into it, and how I just taste it without anybody even glancing in our direction. The Red Girls have been eyeing me for sometime--and I them; they're the only ones that have faces here--but everyone else seems to be deep into their own worlds. The drinks are going fast; nobody's touched the Everclear yet, though. I do hear more drunken laughter, more slurred speech and I am seeing more hands on thighs and more fingers on bare shoulders.
The drug packs a punch. I want to pinch my nose and stick my tongue out; I do the latter, but not the former for reasons of not wanting to look like an idiot. It burns in the back of my throat and my eyes water. I squint them shut.
"Goddamn," I say, dramatically, shaking my head rapidly and fluttering my eyes. "Phew!"
"Good stuff?"
"Totally. Gimme another one, man."
--
"Akio?" Harumi had an... interesting walk. Dark had no problem eyeing her up and down, like a side of beef hanging from the ceiling. Very tactless.
"You wouldn't happen to have any... oh!" She took immediate attention to the tap-tap-tap sound of the straight-razor against the lovely marble, possibly forgetting the question she was about to ask. "May I?"
How polite. She gestures with such delicacy and intent to the coke. I really do not care for women, but I am quite impressed by her. If only Dark could keep his dick in his pants. I can see the fibers of his trousers straining to keep together, already. My God, how embarrassing. I decide to do him a favor.
"Harumi," I gesture to her, using her similar hand movements. "Dark, the phantom thief."
Dark sticks his hand out as if he's meeting another man, a technique that he learned turns women on. Makes them feel as if they are on his level, as a dominant male being. One hand is in his other pocket, attempting to hide his obvious thoughts.
"Of course!" She says, taking his hand, squeezing it firmly in the typical business womens' grip.
"Ow," he says, snatching his hand back and shaking it. He winks at her. "You've got quite a handshake." I roll my eyes and am tempted to walk off. I can't stand to hear Dark's ages-old pick up lines.
Furthermore, I can't stand it when it actually works on someone like Harumi. She laughs, genuinely flattered.
Minus ten.
--
As a response to Miss Harumi's question, Akio gestured back. "Help yourself. I didn't bring it here for selfish reasons, actually."
"Sorry, but I called the first line." Dark steps up with a sleek piece of hollow metal--I think he had ruined one of Daisuke's pens to use it for these occasions--and snorts the line.
Now, I should let it be known. Dark does not like seeing me inject heroin into my veins, and I do not like seeing Dark snort a crystalline substance that rips and tears the blood vessels as it shoots up into his sinuses. I'd like to say that we're pretty much equal, but I do get entertained by the after effects of Dark's cocaine habits. I know that it can't be good for poor Daisuke, nor can my opiate be good for poor Satoshi, but the Hikaris are fighters. I can't help but allow Dark to ruin himself for the amusement of seeing how it will turn out in his peppy, clusmy, sweet little host. So far, Dark has been responsible, but I hope tonight changes.
I hope tonight changes everything.
Three: Chinese Burn
There's not much else to say about tonight. My limbs are not my own, Towa-chan is sandwiched between two blank-faced men, her fur slipping dangerously close to exposing her breasts. Dark is playing with the Red Girls now, ordering them to pour him more scotch. When there was no more scotch, it was whiskey. When whiskey ran out, he started on my vodka. There's about enough for one shot left and I am quite pissed.
Earlier, when Harumi and I approached Dark and Akio, we each cut oursleves a line and snorted it. I did not particularly care for it. It made my heart race and my blood pump faster than I would have liked. I prefer to have much more control of my bodily functions than this.
I kissed Harumi, though I had trouble finding her face. Her breasts were nice and soft, but she really wasn't what I was after. I left her alone, and when she realized that I wasn't going to fuck her, she excused herself and left for another engagement. Strangely disappointed, I allowed myself to be taken over by one of the plain Red Girls... until she tried to take my jacket off. I swatted her away after that and watched Dark with severe intent as I knocked back my last glass of vodka. His girls are attempting--in vain--to unzip his pants and get his cock out, follow the suit of the other Red Girls and the guests. Dark by now has had so much coke that his movements become angrier, less smooth and with less grace. The girl almost gets it out--his zipper is down, but then he jumps up abruptly, knocking her in the face with his thigh. He's reaching for the vodka.
I think I like him better like that, when he has the capacity to cause some serious pain. Which is what I'm going to do to him if he touches my goddamn vodka. Speaking of which, we haven't started playing the game yet, whatever it is this evening, and it's getting late. Too late. I will not pass out before I win. He untwists the top of the crystal bottle.
I'd really like to get up right now.
--
I don't think I need this fucking vodka but I'm getting it anyways, because Krad can't have it and if Krad can't get anymore shitfaced than he already is that's a really good thing. Sure.
He's looking real pissed at me; think it's 'cause I ignored him for the past hour? He looked bored and I don't see that fine bitch anymore so he must not have been entertained for some time. Oh well. How's it my fault. These two girls' so want me and I'm going back and forth on whether I should fuck them in the ass or just have one blow me while the other fingers herself and I watch because it really is getting la
--
Dark was a mere syllable away from finishing his mental sentence before the bottle of vodka exploded into shards and sixty-percent proof alcohol. The room went quiet for a moment, and Dark stood there, his hand's nicked from the glass and dripping with the clear fluid. He looked back and forth for a moment; from the source of the flying object that had collided with the bottle in his hands, the blonde ice-king taking up the entire velvet couch with his arms outstretched on the back, his legs crossed, back to what was left of the alcohol he had his mind set on finishing. It took a few seconds for him to register that he wouldn't be drinking the vodka. To speed up the process, Krad locked squinty eyes with him.
"Dude. What the fuck. Have you lost your mind, Krad? I was going to drink that!"
"Well. Now, you can't." Krad examined his perfect nails.
"Dammit! What's your fucking problem, huh?"
"That was my vodka."
"Oh, fuck you!" Dark slurred, wrenching the thin bottle of Everclear from the melted ice-bucket. "Look! There's an entire bottle of fucking... ninety-percent proof liquor here! You could have drank it!"
"Well, maybe I just don't like Everclear."
Towa wrenched herself free of the two men, excited. "This will be good," Krad heard her whisper in vain.
"Maybe you're a pussy and you're afraid that you'll die if you have a couple of shots." Dark wrenched the top off of the bottle and filled a shotglass with it, slopping some of the liquor onto the table in the process. He knocked it back without wincing.
"Don't be ridiculous," Krad said, standing in his full suited glory, answering to the call.
"I'll show you ridiculous." Dark struggled out of his jacket and one of the ladies took it and held it for him. The guests began to make an excited commotion, and Akio set a shotglass out for Krad. This time, Krad allowed a girl to take his jacket.
Dark cut another line of coke and snorted it before standing eye level with Krad, toying with his nose and sniffing.
"Oh, this is just so fucking cool," Towa said, half-conscious and being supported by two other men. "I wish I had a camera!"
It would have made a fantastic picture. The two men stood as opposites; Krad in white and Dark in black, in their shirts and ties, like a showdown in a mafia movie. At any moment, it would have been expected that one of them pull a tommy gun from their trousers and start unloading on the other.
Akio poured the two shots. Dark barely even waited for Akio to move before he snatched the glass up and downed it, making a conscious effort to look his opponent in the eye so that he would note his unchanged expression. Krad waited patiently and knocked it back as well, struggling not to let his facial expression give way to what he really thought Everclear tasted like.
He was successful. For the first couple of times. On the fourth shot, his eyelids began to twitch.
Dark was handling it with more fervor, but less grace. He knocked back drink after drink, swaying without the ability to right himself or even realize how drunk he was.
At last, when the bottle was nearly three-fourths empty, Dark grabbed Krad and kissed him, shoving his lips against his teeth, mostly missing Krad's actual lips. In response, the blonde sank his teeth into Dark's bottom lip and shoved him back, nearly tumbling to the ground himself.
"Not finished yet," he said, a thin trail of blood dripping unnaturally from his pale mouth.
Dark didn't really feel the incision, but something about seeing his own blood on Krad's lip made him growl.
--
I heard shattered glass and looked up to see Blondie with the bottom of the bottle in the air and the neck in his mouth. When it was empty, the bottle crashed onto the floor along with his shot glass.
I can't tell you much after that. But I know it involved the Pinot wine bottle, blood, and Krad's smooth chest.
....was it Pinot or blood that I remember?
Who knows--probably both.
--
I can hold my liquor--for the most part. But there is something wrong with endless consumption of pure alcohol. The thought doesn't appeal to me.
At all.
Even when I'm doing it.
The reason why is because when you drink like so, you tend to forget shit. I am really not the type that likes to forget shit, but in this case, I'm slightly grateful.
Because I lost.
--
Krad had turned to put his jacket on when the entire room erupted in excitement the same way it had when he had thrown his glass at Dark and it broke the vodka bottle.
He turned around. What had been the bottle of Pinot exploded into green glass shards and red liquid. Krad looked down.
Some of the red speckles were on his pants.
It would never come out. He looked back up at Dark, furious.
"Prick," was all he could force.
And now Dark was armed with the razor edged, broken neck of the Pinot bottle, and a dangerous look in his eyes. Intent seemed to be the word of the evening, and he did stare at Krad with some intent. Around them the party seemed to go on, without the two's interest or involvement.
Uncharacteristically, Krad stumbled a step back.
"What are you going to do with that, kaitou?" Krad taunted, not completely sure of his own intentions. "Are you going to stab me?"
It hadn't occurred to either that the back of Krad's knees were touching the couch that he had previously been sitting in. Dark essentially had a hostage.
"Simon says," Dark drawled, "'take your tie off.'"
Krad rolled his eyes.
"Krad says, 'fuck you.'"
"Simon says," Dark reinforced himself, louder, taking a few quick steps forward until he was mere inches away from Krad's face. "Take your entire shirt off, Krad, before he completely fucking ruins your suit."
His threat failed to impress Krad. "Simon says, he will stab you."
Instead of complying, he took the tiny bag out of his pocket, untwisted the tie, poured the contents into his mouth and swallowed.
"Krad says," his tongue rolled around his cheeks, sweeping the white residue off his teeth.
"Do it."
--
Some fucking party.
I actually do remember a little bit of what happened. Krad had the nerve to talk shit after he had lost the drinking match. I should have cut his fucking throat. Now we're both tired, sick, piss drunk and covered in blood, stumbling outside of Coco's on our way back to Satoshi's apartment. Well, we split after a ways. I hope Daisuke went home.
"Do it," he said. Well, I certainly did it for him. Had he shut his mouth and just taken his beating, I wouldn't have smashed the rest of the bottle across his face.
I was only going to fuck him. I'm sure he knew that.
--
I doubt that Dark had no original plan to celebrate his victory. He usually just fucks me in front of everyone anyway if he wins. There isn't a whole lot of a difference.
Except I am not in the mood to capitulate without a fight.
I can't say I really felt the wine bottle cut into my face, but I felt the impact, and it was enough to inspire some type of equally brutal retaliation. I want to be creative; I try to think of what I could possibly do to get people to 'ooh' and 'ahh' like Dark's glass bottle trick, but as he closes his eyes to laugh at me, I have no time--I have to think quickly.
So I head butt him in the face, feel his nose crack. It overcompensates for the pieces of glass in my right cheek. Around me, people laugh, and it makes me feel better.
When he recovers, I'm not very surprised to feel Dark's bloody hands close around my neck and actually squeeze--
--
Krad is changing colors. It's a really gorgeous sight. He doesn't fight back now; I know the heroin is working slowly. He gags a bit as I lift him off the ground, the blood vessels in his forehead appearing, the sweat beading on his face. He looks down at me defiantly.
In his eyes, I see Satoshi.
And then I squeeze harder.
--
When I think sweet, sweet Morpheus will wrap his arms around me and coo into my ear, Dark drops me onto the glass table near the couch Harumi and I were sitting on. It shatters as I fall through it. The noise is rude, cacophonous, needle like. It hurts my ears, but that could be because I am actually bleeding from there.
I cough, and when I press my palm into the ground to steady myself, the glass slides into my skin.
"Want to play Simon Says again?" Dark asks lewdly as he unbuckles his pants and slips his hand into them, tossing away the neck bottle.
They don't want us to know, but people are watching. Dark has long forgotten them. I, however, still see their mouths. Open and giggling, Towa's excited laughter and the girls' sighing. The men don't make much noise above murmurs, but it adds to the overrall blanket of monocromatic sound. I want to scratch my ears out.
Without him asking me to, I take my shirt off. Dark smiles, stepping over the frame of the table, which my legs drape over.
As he leans down to kiss me, I lay back, the shards stinging my naked shoulders, crackling against the bone.
--
I think this is the most creative punishment I've ever dealt. I know there are pieces of glass where my knees are about to go, but I'm too excited to really care. I can get by with scraped knees.
It's really Krad who should be worried. I watch as he stretches his arms out, each hand grabbing onto the metal frame on either side of him.
I kiss him, but it's more of a payback for what he did to my lip earlier. In my mouth, I hid a surprise for him--his tongue slides out to lick mine, and it comes away bloody. I hold a small, tear-dropped shard between my teeth, and I nick the center of his bottom lip; watch it drizzle to form a mirroring pool. As this goes on, my hands are at work unbuckling his trousers and pulling them down.
I hear the other guests, but when I look up, I only see particles--perhaps that was a hand, maybe a naked foot; perhaps that was someone's mouth moving, a tongue or a finger--I can't be sure.
So I can't really be sure if they're looking at me as I spit on my hand.
....well, now I know.
Towa is cheering.
--
I can't say that I can truly protest my current situation. The only thing that really bothers me about it is the manner in which it happened.
I wanted to win tonight.
But I love being underneath Dark. It's not a feeling I'll ever get tired of, even in these conditions. Had I won, I would have probably wanted something similar. He tries to be good and attempts to avoid hurting people, but it's in his nature.
We are, after all, one in the same. I think when he fucks me, it draws that side out of him.
And that's why I love it so much.
I tense as his cock pushes into me, straining my back muscles against the glass.
--
It's a beautiful thing to hear Krad suck air in between his teeth as the frigid glass cracks beneath him. It sounds like ice, like when you go outside in the middle of winter and stand still and just listen to faint "clink clink" sound of ice freezing and breaking. I drive him down into it, using his pained breathing as a rhythm to follow.
Never once does he break eye contact with me.
I do.
I envision the glass making vertical, red, dripping lines where the shards cut into him and I come, gripping a handful of the glass myself. I want to keep going, but Krad's breathing slows down.
"It doesn't work like that, Dark Mousy," he says. Fucking bitch.
With my bloody handful of glass, I smack the other side of his face, leaving an even bigger streak of blood.
God help me, I said earlier before I snorted my first line of coke for the evening.
--
"You could have lasted a bit longer," I say as we lean against each other, walking back to our district in the waning city lights, which are about to give way to the morning sun. "I'm a bit disappointed."
"Shut up," he says. "Who won the game?"
I choose not to answer. After all, despite my own thoughts over the night, I am the one with the bloodier face.
"I'm going home," he says. We're halfway through the district before we realize that we need to split. "I dunno if I'll see you tomorrow."
"The boys have school. Well, your boy has school. I don't know why Satoshi insists on going."
"Are you stupid?" Dark picks a piece of glass out of his palm. I hear it shatter in the street. "Why do you think he goes to school? To be with Daisuke."
"Satoshi has a girlfriend." Anyone. Anyone but that idiot child is fine with me.
"Keep telling yourself that."
I blink and he's gone. But I don't blame him.
I would have done the same thing.
--
The last I remember seeing of Towa-chan at the party was her laying on the couch luxuriously drunk, her breasts exposed, a man on each. She seemed to be sleeping.
I can't say that I don't envy her situation. She'll only drink herself to death.
There's no telling what kind of day Daisuke will have tomorrow.
Sorry, kid.
Note: The stories' chapters are themed from certain songs. The lyrics are linked with the title. This fic has a soundtrack and it's recommended that you download the song or ask Marina for it. It works a lot better.
My favorite character [not only in D.N.Angel but in anime/manga PERIOD] is Krad. :D I really don't know what sets him apart from the other manga-psychos that aren't my favorite. But recently since my new obsession, I've cast a new light of appreciation on Satoshi.
Okay, I do have a fic. I promise.
Good Evening, Gentlemen
Fandom: D.N.Angel, AU-ish
Pairings: Dark/Krad, Krad/Satoshi, Dark/Daisuke, Satoshi/Daisuke, et.al.
Rated: NC-17; sex, graphic violence, drug use, general surreality and weirdness
Summary: Night after night, a party for each. A different hat, a different tie, different sets of laughter, new faces, new drinks, colorful lights--electric, eyes, hands, clothes, diamonds, pearls, teeth, breasts--
Every experience, a blur; blues and whites and yellows and greens run together to form brown and then black and then bleach white, a blank memory.
You'd think it gets old.
But it doesn't.
Author's Notes: So Taylor and I were just shooting the shit about how D.N.Angel fanfiction is extremely redundant and fucking boring--everything that can possibly be done, has indeed been done. While she set to writing about Krad raping babies to break the habit, I hummed and hawed and cried and cussed niggas out because I wanted to write a D.N.Angel story so fucking bad and I couldn't think of a topic. And, well, you know. I just can't write something that's been done a million times. That night I went to sleep a sad, frustrated, pissed off writer.
And then I had a dream. A very surreal, non-linear, strange, fucked up dream.
This is the result.
One: Strangers
Every night, a different suit. Every night, a different tie. Every night, a different brand of wine or a new cocktail. Every night, a different girl--sometimes the same, but in better lipstick; I collect the colors around my cock. Every night, new scratches, burns, bruises and cuts.
Every night, new party.
"What's the difference between new," Krad asks absently as he pushes aside hanger by hanger, suit by suit, shirt by shirt. The metal hooks scratch out his soft, elegant, lightly accented lull for their own selfish fixtures.
"And different?"
Nylon by nylon, silk by silk, rayon by rayon, acryllic by acryllic. We stand in Satoshi's closet, both only in our shirts, ties and socks. My clothes are laid out on a chair out in the kid's room, but I'm looking to see if there's something Krad has that I might like. The walk-in-closet is smaller than it needs to be; hangers drift between wire and plastic, tangling with each other and twisting the should-be-neatly-pressed clothes. I'm surprised with Satoshi, but he hasn't been home lately and his house is in more disarray than I would expect. I have to yank the shit off of the iron bar that holds the wardrobe and it's the kind of thing that makes me really frustrated and hot, flushes my cheeks unnecessarily.
"Shit," I say, the metal resonating. The hanger is bent. I take the shirt off and throw the hanger outside. It nearly catches onto Krad's hair. "What kind of question is that? New means you haven't seen anyone else wear it, Krad. Because it's new." I try on the shirt over the shirt I'm already wearing, and mutter the rest with an irritated frown. "Different means nobody else would wear it."
"That's not true," he says softly, with a laugh. I move a bit; the backs of our thighs slide against each other and I look down. His shirt is long, white, barely covering his ass. His tie is a shiny, cerulean blue. "Different means that you haven't seen anyone else wear it."
I sigh. "New also means you haven't seen anyone else wear it, because they haven't had the opportunity to, because it's--"
"New." Krad smiled, genuinely.
"I swear to God," I fume. "Didn't you wear that tie last time?"
"No, I did not." Already, he's getting defensive.
"Yes you did." I turn him around, yanking him by his tie. "It looked just like this."
"You're thinking about--" he reached up to the wooden hanger that he and Satoshi kept all of their ties--"this one."
"What the fuck. It's the exact same tie."
"No, it is not; look."
The one in his hands is a single shade lighter than the one around his neck.
"Okay, Krad." I leave the closet, taking off the shirt and letting it fall on the floor. I grab my pants and start putting on my suit. The boys have been in Satoshi's room, talking beside the bed, looking like either teenage sweethearts or best girlfriends. I chuckle at the two of them, still in their street clothes.
"You two decided what you're going to do tonight? Do I need to order a pizza? Go out and rent some movies?" I wink. "Hey, Dai, I'll even get some porn for you. The dirty illegal shit, where they actually show the guy's cock? I know a place. Don't worry, I won't tell your mom."
Daisuke, of course, turns red. "We're fine, thank you, Dark." Satoshi laughs at him.
"Where are you two headed?" Satoshi, while glad to have Daisuke in his company, doesn't really seem too thrilled for some reason. Hm.
"A party."
"What kind of party?"
"A party, party."
"Don't worry, Satoshi-sama," Krad says in the closet, pulling up his stark white pants and buckling them. He slid his belt into the loops. "When you're eighteen, I'll take you."
"I wasn't talking to you," Satoshi snaps, the ugliest, snottiest look on his face, as though an uninterested girl had just told off a classmate of lesser standing.
"Nee, Satoshi-sama," I hear him whine through the snap of his buckle, and he turns around, taking his white jacket off the wooden hanger. "Don't be like that."
"I'm still not talking to you. Anyway, be safe."
Krad finishes dressing, and we both put on our coats.
"Boys," I say, because it's the custom for party nights--which is every night. "How do we look?"
We pose next to each other; my violet suit, red shirt and black tie contrasting with Krad's frigid, solid white suit and shirt, and icy blue tie. I grab my fedora hat, holding it in my left hand.
Daisuke holds a frame up with his two index fingers and thumbs, closing his right eye as Satoshi hums pensively in the background. "Perfect."
"Krad," Satoshi says neutrally, "Move your tie a bit to the right. It's crooked."
"Like this?" Krad says. He doesn't show it, but I know that he's delighted that Satoshi is speaking to him.
"No, you're making it worse. Let me do it." Satoshi stands up and goes to Krad to fix his tie for him. Krad can't help but smile.
"I thought we weren't speaking, Satoshi-sama," he whispers. Satoshi grabs a silk hankerchief of the same blue that Krad's tie is, folds it, and tucks it eloquently into the pocket on the right.
"Not speaking to you," he mutters under his breath, "doesn't mean I can allow you to go out looking retarded. Change your earrings."
"Oh," Krad says suddenly, embarrassed that he'd forgotten that the studs in his ears were bright orange. I roll my eyes. "Look at you," I tease. "I thought you were the master of style. Here a sixteen year old is telling you how to wear a suit."
"I forgot," Krad droned. "It was an accident."
"I should accidentally slap you."
"Dark," he says through gritted teeth, pressing through a smile, "I have had about enough of your shit tonight. Now, threaten to hit me again, and I should accidentally forget that I don't want to slit Daisuke's throat."
The room went silent. "God, I was just fucking kidding," I say. Satoshi glared at Krad before turning his head and walking away, but not before Krad snatched him back and forced a kiss.
Satoshi wrenched away from him and hit him hard across the face with his palm. Krad winced, but he looked satisfied.
"Thank you, Krad," I say, seriously. "For that chilling reminder that you are, in fact, fucking crazy."
He gives me his trademark grin, a would-be cliche if he weren'tthe owner. "Will you let it ruin the night?"
"No, not at all." I lean down to give the boys a kiss on the head, each, and then feign a stern voice. "You boys, stay out of trouble now."
"Don't worry, Dark," Daisuke replies loyally. That corny child.
Krad dips his head to do the same. "Got to keep up with the illusion," he comments with a smirk. He pecks an uncomfortable Daisuke on the head, and lingers on Satoshi, who moves away, trying to twist his head out of reach. But Krad succeeds, planting a huge wet kiss on his head, accompanied by an "Mmmmmmm--mwah!" I hear his lips smack and watch humorously as Satoshi wipes his face, like a child.
"Shall we?" Krad looks at me with those crazy eyes, blue cyclones and cold needles on their targets. He holds out his arm for me to take.
"Let's."
--
Things aren't as sweet the moment we leave the apartment. From then on, it's a complete war between the senses; a race between alcohol, fingers and sunlight. A competition between Dark and I.
Life is a game, as I say. The rules are, that there are no rules, so it doesn't matter exactly what you do to win--it's how hard you do it.
Or perhaps I'm a liar. It does matter what you do to win, because each time I have emerged the victor, respects have been paid to my being--what did Towa-chan call it--morally challenged? And it never takes much effort for me to be myself. I've had some pretty impressive victories. Satoshi is often surprised.
I could not tell you the competition for tonight. That would break the rules. Truth be told, it's really because I don't know what it is. Then again, neither does Dark. That's why telling you would break the rules--because there aren't any, and if I knew, then that would set some kind of boundary and overall negate and break the only rule:
That there are no rules.
But I do set my sights on winning, as I do every night.
The fun thing about this game, I think, is that no matter what, Dark and I are usually both the winners.
We leave Satoshi's apartment, and he puts his fedora hat on as we walk down the street, arm in arm. I'm sure it looks very cute to the humans.
"Do you know who all is going to be there?"
"Towa-chan, for sure," Dark says. I watch his lips move; soft, dark things that make me want to betray myself and make love to them. He turns to look at me. "You should buy a hat, Krad."
"A hat?" I finger my long bangs. The cross tied to my hair swings side to side, occasionally knocking the back of Dark's knee. "Why? I don't believe I look very well in hats..."
"Well," he said, "your cross is driving me insane. You've got to do something with all that hair."
"Are you suggesting that I pile it into my hat, so that it can just be sweaty and dirty when I enter a building and take it off?"
"We can figure something out."
"Absolutely not."
Dark can do some pretty entertaining things when he's drunk. Regardless of the state I'm in when we stumble back to our boys in the morning, I feel like a winner: Dark has some interesting ways of putting a smile on my face.
--
I can do some pretty entertaining things when I'm drunk, but Krad can do some pretty fucked up shit when he's high, too. I don't know what's with the Hikaris and their history of self-hate and self-hurt, but Krad... well, in all honesty, Krad makes me not want to intervene.
He tends to make me out to be that drunk asshole who always ends up making a fool of himself. You know, the prick that all your friends have filmed for endless hours on their video cameras? The one that sticks his head into a strippers crotch and doesn't feel it when she shoves her fist into his nose, or the one grabs a married wife's ass and falls asleep when her husband beats the shit out of him?
Nah. I ain't that kind of guy. I got more class than that. Probably not as much class as Krad has, though, for whenever he does something--no matter how despicable and how disgusting--he does it with impeccable style. Hell, he could rape an infant child and still pull it off gracefully.
Besides, making myself look like an idiot doesn't win the game for me.
I'll tell you my secret: surprise. By far, a better weapon than Krad's weak "shock" card. I think it's been done before. Still, every now and then, the psycho tends to surprise even me.
The club Towa invited us to is called "Coco's," a ritzy joint downtown that's bathed in warm lights--orange, red and yellow. The doors are revolving--I haven't seen those type in awhile--and mirrored, so that one can't see the inside. They spin as two guests leave, spouting drunken fits of laughter, and I see a sweet, plush red couch in its reflection. I'm not sure why but my groin longs to sit in it, to stretch out on it hedonisically or a couch exactly like it. Perhaps get a lapdance on it. Maybe sink into the lush interior while the girl rides me. Perhaps have Krad join us in a threesome; the girl on my cock while he bites my neck with those sharp teeth of his and I slip my hands between his thighs to toy with him.
I wish I had made myself a drink before I left.
Two: Hell Above Water
"Good evening, gentleman," the nice, elderly usher says. Usually Krad and I play a mini-game, where we rate the hotness of the bellboy. Or bellman in this case.
"Good evening, sir," we reply in near-unison, politely and posh-like, before giving each other "gross!" looks as the man looks down to refer to his guest list. He looks up and we become gentlemen again, instantly.
"Party?"
"Towa," I say.
"Ah. Towa, our regular." He grinned, knowingly. Guess he knows that Miss Towa is a fucking drunk. "You two are the last to be joining her this evening. I'm guessing you're..." he squinted at the list.
"Dark and Krad," I finish for him. I look around the dark night club. There are many couches like the empty one on display up front, mostly occupied by women in red and stone-faced men as the nightwalkers of their desire perform some mating ritual around them with little clothes on. I swear, those men don't make any sense. I don't understand how a male of any species can just sit there while a woman spreads her legs all over him. Beats the hell out of me.
I want my own couch, dammit.
"This way, please."
--
The main room of the club reeks of expensive incense and lubricant, but it suits Dark more. The atmosphere is smokier, steamer, much more sultry--dark, but there are lamps and bulbs with high wattage in very carefully selected parts of the rooms, illuminating it just enough so that the person in front of you is a person and not a silhouette.
But Towa's party room is my realm. The walls are bleach white, the couches are elongated and red velvet--just like the ones outside. High contrast, expensive furniture, priceless wine--from my favorite French winery, no doubt--and well-dressed others. There are a couple of girls that Towa probably borrowed from the night club--they are all in red, and they all look the same. I would guess that they are mostly for Dark's entertainment. He can be so boring sometimes.
So far, Towa is the only one I really know, but there are other familiar faces. Plenty of personalities in the historical art world, from paintings uglier than the one which Dark and I were bred. I feel myself, proud. As I said, though, they are not too unfortunate looking.
I do not care much for Towa, and she knows this. She looks too much like me. However, she continues to invite me because her guests like me, and I continue to come because I am polite. Fact of the matter is, that I'd really like to snap her fucking neck. She's too cute. Too peppy. Too happy. She reminds me of the Twins, and I shudder with annoyance in memory. I nod to her, as she jumps up to kiss Dark on the cheek, her white mink trailing behind her. She squealed his name girlishly when we arrived, and her squeaky voice still rings in my ears. She heartwarmingly smiles at me, takes my hand in hers and welcomes me anyway.
"Krad," she says, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek, rather hesitantly, as though she is afraid I would bite her face off.
Well, she does have reason to believe I would do such a thing.
"So good of you to come. After last time we met, I was afraid that you didn't like me!"
"What would have given you that idea," I say, returning the kiss on the opposite cheek. Perhaps the fact that I called her a drunken whore at her last engagement? Certainly not.
"Oh, I don't know; a silly vibe. Shows how much I know!" She exploded into an obnoxiously sound fit of laughter, throwing her head back. I joined her, mockingly. Dark stifled a laugh.
My attention turns to the wine on ice. I pull it free and examine it to make sure that it is what I think it is.
"Ah," I say, satisfied. Towa has succeeded in bringing a smile to my face. What a surprise. "Alsace wine."
"I hear it's your favorite," she sings happily, perhaps too eager to learn that she's pleased me. Hm. "May I pour you a glass?"
--
Towa. What a fucking lush.
There were already plenty of people here to start with, lounging about with glasses of hard liquor in their hands. I enviously eye the brown liquid swishing around in the genuine crystal held by one man's hand, and while Towa serves Krad--don't mind if I do, thank you.
All the booze and mirroring flutes, shot glasses, et cetera stay on one main "bar," a circular table made of white marble, Krad's favorite material--I watch as he paws it while Towa talks his ears off, his glass of blood-colored Pinot swirling in one hand and his other smoothing the surface in circles, nodding slowly as he ignores Towa. I make myself a drink--scotch, stealing two cubes of ice from the wine, and flop down onto the couch next to the man whose glass I was eyeing beforehand.
"Less lively than I expected for a Towa-induced party," I say, fidgeting in my seat. I knock the drink back in one motion, setting it down loudly on the small table nearby.
"Well, it's still quite early," the man says. I turn to look at him and begin to say something, but completely forget when I see that the man is faceless.
--
Pinot is good, but vodka is even better. I know she has some, but the bottles are unmarked and I can't tell the difference between vodka and Everclear by just looking.
Shit.
Towa moves to the center of the room and urges everyone to grab a drink from the bar.
"Everyone's here!" She looks as though she's about to drop her wine all over the floor. She has only had but a couple of sips from the glass she poured just a few seconds ago; however, I imagine she's been drinking since she got here. Oh--too late. There goes the rest of her Pinot.
"Okay, um," she hics and giggles a bit. "Hi!"
The room of fifteen or so chuckles at first and says, "Ossu!," raising their glasses to her.
I imagine she doesn't have much to say. I really do not blame her. Parties are usually meaningless, save for the purpose of getting drunk, high or laid. Or all three.
If either of us can achieve all three, I would say that whichever does, wins.
"Well, I invited you all here for a reason," she finally says, for lack of better introduction.
"So... go fucking crazy!" She ends that statement with the most sinister, puke-inducing witch laugh I have heard in my hundreds of years. And to my horror, everyone joins her. Glasses clink together, and an uproar of laughter comes out of nowhere. Music injects the whole place with some kind of adrenaline that shocks the party into life. This is perhaps the most abrupt beginning to a party I've ever seen, but I really couldn't care less. I am much more worried about getting shit faced before Dark does, because unless I'm drunk, socializing gets incredibly boring. I lose pieces of my personality as I drink--whilst, in fitting contrast, Dark gains his--which is good, because then people leave me be.
Vodka or Everclear.
The taste testing begins.
--
A couple of shots later, I'm completely comfortable with the fact that I am talking to a man without a face--funny, because I swear to God he had one before I took that shot of... what was it? Rum? Fuck it.
I let him lead me back to the bar and he makes me a drink. I look at Towa, and she seems to be losing her lovelier qualities. Either that or it's the drink. I watched earlier as she mixed brandy and whiskey into her Pinot, and absent-mindedly throw in a couple of dashes of Tabasco sauce as she swooned over... another... faceless dude. Ew. She's getting louder than ever now. I never noticed how big her mouth is until it just gaped open as she speaks to the man in the black silk suit, as if she were advertising its many uses.
Krad seems to be conversing well with a female across the ways, his arm draped on the back of the couch, nearly around her shoulders. Her legs are gorgeous. Her hair is fire-engine red, her skirt matches its color and is hiked up to her thighs as she holds her purse in her lap. Of course, no face. Again. But Krad, no matter how hot a woman is, would never just speak to a girl unless she had some kind of interesting quality about her. And I really don't mean the whole "brains" and "ability to carry on a decent conversation about business and politics" shit.
Yep, ah-hah--seconds after my thought process, she snaps open her purse to descreetly reveal a tiny baggie, filled with--well, what I'm guessing is China White. Brown sugar. Dirt. H.
I'm a little uh... I'm a little uneasy about the idea and the sight makes me nervous, but Krad is a big boy. I, on the other hand, prefer something less dangerous. I'll keep my hard liquor, thank you. Perhaps a bit of coke now and then. Okay, a little more than now and then. In fact, God help me if someone has any here.
My friend--whose name is Akio, by the way--catches me staring at the two. I watch as the Krad samples the shit: right off the bitch's finger. Hot damn.
"Your friend," Akio says, "Is speaking to Miss Harumi. The best businesswoman in the district."
"I'll fucking say," I blurt out, looking back at her.
"She cuts the best deals and sells the most dope on the drug market."
"Shit," I say, lewdly out of breath as Krad asks for another sample and fucking... deepthroats her finger. I think she's laughing, but I can't see anything except for her hair vibrating. "Is that all she sells?"
Akio laughs. "Any chance," I say, taking a sip of the cocktail he made me. "Mm. Nice. Any chance she might have some coke?"
"I sell the coke in this district, Dark," he nearly interrupts me, with a negative tone projected at Harumi. "That's one side of the market Harumi has promised to leave me."
"Well, then," I say, turning my back full circle on Krad and Harumi. "I guess you're the man I'm doing business with."
--
Harumi is pretty, but I couldn't fuck her. She's immaculate and so am I, so neither of us would gain anything from it.
It's definately vodka, I think to myself as I finish the drink. I winced the first couple of times, but now it's losing its touch. It's definately a different brand than I normally drink, though. A higher proof.
Her facial features seem to be fleeting. I keep blinking away bits and pieces of her--first her nose, then her eyes, and then every last freckle until her lips remain, which is quite fine. I'm happy to receive a sample of perhaps the finest heroin I've had since I began my new life, but I came to quite a sad realization.
"How silly of me," I say softly. "I seem to have forgotten my kit at home."
"That's unfortunate," she says, a hint of tragedy in her voice; albeit, tragedy that can be remedied. "I would offer you mine, but I really wasn't expecting to sell, let alone do any of it myself tonight. But there's no reason to disrupt the night," she then offers, with a smile.
"What do you suggest?"
"Come," she says, standing. "Perhaps my friend Akio has some spare equipment."
--
"Taste it."
It's interesting how Akio just opens a large bag of what he says is cocaine in the middle of a fifteen-or-so-person party, dips a knife into it, and how I just taste it without anybody even glancing in our direction. The Red Girls have been eyeing me for sometime--and I them; they're the only ones that have faces here--but everyone else seems to be deep into their own worlds. The drinks are going fast; nobody's touched the Everclear yet, though. I do hear more drunken laughter, more slurred speech and I am seeing more hands on thighs and more fingers on bare shoulders.
The drug packs a punch. I want to pinch my nose and stick my tongue out; I do the latter, but not the former for reasons of not wanting to look like an idiot. It burns in the back of my throat and my eyes water. I squint them shut.
"Goddamn," I say, dramatically, shaking my head rapidly and fluttering my eyes. "Phew!"
"Good stuff?"
"Totally. Gimme another one, man."
--
"Akio?" Harumi had an... interesting walk. Dark had no problem eyeing her up and down, like a side of beef hanging from the ceiling. Very tactless.
"You wouldn't happen to have any... oh!" She took immediate attention to the tap-tap-tap sound of the straight-razor against the lovely marble, possibly forgetting the question she was about to ask. "May I?"
How polite. She gestures with such delicacy and intent to the coke. I really do not care for women, but I am quite impressed by her. If only Dark could keep his dick in his pants. I can see the fibers of his trousers straining to keep together, already. My God, how embarrassing. I decide to do him a favor.
"Harumi," I gesture to her, using her similar hand movements. "Dark, the phantom thief."
Dark sticks his hand out as if he's meeting another man, a technique that he learned turns women on. Makes them feel as if they are on his level, as a dominant male being. One hand is in his other pocket, attempting to hide his obvious thoughts.
"Of course!" She says, taking his hand, squeezing it firmly in the typical business womens' grip.
"Ow," he says, snatching his hand back and shaking it. He winks at her. "You've got quite a handshake." I roll my eyes and am tempted to walk off. I can't stand to hear Dark's ages-old pick up lines.
Furthermore, I can't stand it when it actually works on someone like Harumi. She laughs, genuinely flattered.
Minus ten.
--
As a response to Miss Harumi's question, Akio gestured back. "Help yourself. I didn't bring it here for selfish reasons, actually."
"Sorry, but I called the first line." Dark steps up with a sleek piece of hollow metal--I think he had ruined one of Daisuke's pens to use it for these occasions--and snorts the line.
Now, I should let it be known. Dark does not like seeing me inject heroin into my veins, and I do not like seeing Dark snort a crystalline substance that rips and tears the blood vessels as it shoots up into his sinuses. I'd like to say that we're pretty much equal, but I do get entertained by the after effects of Dark's cocaine habits. I know that it can't be good for poor Daisuke, nor can my opiate be good for poor Satoshi, but the Hikaris are fighters. I can't help but allow Dark to ruin himself for the amusement of seeing how it will turn out in his peppy, clusmy, sweet little host. So far, Dark has been responsible, but I hope tonight changes.
I hope tonight changes everything.
Three: Chinese Burn
There's not much else to say about tonight. My limbs are not my own, Towa-chan is sandwiched between two blank-faced men, her fur slipping dangerously close to exposing her breasts. Dark is playing with the Red Girls now, ordering them to pour him more scotch. When there was no more scotch, it was whiskey. When whiskey ran out, he started on my vodka. There's about enough for one shot left and I am quite pissed.
Earlier, when Harumi and I approached Dark and Akio, we each cut oursleves a line and snorted it. I did not particularly care for it. It made my heart race and my blood pump faster than I would have liked. I prefer to have much more control of my bodily functions than this.
I kissed Harumi, though I had trouble finding her face. Her breasts were nice and soft, but she really wasn't what I was after. I left her alone, and when she realized that I wasn't going to fuck her, she excused herself and left for another engagement. Strangely disappointed, I allowed myself to be taken over by one of the plain Red Girls... until she tried to take my jacket off. I swatted her away after that and watched Dark with severe intent as I knocked back my last glass of vodka. His girls are attempting--in vain--to unzip his pants and get his cock out, follow the suit of the other Red Girls and the guests. Dark by now has had so much coke that his movements become angrier, less smooth and with less grace. The girl almost gets it out--his zipper is down, but then he jumps up abruptly, knocking her in the face with his thigh. He's reaching for the vodka.
I think I like him better like that, when he has the capacity to cause some serious pain. Which is what I'm going to do to him if he touches my goddamn vodka. Speaking of which, we haven't started playing the game yet, whatever it is this evening, and it's getting late. Too late. I will not pass out before I win. He untwists the top of the crystal bottle.
I'd really like to get up right now.
--
I don't think I need this fucking vodka but I'm getting it anyways, because Krad can't have it and if Krad can't get anymore shitfaced than he already is that's a really good thing. Sure.
He's looking real pissed at me; think it's 'cause I ignored him for the past hour? He looked bored and I don't see that fine bitch anymore so he must not have been entertained for some time. Oh well. How's it my fault. These two girls' so want me and I'm going back and forth on whether I should fuck them in the ass or just have one blow me while the other fingers herself and I watch because it really is getting la
--
Dark was a mere syllable away from finishing his mental sentence before the bottle of vodka exploded into shards and sixty-percent proof alcohol. The room went quiet for a moment, and Dark stood there, his hand's nicked from the glass and dripping with the clear fluid. He looked back and forth for a moment; from the source of the flying object that had collided with the bottle in his hands, the blonde ice-king taking up the entire velvet couch with his arms outstretched on the back, his legs crossed, back to what was left of the alcohol he had his mind set on finishing. It took a few seconds for him to register that he wouldn't be drinking the vodka. To speed up the process, Krad locked squinty eyes with him.
"Dude. What the fuck. Have you lost your mind, Krad? I was going to drink that!"
"Well. Now, you can't." Krad examined his perfect nails.
"Dammit! What's your fucking problem, huh?"
"That was my vodka."
"Oh, fuck you!" Dark slurred, wrenching the thin bottle of Everclear from the melted ice-bucket. "Look! There's an entire bottle of fucking... ninety-percent proof liquor here! You could have drank it!"
"Well, maybe I just don't like Everclear."
Towa wrenched herself free of the two men, excited. "This will be good," Krad heard her whisper in vain.
"Maybe you're a pussy and you're afraid that you'll die if you have a couple of shots." Dark wrenched the top off of the bottle and filled a shotglass with it, slopping some of the liquor onto the table in the process. He knocked it back without wincing.
"Don't be ridiculous," Krad said, standing in his full suited glory, answering to the call.
"I'll show you ridiculous." Dark struggled out of his jacket and one of the ladies took it and held it for him. The guests began to make an excited commotion, and Akio set a shotglass out for Krad. This time, Krad allowed a girl to take his jacket.
Dark cut another line of coke and snorted it before standing eye level with Krad, toying with his nose and sniffing.
"Oh, this is just so fucking cool," Towa said, half-conscious and being supported by two other men. "I wish I had a camera!"
It would have made a fantastic picture. The two men stood as opposites; Krad in white and Dark in black, in their shirts and ties, like a showdown in a mafia movie. At any moment, it would have been expected that one of them pull a tommy gun from their trousers and start unloading on the other.
Akio poured the two shots. Dark barely even waited for Akio to move before he snatched the glass up and downed it, making a conscious effort to look his opponent in the eye so that he would note his unchanged expression. Krad waited patiently and knocked it back as well, struggling not to let his facial expression give way to what he really thought Everclear tasted like.
He was successful. For the first couple of times. On the fourth shot, his eyelids began to twitch.
Dark was handling it with more fervor, but less grace. He knocked back drink after drink, swaying without the ability to right himself or even realize how drunk he was.
At last, when the bottle was nearly three-fourths empty, Dark grabbed Krad and kissed him, shoving his lips against his teeth, mostly missing Krad's actual lips. In response, the blonde sank his teeth into Dark's bottom lip and shoved him back, nearly tumbling to the ground himself.
"Not finished yet," he said, a thin trail of blood dripping unnaturally from his pale mouth.
Dark didn't really feel the incision, but something about seeing his own blood on Krad's lip made him growl.
--
I heard shattered glass and looked up to see Blondie with the bottom of the bottle in the air and the neck in his mouth. When it was empty, the bottle crashed onto the floor along with his shot glass.
I can't tell you much after that. But I know it involved the Pinot wine bottle, blood, and Krad's smooth chest.
....was it Pinot or blood that I remember?
Who knows--probably both.
--
I can hold my liquor--for the most part. But there is something wrong with endless consumption of pure alcohol. The thought doesn't appeal to me.
At all.
Even when I'm doing it.
The reason why is because when you drink like so, you tend to forget shit. I am really not the type that likes to forget shit, but in this case, I'm slightly grateful.
Because I lost.
--
Krad had turned to put his jacket on when the entire room erupted in excitement the same way it had when he had thrown his glass at Dark and it broke the vodka bottle.
He turned around. What had been the bottle of Pinot exploded into green glass shards and red liquid. Krad looked down.
Some of the red speckles were on his pants.
It would never come out. He looked back up at Dark, furious.
"Prick," was all he could force.
And now Dark was armed with the razor edged, broken neck of the Pinot bottle, and a dangerous look in his eyes. Intent seemed to be the word of the evening, and he did stare at Krad with some intent. Around them the party seemed to go on, without the two's interest or involvement.
Uncharacteristically, Krad stumbled a step back.
"What are you going to do with that, kaitou?" Krad taunted, not completely sure of his own intentions. "Are you going to stab me?"
It hadn't occurred to either that the back of Krad's knees were touching the couch that he had previously been sitting in. Dark essentially had a hostage.
"Simon says," Dark drawled, "'take your tie off.'"
Krad rolled his eyes.
"Krad says, 'fuck you.'"
"Simon says," Dark reinforced himself, louder, taking a few quick steps forward until he was mere inches away from Krad's face. "Take your entire shirt off, Krad, before he completely fucking ruins your suit."
His threat failed to impress Krad. "Simon says, he will stab you."
Instead of complying, he took the tiny bag out of his pocket, untwisted the tie, poured the contents into his mouth and swallowed.
"Krad says," his tongue rolled around his cheeks, sweeping the white residue off his teeth.
"Do it."
--
Some fucking party.
I actually do remember a little bit of what happened. Krad had the nerve to talk shit after he had lost the drinking match. I should have cut his fucking throat. Now we're both tired, sick, piss drunk and covered in blood, stumbling outside of Coco's on our way back to Satoshi's apartment. Well, we split after a ways. I hope Daisuke went home.
"Do it," he said. Well, I certainly did it for him. Had he shut his mouth and just taken his beating, I wouldn't have smashed the rest of the bottle across his face.
I was only going to fuck him. I'm sure he knew that.
--
I doubt that Dark had no original plan to celebrate his victory. He usually just fucks me in front of everyone anyway if he wins. There isn't a whole lot of a difference.
Except I am not in the mood to capitulate without a fight.
I can't say I really felt the wine bottle cut into my face, but I felt the impact, and it was enough to inspire some type of equally brutal retaliation. I want to be creative; I try to think of what I could possibly do to get people to 'ooh' and 'ahh' like Dark's glass bottle trick, but as he closes his eyes to laugh at me, I have no time--I have to think quickly.
So I head butt him in the face, feel his nose crack. It overcompensates for the pieces of glass in my right cheek. Around me, people laugh, and it makes me feel better.
When he recovers, I'm not very surprised to feel Dark's bloody hands close around my neck and actually squeeze--
--
Krad is changing colors. It's a really gorgeous sight. He doesn't fight back now; I know the heroin is working slowly. He gags a bit as I lift him off the ground, the blood vessels in his forehead appearing, the sweat beading on his face. He looks down at me defiantly.
In his eyes, I see Satoshi.
And then I squeeze harder.
--
When I think sweet, sweet Morpheus will wrap his arms around me and coo into my ear, Dark drops me onto the glass table near the couch Harumi and I were sitting on. It shatters as I fall through it. The noise is rude, cacophonous, needle like. It hurts my ears, but that could be because I am actually bleeding from there.
I cough, and when I press my palm into the ground to steady myself, the glass slides into my skin.
"Want to play Simon Says again?" Dark asks lewdly as he unbuckles his pants and slips his hand into them, tossing away the neck bottle.
They don't want us to know, but people are watching. Dark has long forgotten them. I, however, still see their mouths. Open and giggling, Towa's excited laughter and the girls' sighing. The men don't make much noise above murmurs, but it adds to the overrall blanket of monocromatic sound. I want to scratch my ears out.
Without him asking me to, I take my shirt off. Dark smiles, stepping over the frame of the table, which my legs drape over.
As he leans down to kiss me, I lay back, the shards stinging my naked shoulders, crackling against the bone.
--
I think this is the most creative punishment I've ever dealt. I know there are pieces of glass where my knees are about to go, but I'm too excited to really care. I can get by with scraped knees.
It's really Krad who should be worried. I watch as he stretches his arms out, each hand grabbing onto the metal frame on either side of him.
I kiss him, but it's more of a payback for what he did to my lip earlier. In my mouth, I hid a surprise for him--his tongue slides out to lick mine, and it comes away bloody. I hold a small, tear-dropped shard between my teeth, and I nick the center of his bottom lip; watch it drizzle to form a mirroring pool. As this goes on, my hands are at work unbuckling his trousers and pulling them down.
I hear the other guests, but when I look up, I only see particles--perhaps that was a hand, maybe a naked foot; perhaps that was someone's mouth moving, a tongue or a finger--I can't be sure.
So I can't really be sure if they're looking at me as I spit on my hand.
....well, now I know.
Towa is cheering.
--
I can't say that I can truly protest my current situation. The only thing that really bothers me about it is the manner in which it happened.
I wanted to win tonight.
But I love being underneath Dark. It's not a feeling I'll ever get tired of, even in these conditions. Had I won, I would have probably wanted something similar. He tries to be good and attempts to avoid hurting people, but it's in his nature.
We are, after all, one in the same. I think when he fucks me, it draws that side out of him.
And that's why I love it so much.
I tense as his cock pushes into me, straining my back muscles against the glass.
--
It's a beautiful thing to hear Krad suck air in between his teeth as the frigid glass cracks beneath him. It sounds like ice, like when you go outside in the middle of winter and stand still and just listen to faint "clink clink" sound of ice freezing and breaking. I drive him down into it, using his pained breathing as a rhythm to follow.
Never once does he break eye contact with me.
I do.
I envision the glass making vertical, red, dripping lines where the shards cut into him and I come, gripping a handful of the glass myself. I want to keep going, but Krad's breathing slows down.
"It doesn't work like that, Dark Mousy," he says. Fucking bitch.
With my bloody handful of glass, I smack the other side of his face, leaving an even bigger streak of blood.
God help me, I said earlier before I snorted my first line of coke for the evening.
--
"You could have lasted a bit longer," I say as we lean against each other, walking back to our district in the waning city lights, which are about to give way to the morning sun. "I'm a bit disappointed."
"Shut up," he says. "Who won the game?"
I choose not to answer. After all, despite my own thoughts over the night, I am the one with the bloodier face.
"I'm going home," he says. We're halfway through the district before we realize that we need to split. "I dunno if I'll see you tomorrow."
"The boys have school. Well, your boy has school. I don't know why Satoshi insists on going."
"Are you stupid?" Dark picks a piece of glass out of his palm. I hear it shatter in the street. "Why do you think he goes to school? To be with Daisuke."
"Satoshi has a girlfriend." Anyone. Anyone but that idiot child is fine with me.
"Keep telling yourself that."
I blink and he's gone. But I don't blame him.
I would have done the same thing.
--
The last I remember seeing of Towa-chan at the party was her laying on the couch luxuriously drunk, her breasts exposed, a man on each. She seemed to be sleeping.
I can't say that I don't envy her situation. She'll only drink herself to death.
There's no telling what kind of day Daisuke will have tomorrow.
Sorry, kid.
Note: The stories' chapters are themed from certain songs. The lyrics are linked with the title. This fic has a soundtrack and it's recommended that you download the song or ask Marina for it. It works a lot better.