![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevenswellsSooooooooo tired X_________X
Title: Hoshi no Suna
Author:sevenswells
Rating: PG-13 for this one, I guess
(One True) Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi
Warnings: Not safe for work, yaoi, angst, alternate universe.
Word Count: 2 188 w.
Comments: Dedicated, as usual, to my saintly betakamexkame , and to all you awesome people whom I got to know through LJ, supacat , thin_lipid , mattiezumi , velvetgunfire , diac , ayuzak
I don't really like this chapter because it gets darker still (yeah... sorry), but I just wanted you to know I heart you all.
Extra special thanks tokamexkame who gave so much time and dedication to this, girl, you're a gem. Mucho ILUism to you!
Also, this pic is veeeeery related to what follows:
Let's go, then. ^^
Title: Hoshi no Suna
Author:
sevenswells Rating: PG-13 for this one, I guess
(One True) Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi
Warnings: Not safe for work, yaoi, angst, alternate universe.
Word Count: 2 188 w.
Comments: Dedicated, as usual, to my saintly beta
kamexkame , and to all you awesome people whom I got to know through LJ, supacat , thin_lipid , mattiezumi , velvetgunfire , diac , ayuzak I don't really like this chapter because it gets darker still (yeah... sorry), but I just wanted you to know I heart you all.
Extra special thanks to
kamexkame who gave so much time and dedication to this, girl, you're a gem. Mucho ILUism to you!Also, this pic is veeeeery related to what follows:
Let's go, then. ^^
-"Miyavi"? Hohoho! Who found the name?
I froze, keeping my arm still despite the weight of the cast-iron teapot; I was waiting for his answer.
-Our marketing staff. They're very capable.
As if. As if he'd let his marketing staff "find" names, smartass.
The fat, red-faced, small-eyed guy nodded and the light played on his smooth scalp. All of a sudden, he turned to me and brandished his cup before my face:
-So, here's to you, "Miyavi"!
Then he burst into laughter, clapping his thighs. He also looked at each guest in turn to check whether everybody else was laughing along. Kawada, the stuck-up TV producer, who looked like Spock sporting the Dalaï-Lama's coke bottled glasses, settled for twitching his lips. Fujimoto, ex-baseball player, okay fourth batter with the Golden Eagles of Sendai, majority shareholder of the principal national radio channels, notorious mafioso, laughed louder than everybody else while nudging his second man. My big joker of a neighbour was Sanada Ichirou, in his fat and bald fifties, a wife at home, a son in Toudai and many accounts in Switzerland: the éminence grise of the biggest record companies in South-East Asia. One couldn't tell, with the rings of sweat he bore around his armpits. I was dying to bang his thick skull with the teapot. My grip on the handle tightened. Kamui elected this precise moment to start laughing. His laughter sounded genuine and nobody could question its sincerity. It was the timing that was strange: everybody else, including Sanada, was done, and he laughed like he had just understood what was funny. That, or he was laughing about something else. His guests chose to believe it was the first option and tried to accompany him, mostly out of embarrassment. Camui Gackt was well-known for his eccentricity, which probably constituted a very convenient excuse most of the time.
-It is true that the name may sound strange to Japanese ears, Mr Sanada, he said, assuming a straight face once again just as though he had never lost it. Nevertheless, our strategy has been thoroughly considered. We aim at both the local market and the West. In Japan, he'd be perceived as urban, modern and refined - I've hired a young New-Yorker in our styling team. For the rest of the world however, he'd be a traditional Japanese beauty, pre-Meiji; delicate, ethereal and epic at the same time. I want him at the origin of a new cliché of Japan, a new romantism, powerful, and inspired.
There had been no pause in his speech, although nothing betrayed that it could have been written in advance or repeated before.
-Kimonos sure fit him great, said Sanada, casting a slimey eye upon me.
I tensed up enough to manage an imitation of a blush of modesty in return.
-Oh, that is far from being all, replied Kamui with a suave grin. Show them, Miyavi-kun.
I put the teapot down on the floor and smiled back at him.
-With pleasure, Gackt-sama.
There was a general hiccup of surprise when I stood up to show them my back and dropped the kimono from my shoulders. Silence followed, which I translated into appreciation, because I knew they were gazing at a work of art. Out of a whim, Kamui had had an entire sutra tattooed on my back. He hadn't even got bothered to tell me which one it was, and it didn't matter, ultimately. His plans to make me a star or whatever else it was to be were on a roll and could no longer be stopped. I had had to take my leave from my quasi adoptive Tokyoite father to go live at Kamui's house, in Setagaya. He lived in an ancient-style house, with servants and all the assorted shebang, andwe were now receiving all the big shots of the Japanese media, for an "improvised" tea ceremony, officially. Unofficially, it was the first public presentation of the product I constituted. My impressive dorsal tattoo was only a few weeks fresh. The first couple of days, it had made my skin peel like that of an old monkey. From time to time, I had wanted to skin off my own back: each tattooed sign was as itchy as a specially vicious and deeply buried tick under my skin. But Kamui had tied me up, flat on my belly, as many times as necessary in order to stop me from relieving the itch by scratching until I bled. Every night after that, he personally took care to apply cold cream to appease my burning skin. During that whole period of time, I had lived only in his room, with no human interaction other than those with him. During daytime, he had seen to my practicing the guitar, so that my hands would be occupied. By the time the work of art had emerged at last from the scabby monkey skin, I was thus able to throw a combination of chords on the instrument correctly.
-You may dress again, Miyavi.
I only put one kimono sleeve back on, because I felt lazy or insolent, and went back to flop down near Sanada. The pieces of clothing crumpled like large petals all around me. I bent one leg up, a fold got loose, the panels fell apart, then my knee and the higher part of my thigh were revealed. I made no move to cover them up, rather, I took a look around to weigh their reactions. Kamui with his permanent calculations kept the same mask of insensitivity. Fujimoto and his second man let their jaw hang in the air, hypnotized by my knee as if it were Mount Yotei. Sanada wasn't laughing anymore and considered me with the most serious look. His steady stare didn't wander off, and reminded me so much of Kamui's own that I suddenly understood how this harmless-looking fatty got to such a powerful position. Against all expectations, it was stuck-up Kawada, as he pushed his thick glasses back along the bridge of his nose, who broke the silence, saying:
-Yes. I think that now we see very clearly what you meant, Gackt-san.
The crowd appeared to me like the most horrible disaster, as if I were suddenly facing the end of the world. I thought about this actress who vomitted from the jitters each time before going on stage. Me, I couldn't even vomit, not even bile, not even, my stomach was as empty as my mind at this precise moment. And I hadn't even set foot onstage, that stage which looked as small as a minuscule rock, a twig, against the roaring tsunami of the public. Fuck. Fucking mother of fuck. I didn't know how to play, my guitar kept slipping in between my clammy hands, I'd only had one hour to learn the song I was supposed to play. The busy guy with headphones and a schedule had said: doesn't matter, it's gonna be play-back, you just have to pretend. Kamui had said: no, I won't be there. Hyde's a friend, it's a small exchange of favors, everything will be okay, it's just a song. Hyde had said: yeah, you're not bad, man, quite the looker, that's neat, see you onstage.
It was that fucker Sanada who had wanted to see me in public as soon as possible, fucker, fucking motherfucker, the day after the tea ceremony, Kamui had announced to me that I was going to play with Hyde. I hadn't been capable of discussing, not to mention screaming that I didn't know anything and that I wasn't ready. I hadn't slept. I had been rehearsing the only chords I knew like a lunatic until Kamui tied me up again. It wasn't the noise nor my insomnia that had bothered him, he just needed two hours of sleep per night anyway; he had only intervened to prevent me from damaging my fingers.
I had remained like that until early morning, arms over my head and eyes wide open. When Kamui had wanted to fuck me, I had let him obediently, I had even taken pleasure out of it. Then he had got out of the room, and a little while later Sachiko had barged in to free me. She had made me take a bath, dressed me, like a doll, then she had accompanied me to the Mercedes that was supposed to take me to the concert place.
Over there, they had made me listen to the song, again and again, showed me vaguely how to play. They had spent more time dressing me up and doing my hair and making up my face. To each hairdresser and make up artist, I had tried to explain that it was ridiculous, that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing there. They had insisted that, on the contrary, I was absolutely gorgeous, and that there was almost nothing to be done about my hair because it was so beautiful and the haircut was so edgy.
Me and my edgy haircut were now one step away from the scene and an inconceivable crowd, with my slippery guitar in my hands. The whole situation was batshit insane, but insane was fine by Kamui. When the headphones guy gave me the cue for my entrance, I started to laugh. I couldn't stop myself. I bent over my guitar, shaken by spasms, and maybe I took a step forward by reflex, to prevent myself from falling, because all of a sudden I found myself in blinding light. It was a dream. It most definitely was a dream, the kind of silly nightmare when you go to your exams in your pajamas. I tried to catch my breath but the shrieking of the crowd made me burst into crazed laughter again. The song started, blasting. On auto-pilot mode, I messed around with the guitar, smiling like a raving looney, my cheeks so stretched they hurt: no one noticed, the shrieking remained continuous. It went one pitch up when Hyde made his entrance and started to sing. Nobody was paying attention to me. Nobody cared. No one was expecting anything from me, my play-back didn't matter, worse than that, I suspected the spectators fully knew about the play-back. Whatever: they didn't give a shit. They'd come for the eye candy. Laughter was still on my lips. I moved forward to the front of the stage where Hyde was pretending to belt out notes that no one could hear. He looked dumbstruck at finding me there, as if houseplants had suddenly started walking around. The song was ending. I flashed him a huge smile, seized my guitar with both hands and smashed it against an amp. The song kept on playing, and I burst into a fit of the giggles again: it was the final guitar solo, and the instrument was in sizzling pieces at my feet. The shrieking had diminished a bit, out of surprise maybe. But I was a magician, and I wanted to hear them as loud as before, so I dropped my sleeveless top. The moment they saw my back, there was a rising tide of squeals and screams that got bigger and bigger, as if it would never reach its climax; I had the beginnings of a hard-on. I approached Hyde, who took a step back, but I moved faster and, fisting the hair at the back of his head, I pushed my mouth onto his and my pelvis against his. Just for a second, barely, but it was enough to stop the movements of his lips as the play-back continued. It didn't matter, the shrieking had got louder yet and nobody could hear anything. I put my arm about Hyde's neck as he tried to synchronize back the best he could. I stuck my tongue out and waved to the public; they loved it. I started to caress my damp chest, it sent them to heaven. Hyde was having a harder time, but fortunately the song reached its end. He had to be furious, but he gave a quick lick of complicity on my cheek as if to say my exaction had been planned from the start and that all of it was just fan service. Magnanimous, I returned backstage as he remained on scene for the final applause. The headphones guy stopped me on my way out. I thought he was going to give me hell or a punch in the face for what I had done, but he just said that Mr Sanada wanted to see me alone in my dressing room. Shit, I didn't even know I had a dressing room. The headphones guy led me along and left me before the door. I tried to put my mind back together. There had to be cold cream or stuff like that inside the room; so lubrication was going to be okay. Pity about condoms. I should have asked the headphones guy. Anyhow, maybe I wouldn't get penetrated, just fellatio should do, right? I wished I had drugs with me.
Maybe Sanada could provide some...?
I pushed the door open.
I froze, keeping my arm still despite the weight of the cast-iron teapot; I was waiting for his answer.
-Our marketing staff. They're very capable.
As if. As if he'd let his marketing staff "find" names, smartass.
The fat, red-faced, small-eyed guy nodded and the light played on his smooth scalp.
-So, here's to you, "Miyavi"!
Then he burst into laughter, clapping his thighs. He also looked at each guest in turn to check whether everybody else was laughing along. Kawada, the stuck-up TV producer, who looked like Spock sporting the Dalaï-Lama's coke bottled glasses, settled for twitching his lips. Fujimoto, ex-baseball player, okay fourth batter with the Golden Eagles of Sendai, majority shareholder of the principal national radio channels, notorious mafioso, laughed louder than everybody else while nudging his second man. My big joker of a neighbour was Sanada Ichirou, in his fat and bald fifties, a wife at home, a son in Toudai and many accounts in Switzerland: the éminence grise of the biggest record companies in South-East Asia. One couldn't tell, with the rings of sweat he bore around his armpits. I was dying to bang his thick skull with the teapot. My grip on the handle tightened. Kamui elected this precise moment to start laughing. His laughter sounded genuine and nobody could question its sincerity. It was the timing that was strange: everybody else, including Sanada, was done, and he laughed like he had just understood what was funny. That, or he was laughing about something else. His guests chose to believe it was the first option and tried to accompany him, mostly out of embarrassment. Camui Gackt was well-known for his eccentricity, which probably constituted a very convenient excuse most of the time.
-It is true that the name may sound strange to Japanese ears, Mr Sanada, he said, assuming a straight face once again just as though he had never lost it. Nevertheless, our strategy has been thoroughly considered. We aim at both the local market and the West. In Japan, he'd be perceived as urban, modern and refined - I've hired a young New-Yorker in our styling team. For the rest of the world however, he'd be a traditional Japanese beauty, pre-Meiji; delicate, ethereal and epic at the same time. I want him at the origin of a new cliché of Japan, a new romantism, powerful, and inspired.
There had been no pause in his speech, although nothing betrayed that it could have been written in advance or repeated before.
-Kimonos sure fit him great, said Sanada, casting a slimey eye upon me.
I tensed up enough to manage an imitation of a blush of modesty in return.
-Oh, that is far from being all, replied Kamui with a suave grin. Show them, Miyavi-kun.
I put the teapot down on the floor and smiled back at him.
-With pleasure, Gackt-sama.
There was a general hiccup of surprise when I stood up to show them my back and dropped the kimono from my shoulders. Silence followed, which I translated into appreciation, because I knew they were gazing at a work of art. Out of a whim, Kamui had had an entire sutra tattooed on my back. He hadn't even got bothered to tell me which one it was, and it didn't matter, ultimately. His plans to make me a star or whatever else it was to be were on a roll and could no longer be stopped. I had had to take my leave from my quasi adoptive Tokyoite father to go live at Kamui's house, in Setagaya. He lived in an ancient-style house, with servants and all the assorted shebang, andwe were now receiving all the big shots of the Japanese media, for an "improvised" tea ceremony, officially. Unofficially, it was the first public presentation of the product I constituted. My impressive dorsal tattoo was only a few weeks fresh. The first couple of days, it had made my skin peel like that of an old monkey. From time to time, I had wanted to skin off my own back: each tattooed sign was as itchy as a specially vicious and deeply buried tick under my skin. But Kamui had tied me up, flat on my belly, as many times as necessary in order to stop me from relieving the itch by scratching until I bled. Every night after that, he personally took care to apply cold cream to appease my burning skin. During that whole period of time, I had lived only in his room, with no human interaction other than those with him. During daytime, he had seen to my practicing the guitar, so that my hands would be occupied. By the time the work of art had emerged at last from the scabby monkey skin, I was thus able to throw a combination of chords on the instrument correctly.
-You may dress again, Miyavi.
I only put one kimono sleeve back on, because I felt lazy or insolent, and went back to flop down near Sanada. The pieces of clothing crumpled like large petals all around me. I bent one leg up, a fold got loose, the panels fell apart, then my knee and the higher part of my thigh were revealed. I made no move to cover them up, rather, I took a look around to weigh their reactions. Kamui with his permanent calculations kept the same mask of insensitivity. Fujimoto and his second man let their jaw hang in the air, hypnotized by my knee as if it were Mount Yotei. Sanada wasn't laughing anymore and considered me with the most serious look. His steady stare didn't wander off, and reminded me so much of Kamui's own that I suddenly understood how this harmless-looking fatty got to such a powerful position. Against all expectations, it was stuck-up Kawada, as he pushed his thick glasses back along the bridge of his nose, who broke the silence, saying:
-Yes. I think that now we see very clearly what you meant, Gackt-san.
The crowd appeared to me like the most horrible disaster, as if I were suddenly facing the end of the world. I thought about this actress who vomitted from the jitters each time before going on stage. Me, I couldn't even vomit, not even bile, not even, my stomach was as empty as my mind at this precise moment. And I hadn't even set foot onstage, that stage which looked as small as a minuscule rock, a twig, against the roaring tsunami of the public. Fuck. Fucking mother of fuck. I didn't know how to play, my guitar kept slipping in between my clammy hands, I'd only had one hour to learn the song I was supposed to play. The busy guy with headphones and a schedule had said: doesn't matter, it's gonna be play-back, you just have to pretend. Kamui had said: no, I won't be there. Hyde's a friend, it's a small exchange of favors, everything will be okay, it's just a song. Hyde had said: yeah, you're not bad, man, quite the looker, that's neat, see you onstage.
It was that fucker Sanada who had wanted to see me in public as soon as possible, fucker, fucking motherfucker, the day after the tea ceremony, Kamui had announced to me that I was going to play with Hyde. I hadn't been capable of discussing, not to mention screaming that I didn't know anything and that I wasn't ready. I hadn't slept. I had been rehearsing the only chords I knew like a lunatic until Kamui tied me up again. It wasn't the noise nor my insomnia that had bothered him, he just needed two hours of sleep per night anyway; he had only intervened to prevent me from damaging my fingers.
I had remained like that until early morning, arms over my head and eyes wide open. When Kamui had wanted to fuck me, I had let him obediently, I had even taken pleasure out of it. Then he had got out of the room, and a little while later Sachiko had barged in to free me. She had made me take a bath, dressed me, like a doll, then she had accompanied me to the Mercedes that was supposed to take me to the concert place.
Over there, they had made me listen to the song, again and again, showed me vaguely how to play. They had spent more time dressing me up and doing my hair and making up my face. To each hairdresser and make up artist, I had tried to explain that it was ridiculous, that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing there. They had insisted that, on the contrary, I was absolutely gorgeous, and that there was almost nothing to be done about my hair because it was so beautiful and the haircut was so edgy.
Me and my edgy haircut were now one step away from the scene and an inconceivable crowd, with my slippery guitar in my hands. The whole situation was batshit insane, but insane was fine by Kamui. When the headphones guy gave me the cue for my entrance, I started to laugh. I couldn't stop myself. I bent over my guitar, shaken by spasms, and maybe I took a step forward by reflex, to prevent myself from falling, because all of a sudden I found myself in blinding light. It was a dream. It most definitely was a dream, the kind of silly nightmare when you go to your exams in your pajamas. I tried to catch my breath but the shrieking of the crowd made me burst into crazed laughter again. The song started, blasting. On auto-pilot mode, I messed around with the guitar, smiling like a raving looney, my cheeks so stretched they hurt: no one noticed, the shrieking remained continuous. It went one pitch up when Hyde made his entrance and started to sing. Nobody was paying attention to me. Nobody cared. No one was expecting anything from me, my play-back didn't matter, worse than that, I suspected the spectators fully knew about the play-back. Whatever: they didn't give a shit. They'd come for the eye candy. Laughter was still on my lips. I moved forward to the front of the stage where Hyde was pretending to belt out notes that no one could hear. He looked dumbstruck at finding me there, as if houseplants had suddenly started walking around. The song was ending. I flashed him a huge smile, seized my guitar with both hands and smashed it against an amp. The song kept on playing, and I burst into a fit of the giggles again: it was the final guitar solo, and the instrument was in sizzling pieces at my feet. The shrieking had diminished a bit, out of surprise maybe. But I was a magician, and I wanted to hear them as loud as before, so I dropped my sleeveless top. The moment they saw my back, there was a rising tide of squeals and screams that got bigger and bigger, as if it would never reach its climax; I had the beginnings of a hard-on. I approached Hyde, who took a step back, but I moved faster and, fisting the hair at the back of his head, I pushed my mouth onto his and my pelvis against his. Just for a second, barely, but it was enough to stop the movements of his lips as the play-back continued. It didn't matter, the shrieking had got louder yet and nobody could hear anything. I put my arm about Hyde's neck as he tried to synchronize back the best he could. I stuck my tongue out and waved to the public; they loved it. I started to caress my damp chest, it sent them to heaven. Hyde was having a harder time, but fortunately the song reached its end. He had to be furious, but he gave a quick lick of complicity on my cheek as if to say my exaction had been planned from the start and that all of it was just fan service. Magnanimous, I returned backstage as he remained on scene for the final applause. The headphones guy stopped me on my way out. I thought he was going to give me hell or a punch in the face for what I had done, but he just said that Mr Sanada wanted to see me alone in my dressing room. Shit, I didn't even know I had a dressing room. The headphones guy led me along and left me before the door. I tried to put my mind back together. There had to be cold cream or stuff like that inside the room; so lubrication was going to be okay. Pity about condoms. I should have asked the headphones guy. Anyhow, maybe I wouldn't get penetrated, just fellatio should do, right? I wished I had drugs with me.
Maybe Sanada could provide some...?
I pushed the door open.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-08-16 10:15 pm (UTC)I would like to invite you to join a newly created jrock fanfic archive, JROCK WONDERLAND @ http://jrock.xxxholic.net. We would like to have your fanfics publish there. Submission is auto-validated. You can also upload images (300x300px max) in our server to display in your fics . And other stuff like chellenges, reviews. So it would be great if you could join and submit your fics. And let the archive grow. And i would be glad to hear any suggestion for improving the site too. :)
cheers,
leeca
no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 08:08 pm (UTC)