Christ Crinkles.
Title: 2 Seconds To The Top
Author: EarnestInBerlin
Theme: in this state of mind silence is a crime
Rating: NC-17ish? (I have no idea)
Pairing: MiyavixBou (main)
Band[s]: Solo Miyavi, Antic Cafe
Disclaimer: Well, there’s Loop Ash, there’s Sony. They own those guys, I don’t and I don’t I can ever own them. So Please, leave my fanfics alone!
Comments: Guess where the title came from.
Summary: Written for: random_jpairing We have the cross dressing junkie who trades in sex to get his daily dose. We have the emotionally repressed maniac who is near to pulling the knife on himself. What’s better than that?
|| In this state of mind||
He came to him almost as if he was some sort of birthday present from Sugizo, not exactly like it but either ways he has finally met the blond boy. And exactly like the sob story he’s heard so many time before, he was exactly what Miyavi had in mind.
His yellow locks glittering under what little light that has somehow seeped through in their private room. From the looks of him, you could already tell he was very much a big fan of the colourful pills. That from time to time, he would always find him alone with a syringe directed to a vein, filled with dark coloured liquid. That he also spends most of his time drinking and that he could’ve been someone better if it weren’t for the insecurities that surrounded him and made him take the vices he’s suffering now.
He knows the other’s story all too well; even if Sugizo didn’t tell him in complete colourful and almost minute like detail about his life. All he had to say was that the boy was a junkie and Miyavi could very well trace a line and draw the history already in his head. He didn’t need the profile since they’re all the same. He wasn’t different from any of them. From the people he met on the streets, from the prostitutes he tasted, to the others of his own kind dancing in the bar with their head high in the clouds.
Disgusting low lives who will throw away the world just to feel the touch of hallucination on their tongue. That’s why Miyavi hated him.
Bou wearing his tight girly clothes, with his matching girly shoes and his little pretty pink clips and those pucker lips that were only good for sucking cocks and taking drugs. He was cute though, like an under aged school girl, a paedophile’s only reason for living.
Sugizo was grinning from ear to ear when he pushed the blond forward and straight to Miyavi. The blond stumbled on his way, ending on the floor, all on fours with his hair curtaining his tired face. The ore-sama just stared at the pathetic heap he made, waiting for whatever to happen.
Bou looked up at him, his eyes no different from Miyavi’s empty ones.
Lifeless, and almost near crying, the ore-sama saw that. Maybe if he was careful, he could see a child lost in the midst of the dark. If he was careful, he could save him before it’s too late.
But Miyavi didn’t want to play hero. Not anymore.
Nobody said a word as Miyavi took him. The blond didn’t say a word as he followed him around.
He was now Miyavi’s play thing.
Bou bit his lower lip, closed his eyes tight when he felt Miyavi’s hand between his legs. He didn’t react when he felt the hard on pressed against his skirt as Miyavi cornered him.
This was his price to pay because he was worthless.
He needs money to get high.
You wanted something different.
He’s supposed to be different? He’s like everyone’s depression in the flesh; he’s only different because he cross dresses.
But he’s, what was that word I was looking for? Special?
Don’t make me laugh, just because he has a mother who doesn’t love him and a father who raped him doesn’t make different from the other people who’s gone through the same thing.
Ah, very much like you, to be so judgemental. Even of other people’s pain. But I know you still want to see him.
Just as long as he looks good.
Bou’s hair spilled over the bed sheets like a golden stain. His child-like face all bright red and flushed from sweat, from the things he had to put up when the ore-sama started groping him. The ore-sama looked at the blond, lying on his bed all wanton-like. His legs bent and the knees meeting, his hands and limbs went limp and withered as all the bones in his body disappeared.
For a moment, they could only hear the sound of him breathing hard. His chest heaving up and down in a rapid motion, his heart beat going all too fast.
Miyavi was just watching him, towering over him, waiting for whatever to happen.
His skirt was too short, so short that every time Bou moved even just for a bit, the ore-sama could already see where the end of his socks went, could see the creamy white skin of his exposed legs, could see the pink flowery patterns of his underwear.
As soon as he saw them fingers hooked themselves on either side of those cute pair. Miyavi pulled them down slowly letting the small piece past through Bou’s knees and finally he left the blond to kick them off of his left leg.
“Are you really that desperate to get drugs?” the ore-sama lowered his head, a hand tucking away strands of yellow hair as he left a small kiss by the side of his face.
There was no answer, typical.
The blond just looked away, panting heavily as his body tilted slightly upward in an arc. Miyavi could almost see the outline of Bou’s nipples- (“Candy tits” Sugizo’s laughing voice ringing in his head)- pushing themselves against the fabric of his white uniform. And he was almost tempted to experiment and find out why Sugizo would give that part of Bou such a nickname.
Miyavi brushed his thumb over Bou’s entrance first forcing it down softly before replacing it with two fingers, thrusting them inside him as deep as they can get. He moved them around, playing inside, making scissor and hook like motions with his hands. Studying carefully Bou’s face as it contorted into various emotions; pleasured, hungry, and scared.
Bou threw his head back; the electricity was enough to drive him mad. Hot breath from Miyavi’s mouth ghosted over the skin of his cheek. If his mind wasn’t too far off in the gutter, he could’ve heard Miyavi’s words.
“You really are worthless, aren’t you?”
His eyes still closed tightly, hoping against hope that the tears behinds his lids won’t come out of his them. The skin of his lower lip was close to tearing from how he had to bite it to keep from making too much noise.
Lithe fingers that could only belong to Bou travelled over Miyavi’s front, pushing up the shirt the taller boy didn’t have time to take off earlier. He brushed his hands against Miyavi’s flesh, gasping and begging without having to use words for the feel of bare skin. He looked up with heavy eyes and met sharp eyes studying him.
Bou was appalled inside, very much humiliated at how low he went. But that didn’t stop him from kissing Miyavi anyway, squirming all the time.
He prayed to God it’ll be over soon.
He stuck a couple of fingers in his skirt.
Bou looked at the icky white substance on his hand.
The clips in his hair disappeared a long time ago- after Miyavi pulled them out and threw them away. He still had his uniform on, though it was all ruffled and the first two buttons of his shirt were also gone. He still had everything on except for his white underwear- that was just right beside his feet. He looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter to him, just as long as he got this part done he was all right.
Miyavi was no different from the other guys.
From the edge of Miyavi’s bed, he could hear water running from the bath room as the other boy went in to wash off.
The ore-sama never really did go inside him which surprised him.
The white things on his hands, the colour made him think of pearls.
Maybe Miyavi was just a bit different from the rest.
When he heard the creak of a door, he lifted his head up and saw Miyavi walking towards his direction a towel in his hands. He passed by the blond, dropped the towel on the other’s head and didn’t say a word as he let himself fall front first on the bed.
Bou let his tongue go over his lower lip, tasting the metallic taste of blood.
So? How was he?
He's doesn't talk much.
That's all?
I guess.
||Silence is A Crime||
A/N: Hey, guys! So you braved my horrible writing and read this? Ah, well... I don’t know what to say. I just wanted to tell you I’m aiming for a sort of Melancholic style here. This is going to be different from my MHDAD story where it's kind of flowery and happy most of the times. So I hope you'll like this the same you guys supported my other story!
I’m going to answer the themes in a more metaphorical way, not using the phrase anywhere but just letting the story itself say the phrase. I hope you understand what I mean.
Thank you all for taking the time to read my fanfic.
Author: EarnestInBerlin
Theme: in this state of mind silence is a crime
Rating: NC-17ish? (I have no idea)
Pairing: MiyavixBou (main)
Band[s]: Solo Miyavi, Antic Cafe
Disclaimer: Well, there’s Loop Ash, there’s Sony. They own those guys, I don’t and I don’t I can ever own them. So Please, leave my fanfics alone!
Comments: Guess where the title came from.
Summary: Written for: random_jpairing We have the cross dressing junkie who trades in sex to get his daily dose. We have the emotionally repressed maniac who is near to pulling the knife on himself. What’s better than that?
|| In this state of mind||
He came to him almost as if he was some sort of birthday present from Sugizo, not exactly like it but either ways he has finally met the blond boy. And exactly like the sob story he’s heard so many time before, he was exactly what Miyavi had in mind.
His yellow locks glittering under what little light that has somehow seeped through in their private room. From the looks of him, you could already tell he was very much a big fan of the colourful pills. That from time to time, he would always find him alone with a syringe directed to a vein, filled with dark coloured liquid. That he also spends most of his time drinking and that he could’ve been someone better if it weren’t for the insecurities that surrounded him and made him take the vices he’s suffering now.
He knows the other’s story all too well; even if Sugizo didn’t tell him in complete colourful and almost minute like detail about his life. All he had to say was that the boy was a junkie and Miyavi could very well trace a line and draw the history already in his head. He didn’t need the profile since they’re all the same. He wasn’t different from any of them. From the people he met on the streets, from the prostitutes he tasted, to the others of his own kind dancing in the bar with their head high in the clouds.
Disgusting low lives who will throw away the world just to feel the touch of hallucination on their tongue. That’s why Miyavi hated him.
Bou wearing his tight girly clothes, with his matching girly shoes and his little pretty pink clips and those pucker lips that were only good for sucking cocks and taking drugs. He was cute though, like an under aged school girl, a paedophile’s only reason for living.
Sugizo was grinning from ear to ear when he pushed the blond forward and straight to Miyavi. The blond stumbled on his way, ending on the floor, all on fours with his hair curtaining his tired face. The ore-sama just stared at the pathetic heap he made, waiting for whatever to happen.
Bou looked up at him, his eyes no different from Miyavi’s empty ones.
Lifeless, and almost near crying, the ore-sama saw that. Maybe if he was careful, he could see a child lost in the midst of the dark. If he was careful, he could save him before it’s too late.
But Miyavi didn’t want to play hero. Not anymore.
Nobody said a word as Miyavi took him. The blond didn’t say a word as he followed him around.
He was now Miyavi’s play thing.
Bou bit his lower lip, closed his eyes tight when he felt Miyavi’s hand between his legs. He didn’t react when he felt the hard on pressed against his skirt as Miyavi cornered him.
This was his price to pay because he was worthless.
He needs money to get high.
You wanted something different.
He’s supposed to be different? He’s like everyone’s depression in the flesh; he’s only different because he cross dresses.
But he’s, what was that word I was looking for? Special?
Don’t make me laugh, just because he has a mother who doesn’t love him and a father who raped him doesn’t make different from the other people who’s gone through the same thing.
Ah, very much like you, to be so judgemental. Even of other people’s pain. But I know you still want to see him.
Just as long as he looks good.
Bou’s hair spilled over the bed sheets like a golden stain. His child-like face all bright red and flushed from sweat, from the things he had to put up when the ore-sama started groping him. The ore-sama looked at the blond, lying on his bed all wanton-like. His legs bent and the knees meeting, his hands and limbs went limp and withered as all the bones in his body disappeared.
For a moment, they could only hear the sound of him breathing hard. His chest heaving up and down in a rapid motion, his heart beat going all too fast.
Miyavi was just watching him, towering over him, waiting for whatever to happen.
His skirt was too short, so short that every time Bou moved even just for a bit, the ore-sama could already see where the end of his socks went, could see the creamy white skin of his exposed legs, could see the pink flowery patterns of his underwear.
As soon as he saw them fingers hooked themselves on either side of those cute pair. Miyavi pulled them down slowly letting the small piece past through Bou’s knees and finally he left the blond to kick them off of his left leg.
“Are you really that desperate to get drugs?” the ore-sama lowered his head, a hand tucking away strands of yellow hair as he left a small kiss by the side of his face.
There was no answer, typical.
The blond just looked away, panting heavily as his body tilted slightly upward in an arc. Miyavi could almost see the outline of Bou’s nipples- (“Candy tits” Sugizo’s laughing voice ringing in his head)- pushing themselves against the fabric of his white uniform. And he was almost tempted to experiment and find out why Sugizo would give that part of Bou such a nickname.
Miyavi brushed his thumb over Bou’s entrance first forcing it down softly before replacing it with two fingers, thrusting them inside him as deep as they can get. He moved them around, playing inside, making scissor and hook like motions with his hands. Studying carefully Bou’s face as it contorted into various emotions; pleasured, hungry, and scared.
Bou threw his head back; the electricity was enough to drive him mad. Hot breath from Miyavi’s mouth ghosted over the skin of his cheek. If his mind wasn’t too far off in the gutter, he could’ve heard Miyavi’s words.
“You really are worthless, aren’t you?”
His eyes still closed tightly, hoping against hope that the tears behinds his lids won’t come out of his them. The skin of his lower lip was close to tearing from how he had to bite it to keep from making too much noise.
Lithe fingers that could only belong to Bou travelled over Miyavi’s front, pushing up the shirt the taller boy didn’t have time to take off earlier. He brushed his hands against Miyavi’s flesh, gasping and begging without having to use words for the feel of bare skin. He looked up with heavy eyes and met sharp eyes studying him.
Bou was appalled inside, very much humiliated at how low he went. But that didn’t stop him from kissing Miyavi anyway, squirming all the time.
He prayed to God it’ll be over soon.
He stuck a couple of fingers in his skirt.
Bou looked at the icky white substance on his hand.
The clips in his hair disappeared a long time ago- after Miyavi pulled them out and threw them away. He still had his uniform on, though it was all ruffled and the first two buttons of his shirt were also gone. He still had everything on except for his white underwear- that was just right beside his feet. He looked like a mess, but it didn’t matter to him, just as long as he got this part done he was all right.
Miyavi was no different from the other guys.
From the edge of Miyavi’s bed, he could hear water running from the bath room as the other boy went in to wash off.
The ore-sama never really did go inside him which surprised him.
The white things on his hands, the colour made him think of pearls.
Maybe Miyavi was just a bit different from the rest.
When he heard the creak of a door, he lifted his head up and saw Miyavi walking towards his direction a towel in his hands. He passed by the blond, dropped the towel on the other’s head and didn’t say a word as he let himself fall front first on the bed.
Bou let his tongue go over his lower lip, tasting the metallic taste of blood.
So? How was he?
He's doesn't talk much.
That's all?
I guess.
||Silence is A Crime||
A/N: Hey, guys! So you braved my horrible writing and read this? Ah, well... I don’t know what to say. I just wanted to tell you I’m aiming for a sort of Melancholic style here. This is going to be different from my MHDAD story where it's kind of flowery and happy most of the times. So I hope you'll like this the same you guys supported my other story!
I’m going to answer the themes in a more metaphorical way, not using the phrase anywhere but just letting the story itself say the phrase. I hope you understand what I mean.
Thank you all for taking the time to read my fanfic.