(no subject)
Title: Dichotomy
Fandom: Mirage of Blaze
Pairings: Chiaki/Takaya, reference to Naoe/Takaya
Genre: Porn? Angst? Both!
Word Count: 2,129
Notes: Christmas present for corialis, 2005. There is sadly no Yuzuru or Kousaka, but there IS drunk Takaya amongst other things. So I do win some of the bonus points. *g*
Summary: Being Nagahide and being Chiaki should amount to much the same thing. The key word here is "should".
The thing about being Nagahide was that, by and large, it sucked. Nagahide had been himself for about four hundred years now, and the main thing that he’d concluded was that he’d gotten gypped. To be fair, being Kagetora sucked too, and being Haruie or Naoe sucked even more. Nagahide wasn’t in the mood to be fair, though; he was in the mood to be juvenile and sullen, which meant he was in the mood to be Chiaki, rather than Nagahide. Not that that made sense, because Chiaki was just another one of Nagahide’s incarnations, just like every other one.
In another way, though, Chiaki was the first lifetime that meant something, the first incarnation that wasn’t just a name for Nagahide to use as an excuse while the fight continued on. Nagahide blamed Takaya for this; Takaya, not Kagetora. They were the same person, but at the same time, they weren’t. Kagetora was Nagahide’s rival, arrogant, pig-headed, cocksure and self-assured. Takaya was just a teenage kid, scared, angry, out of his depth, in need of a friend, and more than a little stupid sometimes. What Takaya was to Chiaki shouldn’t have been any different to what Kagetora was to Nagahide, just like any other lifetime, but Kagetora’s amnesia, Takaya’s amnesia, had changed the rules. Chiaki was Takaya’s friend, in a way Nagahide had not been; Chiaki was sarcastic and bickered like an immature teenage boy, and while there were similarities, Chiaki was not Nagahide, not exactly, just like Takaya wasn’t exactly Kagetora.
Takaya had the habit of bringing that side of Nagahide out, and Nagahide found it a little sick that even in this he was following Kagetora’s lead. At least Haruie had had the decency to have a meaningful reincarnation without Kagetora. Nagahide didn’t even bother thinking about Naoe; Naoe didn’t count, because his entire purpose of being revolved around Kagetora. A lifetime independent of Kagetora had no meaning at all to Naoe.
The other thing about being Nagahide was this: you were self-sufficient. You didn’t need anybody. You didn’t go and do the idiot thing that had destroyed the other members of your little army and fall in love, because even if it wasn’t a sadomasochistic, circular, moronic thing (like what Kagetora and Naoe had going), it was still going to end in tears, because anyone else was only human. Anyone else would die, and you’d be left behind to mourn for hundreds of years, just like Haruie, and where was the fulfilment in that?
In other words, being Nagahide meant being lonely, and sometimes he even resented Kagetora and Naoe and Haruie their screwed up love lives, because at least they had love lives to screw up. As people always liked to say: ‘tis better to have loved and lost (or perhaps failed to have ever gained, in Kagetora and Naoe’s rather unique situation) than to never have loved at all. Of course, this was vomitously cliché, and what at most times Nagahide believed to be complete and utter bullshit. Chiaki was childish enough to be self-pitying about it all, though.
As a corollary to this lack of love life, Nagahide had also unfortunately not gotten laid in more years than he could remember. When he said that, he meant it, unlike most mere mortals; he wasn’t talking about, say, five or ten years. He was talking one or two lifetimes ago, albeit tragically short lifetimes, which prompted him to the conclusion that life, no matter what form it took, was just not fair.
What was also unfair about his life was the way that being Chiaki meant having to actually hang around and listen when Takaya was pissed of his face and angsting about Naoe. This, Chiaki felt, was fate’s way of illustrating just how much he was its bitch. He didn’t want to be responsible for keeping Takaya out of trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to listen to anyone’s relationship problems when he was feeling this frustrated, especially not that fucked up mess belonging to Kagetora and Naoe.
He reflected sourly that he’d never had to do this kind of thing as Nagahide. For one thing, he’d never had to deal with a Kagetora who was this… well, young. Vulnerable. Stupidly, un-self-preservationally drunk. And for another thing, he’d never felt obliged to look after Kagetora the same way he did now Kagetora was Takaya. No fucking way he’d hold Takaya’s hair back for him if he upchucked-- Chiaki wasn’t that sympathetic-- but there was a slight twinge of guilt every time he even considered walking away.
The biggest problem with a drunk Takaya was that he seemed to have no concept of appropriate, or, for that matter, personal space. It wasn’t exactly that he was a slut; he just didn’t see the bit where sleazy men in bars buying you potentially spiked drinks and feeling you up was a bad thing, which was why Chiaki was the lucky guy who got to drag him around and away from them and more alcohol and just generally away. Takaya, being the loose-limbed hugging kind of drunk, hindered this by trying to plaster himself against Chiaki, which wasn’t all that great from Chiaki’s sexually frustrated perspective.
He couldn’t decide whether he wished Naoe were here or not. On the one hand, his reaction would be fairly priceless; on the other hand, Nagahide would end up dead and they’d never find the body.
This whole Kagetora and Naoe thing had been a lot more amusing when he was less involved, which was another problem caused by being Chiaki.
“Hey,” Chiaki said irritably. “Kagetora.”
“’m not,” Takaya complained, “not him, ‘m not Kagetora.”
Chiaki was not supposed to understand that sentiment. For one thing, it was ridiculous; Takaya was Kagetora. And for another thing, Chiaki wasn’t suffering amnesia and had even less excuse than Takaya for that particular brand of stupid.
“Yeah, sure,” Chiaki sighed. “Whatever. Come on, dipshit, you’re completely trashed.”
He found it perversely amusing that Takaya would respond to being called ‘dipshit’ more readily than ‘Kagetora’.
“What the fuck, am not,” Takaya argued, slurring only a little but stumbling into Chiaki again. Chiaki gritted his teeth and kept walking, yanking on Takaya’s wrist with painful impatience. “I c’n drink plenty. Not a lightweight.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” Chiaki agreed, rolling his eyes and fumbling with the lock to Takaya’s hotel room as Takaya leaned heavily into his back. “However, you also had a fairly ridiculous number of cocktails, which I’m sure Naoe will blame me for despite it having nothing to do with me.”
“Naoe’s a dick,” Takaya announced, almost falling over when Chiaki finally managed to get the door open and walked in.
“That he certainly is,” Chiaki said under his breath, kicking off his shoes and rubbing his eyes. He longed vaguely for a glass of water; he wasn’t drunk, not like Takaya, but his thought processes were a little more fuzzy and disconnected than he’d prefer. “Or that’s what he thinks with, anyway.”
“He’s kind of a hot dick,” Takaya continued, oblivious of Chiaki’s comment, “but he’s still a dick.”
Chiaki groaned. “No confessions of your secret lust for Naoe tonight, I’m not in the mood.”
“Hey, I don’t,” said Takaya sullenly, self-defensively, but not quite so vehement as when he was sober. “I’m not, it’s not… shut up.”
“I never had to put up with this shit as Nagahide,” Chiaki told the ceiling resentfully.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
The big problem with drunk Takaya was that even once you’d got him out of the bar and away from all the perverted old men who might molest him, this didn’t change the fact that he was still an overly friendly touchy-feely drunk who practically fell on you and wrapped his arms around you and his whole weight was heavy, damn it, so the only choice was to stagger backward and let the wall take it. Takaya’s hair prickled, and he kept shifting, and he was breathing against Chiaki’s skin with his mouth open so there was a slight hint of dampness when he turned his head a particular way.
The problem was that Chiaki was frustrated and lonely and a little tipsy, and Takaya was… well, Kagetora had always been gorgeous, but that kind of ice beauty you only tried to touch if you were masochistic like Naoe and wanted to get frostbite. Takaya was still Kagetora but more human, and he was closer to Chiaki than Kagetora and Nagahide had been to each other (both emotionally and, at this precise moment, physically), and this was an incredibly bad idea but it was too easy to slide his arms around Takaya. Too easy to pull him closer, just at the right angle to push his tongue into Takaya’s partially opened mouth and his fingers under the edge of Takaya’s t-shirt.
Nagahide was not the one who was supposed to take advantage of Kagetora. This had never been part of his grand life plan. Well, okay, maybe he’d thought about it, but it wasn’t something he’d ever intended to happen. Taking advantage of Kagetora? That was Naoe’s thing. And Nagahide especially did not take advantage of Kagetora because Nagahide did not want to die at Naoe’s hands.
Chiaki and Takaya, however, were apparently a completely different matter. Nagahide hated himself, and wondered whether the himself he was hating was Chiaki or the rest of Nagahide, and then he wondered if he was becoming just as fractured semi-schizophrenic crazy as Takaya or Kagetora or whoever-the-fuck.
Snogging became some rather more serious groping in alarmingly short order, Takaya shoved around so his back was arched against the wall and palms were splayed over it, head tilted back and moaning as Chiaki’s teeth pressed into his collar bone and Chiaki’s hand fumbled with the clasp to his jeans, even clumsier than they had been earlier with the door to the room. Takaya was pretty like this, lips red and swollen from kisses and eyes dazed and unfocussed from both alcohol and lust, and he made the best noises. Chiaki decided he liked the way Takaya curled around him and whimpered when Chiaki gently forced a leg between his thighs and started sucking at the area he’d just bitten, leaving a dark bruising red mark in its place. He then decided he was a lot drunker than he’d realised, though still not as drunk as Takaya.
By the time they’d made it to the bed, which involved more stumbling and controlled falling than walking and left it a miracle that Takaya hadn’t cracked his skull open yet, Chiaki had further decided that he was going to a very special hell, the kind they reserved for people who tortured small puppies and took advantage of their drunk and vulnerable friends.
This was why Nagahide was self-sufficient. Having friends lead to nothing but trouble, the kind of trouble where he had a slightly sick feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach even while a mused and debauched looking Takaya was writhing beneath him half-undressed and crying out incoherent strings of garble.
Kagetora in his original form had been beautiful, and his other incarnations had all been gorgeous too, but none of them had made Chiaki want to touch them or mark them the same way Takaya did. It had to be a personality thing.
All in all, it was great sex, and it was probably one of the stupidest things Chiaki had ever done.
Just before Takaya went to sleep, he mumbled something in a muffled slur that Chiaki couldn’t quite translate, but approximated to “I think maybe I like you” in that affectionate drunk kind of way, and Chiaki sighed.
“No you don’t,” he said dryly. “You’re drunk, and you’re an idiot, and so am I.”
There was a moment where he let himself consider being with Takaya, and how maybe it would work if they stayed as Chiaki and Takaya. Chiaki didn’t have to be self-sufficient like Nagahide did. The thought only lasted for a moment, though; names and incarnations aside, they were still Nagahide and Kagetora, and it would never work. He knew how this went; Kagetora was in love with Naoe, no matter how much he denied it or how much they hurt each other. Chiaki knew, in some fundamental base part of his soul, that those two were going to end up with each other sooner or later if they didn’t die first. Probably this lifetime, because with Takaya it was almost like a fresh start. Chiaki and Takaya wouldn’t work, weren’t really real; Takaya would remember gradually, like he’d already started to, and then he’d be Kagetora again and Chiaki would be Nagahide.
Being Nagahide sucked, but being Chiaki sucked even more.
Fandom: Mirage of Blaze
Pairings: Chiaki/Takaya, reference to Naoe/Takaya
Genre: Porn? Angst? Both!
Word Count: 2,129
Notes: Christmas present for corialis, 2005. There is sadly no Yuzuru or Kousaka, but there IS drunk Takaya amongst other things. So I do win some of the bonus points. *g*
Summary: Being Nagahide and being Chiaki should amount to much the same thing. The key word here is "should".
The thing about being Nagahide was that, by and large, it sucked. Nagahide had been himself for about four hundred years now, and the main thing that he’d concluded was that he’d gotten gypped. To be fair, being Kagetora sucked too, and being Haruie or Naoe sucked even more. Nagahide wasn’t in the mood to be fair, though; he was in the mood to be juvenile and sullen, which meant he was in the mood to be Chiaki, rather than Nagahide. Not that that made sense, because Chiaki was just another one of Nagahide’s incarnations, just like every other one.
In another way, though, Chiaki was the first lifetime that meant something, the first incarnation that wasn’t just a name for Nagahide to use as an excuse while the fight continued on. Nagahide blamed Takaya for this; Takaya, not Kagetora. They were the same person, but at the same time, they weren’t. Kagetora was Nagahide’s rival, arrogant, pig-headed, cocksure and self-assured. Takaya was just a teenage kid, scared, angry, out of his depth, in need of a friend, and more than a little stupid sometimes. What Takaya was to Chiaki shouldn’t have been any different to what Kagetora was to Nagahide, just like any other lifetime, but Kagetora’s amnesia, Takaya’s amnesia, had changed the rules. Chiaki was Takaya’s friend, in a way Nagahide had not been; Chiaki was sarcastic and bickered like an immature teenage boy, and while there were similarities, Chiaki was not Nagahide, not exactly, just like Takaya wasn’t exactly Kagetora.
Takaya had the habit of bringing that side of Nagahide out, and Nagahide found it a little sick that even in this he was following Kagetora’s lead. At least Haruie had had the decency to have a meaningful reincarnation without Kagetora. Nagahide didn’t even bother thinking about Naoe; Naoe didn’t count, because his entire purpose of being revolved around Kagetora. A lifetime independent of Kagetora had no meaning at all to Naoe.
The other thing about being Nagahide was this: you were self-sufficient. You didn’t need anybody. You didn’t go and do the idiot thing that had destroyed the other members of your little army and fall in love, because even if it wasn’t a sadomasochistic, circular, moronic thing (like what Kagetora and Naoe had going), it was still going to end in tears, because anyone else was only human. Anyone else would die, and you’d be left behind to mourn for hundreds of years, just like Haruie, and where was the fulfilment in that?
In other words, being Nagahide meant being lonely, and sometimes he even resented Kagetora and Naoe and Haruie their screwed up love lives, because at least they had love lives to screw up. As people always liked to say: ‘tis better to have loved and lost (or perhaps failed to have ever gained, in Kagetora and Naoe’s rather unique situation) than to never have loved at all. Of course, this was vomitously cliché, and what at most times Nagahide believed to be complete and utter bullshit. Chiaki was childish enough to be self-pitying about it all, though.
As a corollary to this lack of love life, Nagahide had also unfortunately not gotten laid in more years than he could remember. When he said that, he meant it, unlike most mere mortals; he wasn’t talking about, say, five or ten years. He was talking one or two lifetimes ago, albeit tragically short lifetimes, which prompted him to the conclusion that life, no matter what form it took, was just not fair.
What was also unfair about his life was the way that being Chiaki meant having to actually hang around and listen when Takaya was pissed of his face and angsting about Naoe. This, Chiaki felt, was fate’s way of illustrating just how much he was its bitch. He didn’t want to be responsible for keeping Takaya out of trouble, and he certainly didn’t want to listen to anyone’s relationship problems when he was feeling this frustrated, especially not that fucked up mess belonging to Kagetora and Naoe.
He reflected sourly that he’d never had to do this kind of thing as Nagahide. For one thing, he’d never had to deal with a Kagetora who was this… well, young. Vulnerable. Stupidly, un-self-preservationally drunk. And for another thing, he’d never felt obliged to look after Kagetora the same way he did now Kagetora was Takaya. No fucking way he’d hold Takaya’s hair back for him if he upchucked-- Chiaki wasn’t that sympathetic-- but there was a slight twinge of guilt every time he even considered walking away.
The biggest problem with a drunk Takaya was that he seemed to have no concept of appropriate, or, for that matter, personal space. It wasn’t exactly that he was a slut; he just didn’t see the bit where sleazy men in bars buying you potentially spiked drinks and feeling you up was a bad thing, which was why Chiaki was the lucky guy who got to drag him around and away from them and more alcohol and just generally away. Takaya, being the loose-limbed hugging kind of drunk, hindered this by trying to plaster himself against Chiaki, which wasn’t all that great from Chiaki’s sexually frustrated perspective.
He couldn’t decide whether he wished Naoe were here or not. On the one hand, his reaction would be fairly priceless; on the other hand, Nagahide would end up dead and they’d never find the body.
This whole Kagetora and Naoe thing had been a lot more amusing when he was less involved, which was another problem caused by being Chiaki.
“Hey,” Chiaki said irritably. “Kagetora.”
“’m not,” Takaya complained, “not him, ‘m not Kagetora.”
Chiaki was not supposed to understand that sentiment. For one thing, it was ridiculous; Takaya was Kagetora. And for another thing, Chiaki wasn’t suffering amnesia and had even less excuse than Takaya for that particular brand of stupid.
“Yeah, sure,” Chiaki sighed. “Whatever. Come on, dipshit, you’re completely trashed.”
He found it perversely amusing that Takaya would respond to being called ‘dipshit’ more readily than ‘Kagetora’.
“What the fuck, am not,” Takaya argued, slurring only a little but stumbling into Chiaki again. Chiaki gritted his teeth and kept walking, yanking on Takaya’s wrist with painful impatience. “I c’n drink plenty. Not a lightweight.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” Chiaki agreed, rolling his eyes and fumbling with the lock to Takaya’s hotel room as Takaya leaned heavily into his back. “However, you also had a fairly ridiculous number of cocktails, which I’m sure Naoe will blame me for despite it having nothing to do with me.”
“Naoe’s a dick,” Takaya announced, almost falling over when Chiaki finally managed to get the door open and walked in.
“That he certainly is,” Chiaki said under his breath, kicking off his shoes and rubbing his eyes. He longed vaguely for a glass of water; he wasn’t drunk, not like Takaya, but his thought processes were a little more fuzzy and disconnected than he’d prefer. “Or that’s what he thinks with, anyway.”
“He’s kind of a hot dick,” Takaya continued, oblivious of Chiaki’s comment, “but he’s still a dick.”
Chiaki groaned. “No confessions of your secret lust for Naoe tonight, I’m not in the mood.”
“Hey, I don’t,” said Takaya sullenly, self-defensively, but not quite so vehement as when he was sober. “I’m not, it’s not… shut up.”
“I never had to put up with this shit as Nagahide,” Chiaki told the ceiling resentfully.
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
The big problem with drunk Takaya was that even once you’d got him out of the bar and away from all the perverted old men who might molest him, this didn’t change the fact that he was still an overly friendly touchy-feely drunk who practically fell on you and wrapped his arms around you and his whole weight was heavy, damn it, so the only choice was to stagger backward and let the wall take it. Takaya’s hair prickled, and he kept shifting, and he was breathing against Chiaki’s skin with his mouth open so there was a slight hint of dampness when he turned his head a particular way.
The problem was that Chiaki was frustrated and lonely and a little tipsy, and Takaya was… well, Kagetora had always been gorgeous, but that kind of ice beauty you only tried to touch if you were masochistic like Naoe and wanted to get frostbite. Takaya was still Kagetora but more human, and he was closer to Chiaki than Kagetora and Nagahide had been to each other (both emotionally and, at this precise moment, physically), and this was an incredibly bad idea but it was too easy to slide his arms around Takaya. Too easy to pull him closer, just at the right angle to push his tongue into Takaya’s partially opened mouth and his fingers under the edge of Takaya’s t-shirt.
Nagahide was not the one who was supposed to take advantage of Kagetora. This had never been part of his grand life plan. Well, okay, maybe he’d thought about it, but it wasn’t something he’d ever intended to happen. Taking advantage of Kagetora? That was Naoe’s thing. And Nagahide especially did not take advantage of Kagetora because Nagahide did not want to die at Naoe’s hands.
Chiaki and Takaya, however, were apparently a completely different matter. Nagahide hated himself, and wondered whether the himself he was hating was Chiaki or the rest of Nagahide, and then he wondered if he was becoming just as fractured semi-schizophrenic crazy as Takaya or Kagetora or whoever-the-fuck.
Snogging became some rather more serious groping in alarmingly short order, Takaya shoved around so his back was arched against the wall and palms were splayed over it, head tilted back and moaning as Chiaki’s teeth pressed into his collar bone and Chiaki’s hand fumbled with the clasp to his jeans, even clumsier than they had been earlier with the door to the room. Takaya was pretty like this, lips red and swollen from kisses and eyes dazed and unfocussed from both alcohol and lust, and he made the best noises. Chiaki decided he liked the way Takaya curled around him and whimpered when Chiaki gently forced a leg between his thighs and started sucking at the area he’d just bitten, leaving a dark bruising red mark in its place. He then decided he was a lot drunker than he’d realised, though still not as drunk as Takaya.
By the time they’d made it to the bed, which involved more stumbling and controlled falling than walking and left it a miracle that Takaya hadn’t cracked his skull open yet, Chiaki had further decided that he was going to a very special hell, the kind they reserved for people who tortured small puppies and took advantage of their drunk and vulnerable friends.
This was why Nagahide was self-sufficient. Having friends lead to nothing but trouble, the kind of trouble where he had a slightly sick feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach even while a mused and debauched looking Takaya was writhing beneath him half-undressed and crying out incoherent strings of garble.
Kagetora in his original form had been beautiful, and his other incarnations had all been gorgeous too, but none of them had made Chiaki want to touch them or mark them the same way Takaya did. It had to be a personality thing.
All in all, it was great sex, and it was probably one of the stupidest things Chiaki had ever done.
Just before Takaya went to sleep, he mumbled something in a muffled slur that Chiaki couldn’t quite translate, but approximated to “I think maybe I like you” in that affectionate drunk kind of way, and Chiaki sighed.
“No you don’t,” he said dryly. “You’re drunk, and you’re an idiot, and so am I.”
There was a moment where he let himself consider being with Takaya, and how maybe it would work if they stayed as Chiaki and Takaya. Chiaki didn’t have to be self-sufficient like Nagahide did. The thought only lasted for a moment, though; names and incarnations aside, they were still Nagahide and Kagetora, and it would never work. He knew how this went; Kagetora was in love with Naoe, no matter how much he denied it or how much they hurt each other. Chiaki knew, in some fundamental base part of his soul, that those two were going to end up with each other sooner or later if they didn’t die first. Probably this lifetime, because with Takaya it was almost like a fresh start. Chiaki and Takaya wouldn’t work, weren’t really real; Takaya would remember gradually, like he’d already started to, and then he’d be Kagetora again and Chiaki would be Nagahide.
Being Nagahide sucked, but being Chiaki sucked even more.