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Dictators	By : LoonyLucifer Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop > Pierrot Views: 1332 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Pierrot. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dictators
- 1
Title: Dictators (one shot)
Author: Lucifer
Archive: go ahead^^
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirito x Kohta
Summary: What if Kirito and Kohta really were dictators?
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the real Kirito and Kohta nor their band, Pierrot.

[A/N] Yet more insanity inspired by that damn KxK photoshoot. >_< *pulls out hair in frustration* It's a one shot fic (that when I read over again actually seems more like PWP ^^;;;;) that started in physics and went through media arts, sociology, algebra, and english. It was one of those little writing bursts that came out of nowhere, and unfortunately i didn't have a copy of my other fics with me, so i had to start something new (or fidget uncontrollably for a few hours). Anyway, this is what resulted. It's rather...........-different- to say the least. @_o;;;;;;; Anyway, here's a general warning of what's to come: incest, gunplay, PWP, masochistic Kohta, more incest, sadistic Kirito, creepy politicians, blasphemy, Kirito idolization, dictators, etc. If this sounds like your kind of happy day, then read on. ^_^

~*~

I hear it click once, sounds of metal clacking against metal, sliding and locking together. His th eth enters my ear, hot and enticing. It flows over my face and swirls around my neck, seeming to take on a will all of its own, snaking down my body, its only goal to excite me. I’m on the floor, feeling the hard concrete dig into my back, my head resting on the ground, my arms trapped against my body, completely subjugated. He’s hovering over me, legs firmly pinning my arms to my sides, and serving to keep my hips immobile as well. He brings his mouth down to my neck and nips lightly at the flesh there. A stinging pain shoots over the area as he bites down harder, and I wriggle under him in anticipat My My eyes drift over the form of his head, covered in long dark hair highlighted with bright blonde areas. His shoulders are blocking my vision from seeing the rest of our bodies. I can’t tell what his hands are doing, but I do see his arm move and hear the scraping of metal against the ground, exciting me further and making me squirm under him again. His other hand trails up my neck, pausing to loosen my collar and tie, and then wanders into my hair. He snags his fingers in between the short strands and pulls down harshly, causing my head to jerk backwards as sharp tendrils of pain shoot down my neck. He lays his full weight down on me while biting and sucking under my jaw line. It feels like he’s trying to rip apart my throat, tryto dto devouring me. He pushes his hips down into my own and I groan. The pleasure this motion sends through me is such a beautiful contrast to the pain of his other ministrations. Such a contrast that when coupled, they flirt and beckon to each other. He grinds his hips into me again, tugging and almost tearing my jacket down my shoulders. He undoes the loose tie around my neck, pausing to look at it for a moment with a sort of faraway look on his face, then tosses it aside, forgotten. All this I let him do willingly, more than willingly. He’s taking me apart, out of the clothes he put me in, making me his. I give myself over to him, I am his own possession. I belong to him. And I want him to let me know that. I want him to -make- me know that. He wants it too.

He pulls back up, sitting on top of me, still fully clothed and looking very much like some sort of crazed politician in that suit, so much like the one I’m in. He rocks his hips back and forth in the process, sending another wave of pleasure through me. I’m making little moans of obedience, begging for him without using words. Oh, how he loves it when I call to him like this. No words. Just this silent plea that rises in my throat, he can tell what I want, he knows my every little thought. He knows how much I want him now, he knows how much I -need- him now, that I would do -anything- just to have him like this. Just for him to have -me- like this. He continues that slow, agonizing movement of his hips, now rocking his head back and forth as he looks down on me, watching me in this pitiful state and loving every moment of it. There’s that sound again, metal scraping itself over the floor, as he slowly brings his right arm up. It’s a screeching sound, like nails on chalkboard. It sends a violent shudder through me, not because of the sound, but because I know what it is, that dark metal object resting in his hand.

He brings the gun up to his head, never stopping his ministrations to me, just as slow and unbearable as ever. I’m feeling waves of euphoria just watching this scene play out above me. He rests the barrel against his temple and closes his eyes, whispering my name as he does so.

“Kohta.”

“Onii….” I answer, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything recognizable.

His hip grinding starts to become slightly more aggressive, threatening to drive me mad. He opens his eyes, bringing the gun away from his temple, dragging it over soft, pliable skin and down to his mouth. With one long lick of his tongue over the dark metal, he swallows the barrel, as if he were about to pull the trigger and blow his brains out. My breath catches in my throat and I fear I’m going to forget how to breath. He twists the shiny metal structure around in his mouth, covering it in saliva, all while his eyes are glued to my own. Heat spreads over my face and down my neck. My body is shivering in something that would almost resemble convulsions. I can’t remember the last time I took a breath. Finally he takes the slimy object out of his mouth. He leans down to me, letting his free hand run over the side of my face and through my hair in such a soft, loving way. He kisses my burning cheeks, one by one, then my eyelids. He brings the gun up to my mouth, all the while petting me so gently with his other hand, slowly easing it inside as I accept it eagerly. I can taste his saliva and it’s wonderful. I let my eyes fall closed as I focus only on the gun he’s holding in my mouth, letting my tongue run up and down the metal shaft in a mimic of what he had done. I can almost -hear- him smile. His free hand stops its coaxing and runs down my body, over my white button up shirt, tearing away a few of the buttons in its wake. He shifts his weight a little so that he’s not sitting completely on my hips, allowing that hand to travel over my groin. I groan loudly at this, somewhat obscured by the metal protrusion in my mouth. He strokes me through the material of my pants, and I wiggle and squirm under his touch, trying to get more. He undoes both of our pants and pulls them down just enough to allow him room, which is somewhat of a feat considering that I’m still pinned to the ground with my arms plastered to my sides. Somehow he manages though, and soon both of our erections are exposed. My eyes are now open, watching every movement he makes, not letting a moment slip by. He sets the tip of his erection at my entrance and looks down on me, holding there and not moving. He wants to see me in this torture for just a moment longer. And what torture it is. My senses are so warped that every touch, every little insignificant touch, the feel of the gun in my mouth, the saliva dripping over my lips and down my throat, the ground digging into my back, my arms tingling from going numb some time ago, the weight of Kirito’s body suffocating me, the -feel- of him so close to being inside of me….it all seems to be ten times as intense.

“Oniiiii……….” I plead for him, wanting to reach out to him, wanting him -inside- me. I want him to take me, make me his. I belong to him, so let him make it known.

A lust-filled grin spreads across his face as he finally enters, pushing himself in harshly. My eyes squeeze shut, tears of pain brimming at the edges, and my mouth clamps shut over the gun’s barrel. He begins to move inside me, building up to the rhythm he was at in our foreplay. It was slow and agonizing, and -painful-. But that only made me want more.

His pace is rapidly picking up, and the feel of him moving inside me is more than I can handle, his flesh moving over my own, driving me further and further to pleasure. My hips move up as much as they can to meet each of his thrusts, quickening our pace. Part of my mind is still slightly focused on working the gun inside my mouth, moving my tongue around it in the same fashion that he’s moving within me. I make sure he can feel it with the hand that’s still holding it there. He lays down upon me, pulling our bodies together, never stopping his ever quickening pace. He’s getting more ande exe excited by the sight of me underneath him with his gun inside of my mouth.

He slams into me, rougher each time, causing me as much pain as it does pleasure. I love it. I need more. I beg him for it and he gives it to me, taking me, making me hand myself over to him. It’s almost violent. I’m being driven over the edge. His thrusts pound into me over and over. My body is getting warmer, sweat is running down my back. He embraces me, rubbing his upper body against mine, his half-lidded eyes staring into my own. I stare back with just as much lust. There’s a fire rising inside of me.

Finally the constant impalement becomes unbearable and I feel myself coming. A loud groan escapes my lips as I throw my head back, arching my body to meet up with his. In the middle of it all he slips the gun out of my mouth and replaces it with his own, driving his tongue into me just as he drives himself into me. He’s coming too. I hear an earsplitting BANG! just as the white hot pleasure shoots through me. For a moment the image of him above me is blinded by a white light as my body locks up. I feel him release inside of me. My senses are spiraling out of control as I come.

He collapses. Both of us are gasping for air, sucking in every little bit we can take in short breaths. We stay like that for a while, neither moving, just catching our breath and letting the vision come back into focus. When we’re both close to breathing normally again, he brings his hands up to the sides of my head, softly stroking my hair. He kisses me gently, allowing us a bit more time to rest. When he’s done kissing me, he slowly pulls himself up, putting his pants back together and smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit. My gaze travels over to a small hole in the wall where the gun had fired, smoke leisurely risint oft of it. Kirito helps me to my feet as I redo my pants and attempt to bring the life back into my numb arms. He helps me with my jacket, pulling me into an embrace when he’s done. I can clearly smell our sex still lingering in the air and in his clothes.

“Shall we get going?” he asks, kissing me again, ceasing any sort of answer I could make. Though he wasn’t really expecting one and I wasn’t expecting on him expecting one. It’s not quite as confusing as it sounds. When we’re back to a somewhat presentable state, he heads out through the metal framed doors before us, me following close behind.

Seven or eight graying or frizzy haired heads turn to us as we enter. Men in dark suits much like our own jump to their feet to welcome Kirito and I. They avoid mentioning our very disheveled appearances and go on to grasp Kirito’s hands as if they were sick, dying men and he were Jesus, able to save them with but a touch. I smile to myself. This was a sick Jesus who’s just fucked his own brother in a room not ten feet from where they were waiting. We don’t pretend to care whether they know what he does to me or not. It doesn’t seem to matter. On the contrary, it only seems to increase their fervor. They’re so eager to do his bidding, so eager to be his tools, hightight hand men. But they’re not, and that’s why I’m standing tall at his side with an arrogant smile on my face. -I’m- Kirito’s pet, and they’ll -never- be able to touch him. They’ll never be able to stand next to him, never have his confidence or trust, their loyalty will never mean a thing to him past politics. I’m the one who’s always been with him, always been his sole confidante in this world, the one he can depend on to always be behind him. I’m his pet, his hands, his companion, his ally, his partner, his subject, his masochist, his brother, his lover.

His face is cold and businesslike as he tells them to sit down once the formalities of greeting are over. The meeting begins. His cool, detached voice flows through the room, but I can still see the fire in his eyes.

~*~

Kohta: "He he.....kinda gives new meaning to the words 'one shot' eh?"

Kirito: *BANG BANG!* *grin* "Two shots."

X_______x;;;;;;;

Lucifer: "I had absolutely nothing to do with this...."
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Dictators