BREAK THE LIMITS: 19b/33

[andrew_in_drag]

Title: Break the Limits
Author: andrew_in_drag 
Pairing: Yoshiki x hide
Rating: mature
Warnings: foul language, yaoi, rock 'n roll excess
Genre: AU to bandfic
Note: I first wrote this fic about three (?) years ago, when I was still hallelujah_hide. Oddly enough, I still like it, so I thought I would move it here to my new journal. 
Synopsis: May 1998: Yoshiki Hayashi breaks down in a temple as he tries to take in the news that has changed his life forever - Hideto Matsumoto, the man he has been in love with for seventeen years, is dead. As the other mourners try to comfort him, Yoshiki finds himself falling back through history - to the day when it all began; the day when he met a boy who would, truly, break the limits...

CHAPTER NINETEEN [B]:

“It’s a dream, I’m in love with you,

Falling away, hold on to me tight…”

– ‘Endless Rain’, X

It was past three in the morning when the two of us crashed through the front door of the apartment I usually shared with Toshi; both of us breathing long plumes of white and exclaiming at the flakes of snow caught in our hair and fumbling at coats and scarves with our frozen fingers.

“Was this really a good idea,” he whispered, sounding almost amused, and I pulled his body to mine.

“Fuck,” I breathed uncontrollably, “Oh, fuck, I’ve missed you. Fuck, it’s been torture.”

It felt so good and sweet, his warm body against mine, and the smile he gave me.

“I’ve missed you too,” he told me softly, “It was…we said it would just be one night. But now you’re right there all the time and I can’t touch you and I…I…”

He spun around, and I caught his shoulders gently. All the while we had been drinking at his apartment, this emotional energy had been stacking up, full of things left unsaid and hands clenched to stop themselves from reaching out.

“I’ve been in a dream,” I told him, “I’m in love with you and it – I can’t stifle it – it’s too hard!”

He grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me, but before I’d even touched him we were both pulling away and protesting that we shouldn’t, couldn’t—

“Something’s got to give,” I explained, tears of frustration and all out longing in my eyes, “Because I can’t live this way!”

“I want you so much,” he gasped, and kissed me again – and again – and again – until I was breathing harder and heavier and pulling him tighter against me, and my blood ran hot in my veins.

But he was white-faced, trembling, drunk. He had passed the stage of his cute, safe, rosy-cheeked tipsiness; the night air had intoxicated him with a strong flush of fresh oxygen, and he appeared lost and frightened as he clung to me.

“I love you,” he said softly. “What…what are we going to do?”

And two hot, fresh tears spilled from his dark, expressive eyes.

Guilt shook my hands and whitened my face. His legs were weak and he kept clasping drunken hands to his throat; I wondered if, having been dragged over the frozen city, he was catching a chill. He was just a little too warm; just a little too pale.

The blood had flooded to my groin when he’d begun kissing me, when he’d let me hold him tight, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t manage. It was uncomfortable, but from what I could tell Hide was at least semi-hard, and if he could suffer through it then so could I. And he almost could.

I found a T-shirt of mine that he could sleep in, and he pressed it to his face for a long time before reluctantly lowering his hands.

“It smells like you,” he told me, leaning his head drunkenly on my shoulder whilst his eyes roved anxiously around the room, “Like fresh laundry and…and…I don’t know.” Unabashedly, he pulled his own T-shirt off and threw it to the floor uncaringly; he could have slept in his own clothing, but neither of us pointed that out. I wanted him in my clothes; wanted to see him wearing them; wanted to keep some memento of him for after he went home. Sighing tiredly, he collapsed backwards onto the bed – my bed, my single bed, though I wasn’t about to mention that, either – and left me to shyly remove his pants. I blushed, fumbling as if I’d never seen him nude before, and before I’d even got them past his thighs he took my hand and pressed it gently between his legs.

“Hide, I—”

“Please.” He was breathless. “Oh, please, Yoshi. I’m so lonely without you. Just – just one night—”

“Hide,” I whispered, almost shaking from desire, “Listen to me. You’re drunk and…and so am I, a little. And it wouldn’t be right to sleep with you like this.”

His face fell, and even though I was doing the right thing I felt sorry for him.

“Don’t you…don’t you want to?” he mumbled sadly, “Are you tired, or is it…is it me?”

“Hide.” I spoke with my lips almost pressed against his forehead, “It’s not you. Right now you’re very beautiful and very hard to resist, but it wouldn’t be right.”                                                                                                                                                                   

Without realizing it, I’d shifted to lie on the bed, on my side to look over him. I stroked the side of his face gently. I’d never known he was so susceptible to alcohol: now, the way he clung to me made me jealous; made me wonder what other bodies his drunken embrace had reached for.

I wondered if those others had been as restrained as I. Wondered how they’d seen him; the tottering walk and trusting eyes, all assets of his young and beautiful body.

I felt a little sick. It was so stupid to get jealous when he wasn’t mine, so stupid.

He placed a clumsy hand in my hair and slid it down to rest on the warm skin of my shoulder, just beneath my shirt. He looked confused, concerned, his face still too pale.

“Yoshi?” he murmured. Often I thought he only spoke quietly to get people to lean in towards him. “You look upset. Don’t be upset. We both know it’s all for the best, don’t we?”

He swallowed, and very carefully kissed my cheek. I squeezed my eyes closed, forcing myself to remain in control, and reluctantly got to my feet.

Hide lay awkwardly, loosely propped up on one elbow as he unashamedly watched me change into a pair of pyjama pants. When I shyly pulled my boxers off, he offered me a sad little wolf-whistle, and I flushed deeply, almost tripping over my pyjamas in my haste to climb into them. Dressed, or at least half-dressed, I made my way back over to the bed, where he was smiling at me.

“Hey, you.”

There didn’t seem to be any question that we’d be sharing the same bed; for that reason I hung back, tense, suddenly dithering. I was still hard, and I knew that he knew – how could he not, after watching me undress? – and I needed to cope with my problem, soon. I couldn’t help but watch his bare legs shift against the sheets; couldn’t help but be forced back to other memories of those pretty limbs…

“D’you want a drink,” I asked nervously, “Before you go to bed? Water or anything? Want to…d’you want anything to eat?”

He was smiling still.

“Yoshiki.”

“I really don’t mind making something.”

“Yoshiki, come to bed.”

He spoke in the kind of voice that could have made me do anything; half sultry, half sad, and I scrambled to help him under the covers. He snuggled down, bunching the covers up under his eyes and peering over the edge like a meerkat.

“Come to bed,” he repeated. Hide was usually the kind of person to beg and wheedle his way into getting what he wanted: the calm, deep, normal voice he was using now scared me. It was as if he knew I had no way of backing out; knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. And he was right. I couldn’t.

Even as I flipped up the covers to climb beneath them, I was making promises, bargaining with myself so I could feel just a little entitled to enjoy the closeness of his body: I would sleep with my back to him the whole night; I wouldn’t touch him; I would think unsexy thoughts until my erection went away and then all we would do was sleep.

I slid into bed and immediately rolled onto my side, facing the wall – and instantly Hide’s body curved around mine like a vine. Shit. His hands introduced themselves to my stomach apologetically, stroking over the warm skin until I adjusted to the feeling. One angelic hand trailed upwards to ply my nipples with cool fingertips; the other slid beneath my pyjama pants as easily as if he were breaking the surface of the ocean.

“Hide,” I mumbled. My token protest. I could tell how ridiculous I sounded when he giggled, the sound from right by my ear. I felt his breath on my neck; felt his silk-and-callus hand wrap around my dick so slowly, I didn’t even jump. All I felt was relief and exquisite, exquisite pleasure as he began to stroke me, breathing softly against my skin.

“It’s okay,” he told me, “It’ll be okay. It’s not – not sex – we’re just drunk and stupid, right?”

I tipped my head back and moaned, even as a deep well of sadness caved into creation within me.

“R-right,” I gasped, promised, and his body relaxed against mine as his hand continued its work.

“I love the noises you’re making,” he whispered, his spare hand trailing over my shaking thigh and then beneath it to cup my balls, “Those moaning, gasping noises.”

“H-Hide!”

Thoughts raced through my head like quicksilver; did he know exactly how much I cared for him? My mind was still full of the music he’d been playing earlier, the chords dancing before my eyes and the words tattooed indelibly upon the inside of my skull.

“How I wish…how I wish you were here…”

And the yearning, wistful sound of the guitar.

His hand was so tender that my head swam; the excited pitch of his breath played like a flute over the damp skin of my neck.

“Yoshi,” he husked, “I could stay, you know. Until Toshi gets back.”

His hand stilled cautiously until I wrapped my own fingers around his, guiding him into movement; slow and easy, like an old dance.

“We can pretend,” I whispered, “That there’s nothing stopping us from being together.”

It wasn’t wise. It wasn’t. But I lost myself in the sweet touches he gave me, and told myself that there was always another time to think things through clearly – tomorrow morning, or the next morning, or the next, or every morning until Toshi returned in a week’s time. 

I fell asleep with his heart beating a tattoo against my back; with his slender arms wrapped tenderly around me; with his hair a silken fan beneath my cheek.