does this make me a bad person?
OKAY so I got tired of being lame and not posting fic, so although it is unfinished, here is part one of possibly many of the KakuHidan I'm working on.
Make it Quick-WIP
(rated R for all that good stuff)
Make it Quick
1.
Hidan’s skin was hot and tense, slick and shaking beneath Kakuzu’s hands. He stuttered, Kakuzu’s name fading and gasping on his tongue and the years fell from him, leaving him nothing but a frightened boy, face open with pain. Kakuzu looked away, fingers terse as he clenched his hands around Hidan’s tight, quivering shoulders, pressing the struggling man against the hard, cold concrete. A terrible hiss slid between Hidan’s bloodless lips, a whisper of pain. His body roiled, arched under Kakuzu’s hands, one still on Hidan’s shoulder, the other pushing against his fevered, heaving chest. Blood coated the ground beneath Kakuzu’s knees, sticky and maddeningly warm.
“You wanted this,” he hissed, lowering his lips to Hidan’s ear, “Come now, its no worse than your ritual.” Hidan moaned, voice low and quivering and Kakuzu bore down harder against him, distracting him from the threads that played along his abdomen, his legs and wrist, reattaching limbs and closing abrasions that gaped, blood flowing hot across the ground, appearing black and thick as ink in the half-light. One leg was re-attached, and still lay at an odd angle, still white and isolated. Hidan’s fingers twitched as his hand was once more connected to his arm. The blood began to trickle, rather than flow.
Hidan was trying to speak, lips moving around a word that he could not say. Pain was choking him, tightening its grip around his throat and his mind, his eyes, deeper and darker than any chasm, lost focus. His body went limp as Kakuzu finished stitching his left leg. One word escaped from his tortured lips-Jashin and his eyes flew open in agony, or ecstasy, briefly, before they slid shut.
“You’re welcome,” Kakuzu said fiercely, fighting an impulse to stand and kick at Hidan’s lifeless form. His robe was stained, blood being the only evidence that remained of Hidan’s suffering, other than the painstakingly neat lines of stitches, foreign and incongruous against the whiteness of Hidan’s flesh. Kakuzu stood and looked down at his partner bitterly before throwing a robe over him. Hidan still shivered, exposed skin alighting into goose bumps against the chilled air. A drop of blood splayed against the cloak darkening the black, making it glitter in the shrouded light, and Kakuzu cursed himself for not checking the stomach wounds.
He woke up when Kakuzu had begun to hope that he would not. When the hours had melted into a frigid morning light that spread across the room, bathing the room in a morbid faded yellow. Hidan stirred, murmured and his eyes darted open. Kakuzu did not move, only watched Hidan’s slow progression from comatose to conscious, lips moving over curses and limbs stirring stiffly.
“You didn’t need to make a fuss,” Kakuzu said, looking away as Hidan sat up, because for once he would rather have talking than silence, rather have the harsh discord than the stifling weight of the air, unmoving and thick around them. He had no desire to meditate on terror.
“You’ve never been in so much fucking pain,” Hidan said bitingly, an edge of weakness coating his voice, making his words soft and slick. “Shit,” He groaned, rotating his wrist with a crack that sunk back into itself, hidden in his living flesh.
“You’ll get used to it, then,” Kakuzu stood, conscious of the stiffness in his body, “I thought you liked pain.”
All was clinical and hard. This was fact, not fiction. Kakuzu could see the thinness of Hidan’s skin, the frailty of his body, white and hidden in the bloody robe. The blood had dried on the floor, dark brown and somehow detached. The night had been fevered and dark, Hidan’s face had been alive, his body hissing and thrumming with pain. His blood had been wet and thick and hot and real, and everything else was a mystery. His limbs had been dead at his side, a horror playing out before Kakuzu’s eyes. His body, now languid under the firm glare of the sun had been tense and quaking, torn apart with pain.
Now Hidan lounged. His vicious voice had slowed to a drawl, still with a hint of a tremor shivering through it, a memory of torture, fluid and alive within him. He tasted this newfound torture, savoring the aftershock, rolling it around with his tongue.
“Let’s go,” Kakuzu said, because Hidan had an expression on his face that Kakuzu had never seen before, an expression of detached joy, of satirical relief. Hidan swept to his feet and pulled his robe around his shaky, naked body, attempting a jaunty smile.
“Fine. I’m fucking starving, seriously.” He said but Kakuzu saw the unrest in his eyes, glimmering like the beginning of a storm, a rush of foreboding. It took Kakuzu a moment to realize what it was, the incongruous emotion, so neatly sewn into the brittleness of Hidan’s face. It was fear, fear in all its glory-harsh, ragged and utterly unwelcome.
2.
Kakuzu can tell when Hidan is bored. He sees him biting his nails relentlessly, whispering to someone unseen (Kakuzu assumes Jashin, but he does not know). He hates it when Hidan is bored, because the boredom always latches onto him, Hidan’s lips stifling against his throat, the second before he bites.
“I miss it,” Hidan growled, his eyes wide and uncharacteristic, voice low and breakable, “I want it, once more.”
His voice was a terrible moan that drew Kakuzu’s attention, low and pleading. “What is it?” Kakuzu asked roughly, if only to remind Hidan of his presence. Hidan turned to meet Kakuzu’s glare and replied in a whisper.
“The pain. Do you know how fucking great it was? Seriously. Best I’ve ever had,” his words twisted, at once sardonic and terrified. Kakuzu laughed bitterly.
“You can stab at yourself whenever you want, you know,” he said, “Don’t complain about it.”
“No, it was different,” Hidan’s face was reverent, “You would never understand. I was fucking torn apart. Shredded. I couldn’t move, or speak and I was just like…shit, shaking. Seriously, it was incredible. Better than any drug, I swear.”
“You’ve never done drugs, have you?” Kakuzu asked eyes sliding back to his finances, hard black scratches on unforgiving paper.
Hidan laughed, “Of course I have. Thrill seeking, it’s how I used to operate, seriously.”
Kakuzu looked at Hidan once more. His face was lit with a sort of sickness, terror and beauty mingling in pure desire. Hidan’s fingers clawed at his own throat, a cynical smile playing along his lips.
“I could help,” Kakuzu whispered and desire flared within him suddenly and sharply, a match being struck. It was a feeling he could barely remember, not since petite white limbs and the flash of a girlish smile. But it was fresh now, as if it had been lying in wait. He wanted to tear Hidan apart, watch his face as he broke, shattered. He wanted to see the ecstasy too, the pain and the fear. The horrifying theatre playing out in Hidan’s reckless, empty eyes.
Hidan only laughed. The figures on the page were strict and unyielding. Kakuzu could not rip them apart; if he did they would still be the same.
3.
His fingers slid over Hidan’s neck and the air felt cold and accusing at his bare back. Do it, the words slipped from between Hidan’s lips quieter than a breath. He wanted to snatch those words, bury them somewhere he could not see, hide the shaking need they betrayed, the bitter weakness.
Hidan’s body felt limp and breakable beneath his, insubstantial and unreal. His hands hovered over Hidan’s throat once more, fingers gliding over the skin that was as smooth and slippery as glass. He closed his hands, felt the wind rush out of Hidan’s mouth, hot against his lips. Hidan choked soundlessly, writhing beneath Kakuzu frantically. Kakuzu started, letting go of Hidan’s throat and grinding down against him, his vision blurring with his lust and rage. He could not do it. He could not do it. Hidan was still choking under him, thin legs snapping up and Kakuzu wanted so badly to tear at him, rip him apart and yet he could not.
Hidan growled, a harsh, startling sound and with surprising strength flipped Kakuzu over, hands clawing at his neck, breath hot and hissing in his ear. Why, why don’t you? He repeated it like a prayer, grabbing at Kakuzu, choking and grasping, words a splutter of hatred.
Hidan was shaking, long after they finished. Anger-craggy and unfathomable flashed in his weary eyes.
“You’re weak,” he spat, leaping up and inspecting his body, white and bare in the moonlight. “Not a scratch on me. Fucking weak.”
“What is wrong with you?” Kakuzu hissed, “You want me to rip you apart?” And the terrible feeling, desire and dread mingling together reared up within him. He was not fucking a living man, he was fucking someone cold and hard and dead. But Hidan was nodding fervently under the half-light, and his hands were clenched and tense and Kakuzu could still feel the absence of heat.
Do it. Hidan reached for him. Kakuzu wondered if Jashinists believed in the end of the world.
Also, the whole idea is basically lilydescend's. ILU DARLING ♥
Make it Quick-WIP
(rated R for all that good stuff)
Make it Quick
1.
Hidan’s skin was hot and tense, slick and shaking beneath Kakuzu’s hands. He stuttered, Kakuzu’s name fading and gasping on his tongue and the years fell from him, leaving him nothing but a frightened boy, face open with pain. Kakuzu looked away, fingers terse as he clenched his hands around Hidan’s tight, quivering shoulders, pressing the struggling man against the hard, cold concrete. A terrible hiss slid between Hidan’s bloodless lips, a whisper of pain. His body roiled, arched under Kakuzu’s hands, one still on Hidan’s shoulder, the other pushing against his fevered, heaving chest. Blood coated the ground beneath Kakuzu’s knees, sticky and maddeningly warm.
“You wanted this,” he hissed, lowering his lips to Hidan’s ear, “Come now, its no worse than your ritual.” Hidan moaned, voice low and quivering and Kakuzu bore down harder against him, distracting him from the threads that played along his abdomen, his legs and wrist, reattaching limbs and closing abrasions that gaped, blood flowing hot across the ground, appearing black and thick as ink in the half-light. One leg was re-attached, and still lay at an odd angle, still white and isolated. Hidan’s fingers twitched as his hand was once more connected to his arm. The blood began to trickle, rather than flow.
Hidan was trying to speak, lips moving around a word that he could not say. Pain was choking him, tightening its grip around his throat and his mind, his eyes, deeper and darker than any chasm, lost focus. His body went limp as Kakuzu finished stitching his left leg. One word escaped from his tortured lips-Jashin and his eyes flew open in agony, or ecstasy, briefly, before they slid shut.
“You’re welcome,” Kakuzu said fiercely, fighting an impulse to stand and kick at Hidan’s lifeless form. His robe was stained, blood being the only evidence that remained of Hidan’s suffering, other than the painstakingly neat lines of stitches, foreign and incongruous against the whiteness of Hidan’s flesh. Kakuzu stood and looked down at his partner bitterly before throwing a robe over him. Hidan still shivered, exposed skin alighting into goose bumps against the chilled air. A drop of blood splayed against the cloak darkening the black, making it glitter in the shrouded light, and Kakuzu cursed himself for not checking the stomach wounds.
He woke up when Kakuzu had begun to hope that he would not. When the hours had melted into a frigid morning light that spread across the room, bathing the room in a morbid faded yellow. Hidan stirred, murmured and his eyes darted open. Kakuzu did not move, only watched Hidan’s slow progression from comatose to conscious, lips moving over curses and limbs stirring stiffly.
“You didn’t need to make a fuss,” Kakuzu said, looking away as Hidan sat up, because for once he would rather have talking than silence, rather have the harsh discord than the stifling weight of the air, unmoving and thick around them. He had no desire to meditate on terror.
“You’ve never been in so much fucking pain,” Hidan said bitingly, an edge of weakness coating his voice, making his words soft and slick. “Shit,” He groaned, rotating his wrist with a crack that sunk back into itself, hidden in his living flesh.
“You’ll get used to it, then,” Kakuzu stood, conscious of the stiffness in his body, “I thought you liked pain.”
All was clinical and hard. This was fact, not fiction. Kakuzu could see the thinness of Hidan’s skin, the frailty of his body, white and hidden in the bloody robe. The blood had dried on the floor, dark brown and somehow detached. The night had been fevered and dark, Hidan’s face had been alive, his body hissing and thrumming with pain. His blood had been wet and thick and hot and real, and everything else was a mystery. His limbs had been dead at his side, a horror playing out before Kakuzu’s eyes. His body, now languid under the firm glare of the sun had been tense and quaking, torn apart with pain.
Now Hidan lounged. His vicious voice had slowed to a drawl, still with a hint of a tremor shivering through it, a memory of torture, fluid and alive within him. He tasted this newfound torture, savoring the aftershock, rolling it around with his tongue.
“Let’s go,” Kakuzu said, because Hidan had an expression on his face that Kakuzu had never seen before, an expression of detached joy, of satirical relief. Hidan swept to his feet and pulled his robe around his shaky, naked body, attempting a jaunty smile.
“Fine. I’m fucking starving, seriously.” He said but Kakuzu saw the unrest in his eyes, glimmering like the beginning of a storm, a rush of foreboding. It took Kakuzu a moment to realize what it was, the incongruous emotion, so neatly sewn into the brittleness of Hidan’s face. It was fear, fear in all its glory-harsh, ragged and utterly unwelcome.
2.
Kakuzu can tell when Hidan is bored. He sees him biting his nails relentlessly, whispering to someone unseen (Kakuzu assumes Jashin, but he does not know). He hates it when Hidan is bored, because the boredom always latches onto him, Hidan’s lips stifling against his throat, the second before he bites.
“I miss it,” Hidan growled, his eyes wide and uncharacteristic, voice low and breakable, “I want it, once more.”
His voice was a terrible moan that drew Kakuzu’s attention, low and pleading. “What is it?” Kakuzu asked roughly, if only to remind Hidan of his presence. Hidan turned to meet Kakuzu’s glare and replied in a whisper.
“The pain. Do you know how fucking great it was? Seriously. Best I’ve ever had,” his words twisted, at once sardonic and terrified. Kakuzu laughed bitterly.
“You can stab at yourself whenever you want, you know,” he said, “Don’t complain about it.”
“No, it was different,” Hidan’s face was reverent, “You would never understand. I was fucking torn apart. Shredded. I couldn’t move, or speak and I was just like…shit, shaking. Seriously, it was incredible. Better than any drug, I swear.”
“You’ve never done drugs, have you?” Kakuzu asked eyes sliding back to his finances, hard black scratches on unforgiving paper.
Hidan laughed, “Of course I have. Thrill seeking, it’s how I used to operate, seriously.”
Kakuzu looked at Hidan once more. His face was lit with a sort of sickness, terror and beauty mingling in pure desire. Hidan’s fingers clawed at his own throat, a cynical smile playing along his lips.
“I could help,” Kakuzu whispered and desire flared within him suddenly and sharply, a match being struck. It was a feeling he could barely remember, not since petite white limbs and the flash of a girlish smile. But it was fresh now, as if it had been lying in wait. He wanted to tear Hidan apart, watch his face as he broke, shattered. He wanted to see the ecstasy too, the pain and the fear. The horrifying theatre playing out in Hidan’s reckless, empty eyes.
Hidan only laughed. The figures on the page were strict and unyielding. Kakuzu could not rip them apart; if he did they would still be the same.
3.
His fingers slid over Hidan’s neck and the air felt cold and accusing at his bare back. Do it, the words slipped from between Hidan’s lips quieter than a breath. He wanted to snatch those words, bury them somewhere he could not see, hide the shaking need they betrayed, the bitter weakness.
Hidan’s body felt limp and breakable beneath his, insubstantial and unreal. His hands hovered over Hidan’s throat once more, fingers gliding over the skin that was as smooth and slippery as glass. He closed his hands, felt the wind rush out of Hidan’s mouth, hot against his lips. Hidan choked soundlessly, writhing beneath Kakuzu frantically. Kakuzu started, letting go of Hidan’s throat and grinding down against him, his vision blurring with his lust and rage. He could not do it. He could not do it. Hidan was still choking under him, thin legs snapping up and Kakuzu wanted so badly to tear at him, rip him apart and yet he could not.
Hidan growled, a harsh, startling sound and with surprising strength flipped Kakuzu over, hands clawing at his neck, breath hot and hissing in his ear. Why, why don’t you? He repeated it like a prayer, grabbing at Kakuzu, choking and grasping, words a splutter of hatred.
Hidan was shaking, long after they finished. Anger-craggy and unfathomable flashed in his weary eyes.
“You’re weak,” he spat, leaping up and inspecting his body, white and bare in the moonlight. “Not a scratch on me. Fucking weak.”
“What is wrong with you?” Kakuzu hissed, “You want me to rip you apart?” And the terrible feeling, desire and dread mingling together reared up within him. He was not fucking a living man, he was fucking someone cold and hard and dead. But Hidan was nodding fervently under the half-light, and his hands were clenched and tense and Kakuzu could still feel the absence of heat.
Do it. Hidan reached for him. Kakuzu wondered if Jashinists believed in the end of the world.
Also, the whole idea is basically lilydescend's. ILU DARLING ♥