Oneshot: Before We Met

[andrew_in_drag]

Title: Before We Met
Author: andrew_in_drag
Pairing: Kyo/Toshiya
Rating: R
Warnings: slash, a little cuteness
Synopsis: In that quiet neighbourhood where you were living without wings.

Before We Met

You were riling up the crowd in a black leather dress, the kind your mother would have worn when she was young; you had your foot up on the amp and a ghoulish smile drawn in lipstick: just another day after we met.

You were never the type of kid who knew what they were going to be when they were older. I would have known that even if you hadn't told me. You never dreamed of being famous, you said, but you were humming like a choir underneath your skimpy clothes.

The other day I came home to find you chuckling to yourself, completely unselfconscious in the safety of our bedroom. Your long legs were sprawled all over the floor and you were surrounded by photographs; all the pictures that you'd spent hours and hours painstakingly putting into albums, because those things always meant a lot more to you than they did to me.

“Look at this,” you said happily, beckoning me over, “You, before we met.”

Obediently, I squatted on my haunches behind you and peered over your shoulder. The figure in the picture was dyed stupid red, wearing eyeliner, smoking cigarettes; I understood why you had been laughing.

“Look,” you said again. Your voice was fonder than mine would have been. I frowned down at the picture, trying to figure it out; why I'd been looking and acting that way.

“I was trying to impress someone,” I said gruffly. You looked at me, face calm but eyes smiling, and I didn't really know how to say what I wanted to say, so I carefully pressed our foreheads together instead.

I had been a restless romantic. You cured me of that; the restless part.

You were standing at the bar with your foot up on the rail, and your eyes were half-lidded against the smoke of your cigarette. You were cursing up a storm with hair that you'd styled using your dead mother's flat iron; you were talking to somebody who wasn't me.

“Get the fuck away from me,” you hissed. “You can shove your fucking drink up your fucking arse.”

It was an older man who left quickly, and I replaced him. You were cradling your head in your hands, elbows on the copper bar top and wisps of your hair trailing in other people's spilled drinks, and before I could see reason I tapped you on the shoulder.

“What?” you snapped, and blinked when you noticed that you were talking to somebody new. “Oh.”

“Are you in a band?” I asked levelly. “You look like you're in a band.”

“What? No.”

You sighed and stood up straighter. You looked young but tired, and I thought you were about to cry, maybe.

The thought of that distressed me in a way I can't exactly explain. You were looking at me funny and I didn't see why you should be doing that. Plenty of people looked stranger than I did.

“Sorry,” you said at last, “I just...sorry. I'm Toshiya. Hi.”

“Hello.”

You sniffed, gave me a quick smile and then turned away, blotting your eyes with your sleeve. When you turned back, you didn't talk to me straight away; you ordered another drink instead.

“You don't sound like you're around here,” you said at last, trying to make conversation because you felt bad.

“I'm not. I'm from Kyoto.”

“So what are you doing all the way out here?”

“I'm with my band.”

“You a rock star?” you kidded, half-smiling, and when I said yes you smiled properly.

“How famous are you?” you whispered, sort of sarcastic but in a nice kind of way. Your lips were quirking up at the corners.

“Famous enough to melt all the tigers in the world to butter.”

I liked that; making you smile.

When the bar closed you took me back to your grandmother's house. It was a half hour walk, but walking has never phased you. I followed you past low brick walls and patchy little front yards where your neighbours, mostly elderly, grew their vegetables; we passed rows of moon-headed cabbages with white porkfat veins; we passed rose bushes; we passed ceramic bowls set out for dog-walkers. The deeper we got into the maze of dark, narrow little houses, the more airless the place felt.

It was odd thinking of you growing up there. If I had been you I would have been angry enough to scream out loud. I felt strange there; I felt like there were ears in all the walls and eyes at all the windows, but when the porch light flickered on above us I dropped to my knees without having to think about it.

You gasped as I pulled your jeans open and eased your boxer briefs down, just low enough to feel your dick in my hand. The line of the horizon was getting to be more grey than black. I licked the tip of your cock and smiled against it, feeling it coming to life against me, and when I put it in my mouth you had to bite down on your lip to stifle your groan. I looked up and saw your hands curling uselessly against the walls of your house, fingernails digging helpless into the softening clapboard; your dick was hot and hard on my tongue.

“You're so wild,” you breathed, “You're so wild.”

The dawn came blue-white. In that quiet neighbourhood where you were living without wings, you let your head tip back as I sucked you. I tasted salty precum and went harder, greedy for it; I lapped at my own fingers until they were wet and slid two of them up inside you.
You gave a choked little scream, a delicious sound, and I wish I had it all on film. I wish I could have seen what your neighbours could have seen; you helpless and panting against the wall of your house and my head nestled between your thighs, fingers thrusting into you, mouth sucking at you – us, the night we met.

“I'm going to cum,” you whispered breathlessly. “I'm going to – I'm gonna–”

You had to bite down on the back of your wrist to muffle the sound you made, and I closed my eyes as I tasted you over my tongue.

The night we met. You slid silently down the wall until you were sitting in front of me, breathing a little unevenly; when I opened my mouth to ask you if you were alright, you kissed me. Our first kiss; not our last.

The other day I found you sitting on the floor in our bedroom, laughing at old pictures.

“Look,” you said wonderingly, “This is the band you were in before I came, remember that? You all look so weird.”

You were saying it like you were laughing at us, but when I sat down at your side you rested your head on my shoulder, and you were smiling. Your fingers were holding the photograph like it was something precious, careful not to touch or smudge the coloured part. You were enjoying the thought of the people that we used to be.

When I was young and desperate to fall in love; when Shinya was still a quiet little kid; when Die still teased him all the time; when Kaoru would never have even entertained the thought of growing a beard – when we were all just barely formed, an unfinished look around our eyes and an empty space in our ranks; some things, the grandmothers say, are just meant to be.

“Before it all came together,” you teased, but your thumb caressed the edge of the print.

“Before I met you,” I said, and you let the photograph flutter onto the rug as you pushed me gently to the floor.





A/N: This was written sporadically in the hours between 5am and 10am. Consequently I don't know what this is or whether I like it or not. But, there's a blowjob. So enjoy the blowjob.
Also I was so tired posting this that I accidentally clicked on 'spoiler' instead of 'lj cut'. Spoiler alert: there is a story.