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Rude	By : Tcharlatan Category: > Die/Kyo Views: 1111 -:- 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
- 1-Rude
- 1
A flash of bright green streaks in front of me, making me jump and pulling my attention away from my manga. A little origami canary has landed between the pages, upside down and covered in Kaoru’s messy handwriting. It takes me a second to recognize that it’s a cannibalized Post-It, and I can’t say it’s the most disrespectful thing any of us have done with one of Kaoru’s notes. There are only two of us on the bus at the moment, so I know exactly who’s to blame for the interruption, but I can’t blame the poor guy for being bored. I wonder if he already regrets deciding to stay behind, no matter how miserable the weather is outside. We’ll be waiting here for some time while the others screw around shopping or sightseeing or whatever. I flick the little paper bird off my book onto the seat beside me and settle deeper into my slouch to try to continue reading.
A few minutes later, a soft ~tick~ alerts me to another piece of paper bouncing off the window to my left, landing on my thigh. This one’s a swallow, and it looks like it’s made of a page torn out of a music magazine. He’d better hope Toshiya was done with that, or our dear sweet bassist will have his head by nightfall. Another few minutes, and a duck advertising Chinese food hits the back of the seat in front of me and drops to the floor. Then it’s an owl made of a fast food bag. Then a swan from an old set list. Then a dove from what looks like somebody’s credit card bill. Then a crane from Shinya’s day-by-day calendar of Chihuahua puppies.
I give up on my manga, but I don’t react otherwise, hoping maybe it’ll prompt him to try just a little bit harder for my attention and make my day a little less boring. I know that either way I’ll cave in the end, but I always try to seem at least slightly less eager than I really am. It’s such a nice feeling to know he wants my company enough to work for it. It seems that this time, however, I’m in for a bit of disappointment. For a while after the crane, the birds stop coming and I wonder if he’s become bored with me and has turned his interest to a video game or something. I set my book down and turn over onto my knees on the seat, looking over the back of my headrest just in time to get hit in the eye with another paper.
“Ow! Damnit, Die!”
I cover my eye with one hand and grab the offending object – a phoenix made of part of a manila envelope – and glare at the guitarist. He’s sitting a couple seats back, just in front of the bunks on the other side of the aisle, with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, and part of me wants to smack him, just a little. I crush the paper bird in my fist and fling it back at him, watching him snatch it out of the air and wishing he’d let it bounce off his forehead like it was supposed to.
His face goes as serious as he can get it as he finds another piece of paper – it looks like a foil paper from someone’s French fries – and starts folding again, his hands just as skilled at origami as they are at everything else. “You know in the U.S. they have a ton of different names for flipping someone off?”
“Oh really,” I wonder dryly.
“Mmhmm.” His head bobs, red hair falling over his face for just a moment. It’s so soft when he doesn’t put it up; I always wonder how he can stand to have it in his face all the time, but it’s never seemed to bother him much. “The highway salute. The New York hello. Flipping the bird.”
He flings the newest creation at me and it snags in the longer hair on the right side of my face. I pull it out – a greasy silver and white peacock – and toss it away, standing to walk over to him, feeling a grin tug at my mouth and allowing it to spread. So he just spent the better part of an hour flipping me off with little origami birds? He’s such a fucking dork sometimes, I can hardly stand it. I swear, anybody who thinks I’m cute just hasn’t taken the time to look at Die. Which, actually, is fine by me; I’m happy to look at him for the rest of my days with as little competition as possible.
He grins back at me, too damn sweet and too damn mischievous for his own good. As always. “The concert C. The one-finger salute. Giving them the Finger.”
His words create an opening for this game to become way more interesting, and as cheesy as it is, I don’t hesitate to take it. I lean over him, resting my hands on either side of his head and sliding one knee onto the seat by his hip. “Ne, Die… are you trying to tell me you want to give me your finger?”
He doesn’t miss a beat, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me down closer until my butt hits his thighs and our noses bump together. “Ooh, what if I am?”
“I don’t know. It’s so terribly improper, Daisuke,” I purr. “And I just can’t stand for such rudeness. What if I’m offended?”
His grin becomes a little darker and he smacks my ass hard enough to make me squeak a bit. “Oh please. You know you fucking love it when I’m rude with you.”
A little shiver of thrill works its way up my spine and I feel myself starting to harden. I do love it when he’s ‘rude’ with me. I love it when he gropes me under the table when we’re out with the others, I love it when he does kinky shit to me when I’m not expecting it, and I love it when he just throws me down on the bed and fucks me, using me for his own pleasure. Die has been a terribly rude lover from the beginning, and I’ve cherished that insolence for almost two years now. Unfortunately, in the middle of a tour, we haven’t had the privacy or even the beds in which to indulge ourselves with anything more than our own hands for weeks. Now seems like a perfect time to rectify that, with our bandmates pretty much guaranteed to be gone for a least a couple hours. Pressing down closer to him, I realize he’s already hard, and I can’t help but wonder if he knew this was going to happen all along.
“Mmm, so I do… Go on, then,” I growl, rolling my hips roughly against his. “Salute me.”
He chuckles, “Yes sir!”
His hands slide up to fist into my hair and he drags me into a kiss, deep and rough and wicked just the way I like it. I wrap my arms around his neck and respond in kind, lapping at his mouth and biting at him at every given opportunity as he rolls me underneath him so I’m sitting in the seat and he’s looming over me. His perfect mouth will be bruised red by the time I get done with it, and the thought of it only serves to incite me further. He never pauses, never pulls back to breathe or let me breathe and his hands drag down my body, one shoving under my shirt to rub and pinch at my nipples, the other into my pants to tug at the hair surrounding my dick. I used to keep it trimmed much closer, before he started playing with it like this; now I can’t imagine leaving it too short for him to yank on. His tongue tangles with mine, his hands wrench pleasure and just the tiniest bite of pain from every part of me they touch, and I’m rock hard and dripping within minutes.
It’s always like this with Die – exhilarating, overwhelming, absolutely goddamn delicious – and I have no idea how I managed to go this long without him. These past couple weeks have been hell, and the frustrated tension catches up with me all at once. I pant against him like a needy teenager and grab at his shirt, forcing him to back off just long enough for me to drag it off of him and throw it aside. He’s back on me the moment it’s clear, and I start clawing at his bared back and shoulders, making him moan and rut his hips wildly against mine. Grabbing onto him like this always drives him crazy. The hand in my pants disappears and I whine at its loss, humping up against his belly as he twists that arm back to root around in his back pocket. I hear the soft ~snap~ of a lube bottle and start squirming against him, trying to get out of my track pants without having to let him go, biting his bottom lip hard enough that I taste a little blood.
The hand toying with my nipples gives a particularly hard pinch in response and I have to break off to cry out, half moaning and half growling at the treatment. He growls back, moving down to bite at my neck, and I bring one hand up to tangle in his hair, moving the other down to undo the fly of his jeans. They’re loose on him, so they sag down his skinny hips immediately, and I jam my hand under the waistband of his boxers to pull out his dick. He thrusts into my fingers and I drag the pad of my thumb over his slit, smearing his precum around and making him groan. The sounds he makes are always almost enough to get me off all on their own. They’re below the range of what my left ear can pick up anymore, so I feel them more than I hear them – low and smooth and reverberating through me all the way to my bones.
I hear an odd sort of clacking noise from behind Die, like the snap of plastic against plastic but with a metallic sort of undertone. For a split second, I think he’s broken something on the seat in front of us, and I find that equal parts amusing and arousing. I fucking love it when he gets so worked up he ends up wrecking things, and it happens regularly enough; I’m on probably my fifteenth bedside lamp at home since we started seeing each other. My eyes half open, hazy with pleasure, to seek out the source of the noise, but when I find it, my blood runs cold and my entire body goes stiff with horror.
Toshiya is standing in the aisle. He’s halfway through folding up a dripping umbrella, one arm frozen on the way to grab something off of one of the front seats, and he’s staring at us with absolute shock. I stare back at him, feel my eyes go wide, and I can’t move. I can’t even breathe.
None of the others knew about Die and I. He’s my first time with another man, and I’ve always kind of wanted to keep our relationship as my own private treasure; a secret held close to my heart where it’s safe and can’t be used to hurt me. As accepting as our band mates have always been about his bisexuality, I’ve always been terrified that if they were to find out about us, they-… no, I don’t want to think about that. It only leads to me shedding more tears and more blood, and that’s another of those things I can’t really indulge myself in on the tour bus.
“I just… forgot my wallet…” I hear Toshiya choke out. “I didn’t mean to… ah… I mean… I didn’t think you were… Wow… I mean, you and K-… Kyo?”
Gods, to be caught like this… by him, of all people! Fucking Toshiya; my former roommate, the younger brother who I’ve always strived to appear strong in front of; who, with all the best intentions in the world, can’t keep a secret to save his life… It’s too much, and even though he doesn’t look disgusted or even particularly upset, I’m absolutely mortified. I panic, pushing Die away and dragging my pants back into place as I scramble out of the seat and into to my bunk, yanking the curtain shut behind me. My heart is pounding and my cheeks are burning, and I wish I could just fucking disappear.
Gods, why did it have to be him?!
“We’re kinda busy here, Hara, you wanna fuck off?” Die snaps back – his tone not unkind, but awfully impolite.
He really only sounds a little irritated at the interruption. He’s always wanted to tell the others about us, but I’ve always asked him to keep quiet about us and he knows how much I value my privacy, so he’s always respected my wishes in that regard, though more and more begrudgingly as time goes on. It’s been a point of contention between us more than once, and one of very few from which I can never back down. He hates having to hide anything from them, and insists that they’ll be happy for us, so this is probably a blessing for him.
“Right! Sorry! I, uh… I’ll just…yeah.”
I hear hurried footsteps and the bus door clacking shut again. More footsteps move towards me and I turn my back to the curtain, curling up around my pillow and hiding my burning face against it. I can’t believe we just got caught. By Toshiya! Goddamn bigmouthed Toshiya! Kaoru or Shinya, at least, would have kept it to themselves. And there’s no way we can pretend that we weren’t half-fucking, it was pretty blatantly obvious what we were doing. The curtain slides open and I can’t even bring myself to look at Die.
“Well… cat’s out of the bag, huh?”
I can’t see it, but I can hear the grin in his voice, and anger at it mixes with my humiliation and makes me sick to my stomach. I’m pretty sure my voice will crack if I try to talk right now, so I keep silent, curling tighter around my pillow. As much as I care about Die, I really would much rather freak out for the next couple of months, and his disregard for the situation is only making my embarrassment worse by contrast. I want to wallow in horror, damn it, and I’m probably going to want to wallow for a very long time, because I’m pretty sure Toshiya has just become the herald of the end of my life as I know it.
“Come on, don’t sulk! At least we don’t have to hide all the time now, right?” He says in a wheedling tone, one hand slipping up the back of my shirt to rub gently, the way he does to help me sleep at night. “It was just Totchi, not management or press or fucking Nora. It’s not so bad, really…”
I don’t respond to him, and after a while I hear him sigh, the hand on my back disappearing. He moves away, rustling around somewhere closer to the front of the bus, and then comes back, and I find myself steeling myself against any further attempts at consolation. I don’t want to be comforted, but I expect him to try anyway. What I get instead is a hand diving down the back of my pants and one long, slippery finger shoving up inside me without warning. I can’t hold back an undignified yelp at the invasion, clamping down around him and flailing, knocking my head and one knee against the walls of my bunk before I can get myself back under control. I twist around enough to glare at him, but his other hand is holding my hip in place so I can’t get away from his finger, twisting and wriggling restlessly inside me.
“Die! What the fuck?!” I hiss at him, seething. I’m still hard, but goddamn it, it should be plenty obvious that I’m not in the mood anymore.
He looks like a predator right now – shirtless, all rangy muscle and long bones, pants sagging around his hips and his dick jutting out of his boxers – and his eyes bore into me with a ferocity that doesn’t seem to fit what he’s doing. “Just looking for the stick you’ve obviously got lodged up here. Besides, you told me to ‘salute’ you, remember?”
I bare my teeth and try to pull his hand away. “Don’t be a dick, Die, I’m allowed to be upset when the goddamned gossip queen catches us fucking around! You know I didn’t want the others to know about us yet, and now-”
“‘Yet’? Two years!” he growls at me, adding second finger inside me to emphasize his point. “It’s been two fucking years, Kyo, how long did you want to wait? I know you like your privacy, Baby, but is it really that bad? How long did you think we could keep sneaking around before something like this happened anyways?”
I gasp a little and push harder at his hands, knowing that I’m blushing and hating myself for it. “I don’t know! Would you stop, please, I can’t-”
“Are you ashamed of yourself, for being attracted to men?” he demands.
“What? No! Why should I-”
“Are you ashamed of me?”
His voice is so low when he asks it, almost shaking once in the middle, that my anger withers away entirely and I go still, looking away from my fight with his hands to stare up at him. His eyes are so dark, now… With him still feeling me up, I guess I thought he wasn’t taking me seriously, but he seems sincerely upset, and I can’t help but feel a little guilty. How long has he thought that?
“No…” I breathe, “Gods, Die, no… I could never be ashamed of you.”
“Then why,” he pushes a third finger inside me, and I squeal a little when he jabs against my prostate, “is it such a fucking big deal that our friends know about us? Are you fucking somebody else on the side?”
“What?! No!” I pant a bit and try to squirm away from his hands. However hard I want to sulk, however bad I feel for hurting Die without realizing, I haven’t been laid in weeks, and my dick is making its priorities quite clear. “I would nev- hng! D-Die, please, I can’t think when yo-”
“I don’t want you to think, I want you to talk,” he growls, dragging me half out my bunk and flipping me onto my back. “Why is it so bad that they know?”
I grit my teeth and try to push him away with my legs, but he’s standing too close and I can’t get the proper leverage. “I-it’s just-… I-… it’s not their business, and-”
“Bullshit.” He grabs the waistband of my track pants with his free hand and pulls back only long enough to yank them off of me entirely, leaving me wearing nothing but my socks, undershirt, and a blush so red I feel like my face might bruise. “You wouldn’t freak out like this if it was just ‘not their business,’ so stop fucking lying to me and tell me what you’re so damn afraid of!”
I cover my face with my hands as it all just comes falling apart – the frustration, at him and at my own body; the embarrassment at this whole situation; the fear I’ve been holding onto for so long. I want to keep myself together but he’s not letting me, and before I can stop myself, I’m yelling at him through a snarl and unshed tears, “I’M AFRAID OF LOSING YOU, YOU FUCKING PRICK!”
“…” The hands on and inside of me go still for a moment, then I feel him lean in closer to me. “Why would you lose me because they know about us?”
“Because! Because, they’ll joke about it and gossip about it and they’ll ask you why, out of everyone you could have, why you would pick me, what you could possibly see in me, and…” I feel the tears break loose and my voice wavers badly, but I can’t stop now. “And you’ll try to answer them and when you can’t think of anything you’ll realize that… that there’s n-nothing to me, nothing in me worth having… and I’ll lose you because you’ll realize that I never d-deserved you in the first place.”
I pant hard and try not to sob as he goes quiet over me. I can’t move my hands away from my face, knowing that all I’ll see in his eyes is shock and understanding of the truth that I’ve quietly feared since we first fell together. Even knowing that he would figure it out eventually, I don’t think I can handle seeing him realize that he’s wasted two years of his life on me, seeing the regret and his struggle to figure out a way to end this without hurting me. I’ve always known that when Die finally breaks my heart, as rude as he is in bed, he’ll do it in the sweetest, gentlest way he possibly can. That doesn’t make me fear it any less.
I just about managed to forget that he’s still got half a hand inside of me, I’m so distracted by everything else, but when he starts squeezing a fourth finger into me, the invasion is brought crashing back to the forefront of my attention. I whine and arch with half of a sob – the pleasure from the penetration making my emotional distress all the more poignant – and he leans down to murmur against my ear, his voice gone husky as his free hand smoothes over my stomach. “You know… I’ve always wanted to do this to you. To see how much of my hand I can fit up into your ass.”
I uncover my face to give him what has to be the most miserable attempt at a glare I’ve ever put together. “God-ddamn you, D-Die, I n-need you to be se-serious for two f-fucking minutes an-”
“Shut up, I am serious,” he snaps, cutting me off. “From the moment I first set eyes on you, I’ve wanted to do all kinds of filthy shit to your body. Kisaki and Kaoru were talking about music preferences and styles and experience, and you were standing behind Kisaki looking bored to death, and all I could do was fantasize about you underneath me. I thought of all the places on you I wanted to taste and bite and mark up, of all the things I wanted to shove in your mouth and your ass. I jerked off thinking of you damn near every night for the first month I knew you, blew loads all over my shower and my sheets and the fucking toilet in our practice room, biting through my tongue to keep from saying your name. You were a second fucking puberty for me.”
I can’t help but blush. I already knew he had been at least a little attracted to me for a long time before we got together, but I’d never known any of that. I whimper as his thumb slowly – so goddamn slowly I actually stop breathing – starts to join the rest of his fingers inside me, pressing deeper, stretching me wider than anything else ever has. I grab onto his arms for support, and he sucks my earlobe into his mouth just long enough to get me panting again before continuing.
“But after that first month, I started to get to know you. You stopped being just a sexy, bendy, curvy, tight little body and starting being Kyo. You starting being funny and passionate and fierce and sweet and loyal and so damn dedicated to all of us, to our dream, even when you’re full of so much pain and pessimism. And after a month – a single month, you ridiculous dumbass – every one of my filthy fantasies started to end with me holding you; cleaning you up and kissing you and falling asleep with you in my arms, keeping you all to my greedy self.”
The widest part of his hand slips into me and a shuddering little wail creeps up out of my throat. He’s moving so slowly and he’s drenched with so much lube, there’s almost no pain to the stretch, but I’m so fucking full I swear I can feel him on the back of my tongue. If what he was saying was any less staggering, I wouldn’t even be listening. As it is, every tiny movement he makes and every word he breathes has my absolutely undivided attention. I can’t speak; I can’t even think, everything in me so centered on Die.
“Then you showed up at my Christmas party and let yourself get drunk for once. You got so fucking shitfaced you couldn’t get yourself home, so I told you to stay the night.” He nuzzles against my neck, and I feel the fingers inside me start to curl, sensation blazing through my every nerve and making me arch up against him until every muscle in my body shakes under the strain. “After everyone else left, I took the mistletoe off the kitchen door… and held it over your head… and you looked me straight in the eyes and fucking dared me to kiss you. We were both drunk and clumsy and you were like some kind of damn sex god and it was so perfect I thought you were another fantasy, so I popped your cherry without even knowing it, and my neighbors called the cops because you were screaming so loud they thought I was killing you and I was So. Damn. Happy. Because I finally got what I had wanted for so fucking long. But, you know, for all of that…”
He starts pushing his fist back and forth inside me, and has to clamp his free hand over my mouth to muffle my screaming. His hand is so damn big, so much bigger than anything else he’s ever put into me, and it feels so fucking good I can’t stand it, I think I’m about to burst. My entire body is throbbing and my dick is dribbling eagerly, but I struggle to hold myself back. I feel like he’s approaching the end of his story, leading me to something important, and I have to know what it is.
“For all of that, you know what was really my dream-come-true?”
I whine against his hand and shake my head as best I can.
“It was waking up the next morning… and finding you still there. Finding you in my kitchen, wearing one of my old shirts, making me breakfast because fuck if you were going to let us be nothing more than a drunken fling. My dream-come-true was realizing that you might actually find it in yourself to love me back.”
On the last word, he twists his wrist, knuckles dragging over my prostate, and I lose it – all of it. I cum and I cry and I scream and I grab at him until I’m sure I’ve drawn blood and he pins me to the mattress to keep me from flailing into the walls again. Lightning is coursing through me and it feels like every nerve ending from my toes to my scalp is bursting, like my soul is cracking open and pouring my every emotion out of my body along with my fluids. Everything hits so hard I think I black out for a little bit, because by the time my eyes open again, his hand has been eased out of my body and wiped clean. I manage a little groan as I try to think of something to say through the hazy mush my brain has become.
“D-… Die, I…”
He points a finger at me sternly, and I can’t help but blush at the sight of it, knowing what he just did with it. “Listen up, you moody punkass. I love you. Do you hear me? All of you. I love your twisted mind and your flagrant lies and your stupid fucking track pants just as much as I love your gorgeous body and your gods-shaking voice and your soft heart. I love the freaky shit you let me do to you in bed and I love that you blush every time I hold your hand. I love you when you’re pissy and I love you when you’re moping and I love you when you’re a fucking drama queen. I love you because it takes half a dozen origami birds and a shitty metaphor to make you smile, and that way I know you really mean it! Alright? Am I getting through that thick skull?! I love you, Kyo Nishimura, you beautiful, passionate, talented, finicky fucking prat!”
I sniffle and laugh a little, then lean up to kiss him. His voice is harsh and he’s still achingly hard, dripping on my thigh, but his eyes have gone soft and when he returns my kiss, it’s gentle and sweet and absolutely laden with his devotion. I feel like… well, like a finicky fucking prat for having doubted him, and as coarse as his words were, they fill me with warmth. He knows me well enough by now to know that anything gentler would have rolled off me like water off a duck, and his fierce, brutal honesty is like a cautery on my insecurities, leaving me no room to doubt him.
“I love you too, Die,” I mumble, feeling inadequate and wishing I had better words to convey the depths of my feelings for him.
“I know you do, Baby.” He flashes me that damned grin again – too goddamn sweet, too goddamn mischievous for my own good – and points at his hard-on. “Now can you please stop sulking and fucking blow me before my nuts burst?”
I laugh again, a little stronger this time. Gods I love it when he’s rude with me. But honestly, the best part is knowing that when we’ve both settled down from this frenzy we’ve worked ourselves into, like always, he’ll take me in his arms and kiss my hair and hold me like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him.
For once… I think I’ll believe it.
- 1
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Rude