#12 Theme 46: Surrealism - La'cryma Christi; Tora/Hiroto
Title: Hot and Cold
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 046 Surrealism (La’cryma Christi)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: smut, AU
Comments: Somehow the theme brought this to mind.
Hot and Cold
It must have been the pull of the moon in his veins.
Something, anything other than the illogical reasons driving him towards the metal doors. Those Hiroto couldn’t understand - the reasons why his hands were pushing against heavy knobs, why his feet were moving across grimy floors.
He didn’t want a drink; he wasn’t thirsty. Even so, the waxing glow in the sky drew him towards the dimly lit bar, an overwhelming force Hiroto could only obey. Glimmering stars urged him forward, pinpoint strings on knotted nerves. He wasn’t thinking. Maybe he wanted it. He was simply moving. Instinctively longing for something he shouldn’t have, wanting to be completely reckless and letting the want consume him.
The music beat heavy in his chest, hummed thickly beneath his feet. Grungy techno beats too loud and too harsh melded with electric heat, filling the room and swarming his senses. But none of it stopped Hiroto from feeling the sudden shift in atmosphere. Glowing eyes followed him, lids heavy with lash-lined glue and plastic, caked thick with color; he could feel them even if he couldn’t catch them.
The people here had their own electricity, something entirely different from the music. Yet, they coupled perfectly with every riff and thump, every growled lyric and strained melody. Boarded up windows outlined the dance floor in dirt and nails. Feet occupied open space. Straps and buckles, dull and shine, Hiroto didn’t know where to look but he knew his body wanted to move.
The new charge in the air was all for him, heads swiveling, fingers twitching, tongues darting for a taste. All his. The energy of a hundred bodies heaving, panting and pressing in a cold sweat, the scent filled his lung, stung his eyes.
And he moved into it.
Letting the music take him and the bodies claim him, there was nothing safe about what Hiroto was doing. He was different. He didn’t belong here. And yet the hands passing him through the crowd, touching, pulling, grinding against him, told otherwise.
He was past caring, past worrying, he just wanted to let go.
Every night was like a fight for sanity. He needed to stay grounded for more than himself. Tamed, trapped, domesticated. Tonight it didn’t matter because he was here and this was now and he could forget how his blood ran hot through countless veins, how the stifling heat kept him up sleepless nights, how he was forced to keep thinking to stop changing.
Tonight was about giving up. About being free.
The boy smelled sweet.
Like sweet, sweet earth tanged with the sea he bathed in.
Tora sat back in his seat and watched the brown tuft of hair melt into the crowd. He must’ve been the youngest thing in the building; bare feet treading lightly on the mismatched floor, unmarred by the nimble boots and studded heels that avoided him, but all the same they were covered in dirt.
He was ignorant and oblivious and deserved the fate he would surely meet tonight.
Their movements were forceful, purposeful, the music suddenly an enticing roar fueled by hunger and heady with pheromone. Tora let his head loll to the side and slouched deeper into his seat. He watched with lethargic eyes as a girl moved to straddle him, undulating lazy circles on his lap as he let a hand slip carelessly up her skirt.
Inked fingers tugged his hips closer, moving him flush against sinewy bodies; one draped over his front, the other attached to his back. They rocked frantically with the music until Hiroto felt his feet lift from the ground. His arms were pulled over shoulders and he held on tight as knees pushed his legs apart, ankles suddenly hooking together behind hips as delicious friction pulled groan after groan from his lips.
This was what he wanted, this sure to kill decadence, lust at its finest. He was burning, burning, burning up between two strangers and he could only cling fast, arching into piercings and sweat slicked skin, trying to cool off in their touches because his insides always felt like they would melt him to nothing.
A tongue found its way to his neck. Rough and lingering, it trailed down, lapping at a pulse point before teeth nipped sharply on his collarbone. He cried out at the sudden pain that quickly gurgled into the quiet pleasures of hips against hips and cool fingers sliding under shirts.
Hiroto was feverishly hot, trying to keep up, hazing over and he couldn’t care less.
Abruptly, he was pulled from his place sandwiched between arms and thighs. A man with raven hair, pale skin and angry eyes dragged him from the dance floor and Hiroto suddenly found himself sitting astride the other’s lap.
“Dance for me.” A command.
Tora was forced to admit the boy had piqued his interest; an insignificant bug flying where it didn’t belong. Somehow it irked him to see the mark on the boy’s skin, to think someone other than himself would take him.
Why he would willingly walk into this thriving nest of leather and hornets Tora couldn’t fathom, but if anyone was going to have fun tonight it would be him. This bar was his, he owned their pleasure and it was his right to take as he pleased.
Hiroto waited until his lap-owner’s previous occupant stalked away before moving. Ignoring the cold possession in the other’s eyes, the hard hands secure on his hips, he urged his body into motion, freeing his mind to the hypnotic rumbles of music. He tipped back, allowing strong arms to support his movements as he rolled hips down, towards the ceiling, to cold palms.
Here Hiroto could see stained yellow glass, veined with umber and tinted green. He could see how the dirty windows shook in their panes, sealed shut and unable to filter in sunlight. A house of glass trapped in a tomb of wood, it spun and spun round his vision.
Everything was so hot and the lap so invitingly cool. He was nearing his limit, close to collapsing with exhaustion and heat because he was still somehow holding on to his last bit of sanity, fighting within his self-induced incinerator. His eyes would close and come morning he would awake to dewy grass, dirt-crusted skin and oil-slick flies.
Or maybe this time he just wouldn’t wake up.
The boy was fading from consciousness, radiating an alarming warmth that seeped Tora to the core. Sweat dripped and stained burnt denim and crisp white until limbs came to a standstill and a hot forehead dropped onto his shoulder.
Disgustingly vulnerable.
Growling at the dancers edging closer, both delighting in the scene and wanting to partake in the fun, he stood with the boy and walked through dented doors into the relentless night.
Tonight was his.
This one was his.
He didn’t wake to a morning ritual. Instead, Hiroto became conscious of wet, clean grass at his back and cold lips demanding more as he woke minutes into his darkness. He shuddered instinctively and parted for them, wanting this fever to pass if only for now and pulling the stranger closer.
Broad shoulders and skin a luminescent moon filled his vision and touch as he was lifted with one arm and undressed with the other; letting his head rest in the crook of the other’s neck, their ears crushed together. He was delirious now, the heat in his body building with each touch to his skin, every dark kiss and fleeting touch. Fingers stretched and thrust into him and where he would have moaned in pain his mind was too lost in the shattered pattern of leaves and night sky to form sound. Like broken glass shifting with the wind his thoughts were brushed away by unbearably cool flesh sliding into him.
It was heat he hadn’t felt in ages. He soaked it up in every place they touched, feeling it consume his being and heighten his lust. Tora moved above the younger man, knees digging into the dead leaves and grass below him as his hands buried into the dirt at the boy’s shoulders.
He needed this. This was his last hope, his only chance. The cold was piercing and made his hands twitch towards his own arousal as the man slid in and out of him; grounding him. Hiroto could feel the harsh piston of hips, the way they made him clench and how they carried away the heat that devoured him nightly. I can just disappear.
“Pay attention.” The barked command made Hiroto’s eyes snap open. “This is the last thing you’re going to feel,” Tora whispered into his ear, “before you die,” before his thrusts took on a brutal force and rapid pace that had Hiroto seeing white. Teeth sunk into his neck and his world was stuttering off into deathly shades of blue and purple.
His blood felt alive. Heated and drowning in an aching desire, his veins sang towards release, gushing warmth and pulling towards the man above him.
He wanted this.
He needed this.
It was the last thing he felt before black overshadowed his vision and he was pulled from reality.
Bloodlust clouded his vision so close to release.
Tora could hear the boy’s heart pumping blood and adrenaline through the writhing body beneath him. He could feel pulse and pound in every touch of skin, the way it jumped beneath his fingertips. Sudden hunger moistened his lips and he was forgetting the self-loathing, the death his lips touched, the hands and teeth that lied.
He needed this.
His first taste was unreal, centuries past, a delicate syrup on his tongue.
The boy smelt of ocean and earth, spiced and sweet.
His blood was anything but.
Tora grimacced, lapping at the wound to quickly close it even as the boy lost consciousness.
He tasted like humanity.
Like something Tora had lost so long ago when hunger became his only pleasure, murder a simple vice. He couldn’t feed; it suddenly felt wrong, all wrong. His fingers trembled with a fine-toothed remembrance as he tugged on clothes, buttoned pants and dressed the limp form below him.
This night was different.
He was running through the woods, trees blurred swatches of color as clawed toes raced ahead of him. Too late he realized he was at a precipice, feet meeting the thinness of air and he was falling.
Hiroto jerked awake panting, claws ripping through sheets, eyes hooded with fear and the desire to kill. Just as quickly, he was being pressed into the mattress, hands pushing his own forearms into submission and hips pinning his down. The unfamiliar lines of a bedroom came into quick focus, predatory eyes watching him with a hint of amusement.
And somehow, for the first time, he felt in control.
The cold limbs made him conscious of who he was, their ability to restrain and hold back the heat that ate his insides.
“You didn’t kill me,” Hiroto observed in a gruff whisper.
“You taste like shit,” Tora smirked, causing Hiroto’s brow to wrinkle in question.
“How come… I’m not trying to kill you?”
It had been years since Hiroto threw himself into the forest, hiding from the bloodshed. He couldn’t control the way the moon wreaked his mind, nightly washing away his consciousness in favor of a far more feral being.
Last night he had chosen to end it all, awaking with blood and fabric on his fingers for the last time.
“I’m wondering the same thing myself, shape shifter.”
Tora had long since passed into an apathetic state of kill and feed. Kill and feed. He hid from no one, instead choosing to live amongst his own kind, indulging in the lust and power that came with it. Humans were food, prey for the taking.
Last night wasn’t supposed to be any different.
The tension slowly slipped from Hiroto allowing Tora to safely roll off and lay beside him. He secretly wished the other would curl up to him and usually he would take what he wanted, but tonight he was suddenly void of the confident arrogance he previously possessed, the righteous entitlement he once shared.
He just wanted to feel that long forgotten heat again, wanted to remind himself of what he once was.
Hiroto relaxed onto the bed only inches away, willing to accept, willing to hope the other could give him some sort of control.
“My name is Hiroto,” he whispered as claws retracted and the whites of his eyes returned.
Help me.
He unconsciously drew himself closer to the other’s side, seeking refuge from the burn inside him.
“Tora,” the other simply stated, burying a hand in Hiroto’s hair.
“I don’t want to be a monster.”
“Me neither.”
They needed this.
Both of them.
This contrasting hot and cold that pulled them back from the recesses of their minds into a reality where they had to be human.
Where they were human.
A/N:
Horrible lol I couldn’t sit still long enough to concentrate T_T comments?♥
Archive
Author: beyondtheremix
Theme: 046 Surrealism (La’cryma Christi)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tora/Hiroto
Band[s]: Alice Nine
Disclaimer: smut, AU
Comments: Somehow the theme brought this to mind.
Hot and Cold
It must have been the pull of the moon in his veins.
Something, anything other than the illogical reasons driving him towards the metal doors. Those Hiroto couldn’t understand - the reasons why his hands were pushing against heavy knobs, why his feet were moving across grimy floors.
He didn’t want a drink; he wasn’t thirsty. Even so, the waxing glow in the sky drew him towards the dimly lit bar, an overwhelming force Hiroto could only obey. Glimmering stars urged him forward, pinpoint strings on knotted nerves. He wasn’t thinking. Maybe he wanted it. He was simply moving. Instinctively longing for something he shouldn’t have, wanting to be completely reckless and letting the want consume him.
The music beat heavy in his chest, hummed thickly beneath his feet. Grungy techno beats too loud and too harsh melded with electric heat, filling the room and swarming his senses. But none of it stopped Hiroto from feeling the sudden shift in atmosphere. Glowing eyes followed him, lids heavy with lash-lined glue and plastic, caked thick with color; he could feel them even if he couldn’t catch them.
The people here had their own electricity, something entirely different from the music. Yet, they coupled perfectly with every riff and thump, every growled lyric and strained melody. Boarded up windows outlined the dance floor in dirt and nails. Feet occupied open space. Straps and buckles, dull and shine, Hiroto didn’t know where to look but he knew his body wanted to move.
The new charge in the air was all for him, heads swiveling, fingers twitching, tongues darting for a taste. All his. The energy of a hundred bodies heaving, panting and pressing in a cold sweat, the scent filled his lung, stung his eyes.
And he moved into it.
Letting the music take him and the bodies claim him, there was nothing safe about what Hiroto was doing. He was different. He didn’t belong here. And yet the hands passing him through the crowd, touching, pulling, grinding against him, told otherwise.
He was past caring, past worrying, he just wanted to let go.
Every night was like a fight for sanity. He needed to stay grounded for more than himself. Tamed, trapped, domesticated. Tonight it didn’t matter because he was here and this was now and he could forget how his blood ran hot through countless veins, how the stifling heat kept him up sleepless nights, how he was forced to keep thinking to stop changing.
Tonight was about giving up. About being free.
The boy smelled sweet.
Like sweet, sweet earth tanged with the sea he bathed in.
Tora sat back in his seat and watched the brown tuft of hair melt into the crowd. He must’ve been the youngest thing in the building; bare feet treading lightly on the mismatched floor, unmarred by the nimble boots and studded heels that avoided him, but all the same they were covered in dirt.
He was ignorant and oblivious and deserved the fate he would surely meet tonight.
Their movements were forceful, purposeful, the music suddenly an enticing roar fueled by hunger and heady with pheromone. Tora let his head loll to the side and slouched deeper into his seat. He watched with lethargic eyes as a girl moved to straddle him, undulating lazy circles on his lap as he let a hand slip carelessly up her skirt.
Inked fingers tugged his hips closer, moving him flush against sinewy bodies; one draped over his front, the other attached to his back. They rocked frantically with the music until Hiroto felt his feet lift from the ground. His arms were pulled over shoulders and he held on tight as knees pushed his legs apart, ankles suddenly hooking together behind hips as delicious friction pulled groan after groan from his lips.
This was what he wanted, this sure to kill decadence, lust at its finest. He was burning, burning, burning up between two strangers and he could only cling fast, arching into piercings and sweat slicked skin, trying to cool off in their touches because his insides always felt like they would melt him to nothing.
A tongue found its way to his neck. Rough and lingering, it trailed down, lapping at a pulse point before teeth nipped sharply on his collarbone. He cried out at the sudden pain that quickly gurgled into the quiet pleasures of hips against hips and cool fingers sliding under shirts.
Hiroto was feverishly hot, trying to keep up, hazing over and he couldn’t care less.
Abruptly, he was pulled from his place sandwiched between arms and thighs. A man with raven hair, pale skin and angry eyes dragged him from the dance floor and Hiroto suddenly found himself sitting astride the other’s lap.
“Dance for me.” A command.
Tora was forced to admit the boy had piqued his interest; an insignificant bug flying where it didn’t belong. Somehow it irked him to see the mark on the boy’s skin, to think someone other than himself would take him.
Why he would willingly walk into this thriving nest of leather and hornets Tora couldn’t fathom, but if anyone was going to have fun tonight it would be him. This bar was his, he owned their pleasure and it was his right to take as he pleased.
Hiroto waited until his lap-owner’s previous occupant stalked away before moving. Ignoring the cold possession in the other’s eyes, the hard hands secure on his hips, he urged his body into motion, freeing his mind to the hypnotic rumbles of music. He tipped back, allowing strong arms to support his movements as he rolled hips down, towards the ceiling, to cold palms.
Here Hiroto could see stained yellow glass, veined with umber and tinted green. He could see how the dirty windows shook in their panes, sealed shut and unable to filter in sunlight. A house of glass trapped in a tomb of wood, it spun and spun round his vision.
Everything was so hot and the lap so invitingly cool. He was nearing his limit, close to collapsing with exhaustion and heat because he was still somehow holding on to his last bit of sanity, fighting within his self-induced incinerator. His eyes would close and come morning he would awake to dewy grass, dirt-crusted skin and oil-slick flies.
Or maybe this time he just wouldn’t wake up.
The boy was fading from consciousness, radiating an alarming warmth that seeped Tora to the core. Sweat dripped and stained burnt denim and crisp white until limbs came to a standstill and a hot forehead dropped onto his shoulder.
Disgustingly vulnerable.
Growling at the dancers edging closer, both delighting in the scene and wanting to partake in the fun, he stood with the boy and walked through dented doors into the relentless night.
Tonight was his.
This one was his.
He didn’t wake to a morning ritual. Instead, Hiroto became conscious of wet, clean grass at his back and cold lips demanding more as he woke minutes into his darkness. He shuddered instinctively and parted for them, wanting this fever to pass if only for now and pulling the stranger closer.
Broad shoulders and skin a luminescent moon filled his vision and touch as he was lifted with one arm and undressed with the other; letting his head rest in the crook of the other’s neck, their ears crushed together. He was delirious now, the heat in his body building with each touch to his skin, every dark kiss and fleeting touch. Fingers stretched and thrust into him and where he would have moaned in pain his mind was too lost in the shattered pattern of leaves and night sky to form sound. Like broken glass shifting with the wind his thoughts were brushed away by unbearably cool flesh sliding into him.
It was heat he hadn’t felt in ages. He soaked it up in every place they touched, feeling it consume his being and heighten his lust. Tora moved above the younger man, knees digging into the dead leaves and grass below him as his hands buried into the dirt at the boy’s shoulders.
He needed this. This was his last hope, his only chance. The cold was piercing and made his hands twitch towards his own arousal as the man slid in and out of him; grounding him. Hiroto could feel the harsh piston of hips, the way they made him clench and how they carried away the heat that devoured him nightly. I can just disappear.
“Pay attention.” The barked command made Hiroto’s eyes snap open. “This is the last thing you’re going to feel,” Tora whispered into his ear, “before you die,” before his thrusts took on a brutal force and rapid pace that had Hiroto seeing white. Teeth sunk into his neck and his world was stuttering off into deathly shades of blue and purple.
His blood felt alive. Heated and drowning in an aching desire, his veins sang towards release, gushing warmth and pulling towards the man above him.
He wanted this.
He needed this.
It was the last thing he felt before black overshadowed his vision and he was pulled from reality.
Bloodlust clouded his vision so close to release.
Tora could hear the boy’s heart pumping blood and adrenaline through the writhing body beneath him. He could feel pulse and pound in every touch of skin, the way it jumped beneath his fingertips. Sudden hunger moistened his lips and he was forgetting the self-loathing, the death his lips touched, the hands and teeth that lied.
He needed this.
His first taste was unreal, centuries past, a delicate syrup on his tongue.
The boy smelt of ocean and earth, spiced and sweet.
His blood was anything but.
Tora grimacced, lapping at the wound to quickly close it even as the boy lost consciousness.
He tasted like humanity.
Like something Tora had lost so long ago when hunger became his only pleasure, murder a simple vice. He couldn’t feed; it suddenly felt wrong, all wrong. His fingers trembled with a fine-toothed remembrance as he tugged on clothes, buttoned pants and dressed the limp form below him.
This night was different.
He was running through the woods, trees blurred swatches of color as clawed toes raced ahead of him. Too late he realized he was at a precipice, feet meeting the thinness of air and he was falling.
Hiroto jerked awake panting, claws ripping through sheets, eyes hooded with fear and the desire to kill. Just as quickly, he was being pressed into the mattress, hands pushing his own forearms into submission and hips pinning his down. The unfamiliar lines of a bedroom came into quick focus, predatory eyes watching him with a hint of amusement.
And somehow, for the first time, he felt in control.
The cold limbs made him conscious of who he was, their ability to restrain and hold back the heat that ate his insides.
“You didn’t kill me,” Hiroto observed in a gruff whisper.
“You taste like shit,” Tora smirked, causing Hiroto’s brow to wrinkle in question.
“How come… I’m not trying to kill you?”
It had been years since Hiroto threw himself into the forest, hiding from the bloodshed. He couldn’t control the way the moon wreaked his mind, nightly washing away his consciousness in favor of a far more feral being.
Last night he had chosen to end it all, awaking with blood and fabric on his fingers for the last time.
“I’m wondering the same thing myself, shape shifter.”
Tora had long since passed into an apathetic state of kill and feed. Kill and feed. He hid from no one, instead choosing to live amongst his own kind, indulging in the lust and power that came with it. Humans were food, prey for the taking.
Last night wasn’t supposed to be any different.
The tension slowly slipped from Hiroto allowing Tora to safely roll off and lay beside him. He secretly wished the other would curl up to him and usually he would take what he wanted, but tonight he was suddenly void of the confident arrogance he previously possessed, the righteous entitlement he once shared.
He just wanted to feel that long forgotten heat again, wanted to remind himself of what he once was.
Hiroto relaxed onto the bed only inches away, willing to accept, willing to hope the other could give him some sort of control.
“My name is Hiroto,” he whispered as claws retracted and the whites of his eyes returned.
Help me.
He unconsciously drew himself closer to the other’s side, seeking refuge from the burn inside him.
“Tora,” the other simply stated, burying a hand in Hiroto’s hair.
“I don’t want to be a monster.”
“Me neither.”
They needed this.
Both of them.
This contrasting hot and cold that pulled them back from the recesses of their minds into a reality where they had to be human.
Where they were human.
A/N:
Horrible lol I couldn’t sit still long enough to concentrate T_T comments?♥
Archive