We are not afraid; let the night come
Who: Hisashi Shimazu & Tetora Nishizono
Where: Shimazu's place
When: Crazy-backdating to October 4th
Summary: Hell if I know.
Rating: AS HIGH as it should need to go.
( And it's like shitty Chinese take-out food, this thing. )
Where: Shimazu's place
When: Crazy-backdating to October 4th
Summary: Hell if I know.
Rating: AS HIGH as it should need to go.
( And it's like shitty Chinese take-out food, this thing. )
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"Bet you'd hate that, huh," he replied blithely, now, some of his frustration seeping out of him at the sight of the achohol bottles. Well okay, he doesn't really drink (it kicks off his meds in bad ways sometimes), but he's been breaking rules all his life, so why the hell not, tonight?
Today?
Sense of time is fucking up, too, isn't it? That little voice told him in the back of his head. Better watch that, Tetora, you might lose your head again.
"Not gonna happen," Tetora said, not aware of having voiced it out loud. "Did you even pay for that?"
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He nudged the door again with his elbow. And the lingering scent of rot hit him in the face like he was suffering from domestic fight and found the bridge of his nose colliding with a plate. But to the blonde, it. It was like perfume. And so he hummed, started to walk backwards into the apartment and slamming his hand onto the light switch - showing a somewhat dull and very empty apartment.
"Yea -- " Shimazu replied smoothly, "I’d cry if someone as sexy as you got raped so easily~" and with the end of his words cutting off into a sing-song mocking form, Shimazu scuttled to the kitchen, flipping the paper back over and letting the numerous glass bottles of, of what? (Lemon ruskis and mixed cocktails? Fucking children drinks, but enough to get wasted on ( ... )
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Something settled in his stomach. Like a worm that got kicked and squished and suddenly decided it was time to fake death, so it could die without any interruption. Which is a bit crazy, yeah, but hey. We're all mad here, as Lewis Carroll said.
Whoever he was.
"Don't you call me that shit," he replied, a lot more petulant than you'd think someone would. The place smelled like a nightmare, and felt like it too; the dry emptiness, the sordidly mundane feel to it, it all reeked of psycho serial killer to Tetora. He'd seen enough shows playing up the glamour of murder and death, and he found it funny in the same way people like watching car crashes, except without the gross sick feeling in the gut: basic entertainment, at its most natural ( ... )
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A low whistle at the sudden reply to that -- that compliment. And then a laugh, "Aah, you’re so annoying Tecchan, I though we were friends but noooo--ooo--" Lips pursed, clamping his teeth together as the sole of his boot played a melody on the broken shards of glass as his hand gripped around the top of a bottle. He was such a weakling, taking deep heavings of his chest as though he could do it but he gave up, flinging his wrist before letting his gaze catch Tetora.
"It’s not my fault if you are. You know. You were programmed to be good-looking anyway...I--I can’t believe you’re back. Hehe. I. I thought you were gone for good." The laughter spewed from his lips like a disease as he took up two bottles and made his way to Tetora, holding them both out for him as thought to confess he was ( ... )
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In a really gross way.
Then the words started coming out, and the urge to ram his fist right up against the bleached blond's face came back full force. "Say what, again? Programmed? I'm fucking back?"
He didn't even notice that he's reached out, went to the man, took the beer bottle and had set it neatly on the floor, the glass bottom tinkling faintly against the linoleum. And he didn't care to notice that his leg had swung out, to knock the other's shin back hard and let the man fall into him, catching this Shimazu in his hand, by the jaw.
He did mind, on the other hand, when he reached down and cupped the other's balls hard, that vomit-feeling in his stomach rising to wet his throat up and make him feel like he swallowed a giant shit ( ... )
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He was pretty much ignorant to Tetora’s words. Not when actions spoke them firmer. And with the fingers that clasped around his jaw, Shimazu could only smirk and lean in. Not in one of those ’Oh this is so fucking hot’ ways, but more like ’Fuck I’m going to fall if I don’t balance myself’ ways, and he cooed, " -- You don’t know that either, eh -- ? Wow. They really messed you up ( ... )
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He had this creepy fag on top of him, flashing him a tattooed eye, and he had his fucking hand on the guy's balls. "You're probably getting off on this, aren't you."
But there it goes. The tattoo? The barcode? Tetora had to sneer, had to smirk - and hell if it was his most charming, most badass, most I'm-gonna-fuck-your-shit-and-make-you-love-it shit-eating grin ever - because haha haha what. A. Fake.
"Twins?" Tetora shoved him off to the side, moved over, half a straddle and half a lean-over, letting the other's balls go but tightening his grip around the other's throat. He lifted a hand, pulled down skin under his right eye, put out on display the letters marked on his eye. LUC_Y, in clear letters against the white of his eye. "Yeah it's cool, you've got a barcode on your eye? But you know what? That just means you're some manufactured POS. Even condoms have barcodes on their packets, people make them by the dozen. You're not my twinAnd in one fluid movement, Tetora cracked his fist against the other's jaw ( ... )
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And. There it was. That smirk Shimazu was semi-familiar with. The smirk that told Shimazu that he was going to lose another molar today and ah -- there it went. Tetora changing his position so he was not having this guy semi-ride him. Such a fucking tease, just leaning in and not taking the whole thing. Hahaha. What a fucking pussy.
"You are so testy Tecchan." Shimazu murmured with a high-pitched whistle, "Lots of diseased sluts are called Lucy, why are you so special, hmm?" And it was then that his smile spread the width of his visage, contrasting to the almost-friendly wink that he preformed. Then, as soon as he reopened his eye, he felt his nerves being twisted as a shockwave of a slamming fist collided with his jaw. It cracked, went slack for a moment and tore his lip. Blood pooled in his mouth and seeped through the crack of the ( ... )
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He landed face-first on Shimazu's shoulder, his teeth clacking together and making him see stars for a good second or two, and even then he was scrabbling to get back up, hands shoving at Shimazu's chest, against the couch, anything so he can grab that bottle he'd set down and whack the night away with it to the guy's nose. Like in those movies, bottle bottom to face until it caved it.
His blood was roaring in his ears. Tetora had to laugh a little.
"The fuck are you doing?"
He'll even ignore the "slut" jab; I mean, who was the fag here, anyway?
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And then the music started playing.
At first he was a little confused at it - what the hell, did Shimazu need a soundtrack for getting beat up? - but then the sea-sick wash of guitars kicked in, and the warbling high-note voice creeped on over the melody and shit--
It started at the chest. It started with a constricting feeling that crept from just above his diaphragm and spread over his lungs, over his heart, and closed his throat up. It was never this bad with other sorts of music. It was only somewhat like this with pop music, when it's a tiny girl warbling like a computer program on static.
It was never this pronounced.
"What the shit?" Was all he said as his eyes widened, and his mouth went slack and for all it was worth it looked like he was either gonna have a seizure right then and there, or he was pissing himself. Both of which felt adequate - right before the loud, painful white crashed through his nerves.
What the fuck is this? He wanted to yell, but instead he dug his ( ... )
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Shimazu didn’t bother listening to the muttering from above him, but hell Shimazu felt like throwing up any moment, feeling his skull in the same sensation as though his brain was expanding and ready to pop like a new-born sack of shit.
He kicked and squirmed when he felt the nails biting into his skin and clothing, mumbling unintelligently with a -- a -- was that a fucking moan? "T--Tecchan you’ve got your screws loose. I. I thought so..." The throbbing pain in his head increased as though a drill was going right through his brain with no connection and with a deep heaving of his chest, Shimazu removed himself from underneath Tetora ( ... )
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He didn't hear anything, and he didn't care to hear, and he certainly didn't mind it. Tetora watched the vomit fly in slow motion, watched the sour-smelling fluid arc gracefully in the air before splattering all over the floor.
It was the wrong color. It was the wrong smell. It should be copperish red, he was thinking, Tetora was thinking and he reached into the back of his mind for that certain sound, that certain thing that shut everything out and made him feel really good about himself.
Then he began to laugh.
He had the vague idea that Shimazu was hard beneath him (if he was to judge that turgid lump that was half-pressed up against the back of his thigh), and that there was a crazed look oh the other's face, like watching a light show while high. He watched Shimazu's mouth work out the syllables of some word or other, read the sentence of his mouth.
Then he stuck three of his fingers into that mouth - what are you doing? - smiling all the time. Something was winding up in him.
[Name starts with an S ( ... )
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"You kick me off you and I promise you, you're never gonna get off," Tetora sneered, "ever."
He let fingers rub down against tongue, sick in how it massaged the appendage like it was something more tender, and Tetora hitched up closer, tipped his head back to crack stiff joints on his neck with a sharp cracking sound. Rolled his shoulders, like it was some shiver-spin he was throwing out of his body.
"You're probably older than me, right?" Tetora began, as he gripped Shimazu's ankle tightly. "So you're probably more... haha, learned in shit like this more than me, right? So how about you play nice and treat your guest properly, share some fuckin' knowledge, come on."
Tetora run the tip of his tongue over his canines. He can still reach for the spoon handle. He can still jab at that eye, pull it out and put it in formaldehyde, pickle it in a jar and use it as a lamp light. But no, not yet.
Not yet.
"Your house, Shimazu. What you wanna do?"
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