(no subject)
Title: 2 Seconds To The Top
Author: EarnestInBerlin
Theme: From behind those empty walls
Rating: NC-17ish? (I have no idea)
Pairing: MiyavixBou (main)
Band[s]: Solo Miyavi, Antic Cafe
Disclaimer: No, I don’t own them. But it would be nice to own them?
Comments: Hahaha, I love how I have two people say “Poor Bou” in the comments x3
Summary: Written for random_jpairing. From behind those empty walls the little stories you would never tell. No one’s supposed to know about them, because they’re the little secret that makes you special. A bit different from the rest.
||In this state of mind, silence is a crime||
||From Behind those empty WALLS||
Of course I wanted to die.
I was no different from the many people who wanted to get the knife and push it on themselves. From the many people who realized that most of their lives were wasted.
I tried to do what everyone did and used a switchblade. I sliced a good deal of flesh from just swinging it around my body. I kept playing with it, poking myself in places and just generally trying to kill myself without having to actually die in the process.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been doing it for such a long time, practicing behind closed doors, standing in front of the bathroom mirror silently contemplating if I made the right scars. Was it deep enough?
But in the end, my humanity will always catch up and I’d be fucking scared to go anymore down with the blade.
I was no different from the people I make fun of, I was nothing special and I was no higher than they are.
Shock stories are starting to become synonymous to weather reports, and because of that they lost the very reason they exist. They lost their quality of shock.
They aren’t drop heart depressing as they used to be, and from where Miyavi’s sees fit, most of the sob stories are starting to get old.
His cynicism wasn’t exactly a crowd pleaser, but it wasn’t his ambition to be a man’s man or a fucking toy for the masses. He had his handful of broken hearts, all the red strings of love he cut off so easily without feeling any sort of sadness for the one at the opposite end. They were so many of them, each and everyone wanting to tie him down, each and every one wanting to claim him the same way he claimed them.
All of them convincing him, if he just believes enough, he could be happy; he didn’t have to be the angry little boy he makes himself out to be.
“Excuse me?” Miyavi laughed, he sneered and he mocked. He wasn’t a little boy, standing a good few feet high, he was taller than most people. But yes, he was angry, mad that people had the balls to think they can fix him.
He memorized his lines so well, know them by heart. Sometimes, he didn’t have to open his mouth and the words would just magically ghost over the other. Sometimes, he didn’t have to lift a finger.
“But you said you loved me!” Like a well played soap opera, like the cliché lines and crying scene and the desperate people all trying to cling unto little pieces of hope.
People get easily fooled; their human nature’s need for acceptance would always push them to do the most ridiculous of things.
Because everyone wants to be loved.
And like that rehearsed scene, the tableau all out in the open, like the fake things you see on TV.
The club’s music knocking on the door, the little to no light that gives the room it’s almost sensual feel, the lack of colour and the expensive clothes, the scent of branded perfume and the stench of alcohol.
Like all the other times, Miyavi take your heart out with his bare hands and rips it to two.
“You had your mouth on my cock” he shook his head softly, “Of course; I had to say I love you”
From behind those empty walls
My mother stands, her eyes all bright and shinning with love that is only for me.
My mother hold out her hand, hopes for me to reach it.
My mother with her beautiful white blouse, all stained with blood.
My mother, the person I loved the most, the one I couldn’t save.
Of course I wanted to live.
But it was starting to get harder and harder to breathe. I’m trying my best; I am trying so hard, to keep my pulse from stopping. To keep myself from just throwing everything away. Don’t point at my pills, don’t tell me about my diet, and don’t talk about my lack of consciousness. There’s a reason why I’m taking them, a reason you might not understand.
I had a boyfriend.
He was kind to me. He loved me for all I was worth.
Yes. I admit it, he used me, but does it really matter?
He gave me attention. Something I wanted, something I needed and longed for. Something I couldn’t get from other people.
I could still feel the prick, the needle’s point on my skin, as he kissed my neck whispering sweet nothings into my ears as he pushed it down. I could still feel his hand roaming around me, the one that coaxed the buttons out of their places when it found itself on the front of my shirt.
Kiyoharu was ten years older than Bou when they first met. During this time, Bou was still what most people called a “boy”- though they had their doubts. He wore his baggy clothes, and his hair was a beautiful shade of brown, cut to mimic a sort of trendy style that his other guy friends were all copying. But even then, people would still wish he’d drop pretending to be such a man and just go ahead and wear the dresses his friends would tease him- albeit, hoping secretly that he would agree.
What Kiyoharu saw in the shabby boy, the now blond will never know.
Maybe it was dark, the older man was confused, or maybe it was the drinks from the bar that he kept ordering.
Before the end of the night, little Bou lost his anal virginity to a man who carried him all the way to the restroom.
Bou threw his head back, his fingers curling around Kiyoharu’s hair. He never knew treatment of this sort felt so good, the weird things Kiyoharu did with his hands, the way he flicked his tongue. The feel of Kiyoharu’s lips on his skin, the way the other treated him like he was some sort of princess.
He can’t explain why, he can’t understand it.
But he loved every single moment of it.
The way Kiyoharu would spread his legs wide, as he sat on his lap, guiding him with rough fingers to show him that piece of himself that proved he was indeed a boy.
He teased him, taking Bou’s dick in his hand and rubbing it up and down. Bou would close his eyes, his breath running out of his mouth as his mind began to lose all form of coherent thought. The stubbles on Kiyoharu’s chin, rubbing delicately at each skin it pass by. The then brunette could feel the tingles crawl all over his body.
Kiyoharu grabbed for his fingers, blessing them with each and every of his kisses. Slobbering them with spit and drool, licking at the palm, making it wet. The younger boy watched with eyes all heavy and dazed as the older man lead his fingers, after coating it enough, down to his hole.
First, gently pushing Bou’s pointing finger, pushing it until it couldn’t go any further. Pulling it back out, pushing it back in. Repeating the process, building up the excitement in the little boy’s shivering body.
“Hurry...” he whispered, he gasped as he felt his own fingers creeping up inside of him tracing whatever piece of skin he could touch within his ass “Kiyo-san, please-”
“Kiyoharu” the older man bit his ear, “Call me Kiyoharu”
His own fingers stretching him, the hungry voice beside his ear, the hand on his dick “Kiyoharu”
God knows how much he loves his boyfriend.
From behind those empty walls
I am standing with lonely pieces of purikura in my hand.
I am tracing my fingers on the pictures that will never leave me.
I am feeling the red stain on the last one, the one I will never let go.
I am crying, for the one I love, for the person I couldn’t save.
A/N: *gets shot*
The Kiyoharu and Bou pairing? If you don’t like it, you can go peel a banana and push it up your ass. I let my iTunes pick Bou’s boyfriend- it played “PORNO STAR” when I let it go shuffle xD
I love how wonderfully apt the themes in this set are.
Thank you for taking the time to read my ingenious piece of bull. And once again, I just want to hug melinen for being such a insane yet loving mod. Just so you know, she’s one of the most kindest mods you’ll ever see. X3
Author: EarnestInBerlin
Theme: From behind those empty walls
Rating: NC-17ish? (I have no idea)
Pairing: MiyavixBou (main)
Band[s]: Solo Miyavi, Antic Cafe
Disclaimer: No, I don’t own them. But it would be nice to own them?
Comments: Hahaha, I love how I have two people say “Poor Bou” in the comments x3
Summary: Written for random_jpairing. From behind those empty walls the little stories you would never tell. No one’s supposed to know about them, because they’re the little secret that makes you special. A bit different from the rest.
||In this state of mind, silence is a crime||
||From Behind those empty WALLS||
Of course I wanted to die.
I was no different from the many people who wanted to get the knife and push it on themselves. From the many people who realized that most of their lives were wasted.
I tried to do what everyone did and used a switchblade. I sliced a good deal of flesh from just swinging it around my body. I kept playing with it, poking myself in places and just generally trying to kill myself without having to actually die in the process.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been doing it for such a long time, practicing behind closed doors, standing in front of the bathroom mirror silently contemplating if I made the right scars. Was it deep enough?
But in the end, my humanity will always catch up and I’d be fucking scared to go anymore down with the blade.
I was no different from the people I make fun of, I was nothing special and I was no higher than they are.
Shock stories are starting to become synonymous to weather reports, and because of that they lost the very reason they exist. They lost their quality of shock.
They aren’t drop heart depressing as they used to be, and from where Miyavi’s sees fit, most of the sob stories are starting to get old.
His cynicism wasn’t exactly a crowd pleaser, but it wasn’t his ambition to be a man’s man or a fucking toy for the masses. He had his handful of broken hearts, all the red strings of love he cut off so easily without feeling any sort of sadness for the one at the opposite end. They were so many of them, each and everyone wanting to tie him down, each and every one wanting to claim him the same way he claimed them.
All of them convincing him, if he just believes enough, he could be happy; he didn’t have to be the angry little boy he makes himself out to be.
“Excuse me?” Miyavi laughed, he sneered and he mocked. He wasn’t a little boy, standing a good few feet high, he was taller than most people. But yes, he was angry, mad that people had the balls to think they can fix him.
He memorized his lines so well, know them by heart. Sometimes, he didn’t have to open his mouth and the words would just magically ghost over the other. Sometimes, he didn’t have to lift a finger.
“But you said you loved me!” Like a well played soap opera, like the cliché lines and crying scene and the desperate people all trying to cling unto little pieces of hope.
People get easily fooled; their human nature’s need for acceptance would always push them to do the most ridiculous of things.
Because everyone wants to be loved.
And like that rehearsed scene, the tableau all out in the open, like the fake things you see on TV.
The club’s music knocking on the door, the little to no light that gives the room it’s almost sensual feel, the lack of colour and the expensive clothes, the scent of branded perfume and the stench of alcohol.
Like all the other times, Miyavi take your heart out with his bare hands and rips it to two.
“You had your mouth on my cock” he shook his head softly, “Of course; I had to say I love you”
From behind those empty walls
My mother stands, her eyes all bright and shinning with love that is only for me.
My mother hold out her hand, hopes for me to reach it.
My mother with her beautiful white blouse, all stained with blood.
My mother, the person I loved the most, the one I couldn’t save.
Of course I wanted to live.
But it was starting to get harder and harder to breathe. I’m trying my best; I am trying so hard, to keep my pulse from stopping. To keep myself from just throwing everything away. Don’t point at my pills, don’t tell me about my diet, and don’t talk about my lack of consciousness. There’s a reason why I’m taking them, a reason you might not understand.
I had a boyfriend.
He was kind to me. He loved me for all I was worth.
Yes. I admit it, he used me, but does it really matter?
He gave me attention. Something I wanted, something I needed and longed for. Something I couldn’t get from other people.
I could still feel the prick, the needle’s point on my skin, as he kissed my neck whispering sweet nothings into my ears as he pushed it down. I could still feel his hand roaming around me, the one that coaxed the buttons out of their places when it found itself on the front of my shirt.
Kiyoharu was ten years older than Bou when they first met. During this time, Bou was still what most people called a “boy”- though they had their doubts. He wore his baggy clothes, and his hair was a beautiful shade of brown, cut to mimic a sort of trendy style that his other guy friends were all copying. But even then, people would still wish he’d drop pretending to be such a man and just go ahead and wear the dresses his friends would tease him- albeit, hoping secretly that he would agree.
What Kiyoharu saw in the shabby boy, the now blond will never know.
Maybe it was dark, the older man was confused, or maybe it was the drinks from the bar that he kept ordering.
Before the end of the night, little Bou lost his anal virginity to a man who carried him all the way to the restroom.
Bou threw his head back, his fingers curling around Kiyoharu’s hair. He never knew treatment of this sort felt so good, the weird things Kiyoharu did with his hands, the way he flicked his tongue. The feel of Kiyoharu’s lips on his skin, the way the other treated him like he was some sort of princess.
He can’t explain why, he can’t understand it.
But he loved every single moment of it.
The way Kiyoharu would spread his legs wide, as he sat on his lap, guiding him with rough fingers to show him that piece of himself that proved he was indeed a boy.
He teased him, taking Bou’s dick in his hand and rubbing it up and down. Bou would close his eyes, his breath running out of his mouth as his mind began to lose all form of coherent thought. The stubbles on Kiyoharu’s chin, rubbing delicately at each skin it pass by. The then brunette could feel the tingles crawl all over his body.
Kiyoharu grabbed for his fingers, blessing them with each and every of his kisses. Slobbering them with spit and drool, licking at the palm, making it wet. The younger boy watched with eyes all heavy and dazed as the older man lead his fingers, after coating it enough, down to his hole.
First, gently pushing Bou’s pointing finger, pushing it until it couldn’t go any further. Pulling it back out, pushing it back in. Repeating the process, building up the excitement in the little boy’s shivering body.
“Hurry...” he whispered, he gasped as he felt his own fingers creeping up inside of him tracing whatever piece of skin he could touch within his ass “Kiyo-san, please-”
“Kiyoharu” the older man bit his ear, “Call me Kiyoharu”
His own fingers stretching him, the hungry voice beside his ear, the hand on his dick “Kiyoharu”
God knows how much he loves his boyfriend.
From behind those empty walls
I am standing with lonely pieces of purikura in my hand.
I am tracing my fingers on the pictures that will never leave me.
I am feeling the red stain on the last one, the one I will never let go.
I am crying, for the one I love, for the person I couldn’t save.
A/N: *gets shot*
The Kiyoharu and Bou pairing? If you don’t like it, you can go peel a banana and push it up your ass. I let my iTunes pick Bou’s boyfriend- it played “PORNO STAR” when I let it go shuffle xD
I love how wonderfully apt the themes in this set are.
Thank you for taking the time to read my ingenious piece of bull. And once again, I just want to hug melinen for being such a insane yet loving mod. Just so you know, she’s one of the most kindest mods you’ll ever see. X3