[fic] Damaged People, FubukiXHishigi, R.
Title: Damaged People
Pairing: Fubuki X Hishigi
Rating: R. Implied sex.
A/N: I just finished the Fubuki FST (well, except for the cover art...which I'd work on either tonight when I get home or some time this week. ^^). So while I'm on this Fubuki = <3 and FxH = <333333333 high, here comes a fic!
(Hell, it's my lunch time! If I want to stay in office and write porn on my laptop, that's my problem! XD)
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Kamijyo Akimine and his associates. The song "Damaged People" is copyrighted to Depeche Mode. I own nothing except for my muse.
We're damaged people / Drawn together / By subtleties that we are not aware of
Fubuki hates leather. He hates the smell of it as he nuzzles into that smooth pale neck. He hates the taste of it as he licks at the lily-white skin, gently nudging that pink muscle under the cloth, hoping to get to that little bit of forbidden flesh. He hates the sight of it, a reminder of the pain he knows the other man must be going through.
Still, when they embrace, Fubuki will smile, as he places his hand and presses it against the leather-clad hip, letting the heat seep through the thick material. He will smile, because he knows that the whimpers and gasps that escape from those slightly parted lips are not from pain, but from pleasure.
Their love-making is almost silent, as their bodies writhe between the sheets. The candles burn in the room they share, Hishigi having long forsaken his own, preferring to leave his laboratory, his notes, his misery in that dark place they belonged to.
Disturbed souls / Playing out forever / These games that we once thought we would be scared of
Fubuki first kissed him after Hitoki's funeral, an desperate attempt for him to find his way back to the world of living. It was the first funeral that the clan held, and none of them knew what to do. Tokito didn't know what was going even. Fubuki had locked her in her room earlier, refusing to let her out, unwilling to explain what was going on. Hishigi heard her tiny fists beat against the heavy oak doors, her shrill voice screaming and crying. He longed to go to the room, and opened the door, allowing the child to participate in their grieving. But Fubuki's firm and trembling hand on his shoulder told him no.
Aka no Ou and Muramasa stood over the coffin, empty except for the small pile of dust, the only thing that remained of the lovely, elegant woman they all loved. Fubuki stood at the doorway, Hishigi next to him.
When Fubuki grabbed his hand and steered them into an empty room, crushing their lips together as the door slammed shut, Hishigi did nothing to stop him.
He couldn't, not with the taste of salt between them and the touch of cold hands on the small of his back.
When you're in my arms / The world makes sense / There is no pretense / And you're crying
Fubuki felt the familiar chill of fear running down his spine when he saw the corpse of that cat, black with a single white ear. For a brief moment, he thought he saw another with the same coloring, lying there in the dirt, dead. And then reminded himself painfully that should that be the case, he would not even have a corpse to grieve over.
He held an hand over the feline. With a slight concentration of power, the tiny heart began to thump. Fubuki nearly allowed himself to smile, and whispered a hope that he could do the same for someone else.
If only he could keep him alive too, when the time comes.
He turned to leave, but was disturbed by the small creature that refused to leave his feet.
"Don't follow me," his voice was soft, almost a plea.
The cat meowed, and nuzzled its head against the ends of his pants. In his mind, Fubuki could hear the resonance of a promise from long ago.
"I'll follow you into hell."
Fubuki almost wished he wouldn't.
Depraved souls / Trusting in the one thing / The one thing that this life has not denied us
There is a voice, a mere whisper, in the wind as the cold blade cuts into him, rendering into dust. In that blink of a moment, his soul reaches out to entwine with that familiar voice.
A long time ago, someone promises to descend into hell with him. Little does he know that heaven is where angels are, where he is.
The insane king smiles, watching the dust mingle and become one.
When your lips touch mine / And I lose control / I forget I'm old / And dying
Pairing: Fubuki X Hishigi
Rating: R. Implied sex.
A/N: I just finished the Fubuki FST (well, except for the cover art...which I'd work on either tonight when I get home or some time this week. ^^). So while I'm on this Fubuki = <3 and FxH = <333333333 high, here comes a fic!
(Hell, it's my lunch time! If I want to stay in office and write porn on my laptop, that's my problem! XD)
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Kamijyo Akimine and his associates. The song "Damaged People" is copyrighted to Depeche Mode. I own nothing except for my muse.
We're damaged people / Drawn together / By subtleties that we are not aware of
Fubuki hates leather. He hates the smell of it as he nuzzles into that smooth pale neck. He hates the taste of it as he licks at the lily-white skin, gently nudging that pink muscle under the cloth, hoping to get to that little bit of forbidden flesh. He hates the sight of it, a reminder of the pain he knows the other man must be going through.
Still, when they embrace, Fubuki will smile, as he places his hand and presses it against the leather-clad hip, letting the heat seep through the thick material. He will smile, because he knows that the whimpers and gasps that escape from those slightly parted lips are not from pain, but from pleasure.
Their love-making is almost silent, as their bodies writhe between the sheets. The candles burn in the room they share, Hishigi having long forsaken his own, preferring to leave his laboratory, his notes, his misery in that dark place they belonged to.
Disturbed souls / Playing out forever / These games that we once thought we would be scared of
Fubuki first kissed him after Hitoki's funeral, an desperate attempt for him to find his way back to the world of living. It was the first funeral that the clan held, and none of them knew what to do. Tokito didn't know what was going even. Fubuki had locked her in her room earlier, refusing to let her out, unwilling to explain what was going on. Hishigi heard her tiny fists beat against the heavy oak doors, her shrill voice screaming and crying. He longed to go to the room, and opened the door, allowing the child to participate in their grieving. But Fubuki's firm and trembling hand on his shoulder told him no.
Aka no Ou and Muramasa stood over the coffin, empty except for the small pile of dust, the only thing that remained of the lovely, elegant woman they all loved. Fubuki stood at the doorway, Hishigi next to him.
When Fubuki grabbed his hand and steered them into an empty room, crushing their lips together as the door slammed shut, Hishigi did nothing to stop him.
He couldn't, not with the taste of salt between them and the touch of cold hands on the small of his back.
When you're in my arms / The world makes sense / There is no pretense / And you're crying
Fubuki felt the familiar chill of fear running down his spine when he saw the corpse of that cat, black with a single white ear. For a brief moment, he thought he saw another with the same coloring, lying there in the dirt, dead. And then reminded himself painfully that should that be the case, he would not even have a corpse to grieve over.
He held an hand over the feline. With a slight concentration of power, the tiny heart began to thump. Fubuki nearly allowed himself to smile, and whispered a hope that he could do the same for someone else.
If only he could keep him alive too, when the time comes.
He turned to leave, but was disturbed by the small creature that refused to leave his feet.
"Don't follow me," his voice was soft, almost a plea.
The cat meowed, and nuzzled its head against the ends of his pants. In his mind, Fubuki could hear the resonance of a promise from long ago.
"I'll follow you into hell."
Fubuki almost wished he wouldn't.
Depraved souls / Trusting in the one thing / The one thing that this life has not denied us
There is a voice, a mere whisper, in the wind as the cold blade cuts into him, rendering into dust. In that blink of a moment, his soul reaches out to entwine with that familiar voice.
A long time ago, someone promises to descend into hell with him. Little does he know that heaven is where angels are, where he is.
The insane king smiles, watching the dust mingle and become one.
When your lips touch mine / And I lose control / I forget I'm old / And dying