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Catch Me When I Fall	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Die/Kyo Views: 959 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. I do not personally know any of the members of Dir en grey, and do not profit from this work.

Chapter List
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“FUCK YOU, TOORU! FUCK YOU!”
Tiny feet stomp down my hallway, pure fury lending weight and strength to what had once been a delicate little patter. There’s a faint rustle as shoes are yanked on and a purse and jacket are collected, then the door opens and slams shut. I don’t think she’ll be coming back any time soon, if ever. The sharp, echoing crash only makes the silence that follows it all the more poignant and I sigh, closing my eyes as the anger drains out of me, leaving only uncertainty and regret. Laying sprawled out naked on my bed, it occurs to me that I’m losing my goddamn mind.
This whole situation is really getting out of hand. Just over an hour ago, I was having sex with that girl and everything was going just the same way it always did. The usual flirting, followed by the usual foreplay, followed by the usual fucking. Predictable, but satisfying; comfortable after having been together for almost three months.
[Just killing time. She could never fill that void.]
Except the whole time we were together, I kept thinking about goddamn Die, wondering what it would be like if we…
I tried not to – gods did I ever try – but he just kept popping back up in the back of my mind. She knew something was up and confronted me afterwards. She was jealous, and a little hurt I think, insisting I was thinking about someone else, asking if there’s another woman, if that was why I’m always too busy to see her. It didn’t seem like this was a new concern to her, she’d been holding onto it for a while, I think. Maybe we were doomed from the get-go if she resented my work, and distrusted me that much, but… I hate that it’s my fault things ended this way, with so much bitterness between us.
[It was never going to be more than a fling.]
She was half right, I guess. I was thinking about someone else, but I didn’t want to be, goddamn it, and I was pissed off at myself that I was, especially because of who I was thinking about. I felt guilty and more than a little freaked out, on top of being insulted at the insinuation that I would cheat. So, in true asshole form, I got defensive. We got in a huge fight over it, and… well, she got the last word in and now she’s gone. She was a sweet girl, not to mention absolutely gorgeous, and other than my being too busy to spend as much time with her as she wanted, things had been going fairly well. I feel like I should be upset about breaking up with her. Hell, I should be on the phone or dragging some pants on and chasing after her, apologizing for being a prick at least.
But instead, I’m laying here where she left me, naked and staring at the ceiling, thinking about goddamn Die.
Two weeks. It’s been two fucking weeks since Die got trashed and kissed me, and it’s still driving me absolutely nuts. I never got any answers, no apologies or explanations from him. He didn’t say a damn word about it the next day, smiling miserably and bitching about his hangover like nothing happened, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it back up if he didn’t even remember it. I should just drop it, let it go. I should be thankful he doesn’t remember, so it can’t make things awkward between us.
But I can’t stop wondering, why?
Why did he kiss me?
Why did he kiss me?!
It’d be so easy to dismiss as just a fluke. I mean, he was exceptionally drunk that night. But then… why did he look at me like that before he did it? Why did he sound so pained? And now that I think about it, hadn’t he seemed kind of down when we were at the bar? He usually only drinks himself that stupid when he’s upset. The more I think about that kiss – about what he said – the more I wonder, was he just lonely? Just horny? Or does he actually want me in particular? It seems impossible… Die, liking me? Ridiculous! I’ve been told by plenty of very presumptuous people, who know me only as a stage presence, that they’d love to “try me out,” like I’m some exotic drug or a particularly wild ride at an amusement park, but he has no excuse for such poor taste. Between his looks, his personality, and his talent, Die of all people can afford to have much higher standards.
[And yet…]
I started watching him these past couple weeks, trying to figure out whether or not what happened was actually about me or if I just happened to be who he landed on, and I noticed that he’s almost always looking at me. It’s inconspicuous enough that if I hadn’t been looking for it, I would never have noticed – never noticed before, obviously – but when I’m searching for it, it’s impossible to ignore. I’ll stop to drink from a bottle of tea and if I glance over at him, he’ll be staring at my neck. I’ll be fidgeting with the microphone cord or writing something in my notebook, and he’ll be watching my hands. I even caught him peeking at my ass when I bent to get a drink out of the vending machine.
At least, I’m almost positive that’s what I saw. He’s awfully fucking sneaky about the whole thing, always peering over a magazine or through lowered eyelashes out the corner of his eyes. If he sees me watching him, he’ll simply blink, and when his eyes open again, they’ll be focused somewhere else, very casually. Hell, it seems to come as natural to him as the rhythms in any other old habit; the drift of a hand carrying a cigarette to and from the mouth, the fluid twist-pluck-twist to tune a guitar, staring at me and dodging when I catch him. Easy as breathing, which makes it damn hard to use as proof of anything. But I’m pretty sure… yes, I’m sure that’s what I saw.
He touches me a lot, too, I realized. More than he used to? It doesn’t seem like it; he’s always been very physically affectionate. Maybe I’m just more aware of it now… Always, his hand is on my back or around my shoulders. Always, he sits next to me and presses his leg alongside mine, brushes his shoulder against mine. Fleeting touches, casual yet charged, nothing truly implicative, but is it more than what he does with the others? More careful? More meaningful? Is he paying more attention, when it’s me? Or does it come as second nature to him, an instinct he can’t overcome? It feels different, somehow, than the way he touches the others, or the way they touch me.
[Like he’s positively charged, and you’re negative.]
[Always drawn toward one another, and when contact is made…]
Yesterday, after catching him eyeing my ass, I finally had to accept, that Die… might want to sleep with me. At least somewhat? Gods, that’s weird to think about! I can be attractive from certain angles, I suppose, but he’s seen me in my best and my worst lights, and I feel like the latter probably outweigh the former. Maybe he likes short, troll-faced guys, maybe he’s just hard-up and I’m what’s around, I don’t know. But if he does, he’s trying pretty hard to hide it, and I know how sensitive he can be about things like this, so I can’t really call him on it without embarrassing him.
Plus, if I’m wrong… ugh, wouldn’t that be a mess? I’d feel like an egomaniac for thinking someone like Die would ever want someone like me, and he’d clam up thinking I was making assumptions about him just because he likes men, something that has lost him more than a few friends in the past. Besides, why, of all of us, would he want to sleep with me? I’m moody and antisocial more often than not, and against Kaoru, Toshiya, and Shinya, I’m almost painfully plain. Like a dusty little Dysgonia moth fluttering clumsily amongst Karasu swallowtails, their wings shimmering like so many priceless gems in the sun while I’m just… dull. And it’s not like he treats me any different than he always has, it doesn’t feel like anything has changed between us other than my own heightened awareness of our every interaction.
But the things he said… how sad he looked, how hurt he sounded… how gently he kissed me…
[Like he was aching for the contact.]
Die could want to have sex with me…
Fuck, I don’t know.
I don’t know!
Either way, it’s making it impossible for me to forget that damn kiss. What was going on in that booze-addled mind that night? If I had kissed him back, would he have wanted to fool around? Just like that? “Surprise! Sex!” With me?! But it wasn’t a gross, lusty drunk kiss… it was so sweet, but strong, as if I were… cherished, but not fragile. So unlike the way I’m accustomed to being handled. Maybe that’s why I can’t get rid of it? Why the memory of it just keeps sneaking up on me, forcing itself into my mind in fragments, tearing my mind apart like shards of a broken mirror whose reflection is completely foreign.
[You’ve seen this image before. It’s just at a new angle now.]
I’m not, and have never been, gay, or even bisexual, so it’s unsettling to be having these thoughts in the first place. I’ve never been with another man, or wanted to be with another man, or even thought about being with another man. But I guess if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not all that terribly attached to being “straight” either. I mean… as long as the person is worth being around, as long as there’s love, who the fuck cares what body they’re in? It hardly matters in the long run; once they reach a certain age, everyone starts looking the same anyways. And Die is certainly worth being around. I imagine he would be so easy to love, if it came to that.
But in terms of purely physical sexual appeal… could I ever be attracted to another man? Could I ever be turned on by the sight, the feel of one? Could I ever have sex with Die, if that’s what he’s really after? Kissing him was nothing like kissing my girlfriend, or any other woman, but it wasn’t bad either. What would sleeping with him be like? The whole time I was fucking my girlfriend, part of me was wondering, would he feel like she does underneath me? All soft and warm and yielding? Would he make those soft, breathy little moans and gasping sighs? Would his fingernails dig into my shoulders, leaving scratches as he grabbed at me for support?
I can’t really imagine him like that. Somehow I feel like he’d be harder against me, tighter around me. Like his moans would be deeper, and his strong hands with their blunt fingers would leave bruises, not scratches. He’s got long legs, too… would they wrap around me, pulling me closer? Would he smell the way she did afterwards? Would he coo and flutter his eyelashes demurely, with a pretty blush staining his cheeks? Or would he pant and flash me that damned grin of his, all sated and sweaty like he is after a concert?
…Hell, would he even be underneath me? That night, he said he likes how I feel under him, and he’s been staring at my ass… would he want to be on top? To fuck me?
[What do you think that would be like?]
“GAH! HOLY SHIT! What the fuck is wrong with me?!”
Too much. That was too much. I rub my face and fling myself out of bed to stagger my way to the bathroom. I don’t know what relief I hope to find there, but thinking about this in a room that still smells like cum is clearly not helping anything. This whole mess is going way too far. I can’t believe I’m thinking about Die like this, the man is practically my brother! I’m overreacting to a… a stupid, drunken display of poor judgment, that’s all. I need a shower. Yes, a nice refreshing shower, to clear my head. I turn on the faucet and wait for the water to heat up before stepping in.
Should I even be considering this? I mean… even assuming I’m right, and Die is attracted to me, what would that mean? He hasn’t propositioned me or even hinted at interest beyond one night when he was too sloshed to see straight, so it could have just been a slipup. Everyone with a sex drive has been attracted to plenty of people they never intend to sleep with, idly using them as eye candy to amuse myself throughout the day. It’s just part of human nature. So what if Die has terrible taste in eye candy, that doesn’t mean he’s going to jump my ass any minute now.
…Right?
[But… what if he did?]
Would I… would I do it?
Even if I decided to test out this whole sex-with-a-man business, would I want to do it with Die? I mean, I trust him enough that I guess I’d feel safer with him than some random asshole… but he means too much to me to lose his friendship over experimental sex. Particularly when it might very well be totally awful sex. I might be shit at sleeping with guys, how the fuck would I know? It’s probably best to let the whole thing go, especially since he doesn’t even remember kissing me.
[…But what would it be like?]
I groan in frustration when I find my mind wandering down that same path again and rest my head against the tile wall of the shower. It’s cool, and it feels nice, but it does nothing for my restless thoughts. And of course, it puts me in a position to stare down at my own dick. It occurs to me suddenly that if I were to sleep with Die, his dick would be involved too. A stupid thought, maybe, but it’s kind of important, since I’ve never really… handled another guy’s junk before. I wonder what his is like? I don’t think I’ve actually seen it, now that I think about it. He’s usually pretty modest about that kind of thing. Is he bigger than me? Does he keep the hair trimmed? He’s actually into other guys, I wonder if he’d like mine… if he’d enjoy seeing it, touching it…
Die… Die has kind of a nice mouth… would he… would he suck me off?
Oh… that’s kind of a nice thought… I know it shouldn’t be, but… Oh…
“You,” I tell myself irritably as I watch myself slowly start to harden, “Are fucked up. You should not be thinking about Die like this!”
…
“Mm… But as long as I am…”
I’ve been accused of being fickle. Sometimes, I agree. It’s been two fucking weeks, and I’m still caught up on this; it’s pretty obvious that I’m not going to get these thoughts out of my head any time soon. So, I can keep being freaked out about thinking about Die sexually, running in circles in my own head like a dog after its own tail, or I can jerk off imagining his mouth wrapped around my cock and see where that gets me. I’m sick to shit of the former, even if I feel completely filthy for even considering the latter. What good will sitting around endlessly worrying and wondering do me?
[None.]
So I close my eyes, wrap my hand around all-too-familiar throbbing flesh, and let myself become just a little more profane than I already was. Gods forgive me, I start pleasuring myself, thinking about one of my best friends.
“Nnh…”
Which Die comes to bed, I wonder…?
If we ever wound up sleeping together, would I get the dark, sultry Die that comes to photoshoots? Smoldering, maybe just a touch arrogant, with piercing, predatory eyes? Mmm… I bet that Die is a bit of a freak in the sack, overwhelming and fierce. Kind of bossy, even, but it’s well earned, because he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows how to get what he wants. Maybe he’d make me beg…
[So very strong, but never cruel or selfish…]
I tease myself a bit, thinking about this Die… run the pads of my fingers over my balls until I’m panting needily, then squeeze my cock just a little too roughly with a grunt. It makes me over-sensitive, the water flowing over me feeling like the lightest, smoothest caress.
Or maybe I would get sweet, loveable Die who always wants to smile and make people happy. Eager to please, not necessarily kinky but certainly playful, and definitely lively. Handsy, I bet, and mouthy, practically vibrating with pent-up energy, constantly moving, licking, kissing, touching. He’d be wild to the point of being a little unwieldy, leaving us both gasping for breath and slick with sweat and other sticky-hot messes. Would he be noisy? I hope so…
[So very sweet, but never lacking in passion…]
I stroke myself slowly while imagining this Die, occasionally circling my thumb around the head of my erection, my free hand wandering aimlessly over my chest and belly. Just touching, just feeling, exploring, overstimulating myself with even such simple contact. It makes me moan, long and low, but the sound is swallowed by the white noise of falling water.
It’s sinful, I know, but oh, it’s such a delicious sin, imagining those lips around me, all soft and pliant and warm… mmmnnn, and I bet he has a devil’s tongue behind those angel’s lips. I can see him in my mind, those wild eyes staring up at me, that silky hair sliding through my fingers. Die, you catty bastard, why do you have to be so fucking gorgeous between my legs?! It’s not right, I swear it’s not right. That might be why thinking about it feels so damn good as I finally just give in and start jerking off.
It’s fucked up.
[But so good.]
This whole thing is fucked up.
[It doesn’t have to be.]
I’m fucked up.
[But he’s beautiful, isn’t he?]
Internal conflict doesn’t stop me from pumping at myself almost frantically until I’m groaning and shooting my load all over the shower wall, my imagination providing me even then with the sight of him swallowing my seed with a wicked little smirk. The image adds a strange flavor to the afterglow of what should have been a pretty simple, straightforward orgasm and I shiver under the unfamiliar weight of it, letting my mind drift in the lingering haze of pleasure. Die’s intrusion on my sex life isn’t as unwelcome as I would have expected it to be.
I only just start coming back down when confused guilt hits me, hard. I feel like I’ve… I don’t know, abused him somehow, thinking about him like this. Like I’ve sullied our friendship, perverting it beyond repair with my sordid fantasy. It’s just… it’s wrong… isn’t it?
[Don’t be stupid.]
What the hell am I supposed to do?! He planted such a damned poisonous seed in my mind with that FUCKING KISS and now corruption is threading through my veins. I never thought I would reach a point in my life where I would have to admit this, but I can’t deny it now, can I? Even if it turns out that he doesn’t want me, even if nothing more comes of this, I now have to accept that Die…
Die, who I’ve known for so many years, who’s been there with me through thick and thin as we clawed our way up out of the indies scene and into legitimacy…
Die, the sensitive trickster, the philosophical jock, the unrepentant dork who drinks too much and tries to sleep on benches that he’s too tall for…
Die, who two weeks ago told me I fit against him like I was made to be there then kissed me, and who this morning got me in a headlock and gave me a vicious noogie…
Die, who always has a smile ready for me… who makes me laugh when no one else can… who’s seen me at my worst and never once judged me… my dear friend, my co-worker, my bandmate, my brother…
[Just fucking admit it!]
Die is sexy.
…And he might think I’m sexy too.
Maybe?
“…Fuck.”
I need help.
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Catch Me When I Fall