Atsui
Title: Atsui
Fandom: Dir en grey
Series: Aishiteru Series
Rating: R
Pairings: Kaoru/Kyo, Kyo/Toshiya
Wordcount: 560
Description/Authors Note: This entire series has really shown Kaoru as the bad guy. Let us examine the inner workings of the villains brain. Shall we begin?
Tick tock.
Tick tock tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock,
Ticktockticktockticktock.
BLRRRRIIIING.
The loud ring of the clock brings you back to day. Except it doesn't sound like a ring anymore; it sounds like someone hit you over the head with a cast iron pan. And it feels that way, too.
Your head feels soggy, like your brain is running slower than your body.
A stereotypical hangover. Normally. you would pop a few tylenol and move on with your day, trying to ignore the ringing in your head.
But today, there is something different. There is a different feeling settling in the pit of your stomach today; not that of queasiness, but more that of dread. And you what the dread is for; looking in his eyes one more day and knowing you love him. And he doesn't love you. Not anymore. Perhaps another day of drinking and barely clothes gals will make it better? Perhaps you will be the one thing you've always wanted to be? Straight.
You don't want to be bisexual. You don't want to stare at either gender and have the same lurid and lude thoughts. You may have that sexy, beautiful, gorgeous dancer pressed against your body. . . but you still notice that hottie with the chiseled cheeks and bone structure nicer than your own at the bar.
You may kiss his lips, but you want to spit the taste of him out afterwards, and run away like it never happened.
You may kiss her lips, but you still sometimes think to him.
You may enjoy either pair of lips, but you only want one. You want someone who smells of the scent of vanilla or flowers, not one who smells of body spray, soap, or clean skin.
But deep down, you know you'd go for either, and you want to rip out the sensory part of your brain that says "okay go" to both.
His eyes. Large, round, brown pools of such coldness towards you. He regrets you. He's embarassed by you. But at the same time, where would he be without you?
In the same arms he's in now. The long, graceful arms he's in now. Not your short arms, small hands, and calloused fingers.
Last night, however, you did have her in your arms. Of course, only for a few split seconds, before the clothes started coming off.
You want him in your arms. Just there. You want to hold him. You want to breath in his scent. Whisper an "I love you". Move on with your day, with positive thoughts of each other lingering in the back of your minds.
You want it back to how it used to be.
Before your pressure. Before you lost all sight of everything before you, besides work. Before your always lingering longing to be a vanilla, normal person with normal desires for one sex or the other, not both, and maybe not men at all, over came you.
Slowly you sit up in bed.
You pop one of the pills from the bottle next to your bed, and head to the bathroom.
You turn the water to a scalding hot tempature and begin your day as if nothing has happened.
You wonder, solemnly, if he's showering with him right now, making love, doing the things you wish you could do.
He probably is.
Fandom: Dir en grey
Series: Aishiteru Series
Rating: R
Pairings: Kaoru/Kyo, Kyo/Toshiya
Wordcount: 560
Description/Authors Note: This entire series has really shown Kaoru as the bad guy. Let us examine the inner workings of the villains brain. Shall we begin?
Tick tock.
Tick tock tock.
Tick tock.
Tick tock,
Ticktockticktockticktock.
BLRRRRIIIING.
The loud ring of the clock brings you back to day. Except it doesn't sound like a ring anymore; it sounds like someone hit you over the head with a cast iron pan. And it feels that way, too.
Your head feels soggy, like your brain is running slower than your body.
A stereotypical hangover. Normally. you would pop a few tylenol and move on with your day, trying to ignore the ringing in your head.
But today, there is something different. There is a different feeling settling in the pit of your stomach today; not that of queasiness, but more that of dread. And you what the dread is for; looking in his eyes one more day and knowing you love him. And he doesn't love you. Not anymore. Perhaps another day of drinking and barely clothes gals will make it better? Perhaps you will be the one thing you've always wanted to be? Straight.
You don't want to be bisexual. You don't want to stare at either gender and have the same lurid and lude thoughts. You may have that sexy, beautiful, gorgeous dancer pressed against your body. . . but you still notice that hottie with the chiseled cheeks and bone structure nicer than your own at the bar.
You may kiss his lips, but you want to spit the taste of him out afterwards, and run away like it never happened.
You may kiss her lips, but you still sometimes think to him.
You may enjoy either pair of lips, but you only want one. You want someone who smells of the scent of vanilla or flowers, not one who smells of body spray, soap, or clean skin.
But deep down, you know you'd go for either, and you want to rip out the sensory part of your brain that says "okay go" to both.
His eyes. Large, round, brown pools of such coldness towards you. He regrets you. He's embarassed by you. But at the same time, where would he be without you?
In the same arms he's in now. The long, graceful arms he's in now. Not your short arms, small hands, and calloused fingers.
Last night, however, you did have her in your arms. Of course, only for a few split seconds, before the clothes started coming off.
You want him in your arms. Just there. You want to hold him. You want to breath in his scent. Whisper an "I love you". Move on with your day, with positive thoughts of each other lingering in the back of your minds.
You want it back to how it used to be.
Before your pressure. Before you lost all sight of everything before you, besides work. Before your always lingering longing to be a vanilla, normal person with normal desires for one sex or the other, not both, and maybe not men at all, over came you.
Slowly you sit up in bed.
You pop one of the pills from the bottle next to your bed, and head to the bathroom.
You turn the water to a scalding hot tempature and begin your day as if nothing has happened.
You wonder, solemnly, if he's showering with him right now, making love, doing the things you wish you could do.
He probably is.