Birthday shorts for kitsune_jade!
Posting these a day early since I might be eaten alive by my PSP going out with my Dad to check out the computer stores. It's high time that I get a new PC. ANYWAY, Happy Birthday, kitsune_jade~ I wasn't able to do all the prompts, so I hope these will suffice. ♥
KINGDOM HEARTS, SUIKODEN I & II, GUILTY GEAR, TOWARDS THE TERRA, BLEACH, MAGNA CARTA: TEARS OF BLOOD, SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: NOCTURNE, HIKARU NO GO and OOKIKU FURIKABUTTE and all characters/ideas/concepts/places from each respective title are not mine, although the writing certainly is. Themes are yoinked from 31_days and all that other blardy.
July 2 [2006]: Kingdom Hearts II. I got my secret weapon.
Kinda sorta written for the prompt “You were there for summer dreaming / and you are a friend indeed / and I know you find your freedom.”
Sometimes, in between exterminating Heartless and walking the long roads that connected the different worlds to each other, Sora found his thoughts drifting away from Kairi and more towards Riku, the only friend he might hold even closer to his heart than he did Donald and Goofy, his own traveling companions. He supposed that it shouldn’t have been surprising: he was certain that Kairi was safe, but he could only wonder what might have become of Riku in spite of the King’s assurances that all would be well. What truly made him wonder was the particular trajectory of his Riku-centric thoughts. They were always flashbacks on their routine sparring sessions out on Riku’s favorite spot on the deserted island, out where the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves were strongest. What he remembered most vividly weren’t his almost constant and always crushing defeats as he would have expected, but small, insignificant details and snippets of conversation. Things like how Riku looked silhouetted against the sunset, or the feel of his callused fingers on Sora’s arm as they went through their stances together, or the way his voice echoed low and right into Sora’s ears.
Although he was the Keyblade Master and designated savior of the worlds in case of apocalyptic-level emergencies, Sora wasn’t in the habit of dwelling on why things were the way they were in his life - this was the reason he chose not to think too much about the particular strangeness of his feelings for Riku. What he was certain of was that the remembrance of those sparring sessions kept him going in the long run, and the lessons he had walked away with were the reason why he could fight.
February 21 [2007]: Suikoden II. Bones powder and blood.
“You’ve had a lot of practice, haven’t you? Being someone else’s whore, I mean.”
Luca Blight had said this to Jowy during one of their many torture/fuck sessions, as it was customary for the mad prince to mock his bed partner in every conceivable fashion. That particular observation had been brought about by the fact that Luca found the boy’s asshole to be loose and used - something normally undesirable, but he was resourceful. There were other ways to have fun beyond breaking a complete virgin. Jowy became increasingly familiar with such practices over time, but he found out that he could never grow completely used to them the hard way.
Theirs was a short and violent affair that definitely wasn’t a romance. Jowy had only allowed it to happen to him because of the whispers of the rune on his hand, and when he thought back to those nights, he almost wondered how he had managed to endure. He figured that it might have been because of his memories of more pleasant nights spent in the company of a better young man, a brunette that he had once called his closest friend. Retreating into those dreams had kept the worst of Luca’s damage away from his spirit, and made even the worst of the prince’s violations feel like nothing.
March 5 [2007]: Guilty Gear. I am nothing, you are wind and devil and God.
Uh. This piece is definitely not for the religious in the crowd. …Then again, given the fact that you probably clicked her because you want the gay porn, you won’t really be bothered by this. But I could be wrong, right?
On another note, the title for this piece was taken from the 31 Days theme for March 5, 2007.
They had taken refuge in the church after the skirmish, when their contingent was in full retreat from a large group of Gears: given the fact that they had barely made it out alive between the two of them, they could not be certain of what had become of their comrades. It was there, sometime after they had barricaded themselves in and Sol had tended to both their injuries that Ky very completely and quietly broke down. How things had progressed from one point to the next, however, the young knight could not remember.
“Sol-” Ky cut off with a gasp as the older knight kissed his neck, replacing the chill of the ruined church with the heat of his body. They were tangled together on the pile that their bloodstained undergarments made: their swords remained close by, shining in the light of their bonfire. Ky could see himself in the reflection of the blades, pinned between the church floor and Sol’s weight. Sol noticed him looking, and reached out with one free hand to caress his cheek and draw his attention away from it.
“Are you bothered by this?”
“I-I…”
“You ought to think about yourself for once. I’ve known about how you’ve felt for me for a long time now,” Sol continued in a low, almost contemplative voice. He reached down with his other hand, touching a place that made Ky blush even harder. “You were painfully obvious about it.” He only laughed when Ky glared at him, and effectively reminded the young knight about what really mattered by wrapping his hand around the other’s cock.
The shame took a backseat to the white heat and blankness of pleasure as Sol leaned in even closer to kiss him with tongue and stroke him off, moving just slow enough to torment him but steady enough to keep the pace. Ky tried to fight back once, but Sol merely grabbed his wrists and lifted them far above his head, holding them away with a single hand. From there on he kept kissing and stroking, breaking down Ky’s resistance layer by layer until the blond man was begging for more against his will.
When they fucked it was almost painful enough to undo Ky, and the thought of the violation drove him tears even as he climaxed. He must have slept afterward, for when he opened his eyes there was sunlight streaming through the windows and Sol was at the door, fully dressed, scanning the horizon. They returned to headquarters in silence, and when Sol came to his room later that night, Ky found himself letting the older knight inside in spite of himself. It wasn’t long before Sol suddenly became the only thing Ky thought about, beyond duties and beyond the love he had for his God.
Sol abandoned the order during a lightning storm, disappearing with the Fuenken at hand. Ky gave himself but one night to mourn for the loss before he stepped out to lead his men and promise to kill the deserter with his own two hands. The tears he had cried in Sol’s embrace would be the last he would ever shed.
March 22 [2007]: Towards the Terra. The farther you run, the more you feel undefined, for what you have left undone, and more, what you’ve left behind.
Kinda sorta written for the prompt “A petal softly falls onto my shoulder / When I take it in my hand and close my eyes, you're by my side”.
Jomy’s dreams of Keith took place in rooms full of shadows and candlelight, in places that were disconcertingly similar to the chamber Soldier Blue had once occupied, and the chambers he now slept in as Blue’s successor. He dreamt of the feel of silk sheets on his skin, of large hands holding his wrists and hot lips bruising his own, of weight pressing him down, pressing him in places that he tried very hard to ignore when he was out there, serving as the Mu’s beloved leader. Given the vividness of the dreams and the fact that he woke up to wet and sticky sheets every single time, he was vaguely surprised that none of the Elders had inadvertently received feedback of him having rape fantasies with their greatest enemy. Jomy always went to Physis the morning after, to bask in the silence of the questions she would never dare to ask him.
Keith’s dreams of Jomy took place in vast forests and endless fields, in blinding sunlight and under wild blue skies. He dreamt of golden hair, soft blue eyes and butterfly-light kisses on his cheeks, across his jawline and down to his neck, of a boyish voice whispering his name into his ear, over and over again, as he pressed himself deeper within the warmth inside of the slim body beneath him and thought of home, whatever home really was for him. He’d wake up from those nights irate and restless, and he’d call for Matsuka to give him tea and end up taking more than that, but it never satisfied him. He would always lie down in the evening, and wish, vaguely, for the dream to return, if only to have some sort of release.
After running away and fighting without fighting each other for so long, they would die together, lying on the steps of a crumbling world, close enough to touch but too far gone to reach out for each other’s hands.
June 18 [2007]: Bleach. Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision.
Special mention goes out to yukitsu for this fanfic - she gave me the suggestion that led to the completion of this drabble.
The hakama are basically the lower half of their uniform. You know, the baggy pants thingie them samurai types are always wearing.
“EXCUSE ME?”
“Quiet, Abarai. Someone might come around.”
Renji Abarai, vice captain of the Sixth Division, could only blink, gawk and stare in response. His immediate superior, Byakuya Kuchiki, did not seem particularly bothered by this. That made Renji blink, gawk and stare some more.
“S-sir…”
“I believe I made myself perfectly clear to you,” Byakuya coolly returned. “Have you suddenly gone deaf?”
“No! But… but if I’m really understandin’ this… y-you… you want me to f… fu…”
“I want you to fuck me. Or, more accurately, I want you to take me right here, in this dark corner I’ve dragged you into, and from there I will determine whether I you are fitting enough to fuck me in a proper bed.”
“SIR!”
Byakuya rolled his eyes and kissed him. “I thought I told you to be quiet,” he muttered when he was finished. Renji stared at him again. The commander of the Sixth Division sighed and lowered himself to his knees.
“I suppose I will have to make my intentions more clear to you,” he declared, as he reached into Renji’s hakama. “Maybe this will get my point across.”
As time went on, Renji’s strangled whimpers became something else entirely, and in another few minutes, the red-haired man found himself wondering, quite idly, why he had been fretting in the first place.
July 5 [2007]: Magna Carta: Tears of Blood. Run him like a blade.
This piece contains major spoilers for the game, which I never actually finished. BUT PORN IS PORN YEAH?
On the day of the betrayal, Calintz Jerevinan remembered every stolen glance, every shared embrace, every heated kiss and the million and one different images of a million different beds across the years. They had been sweet and perfect, prior to the moment where he discovered that it had all been a lie. He did not allow himself much time to grieve. He was a soldier: soldiers only needed to concern themselves with their duties and the consequences without ever thinking about the loss. After the cold emptiness followed the rage, which Calintz used to get him through the training he required to defeat Agreian. Chris had been snide enough to point out that anger was merely depression with an agenda, but Calintz ignored him.
During their last duel, Calintz buried all the memories of their love with each slice, cutting them away from himself until it had been remarkably easy, slamming his sword through Agreian’s chest, staring, unblinking, into his ex-lover’s eyes as the light faltered and the agony darkened their color. That night, the first night of his freedom, it was the image of Agreian bleeding at his feet that made him hard, and the remembrance of their closeness with nothing but his sword between them that made him cum.
July 30 [2007]: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne. This is not a love song.
What they had wasn’t much of a relationship, but it was definitely something - it had to have been, given the number of times they clashed and the snippets of conversation. Hitoshura had a price on his head and Dante had bills to pay, so somehow, it worked out to them gutting each other and talking afterward, when both parties were too messed up to do anything other than that. Hitoshura, of course, was never one for conversation, but Dante more than made up for the silence.
Something changed after that one time out in the wastelands, when Dante shifted away from the usual topics (girls, booze, girls, previous targets, guns, girls) and started talking about himself, about a long lost twin brother whose name Hitoshura could not recall. He might have been imagining things (Dante had cut off two of his limbs and he was more occupied with growing them back than with the rest of the world), but the demon hunter had seemed almost pensive that day, and had smoked a lot more than usual. Hitoshura did not offer his sympathies when he healed up, but he certainly gave Dante a few souvenirs in scars and broken bones. Why that meant that they were suddenly okay to gut then kiss then fuck each other, Hitoshura would never know.
October 25 [2007]: Hikaru no Go. Chess piece.
For a pair like them, the prelude to sex or any sort of romantic activity was a game of Go. They conversed/argued/flirted through the chance glances, the near perfect silence between rounds, the imperceptible click of black and white stones upon a lacquered wood board. A connection like theirs transcended traditions and the particulars of courtship be they gay or straight, liberal or conservative. Theirs was a romance of brilliant minds and competitive hearts.
Years later, long after Hikaru and Akira had come out to the joy (or chagrin) of the professional world, students at their school sometimes stumbled across them in their favorite game room, facing off and looking like they enjoyed it a little too much for comfort. It made the other teachers a little uncomfortable, but provided a few good laughs and a constant wellspring of lewd jokes for the upperclassmen.
November 20 [2007]: Suikoden I. All I’ve had so far were endless beginnings.
Both of them had known that what they shared was something beyond all conventional definitions of brotherhood and friendship, but neither of them had been sure until that one summer’s day on a hill outside of town, when an innocent kiss somehow boiled down to Tir McDohl pushing Ted down unto the grass and wrapping his mouth around the other boy’s cock. A thousand centuries of solitude had melted away in that single moment, through the warmth of Tir’s lips, the proximity of his body and the softness of his hair against Ted’s fingertips. Tir had barely been aware of what he was doing, but Ted had known, and died with that knowledge and the bittersweet tang of regret.
In his own solitary journey through the years to come, Tir would recall that sunlit afternoon of their first and last almost-time together. That was, he came to realize, the last time he had ever truly felt warm.
January 30 [2008]: Guilty Gear. The formula defining the concept of existence.
It was not because of love, he had told himself. It was not out of a sense of betrayal, nor was it because Sol had been a trusted comrade, perhaps even a friend. He joined the tournaments out of a sense of honor, because he took pride in the legacy of the Sacred Order and the vow he had made before the cross. It was not because he slept nearly every night remembering eyes the color of fire, but because his target was a despicable scoundrel who wielded a weapon that was not rightfully his to have. Duty was one thing, his past friends might have told him, and obsession quite another, but he had long since gone cold inside, cold to another’s warmth, cold to empty promises.
Later, when they finally stood face to face in a battlefield of destroyed Gears, opponents in a tournament that neither of them cared very little for, Ky Kiske realized the real reason why he continued living: it was because he could not let himself rest until that one final, blessed moment when he’d get to kiss Sol Badguy on the mouth, then run the man through with the holy sword in his hands.
March 30 [2008]: Ookiku Furikabutte. Pitching at birds.
Mihashi had felt something other than fear and admiration when he had seen Haruna pitch that day, when Nishiura had watch Musashino Dai’s game as part of their ‘training’. In spite of the bullying at Mihoshi, his love for baseball had never really faded - even in his lowest times and when giving up had seemed like the best decision he could possibly make, it had been unbearably hard for him to ever let go of the ball. Still, pitching was not an act of release for Mihashi; most times too many thoughts jumbled around his head whenever he was standing on the mound, and he’d only blank out right before throwing the ball. Haruna’s pitching, however, was so powerful and fluid. Haruna made it seem so easy. Watching the older boy made Mihashi think of many other things, things that weren’t necessarily baseball-related and possibly the sort of things that only someone like Tajima with his penis fixation would think of. It embarrassed him, and it showed, much to his chagrin, later on when he and Abe were in bed.
What Mihashi wasn’t entirely aware of was that Abe had noticed his behavior much earlier, when they had still been sitting on those bleaches getting carried away by the power of Haruna’s pitch and their own personal fears for the upcoming season. It had been impossible not to notice the glazed look in Mihashi’s eyes, or the way he clasped his hands together a little too tightly as he traced ball after ball, swing after swing. Haruna had that sort of effect on people and it was possibly what Abe hated/liked about his old pitcher the most. He would know best: it had used to bug him the same way.
April 1 [2008]: Ookiku Furikabutte. The smell of spring.
Written for the prompt “The spring wind doesn't stop blowing / and your voice comes back to me”.
“Senpai!”
After nearly an hour of searching and listening to the rants of the teammates that he encountered along the way, Abe finally found Haruna somewhere on the edge of the school’s property, lying underneath a tree with the latest issue of Shounen Jump open on his face and his limbs akimbo. They were out where the wind was the nicest, where every whiff sent tree leaves and wish seeds flying all over the place.
“Senpai“Senpai-”
Haruna cut him off by sealing his lips with a kiss. Abe found himself pulled into the older boy’s lap in the next minute, with any hope of escape cut off by possessive arms and a chin nestled quite neatly on top of his head.
“We can go later,” the pitcher declared. “It’s going to be more of the same today anyway.”
***
“U-um. Abe?”
Abe lifted the baseball magazine away from his face and found Mihashi kneeling down on the grass beside him with the sort of look that roughly translated into “I’ve actually been here for more than ten minutes but I was too shy/embarrassed/stupid to speak up sooner”. He was becoming increasingly familiar with Mihashi-isms these days.
“What is it?”
“N-nothing! Were you asleep?”
“Not really.”
Nishiura’s catcher made a neutral noise as he sat up; he felt his blood pressure spike just a bit when he noted how Mihashi backed up even more than necessary to give him space, but it wasn’t enough for him to go postal. He made a mental note to congratulate himself for his patience later.
“M-maybe we should go back already, A-Abe-kun…”
“I like it here.”
“Oh…”
“Unless you want to go back?”
Mihashi vehemently shook his head. Abe propped himself up against the back of the tree and looked up, at the patches of sky and clouds caught between the branches. He pretended not to notice when Mihashi inched over, after ten full minutes, to join him. The kiss wasn’t needed; holding hands was enough.
April 10 [2008]: Magna Carta: Tears of Blood. A kangaroo communiqué.
He fucked Calintz Jerevinan because it was the next and final step towards owning a person completely, body and soul, mind and spirit. He had, with his cunning, stolen everything from him when they were but children, and he took great pleasure in how Calintz was not even aware of the fact that the man who bedded him was responsible for all injustice and evil in his life. He liked to break Calintz and call it love, to screw him with his cock or his fingers or the hilt of his blade or any other thing that came to mind when they were together. He liked to bind his wrists sometimes, or blind his eyes sometimes, or merely torment him by withholding his release.
Agreian van Owen might have regretted the fact that their game ended a bit too abruptly for his tastes and that he would never have Calintz in his bed again, but the remembrance of the heartbreak in that beautiful fool’s eyes was enough to quell the doubt. He may die before seeing the end of his plans, but Calintz would have to live on with the fact that once upon a time, he had been in love with a monster.
DONE! *plops* Comments are ♥!
KINGDOM HEARTS, SUIKODEN I & II, GUILTY GEAR, TOWARDS THE TERRA, BLEACH, MAGNA CARTA: TEARS OF BLOOD, SHIN MEGAMI TENSEI: NOCTURNE, HIKARU NO GO and OOKIKU FURIKABUTTE and all characters/ideas/concepts/places from each respective title are not mine, although the writing certainly is. Themes are yoinked from 31_days and all that other blardy.
July 2 [2006]: Kingdom Hearts II. I got my secret weapon.
Kinda sorta written for the prompt “You were there for summer dreaming / and you are a friend indeed / and I know you find your freedom.”
Sometimes, in between exterminating Heartless and walking the long roads that connected the different worlds to each other, Sora found his thoughts drifting away from Kairi and more towards Riku, the only friend he might hold even closer to his heart than he did Donald and Goofy, his own traveling companions. He supposed that it shouldn’t have been surprising: he was certain that Kairi was safe, but he could only wonder what might have become of Riku in spite of the King’s assurances that all would be well. What truly made him wonder was the particular trajectory of his Riku-centric thoughts. They were always flashbacks on their routine sparring sessions out on Riku’s favorite spot on the deserted island, out where the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves were strongest. What he remembered most vividly weren’t his almost constant and always crushing defeats as he would have expected, but small, insignificant details and snippets of conversation. Things like how Riku looked silhouetted against the sunset, or the feel of his callused fingers on Sora’s arm as they went through their stances together, or the way his voice echoed low and right into Sora’s ears.
Although he was the Keyblade Master and designated savior of the worlds in case of apocalyptic-level emergencies, Sora wasn’t in the habit of dwelling on why things were the way they were in his life - this was the reason he chose not to think too much about the particular strangeness of his feelings for Riku. What he was certain of was that the remembrance of those sparring sessions kept him going in the long run, and the lessons he had walked away with were the reason why he could fight.
February 21 [2007]: Suikoden II. Bones powder and blood.
“You’ve had a lot of practice, haven’t you? Being someone else’s whore, I mean.”
Luca Blight had said this to Jowy during one of their many torture/fuck sessions, as it was customary for the mad prince to mock his bed partner in every conceivable fashion. That particular observation had been brought about by the fact that Luca found the boy’s asshole to be loose and used - something normally undesirable, but he was resourceful. There were other ways to have fun beyond breaking a complete virgin. Jowy became increasingly familiar with such practices over time, but he found out that he could never grow completely used to them the hard way.
Theirs was a short and violent affair that definitely wasn’t a romance. Jowy had only allowed it to happen to him because of the whispers of the rune on his hand, and when he thought back to those nights, he almost wondered how he had managed to endure. He figured that it might have been because of his memories of more pleasant nights spent in the company of a better young man, a brunette that he had once called his closest friend. Retreating into those dreams had kept the worst of Luca’s damage away from his spirit, and made even the worst of the prince’s violations feel like nothing.
March 5 [2007]: Guilty Gear. I am nothing, you are wind and devil and God.
Uh. This piece is definitely not for the religious in the crowd. …Then again, given the fact that you probably clicked her because you want the gay porn, you won’t really be bothered by this. But I could be wrong, right?
On another note, the title for this piece was taken from the 31 Days theme for March 5, 2007.
They had taken refuge in the church after the skirmish, when their contingent was in full retreat from a large group of Gears: given the fact that they had barely made it out alive between the two of them, they could not be certain of what had become of their comrades. It was there, sometime after they had barricaded themselves in and Sol had tended to both their injuries that Ky very completely and quietly broke down. How things had progressed from one point to the next, however, the young knight could not remember.
“Sol-” Ky cut off with a gasp as the older knight kissed his neck, replacing the chill of the ruined church with the heat of his body. They were tangled together on the pile that their bloodstained undergarments made: their swords remained close by, shining in the light of their bonfire. Ky could see himself in the reflection of the blades, pinned between the church floor and Sol’s weight. Sol noticed him looking, and reached out with one free hand to caress his cheek and draw his attention away from it.
“Are you bothered by this?”
“I-I…”
“You ought to think about yourself for once. I’ve known about how you’ve felt for me for a long time now,” Sol continued in a low, almost contemplative voice. He reached down with his other hand, touching a place that made Ky blush even harder. “You were painfully obvious about it.” He only laughed when Ky glared at him, and effectively reminded the young knight about what really mattered by wrapping his hand around the other’s cock.
The shame took a backseat to the white heat and blankness of pleasure as Sol leaned in even closer to kiss him with tongue and stroke him off, moving just slow enough to torment him but steady enough to keep the pace. Ky tried to fight back once, but Sol merely grabbed his wrists and lifted them far above his head, holding them away with a single hand. From there on he kept kissing and stroking, breaking down Ky’s resistance layer by layer until the blond man was begging for more against his will.
When they fucked it was almost painful enough to undo Ky, and the thought of the violation drove him tears even as he climaxed. He must have slept afterward, for when he opened his eyes there was sunlight streaming through the windows and Sol was at the door, fully dressed, scanning the horizon. They returned to headquarters in silence, and when Sol came to his room later that night, Ky found himself letting the older knight inside in spite of himself. It wasn’t long before Sol suddenly became the only thing Ky thought about, beyond duties and beyond the love he had for his God.
Sol abandoned the order during a lightning storm, disappearing with the Fuenken at hand. Ky gave himself but one night to mourn for the loss before he stepped out to lead his men and promise to kill the deserter with his own two hands. The tears he had cried in Sol’s embrace would be the last he would ever shed.
March 22 [2007]: Towards the Terra. The farther you run, the more you feel undefined, for what you have left undone, and more, what you’ve left behind.
Kinda sorta written for the prompt “A petal softly falls onto my shoulder / When I take it in my hand and close my eyes, you're by my side”.
Jomy’s dreams of Keith took place in rooms full of shadows and candlelight, in places that were disconcertingly similar to the chamber Soldier Blue had once occupied, and the chambers he now slept in as Blue’s successor. He dreamt of the feel of silk sheets on his skin, of large hands holding his wrists and hot lips bruising his own, of weight pressing him down, pressing him in places that he tried very hard to ignore when he was out there, serving as the Mu’s beloved leader. Given the vividness of the dreams and the fact that he woke up to wet and sticky sheets every single time, he was vaguely surprised that none of the Elders had inadvertently received feedback of him having rape fantasies with their greatest enemy. Jomy always went to Physis the morning after, to bask in the silence of the questions she would never dare to ask him.
Keith’s dreams of Jomy took place in vast forests and endless fields, in blinding sunlight and under wild blue skies. He dreamt of golden hair, soft blue eyes and butterfly-light kisses on his cheeks, across his jawline and down to his neck, of a boyish voice whispering his name into his ear, over and over again, as he pressed himself deeper within the warmth inside of the slim body beneath him and thought of home, whatever home really was for him. He’d wake up from those nights irate and restless, and he’d call for Matsuka to give him tea and end up taking more than that, but it never satisfied him. He would always lie down in the evening, and wish, vaguely, for the dream to return, if only to have some sort of release.
After running away and fighting without fighting each other for so long, they would die together, lying on the steps of a crumbling world, close enough to touch but too far gone to reach out for each other’s hands.
June 18 [2007]: Bleach. Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision.
Special mention goes out to yukitsu for this fanfic - she gave me the suggestion that led to the completion of this drabble.
The hakama are basically the lower half of their uniform. You know, the baggy pants thingie them samurai types are always wearing.
“EXCUSE ME?”
“Quiet, Abarai. Someone might come around.”
Renji Abarai, vice captain of the Sixth Division, could only blink, gawk and stare in response. His immediate superior, Byakuya Kuchiki, did not seem particularly bothered by this. That made Renji blink, gawk and stare some more.
“S-sir…”
“I believe I made myself perfectly clear to you,” Byakuya coolly returned. “Have you suddenly gone deaf?”
“No! But… but if I’m really understandin’ this… y-you… you want me to f… fu…”
“I want you to fuck me. Or, more accurately, I want you to take me right here, in this dark corner I’ve dragged you into, and from there I will determine whether I you are fitting enough to fuck me in a proper bed.”
“SIR!”
Byakuya rolled his eyes and kissed him. “I thought I told you to be quiet,” he muttered when he was finished. Renji stared at him again. The commander of the Sixth Division sighed and lowered himself to his knees.
“I suppose I will have to make my intentions more clear to you,” he declared, as he reached into Renji’s hakama. “Maybe this will get my point across.”
As time went on, Renji’s strangled whimpers became something else entirely, and in another few minutes, the red-haired man found himself wondering, quite idly, why he had been fretting in the first place.
July 5 [2007]: Magna Carta: Tears of Blood. Run him like a blade.
This piece contains major spoilers for the game, which I never actually finished. BUT PORN IS PORN YEAH?
On the day of the betrayal, Calintz Jerevinan remembered every stolen glance, every shared embrace, every heated kiss and the million and one different images of a million different beds across the years. They had been sweet and perfect, prior to the moment where he discovered that it had all been a lie. He did not allow himself much time to grieve. He was a soldier: soldiers only needed to concern themselves with their duties and the consequences without ever thinking about the loss. After the cold emptiness followed the rage, which Calintz used to get him through the training he required to defeat Agreian. Chris had been snide enough to point out that anger was merely depression with an agenda, but Calintz ignored him.
During their last duel, Calintz buried all the memories of their love with each slice, cutting them away from himself until it had been remarkably easy, slamming his sword through Agreian’s chest, staring, unblinking, into his ex-lover’s eyes as the light faltered and the agony darkened their color. That night, the first night of his freedom, it was the image of Agreian bleeding at his feet that made him hard, and the remembrance of their closeness with nothing but his sword between them that made him cum.
July 30 [2007]: Shin Megami Tensei: Nocturne. This is not a love song.
What they had wasn’t much of a relationship, but it was definitely something - it had to have been, given the number of times they clashed and the snippets of conversation. Hitoshura had a price on his head and Dante had bills to pay, so somehow, it worked out to them gutting each other and talking afterward, when both parties were too messed up to do anything other than that. Hitoshura, of course, was never one for conversation, but Dante more than made up for the silence.
Something changed after that one time out in the wastelands, when Dante shifted away from the usual topics (girls, booze, girls, previous targets, guns, girls) and started talking about himself, about a long lost twin brother whose name Hitoshura could not recall. He might have been imagining things (Dante had cut off two of his limbs and he was more occupied with growing them back than with the rest of the world), but the demon hunter had seemed almost pensive that day, and had smoked a lot more than usual. Hitoshura did not offer his sympathies when he healed up, but he certainly gave Dante a few souvenirs in scars and broken bones. Why that meant that they were suddenly okay to gut then kiss then fuck each other, Hitoshura would never know.
October 25 [2007]: Hikaru no Go. Chess piece.
For a pair like them, the prelude to sex or any sort of romantic activity was a game of Go. They conversed/argued/flirted through the chance glances, the near perfect silence between rounds, the imperceptible click of black and white stones upon a lacquered wood board. A connection like theirs transcended traditions and the particulars of courtship be they gay or straight, liberal or conservative. Theirs was a romance of brilliant minds and competitive hearts.
Years later, long after Hikaru and Akira had come out to the joy (or chagrin) of the professional world, students at their school sometimes stumbled across them in their favorite game room, facing off and looking like they enjoyed it a little too much for comfort. It made the other teachers a little uncomfortable, but provided a few good laughs and a constant wellspring of lewd jokes for the upperclassmen.
November 20 [2007]: Suikoden I. All I’ve had so far were endless beginnings.
Both of them had known that what they shared was something beyond all conventional definitions of brotherhood and friendship, but neither of them had been sure until that one summer’s day on a hill outside of town, when an innocent kiss somehow boiled down to Tir McDohl pushing Ted down unto the grass and wrapping his mouth around the other boy’s cock. A thousand centuries of solitude had melted away in that single moment, through the warmth of Tir’s lips, the proximity of his body and the softness of his hair against Ted’s fingertips. Tir had barely been aware of what he was doing, but Ted had known, and died with that knowledge and the bittersweet tang of regret.
In his own solitary journey through the years to come, Tir would recall that sunlit afternoon of their first and last almost-time together. That was, he came to realize, the last time he had ever truly felt warm.
January 30 [2008]: Guilty Gear. The formula defining the concept of existence.
It was not because of love, he had told himself. It was not out of a sense of betrayal, nor was it because Sol had been a trusted comrade, perhaps even a friend. He joined the tournaments out of a sense of honor, because he took pride in the legacy of the Sacred Order and the vow he had made before the cross. It was not because he slept nearly every night remembering eyes the color of fire, but because his target was a despicable scoundrel who wielded a weapon that was not rightfully his to have. Duty was one thing, his past friends might have told him, and obsession quite another, but he had long since gone cold inside, cold to another’s warmth, cold to empty promises.
Later, when they finally stood face to face in a battlefield of destroyed Gears, opponents in a tournament that neither of them cared very little for, Ky Kiske realized the real reason why he continued living: it was because he could not let himself rest until that one final, blessed moment when he’d get to kiss Sol Badguy on the mouth, then run the man through with the holy sword in his hands.
March 30 [2008]: Ookiku Furikabutte. Pitching at birds.
Mihashi had felt something other than fear and admiration when he had seen Haruna pitch that day, when Nishiura had watch Musashino Dai’s game as part of their ‘training’. In spite of the bullying at Mihoshi, his love for baseball had never really faded - even in his lowest times and when giving up had seemed like the best decision he could possibly make, it had been unbearably hard for him to ever let go of the ball. Still, pitching was not an act of release for Mihashi; most times too many thoughts jumbled around his head whenever he was standing on the mound, and he’d only blank out right before throwing the ball. Haruna’s pitching, however, was so powerful and fluid. Haruna made it seem so easy. Watching the older boy made Mihashi think of many other things, things that weren’t necessarily baseball-related and possibly the sort of things that only someone like Tajima with his penis fixation would think of. It embarrassed him, and it showed, much to his chagrin, later on when he and Abe were in bed.
What Mihashi wasn’t entirely aware of was that Abe had noticed his behavior much earlier, when they had still been sitting on those bleaches getting carried away by the power of Haruna’s pitch and their own personal fears for the upcoming season. It had been impossible not to notice the glazed look in Mihashi’s eyes, or the way he clasped his hands together a little too tightly as he traced ball after ball, swing after swing. Haruna had that sort of effect on people and it was possibly what Abe hated/liked about his old pitcher the most. He would know best: it had used to bug him the same way.
April 1 [2008]: Ookiku Furikabutte. The smell of spring.
Written for the prompt “The spring wind doesn't stop blowing / and your voice comes back to me”.
“Senpai!”
After nearly an hour of searching and listening to the rants of the teammates that he encountered along the way, Abe finally found Haruna somewhere on the edge of the school’s property, lying underneath a tree with the latest issue of Shounen Jump open on his face and his limbs akimbo. They were out where the wind was the nicest, where every whiff sent tree leaves and wish seeds flying all over the place.
“Senpai“Senpai-”
Haruna cut him off by sealing his lips with a kiss. Abe found himself pulled into the older boy’s lap in the next minute, with any hope of escape cut off by possessive arms and a chin nestled quite neatly on top of his head.
“We can go later,” the pitcher declared. “It’s going to be more of the same today anyway.”
***
“U-um. Abe?”
Abe lifted the baseball magazine away from his face and found Mihashi kneeling down on the grass beside him with the sort of look that roughly translated into “I’ve actually been here for more than ten minutes but I was too shy/embarrassed/stupid to speak up sooner”. He was becoming increasingly familiar with Mihashi-isms these days.
“What is it?”
“N-nothing! Were you asleep?”
“Not really.”
Nishiura’s catcher made a neutral noise as he sat up; he felt his blood pressure spike just a bit when he noted how Mihashi backed up even more than necessary to give him space, but it wasn’t enough for him to go postal. He made a mental note to congratulate himself for his patience later.
“M-maybe we should go back already, A-Abe-kun…”
“I like it here.”
“Oh…”
“Unless you want to go back?”
Mihashi vehemently shook his head. Abe propped himself up against the back of the tree and looked up, at the patches of sky and clouds caught between the branches. He pretended not to notice when Mihashi inched over, after ten full minutes, to join him. The kiss wasn’t needed; holding hands was enough.
April 10 [2008]: Magna Carta: Tears of Blood. A kangaroo communiqué.
He fucked Calintz Jerevinan because it was the next and final step towards owning a person completely, body and soul, mind and spirit. He had, with his cunning, stolen everything from him when they were but children, and he took great pleasure in how Calintz was not even aware of the fact that the man who bedded him was responsible for all injustice and evil in his life. He liked to break Calintz and call it love, to screw him with his cock or his fingers or the hilt of his blade or any other thing that came to mind when they were together. He liked to bind his wrists sometimes, or blind his eyes sometimes, or merely torment him by withholding his release.
Agreian van Owen might have regretted the fact that their game ended a bit too abruptly for his tastes and that he would never have Calintz in his bed again, but the remembrance of the heartbreak in that beautiful fool’s eyes was enough to quell the doubt. He may die before seeing the end of his plans, but Calintz would have to live on with the fact that once upon a time, he had been in love with a monster.
DONE! *plops* Comments are ♥!