rabenhorst (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rabenhorst) wrote2007-11-30 02:43 pm
rabenhorst) wrote2007-11-30 02:43 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Title: Reason to Exist
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fonulyn
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Die and Kaoru
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: It’s more like a drabble, 830 words, how am I supposed to give a summary to a drabble? It’s mostly porn-ish XD
Comments: I wrote this as a Christmas present for my dearseinen_no, as I got the inspiration last night. I was staring at rabenhorst’s current layout header, more specifically at Kaoru’s thighs and I just had to type this down at the same instant. It’s been ages since I actually wrote anything alone, so I’m kind of happy that I seem to be getting over the writer’s block finally. Just give it a try, please?^^
And feel free to add the journal if you like the stories!
Plus, the archive.
Reason to Exist
[Die’s POV]
There is something special in every single expression on Kaoru’s face, his every movement mattering and making difference. I noticed it already when we weren’t more than bandmates, more than friends, but when we got closer to each other it became more and more evident that he is a man who doesn’t use too many words but prefers to let his actions speak by themselves. It took me a good deal of time to learn to interpret him even somewhat, to learn what’s hidden behind his mask of secure and confident image.
When he plays the guitar, sitting on the couch in our studio, furrowing his brows and his back slightly hunched over his instrument, there’s the most intense concentrated expression on his face. I could watch him for hours, simply drinking in the sight of him when he’s creating something new, only the slightest changes in his expression showing that there’s something happening inside his mind, transforming into melodies and scribbled notes on the paper he holds beside him always.
Even more gorgeous he’s when he’s playing a live, his stage presence something so intense that it makes my knees go weak in the other end of the stage still, pulls my attention towards him during the breaks, the moments when music isn’t there so I can’t let myself flow with it. Although audience thinks his attention is on them, I know that’s not the truth. His attention is on the music, his whole soul drowned into the essence of what we, all five of us, create on stage.
During those moments he belongs to music. I used to be jealous, until I realized I can’t compete with it, I don’t need to compete with it. There’s room for both in his life, for me and the music. I know to be thankful, since as unconditionally as he gives himself to music he gives himself to me.
The most gorgeous he is when he's gasping out my name, trying to bite the insides of his cheeks not to show how badly he already needs more, how he would - if his pride would let him - beg for me to drive into him deeper, to fuck him harder. I love how he still tries to fight for composure, still tries to remain stoic but the mask is cracking inevitably with every movement of our joined bodies.
I have his legs wrapped around me, his thighs holding on my hips tight, in a vice like grip; urging, begging wordlessly what he would never utter out loud. His face is blurred by pleasure; lips parted slightly, eyes closed, his breathing coming in silent gasps. And there is no greater music than the low moan that falls from him when I move my hips again, forcing my way into the willing body before me.
His fingernails are leaving crescent marks on my shoulders, digging deep into the soft skin as he holds on knuckles white, desperate to channel some of the pressure from within that way. Again the thighs tighten to enable him to grind against me, to meet the thrust, to force me in deeper, just the way he wants it. Even when he’s seemingly submissive on some level he always remains in control, as I’m helpless but to yield to his wishes no matter how much I try to hold back.
The sound of skin meeting skin, ragged breathing and gasps for air fill the air, twining together into something I could never compose, no matter how hard I tried, how much I worked. It was always different yet always the same, always our own, something no one could ever imitate. Even we’re never able to re-create it exactly the same way, the familiar tune eventually slipping through our fingers like water and creating all new patterns.
I could enumerate all the things in him that hold me captive, that make me an addict, the drug being Niikura Kaoru. It would never end though, I could use a month and it would only scratch the surface of the things he is, the things he makes me go through. But beyond everything there is one thing, the thing everything comes back to eventually. It all results in the way how our fates are entwined together, no matter how much we struggle against it.
When he climaxes his eyes almost roll back in his head, a desperate outcry escaping him as he bends his head back, exposing his throat to me like an offering. I can barely resist the temptation to scrape my teeth over the white skin but then the decision is taken off me as I follow him over the edge, losing all sense and reason for those few blissful moments.
This is the moment when I know. This is the moment when he knows. This is the moment when something called ‘we’ exists on a level I would’ve never thought it’d be even possible.
He’s mine.
And I’m his.
Author:
fonulynRating: NC17
Pairing: Die and Kaoru
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: It’s more like a drabble, 830 words, how am I supposed to give a summary to a drabble? It’s mostly porn-ish XD
Comments: I wrote this as a Christmas present for my dear
seinen_no, as I got the inspiration last night. I was staring at rabenhorst’s current layout header, more specifically at Kaoru’s thighs and I just had to type this down at the same instant. It’s been ages since I actually wrote anything alone, so I’m kind of happy that I seem to be getting over the writer’s block finally. Just give it a try, please?^^ And feel free to add the journal if you like the stories!
Plus, the archive.
[Die’s POV]
There is something special in every single expression on Kaoru’s face, his every movement mattering and making difference. I noticed it already when we weren’t more than bandmates, more than friends, but when we got closer to each other it became more and more evident that he is a man who doesn’t use too many words but prefers to let his actions speak by themselves. It took me a good deal of time to learn to interpret him even somewhat, to learn what’s hidden behind his mask of secure and confident image.
When he plays the guitar, sitting on the couch in our studio, furrowing his brows and his back slightly hunched over his instrument, there’s the most intense concentrated expression on his face. I could watch him for hours, simply drinking in the sight of him when he’s creating something new, only the slightest changes in his expression showing that there’s something happening inside his mind, transforming into melodies and scribbled notes on the paper he holds beside him always.
Even more gorgeous he’s when he’s playing a live, his stage presence something so intense that it makes my knees go weak in the other end of the stage still, pulls my attention towards him during the breaks, the moments when music isn’t there so I can’t let myself flow with it. Although audience thinks his attention is on them, I know that’s not the truth. His attention is on the music, his whole soul drowned into the essence of what we, all five of us, create on stage.
During those moments he belongs to music. I used to be jealous, until I realized I can’t compete with it, I don’t need to compete with it. There’s room for both in his life, for me and the music. I know to be thankful, since as unconditionally as he gives himself to music he gives himself to me.
The most gorgeous he is when he's gasping out my name, trying to bite the insides of his cheeks not to show how badly he already needs more, how he would - if his pride would let him - beg for me to drive into him deeper, to fuck him harder. I love how he still tries to fight for composure, still tries to remain stoic but the mask is cracking inevitably with every movement of our joined bodies.
I have his legs wrapped around me, his thighs holding on my hips tight, in a vice like grip; urging, begging wordlessly what he would never utter out loud. His face is blurred by pleasure; lips parted slightly, eyes closed, his breathing coming in silent gasps. And there is no greater music than the low moan that falls from him when I move my hips again, forcing my way into the willing body before me.
His fingernails are leaving crescent marks on my shoulders, digging deep into the soft skin as he holds on knuckles white, desperate to channel some of the pressure from within that way. Again the thighs tighten to enable him to grind against me, to meet the thrust, to force me in deeper, just the way he wants it. Even when he’s seemingly submissive on some level he always remains in control, as I’m helpless but to yield to his wishes no matter how much I try to hold back.
The sound of skin meeting skin, ragged breathing and gasps for air fill the air, twining together into something I could never compose, no matter how hard I tried, how much I worked. It was always different yet always the same, always our own, something no one could ever imitate. Even we’re never able to re-create it exactly the same way, the familiar tune eventually slipping through our fingers like water and creating all new patterns.
I could enumerate all the things in him that hold me captive, that make me an addict, the drug being Niikura Kaoru. It would never end though, I could use a month and it would only scratch the surface of the things he is, the things he makes me go through. But beyond everything there is one thing, the thing everything comes back to eventually. It all results in the way how our fates are entwined together, no matter how much we struggle against it.
When he climaxes his eyes almost roll back in his head, a desperate outcry escaping him as he bends his head back, exposing his throat to me like an offering. I can barely resist the temptation to scrape my teeth over the white skin but then the decision is taken off me as I follow him over the edge, losing all sense and reason for those few blissful moments.
This is the moment when I know. This is the moment when he knows. This is the moment when something called ‘we’ exists on a level I would’ve never thought it’d be even possible.
He’s mine.
And I’m his.
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