(no subject)
Mar. 29th, 2010 12:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaTitle: Blood Brothers
Fandom: DRRR!!!
Pairing: Kida/Mikado
Rating: R
Summary: Kida and Mikado meeting on the battle field. Kink meme fill.
Kida cannot be sure he has never killed anyone. It's hard to tell sometimes, when you've got a guy groaning and bleeding at your feet and you have another guy crashing towards you swinging a knife you don't stop to check the first guy's pulse, and once the guy with the knife is down you don't check him either because there is someone with a baseball bat about to beat down on your friends.
Not friend; gang member, compatriot, subordinates, back up… but they were never friends.
Still, Kida was pretty sure he had never killed anyone. Gang war fare in Ikebukuro was fast and hard, you hit and you moved on. Even Shizuo had never killed anyone and his strength was ridiculous. Everything had been leading up to this point though. Kida is trapped between a wall and a hard place, his nail puller grasped tight in one hand while he stares straight ahead. Outside of the dark alley there is a massive fight going on. Dollars versus… well, just about everyone else. And everyone else versus the Dollars.
Kida swallows with a dry throat.
"Mikado." It's hard to say, and Kida's not sure if that's emotion or dust or some sort of dark magic choking his voice. Mikado is holding onto his arm, his left arm, the arm Kida had swung at and probably broke. But it was Mikado's fault, Mikado had grabbed him and yanked him into this dark alley and…
What was Kida supposed to think?!
"Ki-" Mikado clears his throat. His eyes are narrowed, and he looks serious and focused in ways Kida has never seen him be. "Masaomi."
Kida swallows again. He had never thought things would come down to this. He wonders if there are members of the Dollars waiting to take Mikado down the same way that Kida had once been taken down. Kida wonders how many people know Mikado is the leader.
Kida's hand tightens on his weapon. "Mikado. What are you doing here?"
Kida's voice breaks slightly. But this wasn't Mikado's fight, Mikado wasn't a FIGHTER, this was all sorts of…
"What are you doing here, Masaomi?" And Mikado looks from Kida's face (where his serious eyes have been GLUED) to the blood rusted nail puller in Kida's hand. Kida almost drops it, almost.
"Fighting." And the tightness has been cleared up but was replaced with ice cubes. Kida's voice is soft and cold and direct when he speaks now. "It's a battle field out there."
Mikado sighs, and when he looks up at Kida it's almost the same old Mikado. It's the same worried face, the same weary acceptance of Kida's stupid jokes, and the same emotions Kida could never put a name to. "It's my fight too, Masaomi."
And suddenly their deserted little alley is no longer deserted. Kida can no longer tell what side he is supposed to be on, or what side Mikado is, or what side the much taller opponents are on. All he knows is it's him against them, with Mikado at his back. But then it's not Mikado at his back, it's Mikado at his side, pulling out a ball point pen and a cellphone, and all Kida can think before he's ducking under a thick arm and slamming his nail puller up into someone's solar plexus is 'what the hell does he intend to do with THAT'.
They clear the alleyway and stand on the sidewalk, groaning and bleeding and unconscious bodies collapsed behind them. Kida is breathing hard, and so is Mikado. A fine sheen of sweat above Mikado's upper lip catches the setting sun.
Kida licks his lips and denies the urge to lick that sweat. He tastes blood, and it takes him a second to realize it's not his.
"Masaomi." A warm hand closes over Kida's (not the one holding the nail puller) and Kida is being pulled off, he barely has to jog to keep up with Mikado's near flat-out run. The fighting is down to the hard-core and the idiotic now, police sirens begin to grow close and Mikado starts leading Kida through back-alleys that Kida knows like the back of his hand but never expected Mikado to learn. Everything is dark now, dark and cool, but there is still that humid edge that the day had held.
Kida is not surprised when Mikado shoves him up the stairs that lead to Mikado's apartment.
"Mikado." 'I can't' is what Kida wants to say, means to say. 'This will only hurt us both'. Things like that. They sound so good, so easy in his head, but when he looks at Mikado he knows he cannot say them. He walks up the steps and towards Mikado's apartment. He doesn't bolt when Mikado looks away from him to unlock the door.
"This place is a dump, you know that Mikado?" Kida asks when he is pushed into Mikado's apartment. "I always meant to tell you, I mean, you can totally do better." Kida toes his shoes off and steps onto the tatami. "Especially since you're the leader of-"
Mikado pushes Kida against the wall, his lips meeting Kida's in a hasty and unapologetic mash. Kida drops his weapon and luckily manages to miss their feet. Mikado's eyes are open, clear, and serious, the same look he gave Kida back in that alleyway. Kida places his hands on Mikado's shoulders full of the knowledge that he is stronger than Mikado and could easily push Mikado away.
He does not.
Kida adjusts the angle, turns the kiss from an inexperienced display of affection to a more… well, a more experienced display. Kida has kissed before and while he might not be the Don Juan he pretends to be, Kida can still kiss.
Mikado pulls back from the kiss with flushed cheeks and slightly rounded eyes. They hover inches apart, warm breath mixing in pants. Kida cannot look away from Mikado, and Mikado is staring at Kida.
Then Mikado's eyes flicker, his eyelids close, and when he opens them he glances at Kida's cheek. Kida automatically covers it when he remembers that there is dried blood there. The dried blood is starting to itch too.
Mikado grabs Kida's wrist and tugs Kida's hand away. He kisses Kida's palm, and then he licks at the dried blood on Kida's cheek.
Kida's never gotten hard so fast.
Neither of them would be able to tell you how they got to the bed. Kissing and laughing and tripping over each other's feet before they collapse onto Mikado's messy futon. They barely miss bashing their heads on Mikado's desk on the way, or falling out the open window.
The window brings a nice breeze to Mikado's otherwise stuffy apartment.
Mikado sweats under Kida's body, under Kida's hands, and Kida lets the impulse to lick the sweat off of Mikado's upper lip rule him. It tastes sweaty and kind of gross, but the way Mikado's breath stutters and the sudden grip Mikado has on his shoulders makes it worth it.
They're both skinny teenagers, rib cages pressed against their chest. Kida has a bit more muscle than Mikado, and Mikado has more flesh in some areas. Kida also has more bruises, bruises and blood littering his body, a few scars from previous fights as well.
Mikado is oddly soft under Kida's roughened palms, and he attempts to kiss every spot of blood, every bruise, every faded scar.
Neither of them has condoms or lube or has a clue about anal sex, so they stick with what they know. They rub against each other, hands wrapped tight around each other's cock. Their faces hover close together, noses and cheeks brushing, sweat dripping and cheeks flushing. When they orgasm they both close their eyes and collapse together, two best friends in love with each other, the pain and agony and glory of battle forgotten.
Fandom: DRRR!!!
Pairing: Kida/Mikado
Rating: R
Summary: Kida and Mikado meeting on the battle field. Kink meme fill.
Kida cannot be sure he has never killed anyone. It's hard to tell sometimes, when you've got a guy groaning and bleeding at your feet and you have another guy crashing towards you swinging a knife you don't stop to check the first guy's pulse, and once the guy with the knife is down you don't check him either because there is someone with a baseball bat about to beat down on your friends.
Not friend; gang member, compatriot, subordinates, back up… but they were never friends.
Still, Kida was pretty sure he had never killed anyone. Gang war fare in Ikebukuro was fast and hard, you hit and you moved on. Even Shizuo had never killed anyone and his strength was ridiculous. Everything had been leading up to this point though. Kida is trapped between a wall and a hard place, his nail puller grasped tight in one hand while he stares straight ahead. Outside of the dark alley there is a massive fight going on. Dollars versus… well, just about everyone else. And everyone else versus the Dollars.
Kida swallows with a dry throat.
"Mikado." It's hard to say, and Kida's not sure if that's emotion or dust or some sort of dark magic choking his voice. Mikado is holding onto his arm, his left arm, the arm Kida had swung at and probably broke. But it was Mikado's fault, Mikado had grabbed him and yanked him into this dark alley and…
What was Kida supposed to think?!
"Ki-" Mikado clears his throat. His eyes are narrowed, and he looks serious and focused in ways Kida has never seen him be. "Masaomi."
Kida swallows again. He had never thought things would come down to this. He wonders if there are members of the Dollars waiting to take Mikado down the same way that Kida had once been taken down. Kida wonders how many people know Mikado is the leader.
Kida's hand tightens on his weapon. "Mikado. What are you doing here?"
Kida's voice breaks slightly. But this wasn't Mikado's fight, Mikado wasn't a FIGHTER, this was all sorts of…
"What are you doing here, Masaomi?" And Mikado looks from Kida's face (where his serious eyes have been GLUED) to the blood rusted nail puller in Kida's hand. Kida almost drops it, almost.
"Fighting." And the tightness has been cleared up but was replaced with ice cubes. Kida's voice is soft and cold and direct when he speaks now. "It's a battle field out there."
Mikado sighs, and when he looks up at Kida it's almost the same old Mikado. It's the same worried face, the same weary acceptance of Kida's stupid jokes, and the same emotions Kida could never put a name to. "It's my fight too, Masaomi."
And suddenly their deserted little alley is no longer deserted. Kida can no longer tell what side he is supposed to be on, or what side Mikado is, or what side the much taller opponents are on. All he knows is it's him against them, with Mikado at his back. But then it's not Mikado at his back, it's Mikado at his side, pulling out a ball point pen and a cellphone, and all Kida can think before he's ducking under a thick arm and slamming his nail puller up into someone's solar plexus is 'what the hell does he intend to do with THAT'.
They clear the alleyway and stand on the sidewalk, groaning and bleeding and unconscious bodies collapsed behind them. Kida is breathing hard, and so is Mikado. A fine sheen of sweat above Mikado's upper lip catches the setting sun.
Kida licks his lips and denies the urge to lick that sweat. He tastes blood, and it takes him a second to realize it's not his.
"Masaomi." A warm hand closes over Kida's (not the one holding the nail puller) and Kida is being pulled off, he barely has to jog to keep up with Mikado's near flat-out run. The fighting is down to the hard-core and the idiotic now, police sirens begin to grow close and Mikado starts leading Kida through back-alleys that Kida knows like the back of his hand but never expected Mikado to learn. Everything is dark now, dark and cool, but there is still that humid edge that the day had held.
Kida is not surprised when Mikado shoves him up the stairs that lead to Mikado's apartment.
"Mikado." 'I can't' is what Kida wants to say, means to say. 'This will only hurt us both'. Things like that. They sound so good, so easy in his head, but when he looks at Mikado he knows he cannot say them. He walks up the steps and towards Mikado's apartment. He doesn't bolt when Mikado looks away from him to unlock the door.
"This place is a dump, you know that Mikado?" Kida asks when he is pushed into Mikado's apartment. "I always meant to tell you, I mean, you can totally do better." Kida toes his shoes off and steps onto the tatami. "Especially since you're the leader of-"
Mikado pushes Kida against the wall, his lips meeting Kida's in a hasty and unapologetic mash. Kida drops his weapon and luckily manages to miss their feet. Mikado's eyes are open, clear, and serious, the same look he gave Kida back in that alleyway. Kida places his hands on Mikado's shoulders full of the knowledge that he is stronger than Mikado and could easily push Mikado away.
He does not.
Kida adjusts the angle, turns the kiss from an inexperienced display of affection to a more… well, a more experienced display. Kida has kissed before and while he might not be the Don Juan he pretends to be, Kida can still kiss.
Mikado pulls back from the kiss with flushed cheeks and slightly rounded eyes. They hover inches apart, warm breath mixing in pants. Kida cannot look away from Mikado, and Mikado is staring at Kida.
Then Mikado's eyes flicker, his eyelids close, and when he opens them he glances at Kida's cheek. Kida automatically covers it when he remembers that there is dried blood there. The dried blood is starting to itch too.
Mikado grabs Kida's wrist and tugs Kida's hand away. He kisses Kida's palm, and then he licks at the dried blood on Kida's cheek.
Kida's never gotten hard so fast.
Neither of them would be able to tell you how they got to the bed. Kissing and laughing and tripping over each other's feet before they collapse onto Mikado's messy futon. They barely miss bashing their heads on Mikado's desk on the way, or falling out the open window.
The window brings a nice breeze to Mikado's otherwise stuffy apartment.
Mikado sweats under Kida's body, under Kida's hands, and Kida lets the impulse to lick the sweat off of Mikado's upper lip rule him. It tastes sweaty and kind of gross, but the way Mikado's breath stutters and the sudden grip Mikado has on his shoulders makes it worth it.
They're both skinny teenagers, rib cages pressed against their chest. Kida has a bit more muscle than Mikado, and Mikado has more flesh in some areas. Kida also has more bruises, bruises and blood littering his body, a few scars from previous fights as well.
Mikado is oddly soft under Kida's roughened palms, and he attempts to kiss every spot of blood, every bruise, every faded scar.
Neither of them has condoms or lube or has a clue about anal sex, so they stick with what they know. They rub against each other, hands wrapped tight around each other's cock. Their faces hover close together, noses and cheeks brushing, sweat dripping and cheeks flushing. When they orgasm they both close their eyes and collapse together, two best friends in love with each other, the pain and agony and glory of battle forgotten.
