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'Orionis' - [Aoi/Uruha] 1/1
Title: Orionis
Description: In which morning is a whore and Aoi is still sipping cold coffee when it's over.
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha, hinted Reita/Uruha
Genre: Romance, angst
Rating: PG-13
Comments: I don't know where this came from. I'm feeling a drabble mode coming on.
"Will it hurt?"
Auburn-haired deity above him, Aoi didn't mind dying in the slightest. Clusters of Betelgeuse and nova were dying over and over; a billion little deaths that streaked across his noir gaze. He felt warm. There was lust pressing its lips to his bones and Uruha's fingertips were tracing meaningless patterns and arcs under his eyes. There's indigo smears in the hollows of his irises -- secrets of insomnia-slathered nights -- and Aoi lets his eyes flutter shut.
It was a mess. They were a disaster in a hotel room. The lampshade was broken and Uruha was straddling his hips.
The lead guitarist couldn't remember how he had come to have half the Milky Way wriggling and breathless between his thighs. All he knew of in the two seconds it took him to cross the room, clutch fistfuls of the elder's shirt and let them both fall, fall, sink and collapse into another -- was how there was no more sky, just pockets of stars that kept exploding whenever he breathed in too deeply.
It was a gorgeous mistake.
Uruha leaned in close, the tips of his russet tresses tickling the other's collarbone. He could have lied. The words "it'll be perfect, fine and everything" tasted so sweet. They felt beautiful.
"Only a little."
-
There was a flatline inside his ribs. The moon had burned his skin raw -- hours slipping past his recognition and now he sat here. The morning after. The coffee was cold and his bed had been empty. Only a lolling ache and dirtied stardust clinging to his sides were left to him.
Aoi couldn't feel his fingers as he poked and prodded the mug's handle. He couldn't feel Ruki's words as he spoke right at him. Concern, how-do-you-do, you're-not-alright-today gleaming in the younger's synthetic-blue eyes as he tried to subtly sneak his hand closer to him along the breakfast table. Aoi only stared at the vocalist's fingernails. Black paint chipping. Blunt, perfectly curved. Soft and willing.
Aoi shifted, navy scarf slipping slightly to his shoulder -- red, raw puckers on his neck glaring bright in the fluorescent light of the hotel's continental-breakfast-buffet. Kai averted his eyes. Ruki stopped talking.
-
"Will this change anything?"
Crooning lullabies of 'obliterate-me' and long mewls of rushed 'I-need-you-please' echoed off the cheap rosebud wallpaper.
Uruha's fingers were digging into Aoi's hips, trying his best to hold on and stay as long as possible (because morning was a merciless whore) and Aoi's lips met the slope of Uruha's neck. Because it felt beautiful.
More beautiful than lingering eyes and late nights at the studio with his heart caught in his throat, rendering him speechless when all he wanted to do was ask him to play darts, eat soba, watch soccer, come over, everything -- anything.
More beautiful than what-ifs and misplaced words at an interview where his blush is obvious and his loneliness even more so.
He wanted to say, 'Please don't break me.'
But then Uruha touched his cheek, fingertips sliding against his skin to chastely lay upon his trembling lip. It was quiet, the moon holding its breath and Aoi's chest feeling so tight and eyes so wet that he was sure the world was shattering.
"Only a little."
-
Aoi ran his finger around the rim of the mug. The coffee was still cold and Ruki was still silent.
And Uruha was still lacing his fingers with Reita's underneath the table.
-
The headboard was creaking, shrieking, begging. And Aoi was writhing, shaking and rattling apart underneath Uruha's lithe fingers -- hands that coaxed guitars to scream and made music breathe.
And all Aoi wanted to do was hold Uruha's head in his hands, calluses against silk, and whisper 'forever'.
He was deliciously falling apart. Uruha met his pleading mouth and swallowed his soft cries, wrapped his hand in his raven locks and sunk into him deeper. It was all 'now' and 'fleeting' -- and Aoi couldn't help but to dig his nails into Uruha's shoulder blades. Red, crying crescent moons that the younger would remember him by. Something just between them.
Aoi was gasping, mouth hanging open in pleasure, ecstasy, lust, for Uruha to sweep inside -- slipping over each enamel and tastebud; filling him, completing him for just a moment. The elder furrowed his brow, nails burrowing deeper, and felt the hiss against his tongue.
'Stay, stay please.'
And Uruha started to gasp too -- unraveling in his arms, feline back arching beneath his hands.
And fuck, it did hurt. It hurt and bruised and stabbed. But Uruha was suddenly kissing the corner of his lips, something so soft in the chaos of their mess. The sheets were tangled. The overturned ashtray was burning a hole in the carpet. The door wasn't locked.
Their chests fit together so perfectly.
"Will I still love you?"
He didn't mean for his eyes to be so honest, nor the slight hitch in breath when the meek confession disguised as a question escaped from him. But he knew he was already so strung apart, teetering along desperation to feel something, to hide anymore. So when Uruha placed a palm upon his face, cradling his cheek like a love lost, Aoi swore his heart found oblivion.
Uruha's smile was sad, eyes soft and wet.
"Only a little."
.&.&.&.
A/N: I think drama and angst will always be my favorite genres to write. I needed a break from writing the fluff of Lion, so expect to see some more drabbles like this between updates. This is a little choppy and unorganized, but I think I like it in its raw state. Hm.
Ah, and a little sidenote -- since it is Christmas, the holiday season, and all... I'm willing to write a few drabble requests! So, if you're itching for something, just leave a comment with your pairing/character and other details and I'll see what I can do :)
(Of course, as seen by my archive, I'm really limited to just the GazettE and maybe Alice Nine, haha)
Hope you enjoyed :)
Description: In which morning is a whore and Aoi is still sipping cold coffee when it's over.
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha, hinted Reita/Uruha
Genre: Romance, angst
Rating: PG-13
Comments: I don't know where this came from. I'm feeling a drabble mode coming on.
"Will it hurt?"
Auburn-haired deity above him, Aoi didn't mind dying in the slightest. Clusters of Betelgeuse and nova were dying over and over; a billion little deaths that streaked across his noir gaze. He felt warm. There was lust pressing its lips to his bones and Uruha's fingertips were tracing meaningless patterns and arcs under his eyes. There's indigo smears in the hollows of his irises -- secrets of insomnia-slathered nights -- and Aoi lets his eyes flutter shut.
It was a mess. They were a disaster in a hotel room. The lampshade was broken and Uruha was straddling his hips.
The lead guitarist couldn't remember how he had come to have half the Milky Way wriggling and breathless between his thighs. All he knew of in the two seconds it took him to cross the room, clutch fistfuls of the elder's shirt and let them both fall, fall, sink and collapse into another -- was how there was no more sky, just pockets of stars that kept exploding whenever he breathed in too deeply.
It was a gorgeous mistake.
Uruha leaned in close, the tips of his russet tresses tickling the other's collarbone. He could have lied. The words "it'll be perfect, fine and everything" tasted so sweet. They felt beautiful.
"Only a little."
-
There was a flatline inside his ribs. The moon had burned his skin raw -- hours slipping past his recognition and now he sat here. The morning after. The coffee was cold and his bed had been empty. Only a lolling ache and dirtied stardust clinging to his sides were left to him.
Aoi couldn't feel his fingers as he poked and prodded the mug's handle. He couldn't feel Ruki's words as he spoke right at him. Concern, how-do-you-do, you're-not-alright-today gleaming in the younger's synthetic-blue eyes as he tried to subtly sneak his hand closer to him along the breakfast table. Aoi only stared at the vocalist's fingernails. Black paint chipping. Blunt, perfectly curved. Soft and willing.
Aoi shifted, navy scarf slipping slightly to his shoulder -- red, raw puckers on his neck glaring bright in the fluorescent light of the hotel's continental-breakfast-buffet. Kai averted his eyes. Ruki stopped talking.
-
"Will this change anything?"
Crooning lullabies of 'obliterate-me' and long mewls of rushed 'I-need-you-please' echoed off the cheap rosebud wallpaper.
Uruha's fingers were digging into Aoi's hips, trying his best to hold on and stay as long as possible (because morning was a merciless whore) and Aoi's lips met the slope of Uruha's neck. Because it felt beautiful.
More beautiful than lingering eyes and late nights at the studio with his heart caught in his throat, rendering him speechless when all he wanted to do was ask him to play darts, eat soba, watch soccer, come over, everything -- anything.
More beautiful than what-ifs and misplaced words at an interview where his blush is obvious and his loneliness even more so.
He wanted to say, 'Please don't break me.'
But then Uruha touched his cheek, fingertips sliding against his skin to chastely lay upon his trembling lip. It was quiet, the moon holding its breath and Aoi's chest feeling so tight and eyes so wet that he was sure the world was shattering.
"Only a little."
-
Aoi ran his finger around the rim of the mug. The coffee was still cold and Ruki was still silent.
And Uruha was still lacing his fingers with Reita's underneath the table.
-
The headboard was creaking, shrieking, begging. And Aoi was writhing, shaking and rattling apart underneath Uruha's lithe fingers -- hands that coaxed guitars to scream and made music breathe.
And all Aoi wanted to do was hold Uruha's head in his hands, calluses against silk, and whisper 'forever'.
He was deliciously falling apart. Uruha met his pleading mouth and swallowed his soft cries, wrapped his hand in his raven locks and sunk into him deeper. It was all 'now' and 'fleeting' -- and Aoi couldn't help but to dig his nails into Uruha's shoulder blades. Red, crying crescent moons that the younger would remember him by. Something just between them.
Aoi was gasping, mouth hanging open in pleasure, ecstasy, lust, for Uruha to sweep inside -- slipping over each enamel and tastebud; filling him, completing him for just a moment. The elder furrowed his brow, nails burrowing deeper, and felt the hiss against his tongue.
'Stay, stay please.'
And Uruha started to gasp too -- unraveling in his arms, feline back arching beneath his hands.
And fuck, it did hurt. It hurt and bruised and stabbed. But Uruha was suddenly kissing the corner of his lips, something so soft in the chaos of their mess. The sheets were tangled. The overturned ashtray was burning a hole in the carpet. The door wasn't locked.
Their chests fit together so perfectly.
"Will I still love you?"
He didn't mean for his eyes to be so honest, nor the slight hitch in breath when the meek confession disguised as a question escaped from him. But he knew he was already so strung apart, teetering along desperation to feel something, to hide anymore. So when Uruha placed a palm upon his face, cradling his cheek like a love lost, Aoi swore his heart found oblivion.
Uruha's smile was sad, eyes soft and wet.
"Only a little."
.&.&.&.
A/N: I think drama and angst will always be my favorite genres to write. I needed a break from writing the fluff of Lion, so expect to see some more drabbles like this between updates. This is a little choppy and unorganized, but I think I like it in its raw state. Hm.
Ah, and a little sidenote -- since it is Christmas, the holiday season, and all... I'm willing to write a few drabble requests! So, if you're itching for something, just leave a comment with your pairing/character and other details and I'll see what I can do :)
(Of course, as seen by my archive, I'm really limited to just the GazettE and maybe Alice Nine, haha)
Hope you enjoyed :)