BREAK THE LIMITS: 6b/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 SIX [b]:

“Been thinking about you, and there's no rest

Should I still love you; still see you in bed?”

– ‘Thinking About You’, Radiohead

How do I tell you?

A thousand memories flickered through my head as I planned how I would break the news to Hide. I saw him waking up in the morning, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists like a little kid; saw him on the train, swinging his lithe little body back and forth; saw his beautiful hands holding the flowers I’d given him, guarding them as if they were the most precious of jewels.

How do I tell you?

And it was over. I could have crumbled underneath the weight of those four words: beneath the knowledge that it was finished, now – forever. Meeting Hide had been a happenstance – a single, unplanned act of destiny – and I of all people knew that lightning never struck twice in the same place. If I left him now, I thought, there would be no second chances. And I would never see him again.

I leant back against the side of my bed, sitting on the floor, like Hide would have done. My legs were stretched out in front of me, and I sighed: how could I live without Hide, when even the hole in my sock reminded me of him?

The truth was that Hide was everything to me. And if you took him away, what was left? I was addicted to him like nicotine – hopelessly, mindlessly obsessed by the smile in his eyes; the way he held himself; the colours of him.

My hand slid down to the crotch of my pants and rubbed gently. I kept my eyes fixed on the French windows in front of me, watching raindrops slide down the glass, as if that would distract me from what I was doing. And I thought about him. I thought about the first time he’d kissed me; I thought about the times I’d slept over at his place and how he looked in the morning; most of all, I thought about the look that came into his eyes when he picked up his guitar.

Without meaning to, I whimpered, and slowly unzipped my pants. I could have spent the rest of my life watching Hide playing that guitar, if fate had allowed it; could have lived out my days blissfully ignorant of any world but mine and Hide’s.

But fate was rarely kind like that. So I was to learn.

In time, I had eased my pants off my hips and pushed them down my legs, leaving them to pool messily on the floor, and I tipped my head back to rest on the duvet as I gently ran my thumb over the prominent bulge in the front of my boxers. I wondered how long it would be before I saw the colours pink, or red, without thinking of him. I wondered how long time would take to erase the memory of his delicate features, lighting up with a smile as he said my name. I wondered if I would ever— if I would ever, ever stop loving him.

With a small sob I let my hand slip inside my underwear, curling around the rigid flesh it found and stroking gently. Just thinking of Hide got me so worked up that I moaned, fingers playing around the base of my cock as I imagined his hands where mine were.

Hide…

His beautiful face. His beautiful eyes. I curled my fingers into the carpet as my breathing sharpened. He was possibly the first truly thing in my life to be so pure; so good and so right – my first taste of how life could be…how lifeshould be.

“Hide,” I whimpered, thumb kneading the head of my dick in a way that made my whole body tremble, and I bit down on my lower lip roughly. I felt the skin break; flicked my tongue over my lip, pretending it was his, drawing the blood out because it hurt, but it hurt less.

I loved him. I loved him so, so much.

“Hide…” I moaned lowly, my hand shaking, a poor substitute. I wanted his skin; his taste…I wanted him so badly I could have screamed, but instead I just put my spare hand over my mouth and groaned the way I wanted to. Tears slid down my cheeks and my hand shook as it sped up, the pleasure of my own touch and the pictures of him enough to make my toes curl and my chest heave. It made me pull one strong, young thigh back, my leg bent at the knee as I panted softly.

I remembered the first time I’d seen him in his pyjamas with the spray and gel brushed from his hair; how soft it’d felt then; the way my ever confident friend had stood almost self-consciously, his head bowed and a radiant smile directed at the floor.

Most of all, I thought of the time he kissed me.

That kiss. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about it; the softness, the teasing sensation of his tongue against my bottom lip; the taste of him. Being around him made my heart race so fiercely, I wondered if I would die; but even so, I needed him. I was hopeless, helpless; nothing at all, without him to define me. I pictured this new school in Tottori like a factory, spewing out rich kids on an assembly line; I imagined the lessons: AP snobbery…prejudice 101. Bricks in the wall. I wondered if Hide would see the irony; on the whole, I thought not.

He’d be too busy hating me.

That was the irony, I suppose; the way I had so, so wanted him to like me – needed it, really, the way one needs oxygen or water – and had worked so hard to convince him that I wasn’t just another dumb rich kid…

We’d convinced ourselves that money, status, family didn’t matter; we were us, and we liked each other, and that was all that counted—

And only to be pulled apart, with the true colours of my broken family shown at last.

I tightened my grip around my erection, tugging the head desperately, determined to distract myself; of course, it was impossible. Hide had haunted my mind every day and night, starting with that first afternoon I met him, and it wasn’t a habit I was likely to grow out of – not when my breathing turned raspy and my eyes closed – either out of ecstasy or despair, I wasn’t sure – and dreaming of him, I came, rushing into my own hand.

I sat, panting, using a tissue to clean myself up. It hadn’t worked, of course, not even a little bit – kidding myself that what I needed was release, when all I really needed was him.

I let my head fall backwards flaccidly, suddenly overwhelmed by the lack of hope I felt. The dream was over – my very first dream dissolved to ashes, returning to dust. 

But despite my lack of hope, a small voice whispered in my head that, before I died, I would see to fruition a thousand dreams or more…and I believed.