JSRF Beat/Yoyo fanfics x-posted to shutup_and_eat
since I haven't posted these earlier, I'll do it now. if you're a member of shutup_and_eat then you've probably already seen these. if not, and you're a fan of Jet Set Radio Future and Beat/Yoyo, you should totally join. it's all empty and sad and stuff.
Title: One More Night
Fandom: Jet Set Radio Future
Pairing(s): Beat/Yoyo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Yoyo knows it's going to have to stop soon, so he puts on a strong face and... Beat asks for just one more night to express all the feelings that he didn't have it in him to say. Yoyo gives him at least that much.
Warnings: boy-love, m/m situations, sexuality, kissing, strong language
Disclaimer: characters are property of Sega
Author's note: i was actually listening to "one more night" by Stars, which is what inspired this fic.
One More Night
by myradi.neuf
It was a wicked dance, one that would repeat for eternity, and though Yoyo hated it, he was addicted. As much as it disgusted him, he loved it still. This feeling of being wanted was one he wasn't willing to lose. He could turn up his nose, he could puke into the toilet, but that was all part of his cunning. No matter how ill it made him, he enjoyed it like the twisted little child he had become.
But it just couldn't go on. It had to end here. For his sanity and for his pride, he would cut it off here. This would be the last time he would look at that smug face, daring him to say 'no.' This would be the last time he would smell pot and alcohol on the air as he lay face-down on a dirty old mattress, the body above him both hot and cold all at once.
He steps into the musty shack for the millionth time, though his intentions are different today. The boy laying sprawled out on that very same mattress seems to sense this, though he makes no movement to suggest so. Yoyo hardens his resolve, regardless of how the sight always seems to steal his breath away. He will not let his eyes linger upon that face, the monstrous bug-like goggles discarded. His fingers would not ache to touch the expanse of milky-white chest exposed before him. That same red hair that he had so enjoyed, he would enjoy never again.
He had to end it here. For his sanity and for his pride, he would cut it off here.
So Yoyo stands firm in the doorway, looking down at his lover with all the confidence that he can't seem to feel. The older boy's lips twitch into a smirk, but Yoyo blinks and it is gone, and his lover wears his expressionless mask again.
"Beat." The green-haired boy says, and he's surprised that his voice is strong and with purpose. The red-head on the mattress catches this and cannot hide his amusement now, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch the younger boy with interest.
"One more night." Beat says simply, and Yoyo is taken aback.
"W-what?"
"One more night." The older teen says again, and then falls back onto the mattress. Yoyo tries to tell himself otherwise, though his body will not listen as it begins to unclasp the rollerblades strapped to his feet. His socks don't match and Beat laughs, but Yoyo doesn't care. He does it for him, because he knows how it amuses him so.
"One more night." Yoyo says softly, bowing his head. "Just one more night."
Rather than speaking, Beat motions with his hands for Yoyo to come to him. The green-haired boy sucks on his bottom lip, making it swell under the attention. The calloused hands reaching to him had always caused him so much pain and so much pleasure. He couldn't count the times those sharp knuckles had dislocated his jaw or broken his nose... and he couldn't count the times those experienced fingers had sent him writhing and mewling with a simple stroke or pinch.
In the end, Yoyo knew it would be those hands that would unravel all of his well-made plans. Those hands that would wrap around his waist and stroke his belly under his pullover would remain burned onto his flesh and mind. The memory of them slipping into the front of his shorts would always make his vision swim for a second or two.
And those hands were reaching to him now for the last time, wanting to memorize every inch of him before the night was over.
Yoyo kneels at Beat's side, even after all this time, still uncertain of what to do with himself. It is a trait Beat enjoys in his little student, and it is a trait Yoyo wants to puke on himself for.
A bottle is pressed to Yoyo's lips and he obediently drinks, and by now, the scorching hot in his throat is bearable. Beat takes back the bottle and finishes it off, and it is soon rolling across the floor, empty.
Beat tugs at the bottom hem of Yoyo's blue pullover and makes an impatient grunting noise. Yoyo rolls his eyes and begins to pull the offending article upwards. Talented hands come up to assist him, or rather, to simply touch him, and soon his shirt is off in a corner, picking up dirt and dust that no one had ever bothered to sweep away.
The sun over Rokkaku-Dai Heights sends pink and orange filtering in through the small, dirty window, and Beat sits up completely, content to admire his young lover in this light. Yoyo averts his gaze, a blush settling on his cheeks. He'll never understand why Beat has to look at him like that. Sometimes it will be only seconds, other times it will be minutes... Yoyo's mind could recall a time when Beat had simply watched him for nearly an hour before suddenly devouring him with a heated passion.
This time, it is only three minutes, but Beat does not move to take Yoyo like all the other times. Instead, he turns away, and Yoyo blinks in confusion. He reaches out, his hand shaking as he delicately sets his fingers upon the older boy's shoulder. Beat doesn't flinch, though there is evident irritation in the air around them. Yoyo doesn't drop his hand, however, and gives Beat's shoulder a light push.
"Yo, Beat?" He asks, his voice breaking the quiet. Without warning, Beat stands and walks to the window. He braces his hands on the windowsill and it creaks, threatening to break soon. The light is bright on Beat's face and Yoyo squints a little, knowing not to press matters any further. Beat will speak when it suits him, and it didn't suit him right now.
A long time passes and Yoyo entertains himself with doodling in the dust on the floor. A stick figure brutally stabbing another stick figure. He smiles a little and likes to think that he'll stab Beat like that one day. Beat remains motionless, something rare for the hyper boy. Yoyo wonders how Beat can act that way, going from bouncy and energetic to quiet and still. Yoyo has to feel blessed for this look beneath Beat's exterior. No one else will see him like this. No, it is a right that has always been reserved for Beat's favorite little "newbie".
"Get over here." Beat says finally, and Yoyo lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"What's up?" The younger boy replies, coming to stand beside the other at the window.
There's another long silence before Beat reaches out to touch the younger male's cheek. He feathers his fingers across skin, and just as quickly, they are gone again. Yoyo is irritated now, not enjoying the uncertainty of everything. It used to be so simple for all of its' complexity. Tease, fuck, tease, punch, fuck... At least Yoyo knew what was coming next with a strategy like that.
But this? Beat was being tender and almost sweet in his neglect.
Yoyo wanted to smash his skull and skate away to never look back again.
"The end..." Beat says finally, and his voice is a little strange to hear for some reason. There is something within it that causes Yoyo's stomach to churn violently. "...Should be a good one."
Yoyo wants to hear more, but Beat gives him nothing else. Rough hands are tangled in his hair, not with the intention of bringing pain, but with the intention to memorize the way it looks and feels like that. Yoyo doesn't hate it. It sickens him that he almost wishes for this to continue for eternity.
Those hands in his hair slide to cup his cheeks, and he stares into the eyes of his lover. They are unusually wet, Yoyo notes, and as he opens his mouth to comment on it, he finds no words can escape him. Lips are crushed to his own, and though it leaves no room for denial, it is still almost tender in a very uncharacteristically Beat way.
His shorts are falling to the floor. They'll get dirty down there...
He has to concentrate on such trivialties to keep from going insane.
They stop for air and Yoyo is pressed against the window. The sun is going down and the glass is losing some of its warmth. He shivers. Beat continues his assault on Yoyo's neck and smiles ruefully into the creamy flesh.
"The bed isn't made." Yoyo says, his eyelids fluttering closed as a little tremor of electric pleasure flutters through him. For all they don't know about each other... for all they refuse to know about each other... Beat will always know that Yoyo loves the attention to his neck.
Beat doesn't even question Yoyo's statement. Yoyo doesn't care, as long as those lips and teeth and tongue don't stop what they're-- "Like that..." He breathes, and he feels Beat shudder. He doesn't know why his encouragements move the older boy the way they do, but it will always bring him to smile every time.
Beat knows he's great. He thinks highly of himself. Yet the heated encouragements of his little "newbie" are enough to make his knees shake.
Yoyo can't say he hates the power, no matter how small that is.
But soon enough, the power is back in Beat's hands, and Yoyo isn't entirely unhappy with that. He's touched in all the ways that will send him to his blissfully white euphoria. Beat knows him like that. It's almost frightening that Beat may just know his body better than he does.
But he isn't entirely unhappy with that either.
The young boy pants heavily and those experienced hands never cease. Yoyo must've cried out at one point, because Beat mumbles something incoherent. But Yoyo really doesn't care, because the vibrations are just too wonderful.
Soon enough, he's arching and climbing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his hips rocking as his mind searches and searches for that heavenly release...
It feels like it's over too quickly, that heaven has all too soon sent him crashing into the ground. He opens his eyes just in time to see Beat spitting white from his mouth. The older boy rubs at his lips with the back of his hand and scowls.
"Dumb little fuck." Beat snaps, and Yoyo knows it's because Beat's always hated bitter things.
"I wish you would die." Yoyo says with a tiny grin, and Beat's face loses some of its anger. He smiles back and Yoyo knows it's okay again.
They'll never be friends. And that's why it just has to end.
It's dark now, and stars dot the sky. There's little light pollution in Rokkaku-Dai Heights because most people living here can't really afford the bills. Yoyo is almost thankful of the poverty for that reason.
Beat is kissing him again now, but he can't take his eyes off of the window. The stars twinkle at him, and he refuses to look away. He's in Beat's lap now, and it's nothing new. Beat is laying on his back, and it's nothing new. He knows how to move because it's nothing new. It hurts a lot, but that's nothing new.
"You always fuck like a tease." Beat says into the darkness.
Yoyo finds himself on his back, his legs hooked over Beat's shoulders. It's nothing new, but the look on that expressionless face is.
Eyes that were once simply wet are now spilling over, and Yoyo feels droplets of salty water spattering across his chest. And he forgets the pain in his lower back, his eyes marveling at how the liquid falling from Beat's eyes can rival the stars.
It's something new.
Beat reaches his own white-hot bliss and his body tenses, and Yoyo can't help but admire how out of place yet lovely those tears look upon his face. There's heavy breathing and Yoyo waits for the warmth on top of him to recede.
When it doesn't, he is confused.
"Beat?" He whispers, his voice hoarse.
Beat buries his face in the boy's neck and sighs, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of Yoyo's neck. And then Yoyo realizes that Beat is starting to fall asleep.
And he is at a loss.
Yoyo attempts to sit up, and after a few moments, he is able to do so. Beat wraps his arms around Yoyo's waist and makes a tiny whimper of protest.
"It was one more night." Yoyo says quietly, and it breaks his heart when he does. With shaking hands, he untangles himself from Beat's grasp. His legs are quaking as he moves to stand and gather his belongings. Beat lays motionless on the ground, his face buried into his arms now.
Yoyo is taken back to a time when Beat had sent a rather strong fist into his stomach on afternoon. He looked just like that.
And perhaps he was smug to see the tables turned.
Perhaps it felt good to be the one causing the pain... and he didn't even have to lift a finger.
But when that strangled sob came from that throat... Yoyo felt his own eyes water as he turned and made his way to the door.
And Beat stared at his back, because that's all he could see.
Yoyo sets his hand on the doorknob and doesn't want to look back. They'll never be friends.
Beat was never the most gentle, and he never said what he really felt. He was often rude and vulgar, and delighted in causing pain and chaos. He could throw a punch and still convince someone to sleep with him. He was inconsiderate, and often made Yoyo feel unwelcome.
And yet...
Yoyo is at Beat's side, and he is stroking that glossy red hair, soothing the boy to stop crying. And the sun is coming up by the time Beat finally stops, and Yoyo is so damn tired... Beat's head is in his lap and they're both listening to the sounds of Rokkaku-Dai in the early morning.
Is it his stupidity that keeps making him throw himself into the fire like this?
"Yoyo?"
"Yes?"
"One more night?"
Yoyo smiles to himself and sighs. "One more night."
...Or perhaps... Perhaps it is part of his cunning.
---
Title: From Real Love
Fandom: Jet Set Radio Future
Pairing: Beat/Yoyo, mentions to Beat/Gum
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: substance abuse, strong language
Summary: For Beat, life was all about taking risks. But when you grow up, you can't always live such a care-free life. So he plays it safe and loses the most precious thing in the universe.
Author's note: it wasn't supposed to turn out the way it did! i'm actually really unhappy with this, too. I just don't like it overall. the concept was fun at first, but like, as I went on, I just sorta...... I donno. posting it just to get it out of my hair. xD
From Real Love
by myradi.neuf
Beat slides into the taxi, his wet clothes squeaking across the faux leather upholstery. He barks his destination over the rain and slams the door shut with a force that shakes the vehicle. There's a romantic balad playing through the stereo and Beat tries not to grate his teeth.
It's all so pathetically cliche at this point.
He stares out the window as the car starts up and onward. The window is so fucking cold on his cheek, and it causes goosebumps to freckle his flesh. He exhales a heavy puff of warm air, fogging the window.
And he draws a heart, because it's so pathetically cliche at this point.
There's a brown package on the seat beside him, and Beat gives it a disdainful glare. The contents held within had the potential to destroy all he'd built up in the absence of real love.
It'd been three years.
Three pathetically cliche years of never knowing what would come next, if anything ever would. Three years of saying "fuck it" and moving on.
And then on a rainy Monday, three years from that day, Beat finds a package on his doorstep.
A package with the potential to smash all of the walls he'd put between himself and real love.
A package with the return address: "From Real Love."
The cab comes to a stop at a red light and Beat reaches out to touch the box at his side. The brown paper is weathered and dirty, and looks to be quite old. It's torn in some places, and Beat sees half of an old Nike logo from a particularly large slit in the side.
For a long time, the light doesn't change and the cab-driver becomes irritated. Some punks in rollerblades weave between the stopped vehicles, and Beat is taken back to a time when "Real Love" had another name and a face and the sweet smell of watermelon in the summer.
Back to a time when "Real Love" had a stupid teal pullover and silly green hair... when "Real Love" was just the new kid with a pair of gold rollerblades. When "Real Love" was called Yoyo.
But that was three years ago. Beat had long since gotten over "Real Love." He'd moved on and beyond "Real Love" and now lived in a dingy apartment with his blonde bombshell girlfriend and bills he couldn't pay on time. "Real Love" was a nuisance now, and there was no need for him. It. There was no need for it.
"Are you going to see him?"
"Probably not."
"You two were close."
"Not really, no."
"I wouldn't mind... if you did."
"I don't want to."
"Beat."
"Gum?"
"You're lying to yourself."
"And you're a bitch."
"You think you're so strong and tough... but Beat..."
"I'm afraid, Gum."
"I am too. I could lose you."
The light turns green and Beat turns his eyes to the windshield as the car starts moving again. The wipers are moving at a fast pace and he can't take his eyes off of them. No matter how many times they wiped at the glass, more rain would fall, and it was a little depressing to watch.
The brown package at his side shifts a little on the seat as the car turns a corner and Beat reaches a hand out to keep it in place. He stares at it for a few moments before pulling it into his lap.
To open it would be to risk everything he'd built up in the absence of "Real Love."
And yet his fingers are still slipping into the slits in the paper, pulling and ripping until an old Nike shoebox is fully exposed to him.
There's a cynical smile on his face as he drums his fingers over the lid. To open it... to open it... to open it... would be pathetically cliche, wouldn't it?
When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.
Beat steels his resolve and lifts the lid, completely aware of all the memories that will assault him once he does. Memories that he had buried within his mind would be alive again, and he feared for his sanity should it be too much for him.
The lid falls to the floor of the musty old taxi cab and Beat stares into the box, his eyes wide with disbelief.
A bag of cherry-flavored hard candies and a postcard with a picture of 99th Street printed on it.
At first, none of these items register. At first, they're just useless things sitting in an old Nike shoebox. But all at once, the purpose of these things becomes painfully clear to him.
There was nothing special about that evening. Just two boys sitting on the roof of one of the highest buildings, looking out over a sea of neon billboards and laughing people.
But regardless of how miniscule they both were, to each other, they were the what the world was made for. The universe was their playground and the faceless, nameless people all around them would worship them one day for their glory.
Beat took a hit from his blunt and hooked his arm around Yoyo's shoulder, grinning from ear-to-ear. Yoyo followed suit and blew a creamy cloud of smoke into Beat's face. The two laughed together at a joke that didn't make sense and passed a brown paper bag of hard candies back and forth
Yoyo peeks into the bag and whines. "You're just eating the red ones, yo!"
Beat laughs and gives Yoyo's shoulders a little squeeze. "I'm not pickin' 'em out on purpose, Newbie." He waves a black-gloved hand dismissively. "Like there's any light for me to figure out which is which anyway, yanno?" He blows another cloud of smoke into Yoyo's face and the younger boy wrinkles his nose in irritation. "It's just luck."
"Yeah but--"
The share a cherry-flavored kiss and it's so pathetically cliche, but at the time, Beat lived for "Real Love," no matter how cliche "Real Love" was.
"There. You got a red one. Happy? The rest of 'em are mine."
Yoyo rolls the candy on his tongue and gives him a tiny grin. There's irritation in Beat's voice, but his face is full of mirth.
"Yo... Beat?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you pick me on purpose?"
"...There wasn't any light for me to figure out who was who... it was just luck."
"...You fail at being romantic."
Beat drops the bag back into the box and leans back against the seat. For a long time he just stares at the ceiling of the cab, listening to the rain pelting the roof and windows. The driver tries to make conversation but Beat isn't paying attention.
He picks up the postcard and stares at the picture for a few moments, smiling when he pinpoints the exact building they had been sitting on that night. He wonders if that building is still around after a lot of 99th Street was remodeled.
"Birthday Cake" by Cibo Matto starts playing loudly from inside his coat pocket and he immediately fishes out his cellphone.
His girlfriend is calling.
It takes a strong man to answer.
Beat puts the phone on silent and slips it back into his pocket.
He's not a strong man.
He turns the postcard in his hands a few times before realizing that there is something written on it. He's not a strong man, and he starts to roll down his window. He presses his lips firmly together and prepares to let go of the postcard when the picture of that same building catches his eye again.
There's a hard pounding in his chest as he withdraws his hand and rolls the window back up. The postcard is in his lap again and he stares at it long and hard, debating with himself.
He was a weak person. To throw it out the window would be the same as not choosing. He'd be oblivious to what he could have had... and that was much safer than knowing what he could have had and losing it. Because at least that way, he wouldn't feel empty or sad.
And that was what made him weak.
He couldn't choose.
It could have been hours or it could have been minutes, but finally Beat holds up the postcard and begins to read. And as his eyes trace the familiar scrawl, his heart clenches and his eyes water.
You were everything I wanted. Despite all the risks...
We could have wasted time only to find out it wouldn't last...
But I still chose to feel it.
And you couldn't choose.
Was playing it safe really that worth it?
- From Real Love.
Sometimes playing it safe was decent. Sometimes playing it safe could get you an attractive girlfriend, an apartment... but at what cost? He had moved beyond "Real Love," because he was growing up. Sometimes it wasn't about risks. Sometimes it was about being smart and safe and...
Beat yells for the cab-driver to pull over.
Without waiting for the car to stop completely, Beat throws open the door and runs out into the rain. He leaves the fare, the box, the candies, and the postcard on the seat.
He knows where he's going now and he can't afford to play it safe.
He stops at a sporting goods store and purchases a cheap set of rollerblades.
It still takes him nearly an hour in the rain to reach his destination.
...And Yoyo isn't there.
Beat stands atop the roof of that very same building on 99th Street, his heart racing in his chest. He falls to his knees and sobs openly because his whole body burns despite the rain.
But he chose... he took the risk... and he lost.
And perhaps it was because he had finally made his choice that made losing more bearable. Now he could go back to his dingy old apartment and pack up his things, kiss his hot girlfriend "goodbye" and... finally move on without wondering what could have been.
Live through this and you won't look back.
---
x-posted to shutup_and_eat!
also, Soruh-love, you need to post your Beat/Yoyo fic there or I'll cry.
Title: One More Night
Fandom: Jet Set Radio Future
Pairing(s): Beat/Yoyo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Yoyo knows it's going to have to stop soon, so he puts on a strong face and... Beat asks for just one more night to express all the feelings that he didn't have it in him to say. Yoyo gives him at least that much.
Warnings: boy-love, m/m situations, sexuality, kissing, strong language
Disclaimer: characters are property of Sega
Author's note: i was actually listening to "one more night" by Stars, which is what inspired this fic.
One More Night
by myradi.neuf
It was a wicked dance, one that would repeat for eternity, and though Yoyo hated it, he was addicted. As much as it disgusted him, he loved it still. This feeling of being wanted was one he wasn't willing to lose. He could turn up his nose, he could puke into the toilet, but that was all part of his cunning. No matter how ill it made him, he enjoyed it like the twisted little child he had become.
But it just couldn't go on. It had to end here. For his sanity and for his pride, he would cut it off here. This would be the last time he would look at that smug face, daring him to say 'no.' This would be the last time he would smell pot and alcohol on the air as he lay face-down on a dirty old mattress, the body above him both hot and cold all at once.
He steps into the musty shack for the millionth time, though his intentions are different today. The boy laying sprawled out on that very same mattress seems to sense this, though he makes no movement to suggest so. Yoyo hardens his resolve, regardless of how the sight always seems to steal his breath away. He will not let his eyes linger upon that face, the monstrous bug-like goggles discarded. His fingers would not ache to touch the expanse of milky-white chest exposed before him. That same red hair that he had so enjoyed, he would enjoy never again.
He had to end it here. For his sanity and for his pride, he would cut it off here.
So Yoyo stands firm in the doorway, looking down at his lover with all the confidence that he can't seem to feel. The older boy's lips twitch into a smirk, but Yoyo blinks and it is gone, and his lover wears his expressionless mask again.
"Beat." The green-haired boy says, and he's surprised that his voice is strong and with purpose. The red-head on the mattress catches this and cannot hide his amusement now, pushing himself up on his elbows to watch the younger boy with interest.
"One more night." Beat says simply, and Yoyo is taken aback.
"W-what?"
"One more night." The older teen says again, and then falls back onto the mattress. Yoyo tries to tell himself otherwise, though his body will not listen as it begins to unclasp the rollerblades strapped to his feet. His socks don't match and Beat laughs, but Yoyo doesn't care. He does it for him, because he knows how it amuses him so.
"One more night." Yoyo says softly, bowing his head. "Just one more night."
Rather than speaking, Beat motions with his hands for Yoyo to come to him. The green-haired boy sucks on his bottom lip, making it swell under the attention. The calloused hands reaching to him had always caused him so much pain and so much pleasure. He couldn't count the times those sharp knuckles had dislocated his jaw or broken his nose... and he couldn't count the times those experienced fingers had sent him writhing and mewling with a simple stroke or pinch.
In the end, Yoyo knew it would be those hands that would unravel all of his well-made plans. Those hands that would wrap around his waist and stroke his belly under his pullover would remain burned onto his flesh and mind. The memory of them slipping into the front of his shorts would always make his vision swim for a second or two.
And those hands were reaching to him now for the last time, wanting to memorize every inch of him before the night was over.
Yoyo kneels at Beat's side, even after all this time, still uncertain of what to do with himself. It is a trait Beat enjoys in his little student, and it is a trait Yoyo wants to puke on himself for.
A bottle is pressed to Yoyo's lips and he obediently drinks, and by now, the scorching hot in his throat is bearable. Beat takes back the bottle and finishes it off, and it is soon rolling across the floor, empty.
Beat tugs at the bottom hem of Yoyo's blue pullover and makes an impatient grunting noise. Yoyo rolls his eyes and begins to pull the offending article upwards. Talented hands come up to assist him, or rather, to simply touch him, and soon his shirt is off in a corner, picking up dirt and dust that no one had ever bothered to sweep away.
The sun over Rokkaku-Dai Heights sends pink and orange filtering in through the small, dirty window, and Beat sits up completely, content to admire his young lover in this light. Yoyo averts his gaze, a blush settling on his cheeks. He'll never understand why Beat has to look at him like that. Sometimes it will be only seconds, other times it will be minutes... Yoyo's mind could recall a time when Beat had simply watched him for nearly an hour before suddenly devouring him with a heated passion.
This time, it is only three minutes, but Beat does not move to take Yoyo like all the other times. Instead, he turns away, and Yoyo blinks in confusion. He reaches out, his hand shaking as he delicately sets his fingers upon the older boy's shoulder. Beat doesn't flinch, though there is evident irritation in the air around them. Yoyo doesn't drop his hand, however, and gives Beat's shoulder a light push.
"Yo, Beat?" He asks, his voice breaking the quiet. Without warning, Beat stands and walks to the window. He braces his hands on the windowsill and it creaks, threatening to break soon. The light is bright on Beat's face and Yoyo squints a little, knowing not to press matters any further. Beat will speak when it suits him, and it didn't suit him right now.
A long time passes and Yoyo entertains himself with doodling in the dust on the floor. A stick figure brutally stabbing another stick figure. He smiles a little and likes to think that he'll stab Beat like that one day. Beat remains motionless, something rare for the hyper boy. Yoyo wonders how Beat can act that way, going from bouncy and energetic to quiet and still. Yoyo has to feel blessed for this look beneath Beat's exterior. No one else will see him like this. No, it is a right that has always been reserved for Beat's favorite little "newbie".
"Get over here." Beat says finally, and Yoyo lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"What's up?" The younger boy replies, coming to stand beside the other at the window.
There's another long silence before Beat reaches out to touch the younger male's cheek. He feathers his fingers across skin, and just as quickly, they are gone again. Yoyo is irritated now, not enjoying the uncertainty of everything. It used to be so simple for all of its' complexity. Tease, fuck, tease, punch, fuck... At least Yoyo knew what was coming next with a strategy like that.
But this? Beat was being tender and almost sweet in his neglect.
Yoyo wanted to smash his skull and skate away to never look back again.
"The end..." Beat says finally, and his voice is a little strange to hear for some reason. There is something within it that causes Yoyo's stomach to churn violently. "...Should be a good one."
Yoyo wants to hear more, but Beat gives him nothing else. Rough hands are tangled in his hair, not with the intention of bringing pain, but with the intention to memorize the way it looks and feels like that. Yoyo doesn't hate it. It sickens him that he almost wishes for this to continue for eternity.
Those hands in his hair slide to cup his cheeks, and he stares into the eyes of his lover. They are unusually wet, Yoyo notes, and as he opens his mouth to comment on it, he finds no words can escape him. Lips are crushed to his own, and though it leaves no room for denial, it is still almost tender in a very uncharacteristically Beat way.
His shorts are falling to the floor. They'll get dirty down there...
He has to concentrate on such trivialties to keep from going insane.
They stop for air and Yoyo is pressed against the window. The sun is going down and the glass is losing some of its warmth. He shivers. Beat continues his assault on Yoyo's neck and smiles ruefully into the creamy flesh.
"The bed isn't made." Yoyo says, his eyelids fluttering closed as a little tremor of electric pleasure flutters through him. For all they don't know about each other... for all they refuse to know about each other... Beat will always know that Yoyo loves the attention to his neck.
Beat doesn't even question Yoyo's statement. Yoyo doesn't care, as long as those lips and teeth and tongue don't stop what they're-- "Like that..." He breathes, and he feels Beat shudder. He doesn't know why his encouragements move the older boy the way they do, but it will always bring him to smile every time.
Beat knows he's great. He thinks highly of himself. Yet the heated encouragements of his little "newbie" are enough to make his knees shake.
Yoyo can't say he hates the power, no matter how small that is.
But soon enough, the power is back in Beat's hands, and Yoyo isn't entirely unhappy with that. He's touched in all the ways that will send him to his blissfully white euphoria. Beat knows him like that. It's almost frightening that Beat may just know his body better than he does.
But he isn't entirely unhappy with that either.
The young boy pants heavily and those experienced hands never cease. Yoyo must've cried out at one point, because Beat mumbles something incoherent. But Yoyo really doesn't care, because the vibrations are just too wonderful.
Soon enough, he's arching and climbing, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his hips rocking as his mind searches and searches for that heavenly release...
It feels like it's over too quickly, that heaven has all too soon sent him crashing into the ground. He opens his eyes just in time to see Beat spitting white from his mouth. The older boy rubs at his lips with the back of his hand and scowls.
"Dumb little fuck." Beat snaps, and Yoyo knows it's because Beat's always hated bitter things.
"I wish you would die." Yoyo says with a tiny grin, and Beat's face loses some of its anger. He smiles back and Yoyo knows it's okay again.
They'll never be friends. And that's why it just has to end.
It's dark now, and stars dot the sky. There's little light pollution in Rokkaku-Dai Heights because most people living here can't really afford the bills. Yoyo is almost thankful of the poverty for that reason.
Beat is kissing him again now, but he can't take his eyes off of the window. The stars twinkle at him, and he refuses to look away. He's in Beat's lap now, and it's nothing new. Beat is laying on his back, and it's nothing new. He knows how to move because it's nothing new. It hurts a lot, but that's nothing new.
"You always fuck like a tease." Beat says into the darkness.
Yoyo finds himself on his back, his legs hooked over Beat's shoulders. It's nothing new, but the look on that expressionless face is.
Eyes that were once simply wet are now spilling over, and Yoyo feels droplets of salty water spattering across his chest. And he forgets the pain in his lower back, his eyes marveling at how the liquid falling from Beat's eyes can rival the stars.
It's something new.
Beat reaches his own white-hot bliss and his body tenses, and Yoyo can't help but admire how out of place yet lovely those tears look upon his face. There's heavy breathing and Yoyo waits for the warmth on top of him to recede.
When it doesn't, he is confused.
"Beat?" He whispers, his voice hoarse.
Beat buries his face in the boy's neck and sighs, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of Yoyo's neck. And then Yoyo realizes that Beat is starting to fall asleep.
And he is at a loss.
Yoyo attempts to sit up, and after a few moments, he is able to do so. Beat wraps his arms around Yoyo's waist and makes a tiny whimper of protest.
"It was one more night." Yoyo says quietly, and it breaks his heart when he does. With shaking hands, he untangles himself from Beat's grasp. His legs are quaking as he moves to stand and gather his belongings. Beat lays motionless on the ground, his face buried into his arms now.
Yoyo is taken back to a time when Beat had sent a rather strong fist into his stomach on afternoon. He looked just like that.
And perhaps he was smug to see the tables turned.
Perhaps it felt good to be the one causing the pain... and he didn't even have to lift a finger.
But when that strangled sob came from that throat... Yoyo felt his own eyes water as he turned and made his way to the door.
And Beat stared at his back, because that's all he could see.
Yoyo sets his hand on the doorknob and doesn't want to look back. They'll never be friends.
Beat was never the most gentle, and he never said what he really felt. He was often rude and vulgar, and delighted in causing pain and chaos. He could throw a punch and still convince someone to sleep with him. He was inconsiderate, and often made Yoyo feel unwelcome.
And yet...
Yoyo is at Beat's side, and he is stroking that glossy red hair, soothing the boy to stop crying. And the sun is coming up by the time Beat finally stops, and Yoyo is so damn tired... Beat's head is in his lap and they're both listening to the sounds of Rokkaku-Dai in the early morning.
Is it his stupidity that keeps making him throw himself into the fire like this?
"Yoyo?"
"Yes?"
"One more night?"
Yoyo smiles to himself and sighs. "One more night."
...Or perhaps... Perhaps it is part of his cunning.
---
Title: From Real Love
Fandom: Jet Set Radio Future
Pairing: Beat/Yoyo, mentions to Beat/Gum
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: substance abuse, strong language
Summary: For Beat, life was all about taking risks. But when you grow up, you can't always live such a care-free life. So he plays it safe and loses the most precious thing in the universe.
Author's note: it wasn't supposed to turn out the way it did! i'm actually really unhappy with this, too. I just don't like it overall. the concept was fun at first, but like, as I went on, I just sorta...... I donno. posting it just to get it out of my hair. xD
From Real Love
by myradi.neuf
Beat slides into the taxi, his wet clothes squeaking across the faux leather upholstery. He barks his destination over the rain and slams the door shut with a force that shakes the vehicle. There's a romantic balad playing through the stereo and Beat tries not to grate his teeth.
It's all so pathetically cliche at this point.
He stares out the window as the car starts up and onward. The window is so fucking cold on his cheek, and it causes goosebumps to freckle his flesh. He exhales a heavy puff of warm air, fogging the window.
And he draws a heart, because it's so pathetically cliche at this point.
There's a brown package on the seat beside him, and Beat gives it a disdainful glare. The contents held within had the potential to destroy all he'd built up in the absence of real love.
It'd been three years.
Three pathetically cliche years of never knowing what would come next, if anything ever would. Three years of saying "fuck it" and moving on.
And then on a rainy Monday, three years from that day, Beat finds a package on his doorstep.
A package with the potential to smash all of the walls he'd put between himself and real love.
A package with the return address: "From Real Love."
The cab comes to a stop at a red light and Beat reaches out to touch the box at his side. The brown paper is weathered and dirty, and looks to be quite old. It's torn in some places, and Beat sees half of an old Nike logo from a particularly large slit in the side.
For a long time, the light doesn't change and the cab-driver becomes irritated. Some punks in rollerblades weave between the stopped vehicles, and Beat is taken back to a time when "Real Love" had another name and a face and the sweet smell of watermelon in the summer.
Back to a time when "Real Love" had a stupid teal pullover and silly green hair... when "Real Love" was just the new kid with a pair of gold rollerblades. When "Real Love" was called Yoyo.
But that was three years ago. Beat had long since gotten over "Real Love." He'd moved on and beyond "Real Love" and now lived in a dingy apartment with his blonde bombshell girlfriend and bills he couldn't pay on time. "Real Love" was a nuisance now, and there was no need for him. It. There was no need for it.
"Are you going to see him?"
"Probably not."
"You two were close."
"Not really, no."
"I wouldn't mind... if you did."
"I don't want to."
"Beat."
"Gum?"
"You're lying to yourself."
"And you're a bitch."
"You think you're so strong and tough... but Beat..."
"I'm afraid, Gum."
"I am too. I could lose you."
The light turns green and Beat turns his eyes to the windshield as the car starts moving again. The wipers are moving at a fast pace and he can't take his eyes off of them. No matter how many times they wiped at the glass, more rain would fall, and it was a little depressing to watch.
The brown package at his side shifts a little on the seat as the car turns a corner and Beat reaches a hand out to keep it in place. He stares at it for a few moments before pulling it into his lap.
To open it would be to risk everything he'd built up in the absence of "Real Love."
And yet his fingers are still slipping into the slits in the paper, pulling and ripping until an old Nike shoebox is fully exposed to him.
There's a cynical smile on his face as he drums his fingers over the lid. To open it... to open it... to open it... would be pathetically cliche, wouldn't it?
When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.
Beat steels his resolve and lifts the lid, completely aware of all the memories that will assault him once he does. Memories that he had buried within his mind would be alive again, and he feared for his sanity should it be too much for him.
The lid falls to the floor of the musty old taxi cab and Beat stares into the box, his eyes wide with disbelief.
A bag of cherry-flavored hard candies and a postcard with a picture of 99th Street printed on it.
At first, none of these items register. At first, they're just useless things sitting in an old Nike shoebox. But all at once, the purpose of these things becomes painfully clear to him.
There was nothing special about that evening. Just two boys sitting on the roof of one of the highest buildings, looking out over a sea of neon billboards and laughing people.
But regardless of how miniscule they both were, to each other, they were the what the world was made for. The universe was their playground and the faceless, nameless people all around them would worship them one day for their glory.
Beat took a hit from his blunt and hooked his arm around Yoyo's shoulder, grinning from ear-to-ear. Yoyo followed suit and blew a creamy cloud of smoke into Beat's face. The two laughed together at a joke that didn't make sense and passed a brown paper bag of hard candies back and forth
Yoyo peeks into the bag and whines. "You're just eating the red ones, yo!"
Beat laughs and gives Yoyo's shoulders a little squeeze. "I'm not pickin' 'em out on purpose, Newbie." He waves a black-gloved hand dismissively. "Like there's any light for me to figure out which is which anyway, yanno?" He blows another cloud of smoke into Yoyo's face and the younger boy wrinkles his nose in irritation. "It's just luck."
"Yeah but--"
The share a cherry-flavored kiss and it's so pathetically cliche, but at the time, Beat lived for "Real Love," no matter how cliche "Real Love" was.
"There. You got a red one. Happy? The rest of 'em are mine."
Yoyo rolls the candy on his tongue and gives him a tiny grin. There's irritation in Beat's voice, but his face is full of mirth.
"Yo... Beat?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you pick me on purpose?"
"...There wasn't any light for me to figure out who was who... it was just luck."
"...You fail at being romantic."
Beat drops the bag back into the box and leans back against the seat. For a long time he just stares at the ceiling of the cab, listening to the rain pelting the roof and windows. The driver tries to make conversation but Beat isn't paying attention.
He picks up the postcard and stares at the picture for a few moments, smiling when he pinpoints the exact building they had been sitting on that night. He wonders if that building is still around after a lot of 99th Street was remodeled.
"Birthday Cake" by Cibo Matto starts playing loudly from inside his coat pocket and he immediately fishes out his cellphone.
His girlfriend is calling.
It takes a strong man to answer.
Beat puts the phone on silent and slips it back into his pocket.
He's not a strong man.
He turns the postcard in his hands a few times before realizing that there is something written on it. He's not a strong man, and he starts to roll down his window. He presses his lips firmly together and prepares to let go of the postcard when the picture of that same building catches his eye again.
There's a hard pounding in his chest as he withdraws his hand and rolls the window back up. The postcard is in his lap again and he stares at it long and hard, debating with himself.
He was a weak person. To throw it out the window would be the same as not choosing. He'd be oblivious to what he could have had... and that was much safer than knowing what he could have had and losing it. Because at least that way, he wouldn't feel empty or sad.
And that was what made him weak.
He couldn't choose.
It could have been hours or it could have been minutes, but finally Beat holds up the postcard and begins to read. And as his eyes trace the familiar scrawl, his heart clenches and his eyes water.
You were everything I wanted. Despite all the risks...
We could have wasted time only to find out it wouldn't last...
But I still chose to feel it.
And you couldn't choose.
Was playing it safe really that worth it?
- From Real Love.
Sometimes playing it safe was decent. Sometimes playing it safe could get you an attractive girlfriend, an apartment... but at what cost? He had moved beyond "Real Love," because he was growing up. Sometimes it wasn't about risks. Sometimes it was about being smart and safe and...
Beat yells for the cab-driver to pull over.
Without waiting for the car to stop completely, Beat throws open the door and runs out into the rain. He leaves the fare, the box, the candies, and the postcard on the seat.
He knows where he's going now and he can't afford to play it safe.
He stops at a sporting goods store and purchases a cheap set of rollerblades.
It still takes him nearly an hour in the rain to reach his destination.
...And Yoyo isn't there.
Beat stands atop the roof of that very same building on 99th Street, his heart racing in his chest. He falls to his knees and sobs openly because his whole body burns despite the rain.
But he chose... he took the risk... and he lost.
And perhaps it was because he had finally made his choice that made losing more bearable. Now he could go back to his dingy old apartment and pack up his things, kiss his hot girlfriend "goodbye" and... finally move on without wondering what could have been.
Live through this and you won't look back.
---
x-posted to shutup_and_eat!
also, Soruh-love, you need to post your Beat/Yoyo fic there or I'll cry.