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A Case Of You	By : lapsuscalumni Category: > Kyo/Kaoru Views: 908 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction! I do not know Dir en grey, and I do not profit from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-A Case Of You
- 1
Genre: Waff. Sprinkles of angst. Realism.

Pairings: Kyo/Kaoru, Die/Shinya [Dir en grey]

Rating: Pg-13 so far, will escalate in later chapters

Warnings: M/M. Language.

Author's blurb: You've just the kind of cork I'd break my teeth to dislodge! UN-BETA'D. Setting is November 10th, 2009 in NYC. Based loosely on real events (and because I wanted to play off of some peoples' questions concerning what may have prompted Kyo's "change of character," which IMO wasn't really a change deep down, at heart, at all)! My first stab at D/S, I just...jumped into it with my eyes closed and felt around, which is not usually what I do, so forgive me if my grasp is weak. Written in response to a challenge/promise for melinen. Xposted to LJ: http://mistress-of-ra.livejournal.com/29572.html

The clock is talking. He says nothing back, rather, has nothing to say back. He usually let's the momentum of his life do the talking but it was quiet now, he was alone, and blended generously into the surrounding folds of solitude. Not an ideal location, his tour bus, but hardly something to complain about. It had it's dense tan floors and walls shielding him from the brittle city winds, which already could talk plenty about escapades in Texas. Heaven knows it will be shades darker by the time they leave New York.

Sometimes he'd go days on end with mere company of wall-studded memories.

He leans forward, out of the booth, risking a look at the dashboard clock at the front of the bus, again. Tick-talking.

The minutes are only measurements that lead him away from the other. He knew him as Sunday, sometimes Monday, this day was Tuesday, so he put their love in his pocket, leaned back and reached for his notebook.

.......

"You're still here?"

The creak of a door, a moist gust of wind, and Kaoru's distant voice harmonize, quaking Kyo from his sleepy state.

He blinks, maladjusting to the light and the hours-old ink scribbled in his Moleskine, in front of his eyes that, in his tiredness, managed to slip half way out of his grip. He rights it and stretches his neck with a groan.

"In body."

Kaoru hears him croak. Shutting the door with one hand he makes his way to the front of the booth Kyo takes comfort in.

"Sometimes that's all you need." Is what he says as he outstretches his arm, small plastic baggy in hand, Kyo simultaneously setting his black notebook down, spine curving further back into the seat-cushion, remarking that he wishes it wasn't. When asked if he ate, Kyo lies, not mentioning the pains pricking his stomach. Kaoru knows, but has no desire to start a fight over pride.

"That mild cough of yours is dying off on it's own, I know, but it doesn't hurt to suppress it all you can. The rest of these should do the trick." Kaoru offers what he can in the thoughtful knows-best way that always annoys Kyo, simultaneously eating through his toughest defenses with the underline of bloated authority; that's 10 years fail-proof and known for resurgence with theーas far as Kyo is concernedーworst timing.

But Kaoru has a point. Kyo's voice is his life, he can't afford to fool around. The younger man reflexively melts into a nod, accepting the honey lemon cough drops with a reluctant smile, Kaoru watching carefully while he unwraps a few.

"In case you are wondering, I was tempted, but didn't lose the others to mobs. They're still off with Rick and Nora, scoping out restaurants in the area, so we wont have to do it and be mobbed tomorrow." He quips, wiggling his way into the opposite end of the booth, not caring that he's being noisy about it, necklaces clashing with table wood as he adjusts.

"Where are Kuroo and Jouji?" He wonders aloud, after a minute, just now acknowledging their absence.

Kyo looks at him indifferently, failing to mention the 2 went off for a walk sometime ago, clearly still stuckーmind snagging on a former thought.

A moment passes in silence, Kyo zoning in on the silver adorning Kaoru's neck, trying to relax by the hum of the steel beast they sit inside.

"The fans want you there for your mind too, Kyo." Intuition begged for Kaoru to read him, and he is doing just that. "So do I."

The body that leans forward and the hand that ghosts along the table eventually alighting Kyo's, is much appreciated but equally questioned.

"Do you?" The blonde's lips twist to one side. "But it's not on the schedule."

Kaoru straightens up, involuntarily letting go of Kyo's hand, detecting ridicule, perhaps even mock, and expressing his disapproval with a slight scoff, "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? I can count the amount of times we've had a decent conversation this week on one of my hands, Niikura." Kyo gesturing with said handsーthough his emotional palette lacks angerーhis voice is edged with lamentation, making him sound rough. The usage of Kaoru's last name a large enough tip-off for the guitarist to know things are serious, invoking guilt for having been preoccupied to a fault. Regardless if the blame can really be put on himーfor having to deal with the contingencies of reconciling American and Japanese idealsーKaoru resolves to be a boyfriend before a band leader. Not a novel approach perhaps, not even a reasonable one considering his practically Calvinistic beliefs in the God he calls Music, but genuine at that second nonetheless.

"Then, shit, we'll make days that are different." He states optimistically. Standing, making his way to Kyo's side, bumping the man's peeking shoulder with his hip, smiling some asーafter the fifth or sixth time Kyo gives in and moves into the seat, giving him space, albeit with stubborn sighs all the while.

"Starting today." Kaoru challenges, trying as he might to hook onto Kyo and save him from getting lost down a lonely rabbit hole. In manner of habit, Kyo oppositionally tries to look away, every time foiled by Kaoru's persistent efforts to follow his would-be deeking tactics, victoriously meeting in gaze.

Kyo can't help but snicker bitterly at the irony, succumbing for the second time, knowing full well that anyone else would have long ago met a brick wall.

He shakes his head no less convinced, "There's only 7 days in a week."

Kaoru watches dark eyes go wide with astonishment, then retract into narrow slits of...disappointment? Kyo seemingly bound to honesty but self conscious of being capitulant to the suggestions of his insecurities.

"And God knows with how busy this tour isー"

"What if I want you everyday?" It is through Kyo's unbelievable sensitivity that Kaoru is drawn; a lasso of desperation wraps itself around his chest, tightening, with every faint flash of fear he sees Kyo fail to efface, so that the line is delivered quick and breathy.

Ashamed but equally moved by what he hears, Kyo drops his head, bangs cloaking the liquid sting threatening to run over his eyes.

"You can't afford to say that. And I'm not about to ask you for such."

"Too late."

Kyo feels a finger prop his chin up, tardily, he fights feelings of patronization and loses. It dissipates when his lids rise to see a man whose eyes say they want to know and celebrate his substance, no matter how difficult it may be to hold onto, he pledges to willingly bend and broaden with it, with him, under the heat of need, the thrive for belonging and love. There's a burning, so beautiful, coiling upward from stomach to head, Kyo feels as if he can touch and set fire to everything around him at once.

He shivers internally, Kaoru's thumb brushing over his bottom lip, mesmerized by the slow and careful flick of the man's tongue as it dances with loaded words, "I'm saying it now."

The transmission of trust resonates obscenely potent in Kyo, his seams stretching to the hilt. He has no choice, he lunges forward into a solidifying kiss, forgetting in the instant it's returned with synonymous vigor, that he was ever victim to the puddling of faith, power...possibly even innards. The external world dissolves around him but he feels real, so real and complete. Moans, groans and all the foreplay fumbling in between expediting the process, transforming Kaoru into the most tangible thing he has ever held onto. His cock juts proudly, trying to break through his jeans, as he awkwardly twists his way onto the other man's lap, hands curling around Kaoru's shirt recklessly, exposing flesh.

Kaoru's hips buck into him. His back colliding painfully with the edge of the table, he whines, arms sliding around Kaoru's neck as he corrects their positioning. When he is satisfied he wastes no time, biting at Kaoru's lip in retaliation. An ungodly noise flies out from bruising lips, resonating from head to cock, back up to mouth, the same mouth Kyo now suckles, swallowing the moan down, it vibrates deliciously against his own.

A few plush tugs later and Kaoru is on the brink, nerve endings swelling, screaming at him with fury, begging him to screw Kyo into the upholstery. Unfortunetly, duty calls, if he doesn't stop now he'll make quite a mess of himself and have too many pressing questions to answer to at the panel, quickly approaching.

"Kyo..." He gasps, clenching and rubbing his hands along the man's back, only to bring them back around in front of him, forcing Kyo to sit up some.

"I love you."

It's never been said before. It's honest, it flows like honey, and at the instant Kyo hears it, face being embraced by Kaoru's hands, he tastes something sweet. Something personal. Unique.

Deliberate.

"Still not going to the fucking interview." He utters with a wry smile, teeth cold against Kaoru's jaw line as he cranes in for one last assail.

Kaoru's hands fall in defeat, he squints downward, serious, nearly going cross eyed. "I wasn't fishing."

"It's okay." The vocalist lays one last kiss on the corner of his mouth. "It's only natural. I sincerely respect your robotic leadership instincts."

Face to face he pats Kaoru's shoulder, as if sympathetic. The brunette scrunches his face at him, and with his hands now resting atop his thighs, Kyo tries to champion the stare.

Enter 60 seconds of heavy-laden silence.

"Don't think I wont fuck you silly, then drag your naked and delirious ass out!" Kaoru growls. It appears his dominant side is tired of being shelved.

"No offence, baby." Kyo bops said baby on it's indignantly flaring nose, displeased by the menacing threat. "But even on your better days you're not that largely persuasive. Besides," he pauses, making sure his partner understands the suggestive play on wordsーit's obvious he does in the way his pupils dilateーbefore his own eyes drop down, hands nonchalantly playing with the hem of Kaoru's shirt. "The leader in you is convinced you don't have time to do anything that...significant. I know I'm right."

The forgiving part of Kaoru, which oddly, happens to be the part of him that relishes this tug-o-war, chuckles as he rubs at his nose, informing Kyo that he's an ass.

The blonde shrugs, looking up, "Yes. That's staying right here. All night."

"Seriously." Kaoru pleads with a pointed no-nonsense look. "They'll miss you. More than they would the rest of us. I'm almost afraid they'll fucking riot." Tone spanning from amused to irritated.

"I know, and I love them for it." Kyo replies, honored, thin fingers now combing through brunette strands of soap smelling hair. Kaoru closes his eyes momentarily, trying to ignore the silken sensations. He fails, instead savouring with a knowing grin. It has never been a game of give and take between Kyo and the fans, his heart bleeds for people, he genuinely likes to please them, unfortunately his low confidence often interferes.

Privy to this information, it doesn't come as a surprise, that when Kyo's hands meander over Kaoru's chest in an attempt to distract, Kaoru feels the need to grab at his wrists, cease his ministrations and appeal to accountability.
"I'll explain it to them."

Kyo stills, looking over a determined form curiously.

Words at last flow from upturning cherubic lips, "Validating possession, wouldn't that just turn you on? Mmmm. Don't feel obligated." Because he has nothing to prove, except to himself. However, he will be lying if he says that the thought of being known wholly, indefatigably, doesn't scare him out of his skin and that doesn't have anything to do with what motivated his discouragement. But he hates lying, so he says nothing.

Kaoru releases his grip, accommodating Kyo, so that each of his palms may come forward to kiss his.
"Arrogant son of a bitch." Kaoru laughs, slapping at Kyo's hands, then watching, uncharacteristically childlike in awe, as their fingers interlock with Kyo's lead.

Kyo's eyes dart from hands, to Kaoru's face, and he realizes how fucking distinct and masculine his features are; stunningly traditional in the way beautiful used to mean something. His chest tightens.
Kaoru draws each linked pair of limbs to their sides. Rid of obstructions, he focuses pressure forward, groin inching against Kyo's. And he sits there, staring, mind rolling over the many reasons why they work so well together. The answer right thereーconviction pulsing under and against Kyo's skin, pushing against Kaoru's finger tips, begging him to know how alive he is, has been, and will be should they keep relying, letting each other in.

And when Kaoru reveals, "I want them to see you like I do." Kyo's every pore imbibes delight, he understands, like he never has beforeーthe sentiment so strong it carries itself into the remainder of days they have in New York.

Come the morning of the 14th, the fans will see.

.......

He's looking at the floor like it's the last thing he'll ever see, the wooden planks moving in illusion with anxiousness when the sound of a relieved laugh penetrates. It comes with intelligence, an understanding he shares with his other bandmates, who are not used to the confrontation which promises to commence sometime in the next 20 minutes; lingering strong and all consuming. A social eclipse. So he isn't amazed as he watches hands wrap enthusiastically around the beers the staff of Kinokuniya and early-bird press provide. Virgin sips even cause eyes to sparkle with repletion, a bitter-sweet smell wafts, casting a spell that will hopefully keep it's hold well into the night.

Kaoru especially is affected. Typically he wears responsibility well, but there's something in the way he is trying to stand that much taller, the way his hands shake in anticipation of the drink, that speak of his decision to undertake something more significant. Even from the point of view of someone whom he's rarley spoken to that day, the change is visible. Shinya can be deemed the observer of the band in his own right. He frowns some at the possession of mannerisms, though amusing as sin, Kaoru is rarely this boisterously driven in the face of industry-folk. At one point he skips over to security, unabashedly expressing his love and appreciation for a male stranger with an overly enthusiastic hand shake, better suited for a romantic comedy.

Were it not for the guitarist reaching for the necklace he traded with Kyo, when he thinks no one is looking, Shinya could not deduce it's more nerves and loneliness than bother.
Yet somehow, he doesn't relax. He can't relax. Not when the other guitarist has been eyeing him the entire time.

Now he's walking over to stand inches from him, eyes painting a secret scene in 100 overlapping colors, muting intent.

I'm a lonely painter...I live in a box of paints

"You should have a drink." Die suggests, voice projecting more than what's being said. Shinya's gaze falling head to toe. Only you'd never know it the way his focus finally magnetizes as if destined and without deviation, on the buttons of the plaid shirtーhe fought tooth and nail against Boss' drunk "it's the best shirt in the world omg buy it" volleysーand the up and down slight of a chest so clad.

"You're not going to make this easy for me. Are you?"

Die's gaze never leaves Shinya's now sharp, but off-looking expression, as he pulls his glasses from his collar, slowly bringing them up to his face, ignoring the flatness of the statement in satisfaction of knowing Shinya never speaks without purpose.

I used to be frightened by the devil and drawn to those who weren't afraid

"Is there any other way?" Die asks, looking smug out from under glass, thinking back on their history, Shinya's form seeming to warm, enveloped by an amber tint.

He doesn't answer but lashes flutter up. Brown globes meet, burn and bear down for minutes on end, calling on iced butterflies to swim in Die's stomach, breeding nervousness, rare even for him.

Remember when you told me that love was touching souls?

Later, when New York fans are aptly waiting to hear Shinya's opinion of them he knows, the instant Die nudges himーheat jolting and lips molding into a timidly smile licked responseーthat purity doesn't live anywhere else but betwixt and between those challenging moments friction conjures.

He's not a fan of clutter but he collects, his home filling with parades of mementos from his past, things he's aquired while on tour and the sort, so he never has to forget. With Die he's collected the mostーpolished gems of experience decorating and buffering his memory and existenceーon display bordering his heart. And when he and Die are apart, Shinya alone in the back of a taxi, New York whizzing by in colourful blurs, he traces each mindfully. Contently. Waiting reverently, knowing when they meet again in an hour, the gems will be newly arranged and theirs to marvel.

Well, surely you are touching mine
.......

The panel is long over and Die finds himself heavy with the impact of exposure, it hangs on him like a wet blanket. And yet, the freedom of being heard, known, sings around him, bending, crescendoing with the breaths jumping from him when Shinya unexpectedly corners him, in the darkest pocket of that club Toshiya just had to visit and wouldn't stand to alone.

Part of you pours out of me from time to time (in these lines)

"I regret ever offering you booze." Die's voice bounces with the hints of underlying laughter. Anxiousness is quick to relinquish humour as the drummer's returning look holds firm, steady and full. The air bloats, rapt with a tense hunger.

Blue and red strobes shoot up, down, and around them, it's as if lights have been attached to the ends of exicted flying wasps' stingers. Goosebumps toy with Die's skin, it knows it's due to get stung. Techno blares so loud sweat shakes from his pores. It all goes straight to his head, a natural buzz, mixing with the uncountable drinks already swirling inside. He dizzies, saved by the force of Shinya's palm, which doesn't seem satisfied until it's backed him against the wall.

You're in my blood like holy wine, you're so bitter and so sweet

Shinya was known for his selective tastes, shying away from ventures out of his comfort zone. He was always the last to try a new dish. But if there's anything touring has taught him, it's that adapting can save your life. These days he prefers what goes down hard, with a tickle, a queer flavour, with an unknown after taste that leaves him prepared for anything and wanting more. Hell, easy is boring. Easy isn't Die; the only drug never further than an arm's reach per Shinya's desires.

At first Die fights him, until a powerful "Stop!" swings out like a sword to his lips. He's ever-swift, now yielding, as eager as Shinya to reunite lips, set taste buds on fire. And when the younger man is sure it's just the 2 of them, he'll drink down 'til the sun comes up, cheeks rosy, cymbals ringing in his head to blessed spins with paradoxical sobriety.

Yeah. Shinya didn't form many thoughts during the interview. What little enlightened bubbles rose to the surface, came with the waves generated by the man presently crumbling under his calloused hands, chemical rouse and kissesーthe kisses are thank yous.

I could drink a case of you darling, and still be on my feet...still be on my feet

.......

He stirs, hearing the faint undulation of voices he knows all too well, from behind a dark curtain. He thinks it's Toshiya humming, Die shamelessly tongue tripping and Shinya in turn sniggering, but he can't be too sure.

A scuffle of footsteps grow closer, petering out and in as Kyo imagines they go from closet, to washroom, to bunk, covering the entire expanse of the bus. A soft symphony of good nights vibrates briefly. He scarcely has time to sit up ahead of when a tattooed hand curls around the hanging fabric, pulling it to one side, reintroducing him to light.

Eyes have trouble readjusting to the looming figure, who barely lingers before placing his bare knee on the edge of the bunk mattress, Kyo understanding nevertheless, pulling the blanket off him some and scooting forward.

Kaoru maneuvers himself behind the smaller man, stretching boxer clad legs out at his sides, struggling some because of how quaint a space they're in. His arms come around Kyoーwho closes the curtain in advance of settling back against his wife-beater hugged chest with ease.

This is familiar. Wanted. Sacred. Rarely flaunted. Ergo, Kyo is mindful to convey his thoughts in whispers, first asking how things went. The scent of alcohol jumps off of Kaoru's breath in answer, as he nuzzles forward into a golden drape of hair.

"Never mind." Kyo chuckles dolefully, squinting down at his dark-embraced hands as they gently stroke Kaoru's; tracing ink, embracing grooves.

"What about your would-be steady hands, guitarist?" It comes out more solicitous than he intends, bypassing Kaoru completely, an alcoholic fog swallowing subtleties.

"Split personality...the drinks were for the other me." He snorts, a little too proud of himself.

Kyo empathises, at least he tries, secretly wishing he didn't have to. He does not frown on drinking, socially, but can never grow used to Kaoru going places his own sensitive body simply refuses to follow. He has an idea of their happinessーthose who love life will never lose itーfinds the act of synthetically enhancing senses contradictory. Whatever leads him away from the truest and best of all possible versions of himself, is not a constant friend of his.

"Yeah, kinda fucked that up." Slurs Kaoru. "But, you know, what questions weren't genericーconcepts concepts CONCEPTSーwere kinda heady, we were all stupidly nervous and without you Iー"

"Forget it!"

Kaoru flinches, openly startled by the sharpness of the demand, his hyper sensitive state not helping.

Kyo softens his voice some as he continues, "Sorry. I have been isolated too long, I guess." He runs an apologetic hand along Kaoru's arm. "Just...tell me tomorrow, okay? I'd rather not have everyone and everything else here in bed with us."

Kaoru concedes, nipping the muscle tensing along Kyo's neck. It does it's job, Kyo relaxes himself, pressing back possessively, insistently, shoulder blades communicating with ribs. Kaoru takes heed, pushing Kyo forward, shifting them down, closer to the end of the bed, gaining sufficient space so that he may lay back, head meeting a fluffy pillow.

Horizontal, he positions his arm just shy of his head, hand wiggling under it as he admits it's, "Dually noted. Anything else?"

Kyo turns himself around, beaming appreciatively when their eyes meet. He leans into the back of a hand that comes up to caress his cheek, and when retracted, he lays down, curling into the body already warmed, muscles, bones and breaths synthesizing absolutely.

"I don't want to sleep. I just want to dream."

When the crown of his head rests gently in the crease of Kaoru's arm, the man knows exactly what Kyo means, and Kyo smiles because he feels it. Happy to be acceptedーpoetically rhetorical indulgent narratives and allーhis eyes close.

Behind his lids diverse colours sinuously course; nebulae conquering a sky of possibility, never retiring as the brightest things, which any onlooker could ever miss while looking in his open eyes unless blind.

He left an empty page in his diary for this, only he doesn't write about it, he can't, because the day never ends...

TBC...?

Notes:

1) A Case Of You. Lyrics by Joni Mitchell, but I had Prince's version on my mind, because hello, IT'S MOTHER FUCKING PRINCE! ♥

2) He knew him as Sunday, sometimes Monday... Meaning, Kaoru only fit Kyo in, typically, these 2 days. Whether it be for sex, whatever. Sadly. When I think Kaoru I think numbers, schedules, scores fist pumping, manry face, sex and booze. ;)

3) Kuroo. Jouji, aka George. Dir en grey's roadies, Kuroo having seniority but we love George because he's a young, spry fucker, with an amazing sense of humor; unafraid to rock Olivia Newton John's Let's Get Physical reject sweat suits, yep. I'll assume Nora & Rick need no introductions.

4) To picture EXACTLY what everyone looked like: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tydrix/4096281880/
And Kyo: http://www.prefixmag.com/photos/dir-en-grey-goes-cube-gramercy-theater-pics/18

5) I'm sure everyone is familiar with what incident I vaguely referenced. At approx. 2:30 am on November 14th, select members of Dir en grey's staff emerged from their bus, questioning proximate fans, asking whether anything was needed. A few minutes later Kyo emerged with Nora and a few others with lots of tea in hand. Kyo personally crouched down and delivered cups to fans. Not entirely surprising, knowing he used Nora to communicate his concerns to us off and on earlier. I think the gesture is reminiscent of his core, which in truth is lined with love/care. D'aww. Rape my daughter on my grave, my ass!

6) Kaoru did speak for Kyo during the panel, noting his insecurity, rather, his struggle with...crowds. Though some part of me laughed at how easily you could pervert his words, to mean Kyo was a social invalid whom they keep locked in a cage, I was moved by the honesty. ha

7) What you might not know is that Kaoru did indeed approach security at the Kinokuniya panel, boyish and stupidly gracious, after having been provided some...pick me ups. He quite literally clasped Oscar's hands exclaiming, "You very much good security...I love you." Over the next few days referring to Oscar in passing as Mr. Security Man, sometimes Mr. Police Man in his delightfully absent minded English. Oscar is a lovely soul I met, who volunteered to work security on the 10th, fyi. :)
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A Case Of You