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kissmebye and her orders and commanding nature, and awesomeness, and being my writing partner for life.. I finished my first prompt! :D
"Show You What I Mean"
Prompt: Gackt/Hyde, "In Years To Come" by Thrice.
1158 words.
Rated PG for Gackt/Hyde-ness.
Disclaimer: I don't own, obviously.
Pressing his foot gently against the pedal of his treasured automobile, the "alien car" as Hyde called it, started off down the cement-paved road and along the shadowed beach. Right at this moment, Hyde, what he'd call his good friend, was at Gackt's abode, sleeping on his bed, tangled in sheets, half-dressed, shutting down his mind from the mess of things from his ongoing relationship. A relationship Gackt was not the other half of. And before this moment, Gackt had left quietly, only a couple of miles away, in a bout of nostalgia. This was expulsion for Gackt, driving out the thoughts that had no place in a friendship. Driving was thinking because thinking was always easier than doing, and the distance was better than the closeness that urged him to initiate some sort of action. If that made sense to no one, it made sense to Gackt.
Eventually, it came to a realization that the distance wasn't infinite, that his thoughts couldn't be solved, and that he couldn't stay away. Eventually, yes, he would be doing a 180, collecting his composure, and returning. Sleep was an option and he still had a couch. It was simple enough. Gackt wasn't a simple man, but he insisted that he was always in control of his own body. There was a fantasy to his thoughts - merely fantasies - that's how they'd stay, similar to the focus of his car on this road. Slow, but with more agression than the mindlessness of speeding into an endless black with only the streetlights to guide the way. Slow and focused.
Until he got home.
Inhale. Hesitantly, he stands in front of his own front door, staring at the opposite direction and barely the intention to stare to the right one.
Exhale. Gackt removes the cigarette from his mouth, index finger and middle finger gripping it; he lets it float gently to the ground, and rubs the bottom of his shoe on it. Finally, upon turning to face the door, he finds it open without a sound, a figure standing in the doorway with a flashlight taken from the foyer, the only light within the entrance hall.
"What are you doing out here, Gacchan?" It's a gentle, concerned voice, but never not masculine; always traces of a commanding tone. Gackt might say it's the loveliest voice that has ever spoken. And Gackt might say that the concern comes from the dampening of the air that is starting to soak his own hair. He just noticed it was raining.
Hyde, waiting for a response of some kind - 'Hyde, who is shirtless; short flax, blond hair; bangs swept away from his chocolate eyes' Gackt notes - frowns at him, shining the flashlight playfully at his face. "You're going to catch your death out here, if the cigarette doesn't get you first." Gackt jerks his head away from the light, grins, and runs his long fingers through his own brown head of hair, feeling the droplets collect on his skin.
"My body didn't feel like sleeping. Needed to get free."
"Oh?" Pause. "Freedom isn't in your own home, I forget. It's why it's so dark in here," Hyde responds, peeking behind him to the hall, pointing his flashlight in the same direction, as if the energy in the house was overwhelming to him, too, "you never make it comfortable enough for yourself." Hyde sighs, pouting his lips, tilting his head. Silence. A faint smile appears on his face as he grabs Gackt's arm, pulling him inside. "You might not mind getting wet, but I do. And it's late! I'll never know why you don't own at least one clock. You're an alien, you know that?"
"So you've told me." Gackt follows willingly, lead inside his barely-lit home, closing the door behind him.
"You're talkative tonight," sarcasm brought to you by Hyde, but obviously, it's intuitive, "or is it morning? I don't wear watches, and you don't own clocks. We rather suit one another."
Gackt smiles at his comment, reflecting on it briefly. "We do."
He picks up a box of matches on the cabinet in the foyer. He can see everything in the dark, including the glass partitions. There are no windows in Gackt's home, there is no florescent light, hardly any electrical gadgets aside from his musical equipment and appliances; just candlelight. It makes him wonder what comfort Hyde finds from staying here with him in his 'dark dungeon' when even Gackt finds no comfort in here. There is no freedom, yet there Hyde was distraught only moments ago, wanting an escape from the issues that always come with a relationship. Here he was with him, in a closed space, not noticeably having a plan to leave anytime soon.
"Want to tell me why you were standing out in the rain?"
Handing Hyde a match, Gackt enters the sitting area, walking to one side of the room and lighting the candles that are a convenient amount of lighting. Hyde does the same, opposite side of the room, reluctantly; he's still waiting for an answer. The silence was not as comforting as it usually was. It was the normal, yes, for the silence, but he couldn't read Gackt as well as he'd like. This silence was different; it seemed to swallow the distance between them.
And here it is, Gackt was closing the space in-between, was drawing near, close enough to breathe each other in. Slow and focused, this was control, this was true expulsion. To Gackt, this is what he needed, even if Hyde didn't comply. It was fine if Hyde didn't comply. If Hyde would be angry. It would be expected. Gackt needed this. Simple, uncomplicated thoughts; hard, complicated movements. For one moment he could expose his gift, show him what he means, not take Hyde for granted.
Standing in front of him, Gackt pulls him close, arms wrapping around Hyde's slender waist. He stops short in his impulsive action, first looking down at Hyde's face, studying his expression. There isn't a sense of fear, not even a clueless stare; just comforting brown eyes, and a nod. His eyes said something like, 'Show me what you mean because I want to know.' Gackt moves his face close to his, pressing his own lips upon Hyde's small, delicate ones that were already slightly pursed. A gentle, soft, delicate kiss. Not full of lust, not begging to devour his way into his mouth, not forceful. Slow and focused, even as he felt Hyde's hand slip up his back, reaching the back of his hair, pulling on it lightly. And once Hyde allowed it, satisfied, sweet sounds escaped Hyde's mouth, as Gackt gently made his way in with his tongue.
Even if this was the only thing Gackt could deserve to get, in years to come, if their paths should separate for however long, he would not regret, and he had not taken Hyde for granted.
-
END.
Also, it so happens that we went insane, and I prompted her for two musician slash, Marty Casey and Johnny Rzeznik, and so she prompted me to exchange prompts and write a 100 word drabble. So here is something extra.
Right Before The Show
Marty Casey/Johnny Rzeznik
110 words
Rated PG
Disclaimer: I wish I owned.
No musicians could play words like they could, their mouths gating their breathy moans after each chorus in rehearsal.
Nobody could take rough, guitar-playing hands, make them feel sensual, even when they were turning it into lustful pulling and tugging of clothing.
And they couldn't fool each other even if everyone else was fooled.
Backstage it was happening.
Pulling Johnny's dirty blonde hair back, Marty straddled his legs across Johnny's body, biting his own lip.
This is how real musicians do it. Their bodies are their instruments. Right before the show, right before the curtain opens and they walk out on stage.
"Good luck." Marty whispers, mouth upon his ear.
The END.
kissmebye and her orders and commanding nature, and awesomeness, and being my writing partner for life.. I finished my first prompt! :D"Show You What I Mean"
Prompt: Gackt/Hyde, "In Years To Come" by Thrice.
1158 words.
Rated PG for Gackt/Hyde-ness.
Disclaimer: I don't own, obviously.
Pressing his foot gently against the pedal of his treasured automobile, the "alien car" as Hyde called it, started off down the cement-paved road and along the shadowed beach. Right at this moment, Hyde, what he'd call his good friend, was at Gackt's abode, sleeping on his bed, tangled in sheets, half-dressed, shutting down his mind from the mess of things from his ongoing relationship. A relationship Gackt was not the other half of. And before this moment, Gackt had left quietly, only a couple of miles away, in a bout of nostalgia. This was expulsion for Gackt, driving out the thoughts that had no place in a friendship. Driving was thinking because thinking was always easier than doing, and the distance was better than the closeness that urged him to initiate some sort of action. If that made sense to no one, it made sense to Gackt.
Eventually, it came to a realization that the distance wasn't infinite, that his thoughts couldn't be solved, and that he couldn't stay away. Eventually, yes, he would be doing a 180, collecting his composure, and returning. Sleep was an option and he still had a couch. It was simple enough. Gackt wasn't a simple man, but he insisted that he was always in control of his own body. There was a fantasy to his thoughts - merely fantasies - that's how they'd stay, similar to the focus of his car on this road. Slow, but with more agression than the mindlessness of speeding into an endless black with only the streetlights to guide the way. Slow and focused.
Until he got home.
Inhale. Hesitantly, he stands in front of his own front door, staring at the opposite direction and barely the intention to stare to the right one.
Exhale. Gackt removes the cigarette from his mouth, index finger and middle finger gripping it; he lets it float gently to the ground, and rubs the bottom of his shoe on it. Finally, upon turning to face the door, he finds it open without a sound, a figure standing in the doorway with a flashlight taken from the foyer, the only light within the entrance hall.
"What are you doing out here, Gacchan?" It's a gentle, concerned voice, but never not masculine; always traces of a commanding tone. Gackt might say it's the loveliest voice that has ever spoken. And Gackt might say that the concern comes from the dampening of the air that is starting to soak his own hair. He just noticed it was raining.
Hyde, waiting for a response of some kind - 'Hyde, who is shirtless; short flax, blond hair; bangs swept away from his chocolate eyes' Gackt notes - frowns at him, shining the flashlight playfully at his face. "You're going to catch your death out here, if the cigarette doesn't get you first." Gackt jerks his head away from the light, grins, and runs his long fingers through his own brown head of hair, feeling the droplets collect on his skin.
"My body didn't feel like sleeping. Needed to get free."
"Oh?" Pause. "Freedom isn't in your own home, I forget. It's why it's so dark in here," Hyde responds, peeking behind him to the hall, pointing his flashlight in the same direction, as if the energy in the house was overwhelming to him, too, "you never make it comfortable enough for yourself." Hyde sighs, pouting his lips, tilting his head. Silence. A faint smile appears on his face as he grabs Gackt's arm, pulling him inside. "You might not mind getting wet, but I do. And it's late! I'll never know why you don't own at least one clock. You're an alien, you know that?"
"So you've told me." Gackt follows willingly, lead inside his barely-lit home, closing the door behind him.
"You're talkative tonight," sarcasm brought to you by Hyde, but obviously, it's intuitive, "or is it morning? I don't wear watches, and you don't own clocks. We rather suit one another."
Gackt smiles at his comment, reflecting on it briefly. "We do."
He picks up a box of matches on the cabinet in the foyer. He can see everything in the dark, including the glass partitions. There are no windows in Gackt's home, there is no florescent light, hardly any electrical gadgets aside from his musical equipment and appliances; just candlelight. It makes him wonder what comfort Hyde finds from staying here with him in his 'dark dungeon' when even Gackt finds no comfort in here. There is no freedom, yet there Hyde was distraught only moments ago, wanting an escape from the issues that always come with a relationship. Here he was with him, in a closed space, not noticeably having a plan to leave anytime soon.
"Want to tell me why you were standing out in the rain?"
Handing Hyde a match, Gackt enters the sitting area, walking to one side of the room and lighting the candles that are a convenient amount of lighting. Hyde does the same, opposite side of the room, reluctantly; he's still waiting for an answer. The silence was not as comforting as it usually was. It was the normal, yes, for the silence, but he couldn't read Gackt as well as he'd like. This silence was different; it seemed to swallow the distance between them.
And here it is, Gackt was closing the space in-between, was drawing near, close enough to breathe each other in. Slow and focused, this was control, this was true expulsion. To Gackt, this is what he needed, even if Hyde didn't comply. It was fine if Hyde didn't comply. If Hyde would be angry. It would be expected. Gackt needed this. Simple, uncomplicated thoughts; hard, complicated movements. For one moment he could expose his gift, show him what he means, not take Hyde for granted.
Standing in front of him, Gackt pulls him close, arms wrapping around Hyde's slender waist. He stops short in his impulsive action, first looking down at Hyde's face, studying his expression. There isn't a sense of fear, not even a clueless stare; just comforting brown eyes, and a nod. His eyes said something like, 'Show me what you mean because I want to know.' Gackt moves his face close to his, pressing his own lips upon Hyde's small, delicate ones that were already slightly pursed. A gentle, soft, delicate kiss. Not full of lust, not begging to devour his way into his mouth, not forceful. Slow and focused, even as he felt Hyde's hand slip up his back, reaching the back of his hair, pulling on it lightly. And once Hyde allowed it, satisfied, sweet sounds escaped Hyde's mouth, as Gackt gently made his way in with his tongue.
Even if this was the only thing Gackt could deserve to get, in years to come, if their paths should separate for however long, he would not regret, and he had not taken Hyde for granted.
-
END.
Also, it so happens that we went insane, and I prompted her for two musician slash, Marty Casey and Johnny Rzeznik, and so she prompted me to exchange prompts and write a 100 word drabble. So here is something extra.
Right Before The Show
Marty Casey/Johnny Rzeznik
110 words
Rated PG
Disclaimer: I wish I owned.
No musicians could play words like they could, their mouths gating their breathy moans after each chorus in rehearsal.
Nobody could take rough, guitar-playing hands, make them feel sensual, even when they were turning it into lustful pulling and tugging of clothing.
And they couldn't fool each other even if everyone else was fooled.
Backstage it was happening.
Pulling Johnny's dirty blonde hair back, Marty straddled his legs across Johnny's body, biting his own lip.
This is how real musicians do it. Their bodies are their instruments. Right before the show, right before the curtain opens and they walk out on stage.
"Good luck." Marty whispers, mouth upon his ear.
The END.
state of mind: smut
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