PSOH Tokyo, "Denial"
Title: Denial
Rating: G
Pairing: Taizuu X Count D (the elder)
Warning: Angst - gobs of angst. Hopefully, you like angst. I know I do.
Denial
“Mnnngh,” Taizuu sighed, smacking his dry lips. He scrunched his eyes shut tighter, vaguely aware of the morning sun that burned his lids.
“Ungh.”
Groaning, he rolled over on his back, instinctively pulling the sheet up over his aching head, shielding his fragile self from the intrusive light. Demons with red-hot hammers dwelled at the base of his scull, busy at their work. His stomach roiled in disgust at its own contents and he groaned again, though it was more like a whimper.
Probably…yes, probably he should exert the effort to get up and find the toilet before he embarrassed himself and soiled the bed. Yes, he should, indeed, but his very bones ached, echoing the thunder resounding in his poor unfortunate head.
He wished it would fall off, and roll away to a corner somewhere, because….
Because somewhere, deep in the bowels of his mind, there flitted a memory, a will o’ wisp that bounced out of his mental view when he tried to get a good look at it.
He ducked his stubbly chin down against his bare chest, and soundly chastised himself for trying to think about things when he was this deeply hung over.
No good would come of it.
It grew stuffy under the linen after a minute or two, so he clawed the sheet back down, sucking in fresh air, his eyes still determinedly glued shut.
He knew if he opened them, it’d be all over. In the harsh light of midmorning, every little detail would become clear before his bleary eyes. He’d remember, remember exactly why he was so goddamned hung over, so listlessly sprawled out, unclothed, unwashed, and all alone in his bed.
He would rather not, though, if it came down to it. Much better to speculate quietly as to what sleight-of-hand the Count had used to return him to his own bed, his own house. Much better to go back to sleep and forget it all, if he could: the utter debacle of his first so-called ‘date’ with the intriguing Count D.
But the images came razor sharp and frighteningly fast, piercing his quivering, alcohol sodden brain and jolting it back to a form of half-life. Taizuu blinked, his sticky lashes untangling to allow him a blurry view of the coffered ceiling.
He’d been to a party, a weird party….nothing like his usual social venue. He’d been with the Count, the supposed ‘grandfather’ of his tenant, acting as his escort. He’d reserved a deluxe room in one of Kyoto’s finer establishments, too, expecting to stay the night…in D’s delightful company, of course.
And ‘delightful’ was the word. Count D had worn red last night, an eye-catching dark scarlet expertly embroidered with the Dragons of Earth and Sky. His feathered fan had been a huge affair of midnight hue, large enough to hide his svelte form behind it. But the flirtatious Count had used it as the highest-ranking geisha would have - to emphasize the charms of his face and boyish figure, teasing poor Woo Fei right into a frenzy of barely tamped-down ardor.
He’d never felt quite that way before: breathless and eager, like a boy suddenly discovering his first love. He’d never been so willing to believe, desperate to believe that this living, breathing fantasy was meant for him.
So damned happy, at long last. So naïve. He’d discarded his shackles and had fallen, quite willingly, foolish ass that he was.
Woo Fei turned his tousled head a fraction, as though the slight movement would help him avoid these unpleasant memories of what a dupe he’d been, what a sorry excuse for a supposedly intelligent being. His honored father - sharp businessman that he was - would never forgive such a lack of astuteness, if only he knew.
Of course, his honored father would also be horrified that Woo Fei had taken up with man, of all things.
Last night, restlessly awaiting arrival in Kyoto, he’d imagined the Count would be eager to go along with his hastily made plans. He’d believed they’d leave the party at a reasonable hour, with time enough for a nice meal somewhere, a glass of ancient vintage, a luscious dessert - time enough to get to know each other a little more…intimately. After all, the Count had sounded quite reluctant to attend, which could only mean they’d have more of that precious time together.
But he’d gotten a little ahead of himself, lost in his own devising.
The party was held in the countryside, for one thing, at some important figure’s estate. That meant an hour’s drive out of Kyoto proper before they’d even arrived at the remodeled manor house...so, it had been ten o’clock before they’d even set foot through the door. Then, Count D had the nerve to ask him to don a mask, for this was a costume party, apparently. It had been constructed of painted plaster-of-Paris, horribly hot and heavy, and it obscured nearly all of his face with an evil visage of what was possibly supposed to be an ancient Samurai warrior, except that the torrid reddish thing looked more porcine than military.
D, too, had worn one, but his was a half-mask of black lace, a lovely confection that only served to make him more mysterious…more attractive.
It had been embarrassing, standing there, knowing no one, wearing that hideous thing. D had introduced him to a few people, yes, but they were all in costume as well. He’d barely caught their names before they’d smiled and gone on their merry way. And then…then it had gotten a whole hell of a lot worse.
He’d drunk a great deal of champagne before he’d moved on to the stronger stuff, Woo Fei recalled, wincing. But the excess of alcohol had been the only thing available to dull the pain in his chest when D,
(after a mere half-hour!) parked him by the buffet table and blithely abandoned him for another fellow. The fumes had nearly blinded Taizuu’s sharp eyes to the sight of D and that tall, blonde stranger, when his frantic gaze had finally located them, stuffed into a dark corner, wrapped deep in a passionate embrace.
He’d been sure he’d die, right there and then, his broken heart bleeding on the floor. It had been horrible, absolutely horrible.
Even now, the memory of that betrayal totally eclipsed his physical distress. Even now, when he should be doing his best to blot that image out of his mind forever.
But the champagne and whiskey had kept his voice muffled when the Count took his arm sometime later that disastrous evening and bundled him back into the swanky black limo they’d arrived in. It had allowed him to pass out, gracefully, before he made even more of a fool of himself, asking.
Not that he wanted to know. Really, he should have expected it. The Count - all Counts! - both of them were known tricksters, charlatans who played with people’s heads…and hearts.
But he was the real fool here. He’d gone along with it, the whole preposterous farce of a ‘date’, even though every instinct had cried out against it.
He’d been so sure…!
Last night, bowled over by the warmth of golden eyes, drunk with the casual touch of long, cool fingers, he’d actually believed that fluttering feeling in his stuttering heart had found an echo in the Count’s. But…no. He had been used, preyed on by a master deceiver. He’d been nothing more than the cover story for D’s affair with that other man, that blonde usurper!
His luck was sour, just like his stomach, just like his life.
Blinking rapidly, Taizuu hauled the protection of the sheet over his head again, though no one was there to see his face.
So, he vowed, breathing hard, curling his naked body into a ball and hugging the softness of a satin-clad pillow to his hollow chest.
So, there’d be no more of that… foolhardy emotion. He would firmly avoid it. And him, the devilish cross-dressing double-crosser he’d turned out to be. No more dreaming… no more hoping.
Someone else could collect the rent. Someone else could keep an eye on that weirdest and most suspicious of places: Count D’s Pet Shop.
Someone else….
But not him. Not him.
Rating: G
Pairing: Taizuu X Count D (the elder)
Warning: Angst - gobs of angst. Hopefully, you like angst. I know I do.
Denial
“Mnnngh,” Taizuu sighed, smacking his dry lips. He scrunched his eyes shut tighter, vaguely aware of the morning sun that burned his lids.
“Ungh.”
Groaning, he rolled over on his back, instinctively pulling the sheet up over his aching head, shielding his fragile self from the intrusive light. Demons with red-hot hammers dwelled at the base of his scull, busy at their work. His stomach roiled in disgust at its own contents and he groaned again, though it was more like a whimper.
Probably…yes, probably he should exert the effort to get up and find the toilet before he embarrassed himself and soiled the bed. Yes, he should, indeed, but his very bones ached, echoing the thunder resounding in his poor unfortunate head.
He wished it would fall off, and roll away to a corner somewhere, because….
Because somewhere, deep in the bowels of his mind, there flitted a memory, a will o’ wisp that bounced out of his mental view when he tried to get a good look at it.
He ducked his stubbly chin down against his bare chest, and soundly chastised himself for trying to think about things when he was this deeply hung over.
No good would come of it.
It grew stuffy under the linen after a minute or two, so he clawed the sheet back down, sucking in fresh air, his eyes still determinedly glued shut.
He knew if he opened them, it’d be all over. In the harsh light of midmorning, every little detail would become clear before his bleary eyes. He’d remember, remember exactly why he was so goddamned hung over, so listlessly sprawled out, unclothed, unwashed, and all alone in his bed.
He would rather not, though, if it came down to it. Much better to speculate quietly as to what sleight-of-hand the Count had used to return him to his own bed, his own house. Much better to go back to sleep and forget it all, if he could: the utter debacle of his first so-called ‘date’ with the intriguing Count D.
But the images came razor sharp and frighteningly fast, piercing his quivering, alcohol sodden brain and jolting it back to a form of half-life. Taizuu blinked, his sticky lashes untangling to allow him a blurry view of the coffered ceiling.
He’d been to a party, a weird party….nothing like his usual social venue. He’d been with the Count, the supposed ‘grandfather’ of his tenant, acting as his escort. He’d reserved a deluxe room in one of Kyoto’s finer establishments, too, expecting to stay the night…in D’s delightful company, of course.
And ‘delightful’ was the word. Count D had worn red last night, an eye-catching dark scarlet expertly embroidered with the Dragons of Earth and Sky. His feathered fan had been a huge affair of midnight hue, large enough to hide his svelte form behind it. But the flirtatious Count had used it as the highest-ranking geisha would have - to emphasize the charms of his face and boyish figure, teasing poor Woo Fei right into a frenzy of barely tamped-down ardor.
He’d never felt quite that way before: breathless and eager, like a boy suddenly discovering his first love. He’d never been so willing to believe, desperate to believe that this living, breathing fantasy was meant for him.
So damned happy, at long last. So naïve. He’d discarded his shackles and had fallen, quite willingly, foolish ass that he was.
Woo Fei turned his tousled head a fraction, as though the slight movement would help him avoid these unpleasant memories of what a dupe he’d been, what a sorry excuse for a supposedly intelligent being. His honored father - sharp businessman that he was - would never forgive such a lack of astuteness, if only he knew.
Of course, his honored father would also be horrified that Woo Fei had taken up with man, of all things.
Last night, restlessly awaiting arrival in Kyoto, he’d imagined the Count would be eager to go along with his hastily made plans. He’d believed they’d leave the party at a reasonable hour, with time enough for a nice meal somewhere, a glass of ancient vintage, a luscious dessert - time enough to get to know each other a little more…intimately. After all, the Count had sounded quite reluctant to attend, which could only mean they’d have more of that precious time together.
But he’d gotten a little ahead of himself, lost in his own devising.
The party was held in the countryside, for one thing, at some important figure’s estate. That meant an hour’s drive out of Kyoto proper before they’d even arrived at the remodeled manor house...so, it had been ten o’clock before they’d even set foot through the door. Then, Count D had the nerve to ask him to don a mask, for this was a costume party, apparently. It had been constructed of painted plaster-of-Paris, horribly hot and heavy, and it obscured nearly all of his face with an evil visage of what was possibly supposed to be an ancient Samurai warrior, except that the torrid reddish thing looked more porcine than military.
D, too, had worn one, but his was a half-mask of black lace, a lovely confection that only served to make him more mysterious…more attractive.
It had been embarrassing, standing there, knowing no one, wearing that hideous thing. D had introduced him to a few people, yes, but they were all in costume as well. He’d barely caught their names before they’d smiled and gone on their merry way. And then…then it had gotten a whole hell of a lot worse.
He’d drunk a great deal of champagne before he’d moved on to the stronger stuff, Woo Fei recalled, wincing. But the excess of alcohol had been the only thing available to dull the pain in his chest when D,
(after a mere half-hour!) parked him by the buffet table and blithely abandoned him for another fellow. The fumes had nearly blinded Taizuu’s sharp eyes to the sight of D and that tall, blonde stranger, when his frantic gaze had finally located them, stuffed into a dark corner, wrapped deep in a passionate embrace.
He’d been sure he’d die, right there and then, his broken heart bleeding on the floor. It had been horrible, absolutely horrible.
Even now, the memory of that betrayal totally eclipsed his physical distress. Even now, when he should be doing his best to blot that image out of his mind forever.
But the champagne and whiskey had kept his voice muffled when the Count took his arm sometime later that disastrous evening and bundled him back into the swanky black limo they’d arrived in. It had allowed him to pass out, gracefully, before he made even more of a fool of himself, asking.
Not that he wanted to know. Really, he should have expected it. The Count - all Counts! - both of them were known tricksters, charlatans who played with people’s heads…and hearts.
But he was the real fool here. He’d gone along with it, the whole preposterous farce of a ‘date’, even though every instinct had cried out against it.
He’d been so sure…!
Last night, bowled over by the warmth of golden eyes, drunk with the casual touch of long, cool fingers, he’d actually believed that fluttering feeling in his stuttering heart had found an echo in the Count’s. But…no. He had been used, preyed on by a master deceiver. He’d been nothing more than the cover story for D’s affair with that other man, that blonde usurper!
His luck was sour, just like his stomach, just like his life.
Blinking rapidly, Taizuu hauled the protection of the sheet over his head again, though no one was there to see his face.
So, he vowed, breathing hard, curling his naked body into a ball and hugging the softness of a satin-clad pillow to his hollow chest.
So, there’d be no more of that… foolhardy emotion. He would firmly avoid it. And him, the devilish cross-dressing double-crosser he’d turned out to be. No more dreaming… no more hoping.
Someone else could collect the rent. Someone else could keep an eye on that weirdest and most suspicious of places: Count D’s Pet Shop.
Someone else….
But not him. Not him.