![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevenswellsTitle: Hoshi no Suna
Author:sevenswells
Rating: NC-17 more or less
(One True) Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi
Warnings: Not safe for work, yaoi, angst, alternate universe, yada, yada.
Word Count: 1721 w.
Comments: Dedicated to "last night a beta saved my life"kamexkame (chu!!!!), karaoke disco queen supacat , funkadelic shake-a-booty thin_lipid who made this beautiful chlorinate-blue poppish icon -- and, also dedicated to the life of the party, rocking the dancefloor like there's no tomorrow, superfreak mattiezumi !!!
So! We're currently halfway through of what took me almost two years to finish in French... well, it's a weird feeling. ^^
Ah, I have to tell you that the present tense used at the beginning of this chapter isn't the same as the present tense Mimi uses in the first chapters of this fic -- this one's supposed to "vivify" actions occuring in the past. Just to make sure it doesn't get too confusing.
Author:
sevenswells Rating: NC-17 more or less
(One True) Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi
Warnings: Not safe for work, yaoi, angst, alternate universe, yada, yada.
Word Count: 1721 w.
Comments: Dedicated to "last night a beta saved my life"
kamexkame (chu!!!!), karaoke disco queen supacat , funkadelic shake-a-booty thin_lipid who made this beautiful chlorinate-blue poppish icon -- and, also dedicated to the life of the party, rocking the dancefloor like there's no tomorrow, superfreak mattiezumi !!!So! We're currently halfway through of what took me almost two years to finish in French... well, it's a weird feeling. ^^
Ah, I have to tell you that the present tense used at the beginning of this chapter isn't the same as the present tense Mimi uses in the first chapters of this fic -- this one's supposed to "vivify" actions occuring in the past. Just to make sure it doesn't get too confusing.
The hash puff rasps my throat and the thin thread of smoke escaping from the spliff screws my eyes up. As soon as I'm done with it, the big black guy at the door who passes himself off as American will be offering me speed or ecstasy pills minted with an alien head. That might be a bit too much. I'm thirsty.
I spot a skinny guy who's wearing some kind of glittery jumpsuit, Elvis stylee, and I laughingly steal his glass of champagne. He offers to share. I giggle some more, take a sip and give him a french kiss drowned in alchohol. For all I know, he might just as well be a VIP as some bloke with no fashion sense. In doubt, I always opt not to upset anybody. When our kiss breaks, I hear people around cheering us on. Up close, Elvis isn't half bad. My arms are still around his neck. He licks his lips and I feel his hand going down my back towards my butt; on its way it grazes the cigarette burn that bastard left me with last night. It puts me off immediately. Pretending to be more wasted than I really am, I simulate a lost of balance, then cling, laughing all the while, to a whore who happened to be standing there, blurt a muddle of excuses and stagger away. There, that way Elvis won't take it to heart.
I'm looking for him. There are too many people here and my vision is confused. I'm too hot. I drop the t-shirt. I move forward into the crowd a little, I think I've recognized someone: Sachiko the gundam. She's his private secretary and his number one fan, a cute little thing who came to fetch me at the hotel when he was already gone. She woke me up with a huge glass of fresh orange juice in her hand, as if that were a longtime habit of hers.
She's wearing the same suit as this morning right now: well cut, branded maybe, but it fits tightly in places it shouldn't, wrinkles up strangely in other places, and the enormous shoulder pads make her neck appear stumpy. The first thing that came to my mind this morning, numbed from lack of sleep as it was, was that she looked like a gundam that would have failed its transformation and got stuck like that. I don't know her last name, she will remain Sachiko the gundam forever.
I approach her and ask her whether she's seen him. She must be the only person in this party with clean blood and a clear mind. After sparing me a concerned look, she points the direction. I almost don't hear the music anymore, it sounds far away to me. A flash of blonde hair. It really is him, in an alcove, suited up, speaking with other suited-up guys, shady-looking guys. His stare meets mine and announces clearly: if you come and bother me, I'll kill you. I take a step back, but my foot is unsteady, I'm tripping, I'll break my face and that'll teach him good. Sachiko catches me before I fall: she's followed me, good dog, good bitch. She asks me if everything's okay. You're never getting any with him, ever, you know, I'm the one he fucked last night, many times over. Did I say that aloud? I don't know anymore, and I can't see Sachiko's face: it's just a big blotch, blurry, like a tear, which makes me laugh a lot. I'm way too hot, really, I'm boiling: it's this condensation of moving bodies, with too many colours and too much noise at the same time, I really have to get out of here. I didn't say that aloud, did I? Because Sachiko, the gundam, the gundam, boy what a laugh, the gundam grips my arm with an iron hand and drags me through the molasses of all these bodies that make me hot and make my head hurt.
The air, outside, the cold, hits me like a wall. I don't know how to react so I'm starting to laugh, but there's no noise to cover my laughter anymore, plus I find it stupid, so I stop. Sachiko's face appears clearer, outlined by the night. It's as white as the moon and makes me yearn, but her expression filled with sadness prevents me from taking it into my hands to kiss it. She scrutinizes me as if she's looking for an answer I can't provide. I turn away from her and stagger towards the swimming pool. She utters a small cry and tries to retain me, but I mumble, my tongue fuzzy:
-Leave me the fuck alone, you're not my mother.
She freezes on the spot and doesn't try again. Behind me, I hear her flat heels turning and feebly clicking on the tiled floor, the glass door sliding, a compact escape of noise, which is muffled again by one last slide.
The phosphorescent water is calling me. Feeling energized again, I drop my pants and boots and jump into the pool.
A silhouette appears up over the surface as soon as I open my eyes underwater. Is that him? I think. Did she go and fetch him?
Wrong. It's Elvis. I must look disappointed because he begins to laugh.
-Water warm? he calls out to me.
Just to be safe, I swim towards the middle of the pool.
-Yeah, it's fine, I guess.
I answer.
-Don't be scared, I just want to have a little chat with you.
-I'm not scared, okay? Don't you talk to me like I'm a girl, asshole. You're not the boss of me, piss off.
Oh god, great, way to go: I don't sound like I'm a girl, I sound like I'm retarded. Elvis lowers himself on the pool's edge, makes himself comfortable there, indifferent to my barking.
-Hey, no need to sit down, I'm not in the mood to talk.
-You were a lot nicer just a little while ago.
-Where the fuck do you hail from? I didn't think a little smooch during a party such as this one would be taken seriously. Sheesh. Get a life, will you?
-I have an offer. You want to be a singer, right?
-Okay, look, I've been briefed before, I've already parted my legs and my career is currently rolling onwards. Seriously, drop it.
-Camui's your manager, isn't he?
Suddenly hearing his first name almost startles me. However, Elvis looks younger than him. And his way of dressing is way too fugly for me to think they're friends. I reply cockily, just for the heck of it:
-No. I've signed at Johnny's.
Elvis shrugs.
-Hardly believable. I know Kitagawa and you're not his type.
He laughs with that knowing air of somebody who's the only one to get the joke.
-Too tall, too old, he concludes.
-Tell me, who the fuck are you? You dress like hell, you're flirting with me like some virgin with their first whore and now you're trying to imply that you know people?
-My name's Daigo Stardust. It's a nickname of course, my real name would ring no bell.
Now that, indeed, reminds me of something. Some vague memory about posters up in my sister's room.
-Weren't you in a band called Jail or something like that?
He looks sincerely surprised.
-Jzeil, yes. Funny, I wouldn't have thought that you'd know about my indie days. In general, I get recognition for my solo career.
-Don't let it get to your head, okay, my sister was the fan, not I.
He raises his hands as a pacifying signal.
-Okay, okay, alright. Would you like me to sign an autograph, for your sister?
Shit, I've said too much. Without realizing it, I also got nearer.
-No.
-At least tell me your name, I've given you mine.
I hoist myself up on the cement ledge and get out of the water. Daigo has remained seated and is visibly not impressed by my blunt display of nudity. I lean over, my soaked through hair dripping water all over his face. I slide my cold wet hands about his nape and murmur in his earshell:
-My name's Elvis Presley.
In the limo that brought me back to Kyo's at last, Kamui pulled the calling-half-of-the-world-population trick on me again. I reeked of chlorinate and was in a shitty mood whilst the drug was clearing out of my body. He hadn't made any comment when he had found me buck naked near the swimming pool. He had barely raised an eyebrow. He had calmly asked Sachiko to bring a towel for me and, after I was dry and dressed, we'd been ready to go.
When his cellphone ring (not a popular song or a piece of classical music, just a simple electronic ring and a vibrate mode, no artistic touch at all) stopped for a longer while, I took advantage of it to ask:
-Can I suck you off?
He looked at me with the same inexpressive face as usual, maybe with an imperceptible touch of surprise. Then he did a gesture that could mean just about anything.
-By all means, he answered politely.
I got down on my knees and undid his zipper to stuff his cock into my mouth.
-What did Daigo want with you earlier?
The question, unexpected, made me pause. I looked up to him. His eyelids were closed and his head was slightly dropped back, his nape resting on the upper part of the white leathered seat. He didn't use any particular tone of voice. I quit trying to decipher his mood. I pulled his cock out of my mouth, still linked to my lips by a thread of saliva. I started to stroke it slowly so I could reply:
-Nothing much. He gave me an autograph for my sister, she's a big fan.
He leaned in to kiss me, a long predatory kiss.
-Be very careful to know exactly what kind of game you're playing at, Miyabi, he breathed near my face, his artificially blue eyes intensely riveted to mine.
I said nothing and wriggled my nape out of his hold to go back to blowing him.
In the back pocket of my pants was a business card.
I spot a skinny guy who's wearing some kind of glittery jumpsuit, Elvis stylee, and I laughingly steal his glass of champagne. He offers to share. I giggle some more, take a sip and give him a french kiss drowned in alchohol. For all I know, he might just as well be a VIP as some bloke with no fashion sense. In doubt, I always opt not to upset anybody. When our kiss breaks, I hear people around cheering us on. Up close, Elvis isn't half bad. My arms are still around his neck. He licks his lips and I feel his hand going down my back towards my butt; on its way it grazes the cigarette burn that bastard left me with last night. It puts me off immediately. Pretending to be more wasted than I really am, I simulate a lost of balance, then cling, laughing all the while, to a whore who happened to be standing there, blurt a muddle of excuses and stagger away. There, that way Elvis won't take it to heart.
I'm looking for him. There are too many people here and my vision is confused. I'm too hot. I drop the t-shirt. I move forward into the crowd a little, I think I've recognized someone: Sachiko the gundam. She's his private secretary and his number one fan, a cute little thing who came to fetch me at the hotel when he was already gone. She woke me up with a huge glass of fresh orange juice in her hand, as if that were a longtime habit of hers.
She's wearing the same suit as this morning right now: well cut, branded maybe, but it fits tightly in places it shouldn't, wrinkles up strangely in other places, and the enormous shoulder pads make her neck appear stumpy. The first thing that came to my mind this morning, numbed from lack of sleep as it was, was that she looked like a gundam that would have failed its transformation and got stuck like that. I don't know her last name, she will remain Sachiko the gundam forever.
I approach her and ask her whether she's seen him. She must be the only person in this party with clean blood and a clear mind. After sparing me a concerned look, she points the direction. I almost don't hear the music anymore, it sounds far away to me. A flash of blonde hair. It really is him, in an alcove, suited up, speaking with other suited-up guys, shady-looking guys. His stare meets mine and announces clearly: if you come and bother me, I'll kill you. I take a step back, but my foot is unsteady, I'm tripping, I'll break my face and that'll teach him good. Sachiko catches me before I fall: she's followed me, good dog, good bitch. She asks me if everything's okay. You're never getting any with him, ever, you know, I'm the one he fucked last night, many times over. Did I say that aloud? I don't know anymore, and I can't see Sachiko's face: it's just a big blotch, blurry, like a tear, which makes me laugh a lot. I'm way too hot, really, I'm boiling: it's this condensation of moving bodies, with too many colours and too much noise at the same time, I really have to get out of here. I didn't say that aloud, did I? Because Sachiko, the gundam, the gundam, boy what a laugh, the gundam grips my arm with an iron hand and drags me through the molasses of all these bodies that make me hot and make my head hurt.
The air, outside, the cold, hits me like a wall. I don't know how to react so I'm starting to laugh, but there's no noise to cover my laughter anymore, plus I find it stupid, so I stop. Sachiko's face appears clearer, outlined by the night. It's as white as the moon and makes me yearn, but her expression filled with sadness prevents me from taking it into my hands to kiss it. She scrutinizes me as if she's looking for an answer I can't provide. I turn away from her and stagger towards the swimming pool. She utters a small cry and tries to retain me, but I mumble, my tongue fuzzy:
-Leave me the fuck alone, you're not my mother.
She freezes on the spot and doesn't try again. Behind me, I hear her flat heels turning and feebly clicking on the tiled floor, the glass door sliding, a compact escape of noise, which is muffled again by one last slide.
The phosphorescent water is calling me. Feeling energized again, I drop my pants and boots and jump into the pool.
A silhouette appears up over the surface as soon as I open my eyes underwater. Is that him? I think. Did she go and fetch him?
Wrong. It's Elvis. I must look disappointed because he begins to laugh.
-Water warm? he calls out to me.
Just to be safe, I swim towards the middle of the pool.
-Yeah, it's fine, I guess.
I answer.
-Don't be scared, I just want to have a little chat with you.
-I'm not scared, okay? Don't you talk to me like I'm a girl, asshole. You're not the boss of me, piss off.
Oh god, great, way to go: I don't sound like I'm a girl, I sound like I'm retarded. Elvis lowers himself on the pool's edge, makes himself comfortable there, indifferent to my barking.
-Hey, no need to sit down, I'm not in the mood to talk.
-You were a lot nicer just a little while ago.
-Where the fuck do you hail from? I didn't think a little smooch during a party such as this one would be taken seriously. Sheesh. Get a life, will you?
-I have an offer. You want to be a singer, right?
-Okay, look, I've been briefed before, I've already parted my legs and my career is currently rolling onwards. Seriously, drop it.
-Camui's your manager, isn't he?
Suddenly hearing his first name almost startles me. However, Elvis looks younger than him. And his way of dressing is way too fugly for me to think they're friends. I reply cockily, just for the heck of it:
-No. I've signed at Johnny's.
Elvis shrugs.
-Hardly believable. I know Kitagawa and you're not his type.
He laughs with that knowing air of somebody who's the only one to get the joke.
-Too tall, too old, he concludes.
-Tell me, who the fuck are you? You dress like hell, you're flirting with me like some virgin with their first whore and now you're trying to imply that you know people?
-My name's Daigo Stardust. It's a nickname of course, my real name would ring no bell.
Now that, indeed, reminds me of something. Some vague memory about posters up in my sister's room.
-Weren't you in a band called Jail or something like that?
He looks sincerely surprised.
-Jzeil, yes. Funny, I wouldn't have thought that you'd know about my indie days. In general, I get recognition for my solo career.
-Don't let it get to your head, okay, my sister was the fan, not I.
He raises his hands as a pacifying signal.
-Okay, okay, alright. Would you like me to sign an autograph, for your sister?
Shit, I've said too much. Without realizing it, I also got nearer.
-No.
-At least tell me your name, I've given you mine.
I hoist myself up on the cement ledge and get out of the water. Daigo has remained seated and is visibly not impressed by my blunt display of nudity. I lean over, my soaked through hair dripping water all over his face. I slide my cold wet hands about his nape and murmur in his earshell:
-My name's Elvis Presley.
In the limo that brought me back to Kyo's at last, Kamui pulled the calling-half-of-the-world-population trick on me again. I reeked of chlorinate and was in a shitty mood whilst the drug was clearing out of my body. He hadn't made any comment when he had found me buck naked near the swimming pool. He had barely raised an eyebrow. He had calmly asked Sachiko to bring a towel for me and, after I was dry and dressed, we'd been ready to go.
When his cellphone ring (not a popular song or a piece of classical music, just a simple electronic ring and a vibrate mode, no artistic touch at all) stopped for a longer while, I took advantage of it to ask:
-Can I suck you off?
He looked at me with the same inexpressive face as usual, maybe with an imperceptible touch of surprise. Then he did a gesture that could mean just about anything.
-By all means, he answered politely.
I got down on my knees and undid his zipper to stuff his cock into my mouth.
-What did Daigo want with you earlier?
The question, unexpected, made me pause. I looked up to him. His eyelids were closed and his head was slightly dropped back, his nape resting on the upper part of the white leathered seat. He didn't use any particular tone of voice. I quit trying to decipher his mood. I pulled his cock out of my mouth, still linked to my lips by a thread of saliva. I started to stroke it slowly so I could reply:
-Nothing much. He gave me an autograph for my sister, she's a big fan.
He leaned in to kiss me, a long predatory kiss.
-Be very careful to know exactly what kind of game you're playing at, Miyabi, he breathed near my face, his artificially blue eyes intensely riveted to mine.
I said nothing and wriggled my nape out of his hold to go back to blowing him.
In the back pocket of my pants was a business card.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-15 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-16 12:30 pm (UTC)