Remix of sparklynoodles
Title: Spark
Rating: NC-17 (for violence)
Group, Pairing: KAT-TUN, Kamenashi Kazuya/Nakamaru Yuichi.
Warnings: dark!fic, psycho-killer. Loose interpretation of the lyrics of Blinding, by Florence and the Machine.
Notes: Lee is wonderful. And I had so many ideas on so many other fics. I finally stuck to this because it’s not every day we can write psycho killer Kame. One day, I’ll post the other WIPs as remix rejects. Thanks to the wonderful Belle for betaing.
Link to Original Story: Flicker
Link to Original Author: sparklynoodles
And all the bones began to shake
seems that i have been held, in some dreaming state
It flickered between his fingertips, feather light and steel cold. A slice of sliver, a tiny glitter that melted and dissolved with the fickle specs of dust that danced through the open curtains. A dim ray of sunshine shimmering straight on top of it, glistening. Shaking.
Kame’s mouth twitched, corners pulled up as he stared. The odd angle in which he held the blade made the glare of the morning light reflect in his eyes, a sharp white that hid any other color until he tilted to the side and it glowed now as liquid mercury against his palm. He had never quite fancied those finely crafted blades designed to pierce quickly and to cut through easily, blades too sharp and prone to dig in too fast. It shattered the purpose; their quixotic soul ripped apart with the very first easy slash, stripped of the thrill of it fighting with the skin, the soft resistance of flesh when metal dived in for the kill. There was no pleasure without the need to push and press downwards for it to actually breach.
There was something romantic about the whole ordeal.
Or so he thought as a finger slide over the worn slightly dull edge, faint copper stains glaring back at him. When he pushed down on it, there was no pain accompanying the crimson on the tip of his fingertip.
Sharp enough, he thought.
a tourist in the waking world, never quite awake
Nakamaru was observant. For everything they might have teased him about, all the changes he underwent - from overenthusiastic joker to the calm slightly-distracted member of their hectic group -he’d always been a good observer. He could asses situations fast, think them through, reach a solution with a clarity that few possessed, and even less exploited. His beatboxing was proof of those exercises, a skill developed out of need; the conclusion reached when he felt his future prospects dangling from what he could and could not do.
A wise decision, in the end.
So Kame wasn’t at all surprised when Maru looked him over and perceived something odd, let it slip through the cracks of his frowning semblance, and was fortunately distracted by Kame’s own ability to laugh it off, shrug his shoulders and distract him with some underhanded motion that ended up, more often than not, in an invasion of the older’s personal space in the presence of an audience that wasn’t exactly sure how to react.
At those times, Maru would look at him reproachfully, suspiciously, but he usually let it go. Kame knew what it was, because he felt his smug satisfaction bubbling under the surface. He knew how he would move slow, sluggish, full. And Maru picked it up, every single night after Kame had gone out and visited those dark alleyways where the streetlamps barely reached, not even the silver glint giving away the sensory overload that would shake from his wrist to the dark red splatters on the rough brick wall.
Sometimes, they gleamed in the moonlight.
It gave the never-ending blur a bit of focus. Days turning to weeks turning to months of dazed apathy and that constant sprint that managed to overcome him in a way nothing else did. There was a tiny shimmering here and there, flying with the ball that crossed the field, resurfacing with a call that shook him and made him sit and sigh and breathe. The tiny lanterns that lit up whenever Maru nudged him aside and Kame smiled back at him as long slender fingers curled over his own stubby ones despite how long it took to warm them up. Those were his favorite moments of lucidity.
Today though, that haze of ennui had dissipated, cleared up a little with the first turn in the air, that hard pull from the middle and upwards, messing up his insides and sending sharp vertigo straight to his heart. He’d almost frozen midair if it hadn’t been for the instructor telling him to breathe. Kame remembered Maru’s face watching from the floor before closing his eyes and clenching the ropes until his hands were red and rubbed raw.
It had almost felt like the thrill of moving the blade upwards, that diagonal slash up; only it was his stomach that got pulled and his hands that ended up looking ragged and reddened, the pain of panic rushing through his veins in a whole different manner.
When Maru stepped into the room, Kame knew he looked exhausted and a little shaken. For a first day on the ropes, they hadn’t done so well.
“Hey,” Kame muttered softly, sipped on his coffee. Maru’s scrunched up nose was cute enough not to roll his eyes when the older one frowned at his mug and sat heavily on the other side of the room, on a sofa full of Koki’s things scattered over the plaid tapestry.
His eyes were fixed on Kame though, a bit caring, a lot concerned. Maru always managed to remove something from the very bottom of your soul with that slow easiness of him, with his silent contemplative stares. The way he was now eyeing Kame and his cup of coffee. The younger one felt a little bit more awake then.
In the middle of the fog, Maru was the shiny thread of lucidity that kept him away from the violent shocks of awakening.
“Are you alright?” Maru asked him. And pointed to where Kame’s hand instinctively had wrapped around his middle.
And Kame would smile. At the care and the concern and the way Maru melted against his side when he joined him in the sofa. He snuggled against him, long fingers dancing at the nape of his neck, as Kame replied, “I’ll be fine,” in a whisper and Maru nodded because if Kame said he’ll be fine, he will and there was no denying it.
It calmed him down; sort of distorted everything to that mellow cacophony that followed those tiny beacons of clarity that shone through all that hazy stillness. He felt the warmth spread on his fingertips, the chuckle in his voice that reached his ears from a distance, the blurry image of his hand pressed against Maru’s. Kame melted against the sofa, undone together with the plaid tapestry and the hand pressing against his own, fluttering sparkles where Maru’s piano fingers touched him on his forearm, his waist, right under his collarbone, the lobe of his ear. Maru was gentle, and made Kame focus on more important things when he moved behind him, scattering brief butterfly kisses along his shoulder blades.
And then it was all even blurrier than before.
But this time, it was warm and nice and not a void of routine spread behind and in front of him. Kame didn’t think he could, didn’t think Maru even realized his role. But he let himself be pushed against the plaid tapestry anyway. And there was no need of crimson and silver to make that small sparkle of self titillate and glow in the middle of all the fog.
Sometimes though, when Maru's gentle fingers threaded on his hair, pushed against his skin, his voice lulling him to completion, Kame's hands would tingle and his thoughts would derail to the last drawer of his bedside table, thinking of sharp silver glints and red stained collarbones.
He wished those golden sparks would wake him up like those crimson rushes of adrenaline did.
Those times, Kame closed his eyes tight. And welcomed the fog inside his mind.
no kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber
He felt it coursing through his veins as soon as the loud bass blasted against his eardrums and the river of people hit him straight with the neon lights and the smoke floating above their heads. The exhilaration and need he hadn’t felt in a while, tamped down by tangled limbs and whispered kisses against his neck, it kicked him low in the gut, spreading that white fireball that completely awoke him.
Finally.
He moved sinuously through the bodies there, his blood up and about, his racing heartbeat strumming in sync with the bubbling notes vibrating out of the speakers and swaying everyone to the beat. It was almost like that time, that first time, when his hands had trembled as the body collapsed to the floor and the red splotches on the dirty corners of the bricks made his stomach churn. He had needed to lean on the opposite wall, the sight in front of him for the first time scary.
Kame remembered flashes of it then, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows, the hurried sprint that pressed on his lungs in his chest as he darted back inside the club with his throat constricted, like a sponge had taken up residence in the middle of his vocal cords. It dawned on him, on the palms of his hands, on the weight on his stomach. On that tiny spur of lucidity that outlined itself as a fine golden thread in the middle of that mist. And as he leaned over the sink, feeling the big drops of water slide down his face, it all came crashing down over him like a ton of bricks embroidered in dark burgundy.
Murderer
“Kame?”
It was not Maru’s voice calling from behind him; not his hands closing over his white knuckles and asking him to breathe, asking what was wrong. Saying it’ll all be alright.
"Hey," Maru breathed. "Let me fix this."
Kame had wanted to laugh.
The power was back now, slipping inside his fists as it crawled over his fingers, heavy on his belt. Barren of any unrequited feelings of guilt. It had been a while; more than a small bridge of unfulfilled desire standing between back then and the present now. And it had come back full force, hitting him square in the chest and forcing him to go out, to mingle among inconspicuous strangers, to send sultry looks over his shoulder and wait for a faceless human to follow him outside and turn his back on him.
It was a clueless one this time, a little forceful but pliant after some well placed words and more than a couple of strategically allowed touches. Not much later, there were bricks in front of their faces and the nameless throat was moaning incoherencies somewhere near his ear, pushing back against him with a fervor Kame wished he found more often. But it wasn’t as easy, not when he unfolded the blade and the treacherous full moon made it glint and reflect against a broken glass.
Kame almost lost him.
He felt the sharp pain against his ribs, knobby elbow striking him in a desperate attempt to flee, but Kame had pressed the edge against him already; he could see the blood dripping out from between the fingers that held onto for dear life. He was hurt; there was no real escape available. Kame’s blood was still pumping like crazy, beating against his ribcage like it wanted to explode. He felt the steady rhythm on his temples and it was a blur of adrenaline as he sliced that throat in the end, the choked gurgling sound of the dark haired man silenced by the white noise of the night.
He slumped against the other wall, trying to calm down his breathing, his raging heartbeat. Achieving neither. Not even as he let himself fall on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, brain alert with lucidness, had he managed to get a hold of his body. It’d been so long that the emotions had run raw and uncontrolled, the electric shock of awareness leaving him on the brink of hyperventilation.
And then, his phone vibrated.
It blinked Yuichi back at him.
until I realize that it was you who held me under
The door of the cab closed behind him with a loud thud before the car was speeding away from his doorstep. He didn’t feel it though, didn’t quite register his own soft steps from the elevator to his apartment. The familiar shoes on the foyer floor were easily identifiable, but his brain was a little confused still, staring down at them for longer than he would’ve had he not have been on the downwards slope of the curve.
Maru appeared from the living room and Kame would’ve laughed. Maru had that silly Mickey Mouse shirt on again, clashing ridiculously with the upset frown on his face. But the younger one couldn’t, not really. Not when his face felt paralyzed and it was numb and tingly in all the important spots. He felt himself flushing without reason, suddenly self-conscious, feeing the need to recheck if his clothes had coppery stains on it.
"Did you forget?" Maru asked. Low and slow. Suspicious, one eyebrow raised.
Kame gulped, ducked his head. Sighed. And then he let himself be pulled forward with a gentle scold, his heart thumping in his chest, the blade suddenly heavier against his side and his skin fetid with the unseen blood that clawed up his arms and coiled in strings around his chest.
Maru was gentle though, like he always was, cupping his face with care and allowing Kame to clench his shirt into his fists, pulling him forward and up close, letting a shiver rattle his whole body as Maru pushed him softly against the wall. Trapped between that warmth, arms circling his waist, nose nuzzling his cheek, Kame felt the thumping recede, the ice cold fear dissolve and turn into a puddle of minuscule drops that might evaporate any minute. Flashes of red and yellow and silver danced in front of him, eyelids that slid closed were seeing everything again; but he was focusing on the hands on him now, the warmth security of the body pressing against him. And then, there was nothing.
Only a metallic clatter against the floor.
Time stilled.
And Kame didn’t dare look up as the audible gasp reached his ears.
and finally it seemed that the spell was broken
Fin
Rating: NC-17 (for violence)
Group, Pairing: KAT-TUN, Kamenashi Kazuya/Nakamaru Yuichi.
Warnings: dark!fic, psycho-killer. Loose interpretation of the lyrics of Blinding, by Florence and the Machine.
Notes: Lee is wonderful. And I had so many ideas on so many other fics. I finally stuck to this because it’s not every day we can write psycho killer Kame. One day, I’ll post the other WIPs as remix rejects. Thanks to the wonderful Belle for betaing.
Link to Original Story: Flicker
Link to Original Author: sparklynoodles
And all the bones began to shake
seems that i have been held, in some dreaming state
It flickered between his fingertips, feather light and steel cold. A slice of sliver, a tiny glitter that melted and dissolved with the fickle specs of dust that danced through the open curtains. A dim ray of sunshine shimmering straight on top of it, glistening. Shaking.
Kame’s mouth twitched, corners pulled up as he stared. The odd angle in which he held the blade made the glare of the morning light reflect in his eyes, a sharp white that hid any other color until he tilted to the side and it glowed now as liquid mercury against his palm. He had never quite fancied those finely crafted blades designed to pierce quickly and to cut through easily, blades too sharp and prone to dig in too fast. It shattered the purpose; their quixotic soul ripped apart with the very first easy slash, stripped of the thrill of it fighting with the skin, the soft resistance of flesh when metal dived in for the kill. There was no pleasure without the need to push and press downwards for it to actually breach.
There was something romantic about the whole ordeal.
Or so he thought as a finger slide over the worn slightly dull edge, faint copper stains glaring back at him. When he pushed down on it, there was no pain accompanying the crimson on the tip of his fingertip.
Sharp enough, he thought.
a tourist in the waking world, never quite awake
Nakamaru was observant. For everything they might have teased him about, all the changes he underwent - from overenthusiastic joker to the calm slightly-distracted member of their hectic group -he’d always been a good observer. He could asses situations fast, think them through, reach a solution with a clarity that few possessed, and even less exploited. His beatboxing was proof of those exercises, a skill developed out of need; the conclusion reached when he felt his future prospects dangling from what he could and could not do.
A wise decision, in the end.
So Kame wasn’t at all surprised when Maru looked him over and perceived something odd, let it slip through the cracks of his frowning semblance, and was fortunately distracted by Kame’s own ability to laugh it off, shrug his shoulders and distract him with some underhanded motion that ended up, more often than not, in an invasion of the older’s personal space in the presence of an audience that wasn’t exactly sure how to react.
At those times, Maru would look at him reproachfully, suspiciously, but he usually let it go. Kame knew what it was, because he felt his smug satisfaction bubbling under the surface. He knew how he would move slow, sluggish, full. And Maru picked it up, every single night after Kame had gone out and visited those dark alleyways where the streetlamps barely reached, not even the silver glint giving away the sensory overload that would shake from his wrist to the dark red splatters on the rough brick wall.
Sometimes, they gleamed in the moonlight.
It gave the never-ending blur a bit of focus. Days turning to weeks turning to months of dazed apathy and that constant sprint that managed to overcome him in a way nothing else did. There was a tiny shimmering here and there, flying with the ball that crossed the field, resurfacing with a call that shook him and made him sit and sigh and breathe. The tiny lanterns that lit up whenever Maru nudged him aside and Kame smiled back at him as long slender fingers curled over his own stubby ones despite how long it took to warm them up. Those were his favorite moments of lucidity.
Today though, that haze of ennui had dissipated, cleared up a little with the first turn in the air, that hard pull from the middle and upwards, messing up his insides and sending sharp vertigo straight to his heart. He’d almost frozen midair if it hadn’t been for the instructor telling him to breathe. Kame remembered Maru’s face watching from the floor before closing his eyes and clenching the ropes until his hands were red and rubbed raw.
It had almost felt like the thrill of moving the blade upwards, that diagonal slash up; only it was his stomach that got pulled and his hands that ended up looking ragged and reddened, the pain of panic rushing through his veins in a whole different manner.
When Maru stepped into the room, Kame knew he looked exhausted and a little shaken. For a first day on the ropes, they hadn’t done so well.
“Hey,” Kame muttered softly, sipped on his coffee. Maru’s scrunched up nose was cute enough not to roll his eyes when the older one frowned at his mug and sat heavily on the other side of the room, on a sofa full of Koki’s things scattered over the plaid tapestry.
His eyes were fixed on Kame though, a bit caring, a lot concerned. Maru always managed to remove something from the very bottom of your soul with that slow easiness of him, with his silent contemplative stares. The way he was now eyeing Kame and his cup of coffee. The younger one felt a little bit more awake then.
In the middle of the fog, Maru was the shiny thread of lucidity that kept him away from the violent shocks of awakening.
“Are you alright?” Maru asked him. And pointed to where Kame’s hand instinctively had wrapped around his middle.
And Kame would smile. At the care and the concern and the way Maru melted against his side when he joined him in the sofa. He snuggled against him, long fingers dancing at the nape of his neck, as Kame replied, “I’ll be fine,” in a whisper and Maru nodded because if Kame said he’ll be fine, he will and there was no denying it.
It calmed him down; sort of distorted everything to that mellow cacophony that followed those tiny beacons of clarity that shone through all that hazy stillness. He felt the warmth spread on his fingertips, the chuckle in his voice that reached his ears from a distance, the blurry image of his hand pressed against Maru’s. Kame melted against the sofa, undone together with the plaid tapestry and the hand pressing against his own, fluttering sparkles where Maru’s piano fingers touched him on his forearm, his waist, right under his collarbone, the lobe of his ear. Maru was gentle, and made Kame focus on more important things when he moved behind him, scattering brief butterfly kisses along his shoulder blades.
And then it was all even blurrier than before.
But this time, it was warm and nice and not a void of routine spread behind and in front of him. Kame didn’t think he could, didn’t think Maru even realized his role. But he let himself be pushed against the plaid tapestry anyway. And there was no need of crimson and silver to make that small sparkle of self titillate and glow in the middle of all the fog.
Sometimes though, when Maru's gentle fingers threaded on his hair, pushed against his skin, his voice lulling him to completion, Kame's hands would tingle and his thoughts would derail to the last drawer of his bedside table, thinking of sharp silver glints and red stained collarbones.
He wished those golden sparks would wake him up like those crimson rushes of adrenaline did.
Those times, Kame closed his eyes tight. And welcomed the fog inside his mind.
no kiss, no gentle word could wake me from this slumber
He felt it coursing through his veins as soon as the loud bass blasted against his eardrums and the river of people hit him straight with the neon lights and the smoke floating above their heads. The exhilaration and need he hadn’t felt in a while, tamped down by tangled limbs and whispered kisses against his neck, it kicked him low in the gut, spreading that white fireball that completely awoke him.
Finally.
He moved sinuously through the bodies there, his blood up and about, his racing heartbeat strumming in sync with the bubbling notes vibrating out of the speakers and swaying everyone to the beat. It was almost like that time, that first time, when his hands had trembled as the body collapsed to the floor and the red splotches on the dirty corners of the bricks made his stomach churn. He had needed to lean on the opposite wall, the sight in front of him for the first time scary.
Kame remembered flashes of it then, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows, the hurried sprint that pressed on his lungs in his chest as he darted back inside the club with his throat constricted, like a sponge had taken up residence in the middle of his vocal cords. It dawned on him, on the palms of his hands, on the weight on his stomach. On that tiny spur of lucidity that outlined itself as a fine golden thread in the middle of that mist. And as he leaned over the sink, feeling the big drops of water slide down his face, it all came crashing down over him like a ton of bricks embroidered in dark burgundy.
Murderer
“Kame?”
It was not Maru’s voice calling from behind him; not his hands closing over his white knuckles and asking him to breathe, asking what was wrong. Saying it’ll all be alright.
"Hey," Maru breathed. "Let me fix this."
Kame had wanted to laugh.
The power was back now, slipping inside his fists as it crawled over his fingers, heavy on his belt. Barren of any unrequited feelings of guilt. It had been a while; more than a small bridge of unfulfilled desire standing between back then and the present now. And it had come back full force, hitting him square in the chest and forcing him to go out, to mingle among inconspicuous strangers, to send sultry looks over his shoulder and wait for a faceless human to follow him outside and turn his back on him.
It was a clueless one this time, a little forceful but pliant after some well placed words and more than a couple of strategically allowed touches. Not much later, there were bricks in front of their faces and the nameless throat was moaning incoherencies somewhere near his ear, pushing back against him with a fervor Kame wished he found more often. But it wasn’t as easy, not when he unfolded the blade and the treacherous full moon made it glint and reflect against a broken glass.
Kame almost lost him.
He felt the sharp pain against his ribs, knobby elbow striking him in a desperate attempt to flee, but Kame had pressed the edge against him already; he could see the blood dripping out from between the fingers that held onto for dear life. He was hurt; there was no real escape available. Kame’s blood was still pumping like crazy, beating against his ribcage like it wanted to explode. He felt the steady rhythm on his temples and it was a blur of adrenaline as he sliced that throat in the end, the choked gurgling sound of the dark haired man silenced by the white noise of the night.
He slumped against the other wall, trying to calm down his breathing, his raging heartbeat. Achieving neither. Not even as he let himself fall on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, brain alert with lucidness, had he managed to get a hold of his body. It’d been so long that the emotions had run raw and uncontrolled, the electric shock of awareness leaving him on the brink of hyperventilation.
And then, his phone vibrated.
It blinked Yuichi back at him.
until I realize that it was you who held me under
The door of the cab closed behind him with a loud thud before the car was speeding away from his doorstep. He didn’t feel it though, didn’t quite register his own soft steps from the elevator to his apartment. The familiar shoes on the foyer floor were easily identifiable, but his brain was a little confused still, staring down at them for longer than he would’ve had he not have been on the downwards slope of the curve.
Maru appeared from the living room and Kame would’ve laughed. Maru had that silly Mickey Mouse shirt on again, clashing ridiculously with the upset frown on his face. But the younger one couldn’t, not really. Not when his face felt paralyzed and it was numb and tingly in all the important spots. He felt himself flushing without reason, suddenly self-conscious, feeing the need to recheck if his clothes had coppery stains on it.
"Did you forget?" Maru asked. Low and slow. Suspicious, one eyebrow raised.
Kame gulped, ducked his head. Sighed. And then he let himself be pulled forward with a gentle scold, his heart thumping in his chest, the blade suddenly heavier against his side and his skin fetid with the unseen blood that clawed up his arms and coiled in strings around his chest.
Maru was gentle though, like he always was, cupping his face with care and allowing Kame to clench his shirt into his fists, pulling him forward and up close, letting a shiver rattle his whole body as Maru pushed him softly against the wall. Trapped between that warmth, arms circling his waist, nose nuzzling his cheek, Kame felt the thumping recede, the ice cold fear dissolve and turn into a puddle of minuscule drops that might evaporate any minute. Flashes of red and yellow and silver danced in front of him, eyelids that slid closed were seeing everything again; but he was focusing on the hands on him now, the warmth security of the body pressing against him. And then, there was nothing.
Only a metallic clatter against the floor.
Time stilled.
And Kame didn’t dare look up as the audible gasp reached his ears.
and finally it seemed that the spell was broken
Fin