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The Lion and the Wolf	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Die/Kyo Views: 868 -:- 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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Sunlight trickled through wavering curtains, pale and playful in the late morning sky, to spill over a supine form lying nude in a tangle of blankets and sheets. Finely arched eyebrows twitched a bit at the disturbance, eyelashes fluttering over sleepy brown eyes as an exquisitely-crafted mouth rolled open in a languid yawn. Long limbs shifted and stretched, consciousness drifted back to the surface to wipe away the last traces of lingering dreams, and Die welcomed the new day with a lazy smile. There was a pleasant ache in his body and a rare contentedness in his soul that he positively basked in.
‘Mmm… I should get up soon if I want to catch the news…’
And he did so dearly want to catch the news today. He spent another couple minutes laying in the sunlight, sprawled out like a great cat, before eventually rolling off the bed to start his morning routine. Make the bed, brush teeth and hair – no need to shower; he’d done that when he got home last night – tie up hair. Oddly enough, people seemed to have trouble recognizing him with his hair down and wearing contacts, so he only went out that way when he was actively planning to hunt. Check on his laundry; good as new, without a single trace of blood. Check on his trophy; progressing nicely. The internet had provided a very easy recipe for tanning hide, though it would take several days and smelled rather foul at this stage of dehydration. Pour some cereal with entirely too much milk for breakfast, curl up on the couch, and flick on the television.
A weather report…
‘Oh good, it’s going to rain tomorrow… I thought this dry spell would last forever.’
Health report…
‘Another faulty fad diet… who cares?’
Politics…
‘Well… political scandal is usually pretty important, I guess…’
Sports…
‘…Huh.’
Die frowned as the program began to wind to a close. Where was his report? Where was the pretty-faced anchor woman dramatically announcing that The Heartbreaker had struck again, claiming his 12^th victim (though the temptation was always there to call in anonymously and tell the news people that he’d actually killed once before the ones they knew about)? Where were the warnings to gay men in the area, bidding them to be cautious and not travel alone at night? Of course, the true high came from the act itself – from the feeling of plunging himself into the warm, dead embrace of a lover that could never reject him – but there was always an undeniable thrill from hearing the macabre story exposed to the world the next day.
For the rest of the day, he continued to search for his story. He flipped through news channels and programs for some mention of himself or the blonde. He brought out his laptop and looked for a report online, muted the television and tried the radio, even sat in a diner eavesdropping on other patrons for the better part of two hours as confusion shifted to a steadily-building frustration, waiting for someone to acknowledge his work. It never came. When his living room began to turn orange from the sun’s dying light, he paced his house restlessly, trying to puzzle out the lack of attention.
‘Why don’t they care?’
‘They’ve always cared before.’
‘Have they… have they not found the body, maybe?’
‘There’s no way. That park isn’t that quiet, not on a Saturday.’
‘Maybe I should go check, just to be sure…’
Die growled under his breath, running his fingers through his hair.
‘No, no! That’s how people get caught, and people who get caught don’t get to touch anyone else ever again. This is just… just a trick!’
‘Yes, that’s it… a trick… the police are trying to trick me into making a mistake!’
‘Because I’ve outsmarted them so far… they think they can lure me out by withholding my story from the public! Filthy pigs!’
‘But what if it’s still there? If I could see it again…’
Questions, so many questions, so much paranoia. Die wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t insane. He knew that withholding details of a crime from the press was a common police tactic for catching perpetrators, when they slipped and gave up information the public could never have known. He knew that returning to the scene of the crime was one of the most common mistakes a criminal could make, and for a criminal of his caliber, it would be a grave mistake indeed. If he were ever caught, ever tried for his crimes and somehow proven guilty… They would never understand why he did what he did; they would lock him up, make him stop, and he would never be able to dig perfection and love out of another person again. He would die, unsatisfied and alone in some cold cell somewhere. No, he was much too smart to go rushing off to that clearing so soon.
But still, he couldn’t help but want to go look.
He wanted to hear people on the street, on the subway, on the news, everywhere buzzing about what he’d done with that pretty little blonde. He wanted to hear women fret and whisper behind their hands of the shadows that stalked the night, wanted to hear the machismo of men who thought they’d be able to fight him off if he ever went for them. He wanted the entire nation to fear him and all that he represented; wanted the sickness that sullied him to spread and stain all the land. And he was being denied.
When night washed over the city, still with no word of his crime issued to the public, Die did the only thing he could think of to quiet his discontent and worry. He went out, bought a couple cases of beer, returned home, and proceeded to drink himself blind. For hours, he picked and poked through his house, looking for distractions. He watched movies and a soccer game. He pulled out his older trophies again, one by one recalling his past victims, mildly disappointed that he’d chosen to take something he couldn’t play with right away from his most recent lover, but looking forward to the finished product. By midnight, he managed to convince himself that he didn’t care whether or not anyone else knew what he’d done, because he knew, and who the hell cared what the idiot masses thought anyways? It was the last coherent thought he managed to piece together before flopping facedown onto his bed and passing out.
~*~
Die opened his eyes, and found himself standing outside. He looked down curiously and saw that he was completely naked but covered in glistening blood, fresh and black in the moonlight. It was dripping off of his fingertips with a lightly ticklish sort of feeling. Grass tickled at his bare feet as he began to move silently through a pitch black forest, wind howling through the trees overhead with an eerie moan of longing. As he walked, he heard a sound… soft at first, but growing louder and louder as he passed deeper into the wood. A steady bass thump, thump, thumping rhythm. He knew the sound almost immediately – it had been the first sound he ever heard, as his ears formed in the womb, and it was the last sound he heard each night when he settled down to sleep. A heartbeat.
His steps quickened eagerly, until he was almost running through the trees toward the sound as it slowly grew to overpower the sound of the wind, the leaves, even his own breathing. Finally, he came to the clearing, and there it was. A beating heart, lying in the soft grass, flexing rhythmically and shaking the very air with the force of its every pulse. The breeze shifted direction, blowing towards Die, and he smelled it; sweet and coppery and so unspeakably alluring he couldn’t remember or imagine a time when he’d ever wanted to taste anything else.
His feet carried him to the heart, and he dropped to his knees, lifting the precious organ in both hands. The moment it touched his lips, it went silent and still, and his entire body began to thrum with the beat it had previously maintained. When his teeth sank into the flesh of it, a voice he knew and didn’t know whispered through the wind to murmur into his ear, sending a shiver through his spine.
“The lion’s outside of your door, the wolf’s in your bed.”
Clutching the heart to himself, covetous, Die looked around for the source of the song. He found cold, empty eyes staring at him through a haze of death and froze, horrified. A hollowed out body swayed toward him, inhumanly graceful with viscera trailing on the ground behind it, cold-blackened lips moving behind a partial curtain of dirtied yellow hair.
“The lion’s claws are sharpened for war, the wolf’s teeth are red.”
The body sank to its knees before him, reaching up to run frigid fingers over his cheeks and cup his face, almost tenderly. The touch was sticky, catching and tugging at Die’s flesh from the coagulating blood covering him. He shuddered, but didn’t pull away, finding himself utterly entranced by the singing corpse. Under its unseeing gaze, he took another deliberate bite of the heart, the fingers of both hands wrapped possessively around it. He chewed the morsel slowly, savoring it, and swallowed with a breathy almost-moan.
“It’s mine,” he told the blonde harshly. “You can’t have it back. You don’t need it.”
The mouth twisted into a smile, and continued to sing as if undisturbed, “And what a monstrous sight it makes, mocking man’s best friend…”
Then one of the blonde’s hands – the one decorated with obscure tattoos – was drawing back, coiling as a snake at his side. Die frowned, opening his mouth to ask what the body was doing, but found himself cut off before he could form so much as a single syllable. His eyes went wide as his breath caught in his throat, rasping and harsh, before he looked down to stare in disbelief at the wrist lodged in the center his chest. He felt fingers flex inside of him, fisting around his own heart, and wrenching it free with a single, brutal yank. Dead eyes turned sharp, bright gold, and smiled just as surely as that lovely mouth as the blonde leaned forward to plant the sweetest kiss on Die’s gasping lips.
“But both the wolf and lion crave the same thing in the end.”
Die woke with a start, sweating and panting. His heart was racing so hard his chest ached, and his throat was tight with anxiety. He kicked away his covers and threw himself out of his bed, staggering into his bathroom to splash cold water on his face with shaking hands. Leaving the faucet running, he clutched at the edge of the counter for support, and stared into his wide-eyed reflection, demanding answers that could never come. This had never happened to him. Never before had he dreamt of his victims after lying with them; never before had they come back to haunt him. Never before had a nightmare – or any dream, for that matter – left a lingering taste on his tongue even after waking.
‘Am I… losing my mind?’
No… no, it was just because this last one had deviated from his routine in too many ways. He ate of his lover’s flesh rather than simply brutalizing it. He took home a trophy that he couldn’t touch and savor right away. The news failed to report his kill to the public. It was just too different from his established pattern, and it was upsetting him, that was all.
‘I have to see. Just a quick look, surely there’s no harm in that?’
‘Just a quick look… just to be sure…’
‘But don’t rush! No, there’s no need to rush…’
Swallowing and nodding to himself, Die turned off the sink faucet and moved to the shower instead. He forced himself to take his time cleaning up, feigning nonchalance to no one but himself as he washed, dried, dressed, tied his hair back into a ponytail, and pushed his glasses up his nose. He was too wound up to eat any breakfast, but he did settle onto the couch to watch the news. Still no mention of his crime. His anxiety flared, shot through with frustration and confusion. When the program ended, he gathered up his things, locked up his apartment, and jogged the three blocks between his home and the bus he needed. A few minutes waiting, another few fidgeting and tapping his feet as the bus moved, and eventually he was in the neighborhood of the park and the club.
‘Have to be careful… if this is a trap, I don’t want to give them any reason to suspect me.’
It killed him, but he took his sweet time going to the park. Walked at a sedate pace around it, bought sweet snow from a vendor, window shopped at some stores across the street; all while scanning the surrounding crowds for anyone who looked like they might be paying too much attention. There was nothing. Cautiously, he passed into the park itself and drifted along the aimless paths leading toward the wooded area, settling on a bench partway through to eat his sweet snow and look around again. Still nothing. When the paper cup was empty, he stood and threw it away in passing as he entered the forest trails, heart pounding in his throat.
If the police were going to try to get him, this would be the place. The scene of the crime, where crowds thinned out enough that each person could be individually scrutinized and where dozens of cops could be waiting just around the bend, hidden by thick underbrush and trees. Every step Die took was fraught with anticipation, paranoia chewing at his nerves as he made his way deeper and deeper into the forest that haunted his dreams – wet dreams and nightmares alike, now. He took countless looping sidepaths, skirting around the one leading to the clearing until he thought he might puke from the tension. And when he finally took it, he was absolutely shocked to round the turn and find…
‘Nothing?!’
Nothing at all. No police. No crime scene tape. No body. There wasn’t even a trace of blood in the grass, and it had not yet rained though the sky was heavy with the threat of it. Die slumped back against a tree, one hand over his mouth, and stared at the empty clearing.
‘Did I… did I imagine the whole thing?’
‘That’s impossible! I killed him, I know I did! I have a fucking trophy!’
‘But how can it all just be gone?! How can no one have noticed?!’
‘I’m losing my mind! I’m losing my goddamn mind!’
Shaking, caught between panic and fury, Die turned and rushed out of the park. What was the point of subtlety, if no crime been committed?! How much of his memory of that night was even real, if not that moment, the only moment he could recall with perfect clarity? Had that blonde even existed?! He didn’t want to believe he was insane, didn’t want to believe there could be anything really wrong with his mind, but he simply couldn’t understand how that clearing could be so perfectly empty after what he’d done there only two nights ago. By the time he reached the edge of the wood, he was all but running from that damning grove, and he continued his frantic pace all the way to the park entrance before he slowed to a stop. Closing his eyes, he tried to force himself to calm down.
‘This is crazy… there has to be a rational explanation. Has to be.’
‘I need to get out of here, just need to go home and relax. Think about this calmly.’
A plan. Not a very comprehensive plan, but at least he had the next step, and that was enough for now. He opened his eyes and prepared to take the first step-
“Holy shit!” he gasped, staggering back.
There, across the street, standing perfectly immobile amongst the ever shifting and flowing crowds, was the other blonde. The pierced one that had come into the club with his victim was standing there, hands casually tucked into pockets, staring at him. As Die stared back, completely frozen in shock, the shorter man’s jeweled lips curled into a smirk that spoke of equal parts amusement and pity, as if he were watching a kitten that had gotten itself stuck in a paper bag.
‘He knows!’
‘There’s no way… he can’t know, he can’t possibly know!’
‘He fucking knows!’
‘Why is he looking at me like that?!’
‘Get out!’
‘I have to get out of here!’
Too freaked out to worry about looking suspicious, Die turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could away from the park and the man who looked too damn much like the one he could have sworn he’d killed. He ran as fast as his long legs could carry him, clearing city blocks in record time and stumbling through the doors of the bus home at the last possible second. The driver and other passengers were very pointedly not staring at him, in such a way that he knew he had all of their attention, and he did all that he could to ignore for the entirety of the ride home. He was panting harshly, and couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The bus approached his stop and he pulled the cord, moving to the doors as it slowed to a halt with a sharp hiss of air breaks.
Just as his foot hit the ground outside, a hand closed around his arm, and he looked back to see who wanted his attention. He was abjectly horrified to find himself staring into big brown eyes under golden bangs, so much silver jewelry flashing as a compact body leaned forward to brush warm lips over his ear.
“The lion’s outside of your door, the wolf’s in your bed.”
Die gasped, reeling back, and the pierced blonde smirked, disappearing back into the bus as it pulled out of sight. It was the same tune, the same damn song he’d heard in his dream! But it wasn’t the same voice…
‘This can’t be happening…’
‘This is crazy, none of this can be happening!’
Die was in a full blown panic as he raced back toward his apartment. Halfway there, his cellphone began to ring, and he fumbled it out of his pocket, staring at the unrecognized number in utter dread before accepting the call and holding the phone to his ear, saying nothing.
“The wolf, he howls, the lion does roar, the wolf lets him in.”
“Who are you?!” Die seethed viciously, “Why are you doing this?! What do you want?!”
“The lion runs in through the door, the real fun begins.”
Die snarled and hung up his phone, running up the stairs to his apartment. He fumbled the key into the lock, twisted it nearly hard enough to snap the thing, and slammed the door behind himself once he was inside. Panting, frantic, he kicked off his shoes and rushed to his bedroom. A short cry had to be swallowed before it could turn into a full scream when he found his trophy box out of its hiding place, its precious contents strewn carelessly across his bedspread. He whipped around, eyes wild, and cast about for the invader of his home and sanity.
“Where are you?! Show yourself, you son of a bitch!”
“As they both thrash upon you and rip open your flesh…”
The voice was coming from everywhere, and Die tore through his apartment searching for any kind of proof that the whole thing wasn’t in his head. He searched every room, threw open every door of every cupboard, bit back an alarmed cry when he found his most recent trophy was not where he’d left it, and fought to keep himself from collapsing into a fit of madness and rage. He had no control over this situation, and it was as infuriating as it was terrifying. More and more, he was beginning to truly believe he was losing his mind. Finally, he came back to his bedroom, where he’d started, and he passed through the doorway with trepidation threatening to choke the air from his lungs.
Once inside, he went fully still, his entire body engulfed by a sharp chill. There, in the center of his bed, lounged the blonde… his blonde, the one with tattoos and the face half-obscured by hair, the one he’d killed and tasted and left hollowed in a mess of gore two nights ago. Laying on his side, shirtless, like a goddamn underwear model with his boxers peeking over the top of loose jeans, very obviously not disemboweled, watching Die with obvious amusement, was the corpse he had so recently defiled. And the indisputable proof that it was the same man… that perfect rectangle of skin missing from an otherwise flawless abdomen that Die had taken his trophy from, revealing glossy red flesh underneath.
Die tried to speak, and managed only a breathy whimper.
The blonde smirked and opened his mouth to finish the verse, “The lion eats his fill, and then the wolf cleans up the mess. The lion’s outside of your door, the wolf’s in your bed.”

[The lyrics used this chapter are from the song 'The Lion and the Wolf,' which is property of Thrice. I do not own any rights to them, and do not profit from their use.]
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The Lion and the Wolf