Professional Bad Men in Glasses.

Hello i'm new, and another thing....

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 06:08:46 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by:
Website: The Ultimate Chessboard: Chaos Unraveled
Your fandoms: Everything. Too many to list.
Do you wear glasses: Yes.
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: Hmm...Lezard from Valkyrie Profile.
Who has the sexiest frames: Everyone who wears glasses at all?

Also, I was wondering...
Do any of you like to roleplay? ...Are any of you interested in roleplaying an evil character who wears glasses? I have a roleplaying game that's in dire need of some antagonists, and I have a weakness for glasses. A total, utter weakness, so seeing some villains with glasses would make me happy. If you like to roleplay, and don't mind playing an antagonist, would you check us out?

The Ultimate Chessboard: Chaos Unraveled

Come take part in the eternal struggle.
The Ultimate Chessboard: Chaos Unraveled
Setting Description//Rules//Taken Characters//Character Submission//OOC Community
RP BEGINS April 28th, 2008
But newcomers are always welcome after that date! People who want to join afterwards and are afraid of being overwhelmed and not knowing what's going on - one, that's perfectly fine, since no one's expecting your character to, and two, the moderator will explain the plot up to that point for you if you ask! - don't worry!

The reason it's bad guys only right now is because we have too many good guys. We need some villains!

...Villains, preferrably, with glasses.

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 20:21:13 GMT

i found these glasses in a flat my friend moved into in poland. i'm assuming they belonged to the previous occupier, an elderly man who had passed away. i then got my own prescription put in them back in england (the opticians laughed when they saw them.)

i suppose i'm just trying to keep my carbon footprint down.

a) it's been a while, and b) anyone else read bleach out there?

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 05:48:16 GMT

first, stupid story about my glasses: i've worn the same pair of pink glasses for about 5 years. the other day, my best friend was saying something so mind-numbing that i innocently hit my hand to my forehead, and in the process smashed my glasses! of course, by smashed, i mean i broke the side off and they fell from my face. we were all in shock. but a little krazy glue and they're back together. but geez. 5 years of injury-free glasses, and then sudden destruction because i have idiot friends!

also, uhhhh hello? . from bleach. nice frames. also hair! hahaha.

Intro post

Wed, 16 May 2007 19:48:23 GMT

WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS COMM EXISTED? D:

Name or pseudonym you go by: Either: The Jester or Miki ~~Xiao~~
Website: http://vegeta-holic.deviantart.com/
Your fandoms: I have way to many T_T||| ... Top 6(at the moment and not in order): Final Fantasy VII, D.Gray-Man, Bleach, Tales of The Abyss, Genshiken, Code Geass
Do you wear glasses: Yessirie. *shine*
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: That would be Prof. Hojo from Final Fantasy VII. I'd take him over ANYONE. Ever. I don't care how old he is. D:
Who has the sexiest frames: Jade Curtiss from Tales of The Abyss. Definately.

Do You Find Glasses Sexy? Take Our Glasses Fetish Survey and Help Science!

Tue, 06 Mar 2007 13:12:00 GMT

Dear readers (man or woman),

We are a group of scientists from Sweden and Italy doing research on sexuality. Many sensitive issues in sexuality are poorly understood, mostly due to lack of research. To partly remedy this, we do research on "fetishism", broadly defined as sexual preferences that are both fairly strong and not very common. No moral judgment is implied: we simply view fetishism as one expression of human sexuality.

We post here to advertise a survey that targets people who are sexually aroused by a partner or potential partner wearing EYEGLASSES/SPECTACLES. To take the survey, click on the link below. It will take at most 20 minutes to complete the survey. We offer a substantial privacy guarantee: no sensitive data will be monitored or stored at our site, only the answers you explicitly provide.

To take the survey click:

http://www.intercult.su.se/ISSI/surveys/GlassesSurvey.html

It would also be of value for our research if you could tell other people about our initiatives, or give us hints about how to reach a wider audience. The email address in this message is valid, and you can use it to communicate with us.

On behalf of the whole research team research team, thank you for supporting research on sexuality!

Hanna Aronsson
Graduate Student
Department of Zoology
Stockholm University
hanna.aronsson@zoologi.su.se

The Internet Sex Survey Initiative

http://www.intercult.su.se/ISSI/

Search terms: Eyeglass fetish, Spectacles fetish, Glasses fetish, Girls with glasses, gwg, girls in glasses, Boys with glasses, Guys with glasses, Women with glasses, Women in glasses, Men with glasses, Astigmatism, specs, myopic, myopic girls,, myopic women, myopic boys, myopic men, Nerd Fetish, Geek Fetish, Dork Fetish, Boys In Spectacles, Men In Spectacles, Women In Spectacles, Girls In Spectacles, eyewear, geeky girls, nerdy girls

Sun, 24 Dec 2006 20:20:59 GMT

good people, this is a request for help. i found my dream spectacles online, but i need to know where i can purchase a pair. i attach an image of said spectacles (click to enlarge). If you could help me in any way in finding my own pair of these splendid eyewear, i will forever be in your debt.

apologies if i'm breaking any rules. cross-posted.

Mon, 04 Dec 2006 10:11:08 GMT

It looks like everybody stopped posting here kind of a while ago, but what the heck, I'll introduce myself anyhow!

Name or pseudonym you go by: Safire
Website: none really . . .just my page here and one at fanfiction.net
Your fandoms: A lot, but my major ones are Final Fantasy VIII and X, Saiyuki, and kingdom hearts (painfully short on men in glasses, that one).
Do you wear glasses: Yes
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: Subject to change without notice, but at the moment it's Ni Jianyi from Saiyuki. I just read the "Burial" arc in the manga and he is mind-stalking me.
Who has the sexiest frames: Hakkai/Tenpou, when he's actually wearing *glasses* and not the monocle.

haha oh no i'm posting again!

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 09:07:39 GMT

because i made a new icon dedicated to the smexiness of enrico maxwell of hellsing manga! somehow the first time i read it, i totally overlooked him and his glasses. but now...oh my...

i <3 glasses!

Fri, 31 Mar 2006 07:55:17 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: i'm pretty much just amelia
Website: ehhhh journal cuz i'm too lazy to post any other!
Your fandoms: mostly fullmetal alchemist and hellsing manga. they're my ultimate none-too-secret secret obsessions.
Do you wear glasses: i wear rose tinted sunglasses
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: my favorite ever so far is rip van from hellsing manga. i LOOOOVE her! LOVE! obsessive! oh my!
Who has the sexiest frames: that's tough. i have a huge glasses fetish. glasses and gloves. oooooo. i always kinda liked the wavy part of vash's glasses. but all glasses get me.

Sun, 08 Jan 2006 21:26:10 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: Rem or Bex
Website: http://littlebluebone.bravehost.com my personal site
Your fandoms: All yaoi, final fantasy 7, cat girl stuff, invader zim, fosters home for imaginary friends
Do you wear glasses: Nope but my bishi boyfriend does ^_~
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: Ryoki Tachibana is my ultimate fav
Who has the sexiest frames: Ryoki Tachibana (hot gimmick), Souma Kojiro (tokyo revelation), Luel Reinhardt (under the glass moon)

Hiya!! Newness!

Fri, 29 Jul 2005 19:19:50 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: HakkaiDuo, or just Duo for short.
Website: um I have two My Journal and My deviantart though I have yet to draw any men in glasses...
Your fandoms: Anime. TONS Um.. Though my favorites of the moment are Gundam Wing, Full Metal Alchemist, and Samurai Champloo. Oh and Hot Gimmick can't forget the Hot Gimmick. I love a ton more, if your curious you can always ask me ^.^ If anyone wants to IM on Aim, my screen name is Freekahtwerk
Do you wear glasses: reading glasses, my eyes go crosseyed when i concentrate.
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses:hmmmm toughie. I guess I have to say Gene from Champloo (though he's not really bad..) and Ryoki from Hot Gimmick.
Who has the sexiest frames: Chang Wufei. Actually thats only in fanart of him drawn with glasses...-.-;; but um.. lesse.. Ryoki from Hot Gimmick I guess my answer is.
hehe that was fun ^.^

Newness

Sat, 16 Jul 2005 18:03:35 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: Iruka (or iruka-sensei)
Website: http//:rose.prince.utena.sheezyart.com
Your fandoms: anything really
Do you wear glasses: only in cosplay
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: x-x there's too many, but i'll haveta go with Yakushi Kabuto
Who has the sexiest frames: dr.nii from gensomaden saiyuki

Glasses fiends!

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 04:57:07 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: SK-chan
Website: http://www.livejournal.com/users/sk_chan/
Your fandoms: Anime...too many to list.
Do you wear glasses: Nope, but anime guys in glasses=smex.
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: I've got two. Greed from Full Metal Alchemist and Tatsumi from Yami no Matsuei.
Who has the sexiest frames: Kabuto from Naruto. ;)

spectacles community — wicked_glass

Wed, 23 Feb 2005 23:47:19 GMT

If someone do not know yet. It was opened spectacles community — wicked_glass. Retro spectacles, unusual spectacles, super spectacles, spectacles histories, spectacles design, spectacles in lifes society and individual. Join! And tell others.

Tue, 01 Feb 2005 07:12:44 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by:Derrah
Website:
Your fandoms: Desperate Housewives,Holes,Harry Potter,etc.
Do you wear glasses:Yes, and I wear contacts too.
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: Zach Young on Desperate Housewives because blackmailing your father is sexy.
Who has the sexiest frames: See above (I'm obsessed with the show).

FIC: Anesthesia (8/8)

Mon, 03 Jan 2005 04:04:38 GMT

Title: Anesthesia
Author: Falstaff
Genre: Crossover (With Zetsuai/Bronze)
Characters: Muraki, Nanjo Hirose, Oriya
Comments: It's done! *throws confetti*
Status: Complete.

Anesthesia ~ Epilogue

And that was the last time I ever saw him. It’s just as well; he was too high-maintenance for me. He asked too much.

I’m lying, of course.

I’m used to impossible demands, and as for Muraki… Well, I would have given him anything he wanted, if he only asked me nicely.

But that’s not the lie I mean.

I did see Muraki after that. It was months later, and by then Akihito was dead so I’m not certain it matters. Even now, I feel as though I was one man before that night, and I am another now.

But then, perhaps, things were different, still transitory. A week – two at the most – that lasted the millennia it takes continents to drift apart and resettle.

After it was over, I tried to fill in what I didn’t remember. I could have asked Kurauchi; he saw everything, much to my embarrassment. But of late I’ve noticed a change in him. Or maybe I’ve only realized something that’s been there all along.

No matter. I simply don’t like the way he watches me anymore, like I’m a piece of crystal poised to break. I don’t like the way that he seems perpetually ready to fly to my rescue.

It’s not that I’m not grateful to him. That night, he led me into the parlor and constructed the story we would tell the police.

It was simple, uncomplicated. It kept my hands clean and, more importantly, Akihito’s. I like to think I could have done no better myself.

And so, of course, they believed it. And they left us for the night.

And it was then I finally lost consciousness.

* * *

“Hirose. Hirose. Hirose. Hirose!”

“What?”

I try not to move. My damn neck feels like it’s broken.

It probably is broken.

Kurauchi is probably waking me up in the hospital to tell me that my neck is broken and I’ll never move anything below my eyeballs again.

Only… that isn’t Kurauchi’s voice.

I turn, and that at least rules out the broken neck. Although it doesn’t explain why I am most certainly hallucinating.

“Muraki?”

He looks up from the needle he’s preparing.

Listen, imagine you’ve washed ashore on a desert island. Imagine that you spend ten years on that island, with nothing to drink the milky yellow sap from the cacti; with nothing to eat but locusts and scorpions. Then, imagine that one day, onto your island, someone drops fresh meat. Kobe beef, rare, still steaming and leaking rich red juice over the sand.

Imagine that, and you’ll have some idea of how good that needle looks to me.

It doesn’t hurt that it’s Muraki holding it. Now I understand why they use lingerie models to sell sports cars.

“Hirose…” He shakes his head, and I find that I’m watching the spot where his face disappears behind his hair, as though it will be easier to catch a glimpse of it now that I know what I’m looking for.

“Or is it Nanjo-san now?” He sits on the edge of the bed beside me and holds up the needle.

“I-I don’t know anymore…” I’m not sure if it’s my voice that’s slurred, or if it’s everything else. “Muraki. What…?”

“What am I doing here?” He smiles. “Kurauchi called me. You didn’t take my number out of your Rolodex. Should I be flattered?”

Actually, I had been trying to ask him what was in the syringe. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Morphine, heroin, Drano, lye… anything would be good enough right now.

And Muraki says, “It only hurts for a moment,” as he slides the needle into the bend of my arm, and I can feel warmth crawl slowly towards my heart.

“You’ve been in shock,” Muraki says, running his fingers through my hair. “You’re dehydrated. Blood sugar is down… You’re a mess. What happened, Hirose?”

“I…” I know. I remember everything, but I think that even if I wanted to tell him, I wouldn’t have the words. “Nothing. It… was nothing.”

“I see…” He sighs, and then nudges me over a little, stretching out next to me. The bed isn’t big. We have to lie close. “A charming enigma as always, Hirose,” he murmurs.

“Since when do you have this kind of bedside manner?”

My voice seems to pass through sandstorms and broken glass in the back of my throat; it sounds rough and shredded. But he laughs. “I reserve it only for my most esteemed patients.”

He takes my hand. He’s laying so near me that I can’t quite see his face; everything blurs together. “Where did the bruises come from, Hirose?” he asks abruptly.

“Bruises?”

Two of his fingertips glide over my left wrist. “Not Koji…” he muses quietly, while, in the back of my mind something screams for me to stop him from seeing this through.

But I can’t do anything except watch him, and I feel faint pinpoints of heat behind my eyes. I won’t cry. I’m dehydrated, like he says; I’ll save the moisture.

His lips pull tight, and he says. “Ah. Akihito, then.”

“Akihito is dead.”

He blinks. “Oh.” The mark of a man who doesn’t surprise easily is that he doesn’t know how to hide it when he is shocked.

“That does explain a few things.” Before I can move to stop him, his arms are around me and I’m curled against his chest. “The shock,” he says quietly. “You ought to stay warm.”

And of course I don’t feel any better, but, it’s strange, I do feel for the first time as though I might, at some distant point – maybe years from now – I might begin to.

“Muraki…” When I breathe, I can smell cigarettes and flowery shampoo, and I realized that I’ve missed that. “If I asked you not to leave this time, would I be making a fool of myself?”

“Perhaps not a fool, but…”

“But you won’t stay.” I had expected nothing else from him, but, there in his arms, I permit myself a little pang of bitter disappointment.

“No,” he says. “I will not.”

I nod, slowly. “I know. You’re still searching for something…”

“No.” I feel him sigh, soft and weary. “Not searching any longer.”

“Your demon?” It wasn’t that long ago that saying something like that would have made me question the little sanity I had left. But now, it’s not so strange, is it? I think I could begin to believe in demons, as long as I started with the one in whose shadow I have lived for the last sixteen years.

Muraki shakes his head. “Not quite. My little ghost.”

“You believe in ghosts now?”

“There are more things in Heaven and Hell…” He shrugs. “Well, in Heaven, at least.”

“Who is this ghost, then?”

“In truth?” Muraki sighs. “He’s your replacement.”

And I feel that empty sting of jealousy in the pit of my stomach, like an old friend. I shake my head. “Impossible.”

One of his hands slides down my back, and he shifts so I can hear his heartbeat when I think to listen for it. “Perhaps.”

And just that word leaves me with hope, which is all I’ve ever had anyway. “Muraki, please…” My fingers curl in the front of his clothing. “Stay here. Or let me go with you. I…”

My breath catches. The bitter salt I can taste on my lips is from my tears. “I’m ruined. It’s not your fault. It had nothing to do with you. But if you leave now…”

He’s right, though. It’s no good now; it really doesn’t matter. "There's nothing else I can do for you, Hirose."

And already, he’s pulling away, and I don’t know what to say to stop him. “Won’t you at least tell me what I should do now?”

He slips out of bed and straightens his clothing again before looking back. “Live, Hirose. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know you’re here. That’s all.”

“Selfish…”

He nods. “I know. But will you do that much for me?”

“You know I can’t tell you no.”

He doesn’t smile, but he leans over me again, kissing my lips first, then my eyes. Tasting my drying tears.

Koji was right, when he said I had never cried. Not in years, since long before he was born. But now, even as Muraki pulls away, licking his lips and surely tasting salt, it never occurs to me to be ashamed.

I sit up, to see him out. My head aches, and it’s too much trouble to straighten my slumped shoulders. “Muraki… I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“And you, Nanjo-san.”

I shake my head. “Not likely."

“You’ll be all right. I’m sure of it.” He shakes his head, and his hair falls over his eye again. It will be the last time I see his face, I know.

“How?”

He only smiles, soft around the edges. “Because you made me a promise.”

When he leaves, neither of us say goodbye.

(Crossposted to deadly_passions)

Hello

Thu, 30 Dec 2004 12:57:56 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: Angry Princess

Website: Angry Princess Japan Fanfiction

Your fandoms: anime - Weiss Kreuz, Yami No Matsuei, Fake, Hellsing; other - Duran Duran, Japan, Ultravox, Harry Potter

Do you wear glasses: Nope but I want to

Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: Crawford

Who has the sexiest frames: Crawford

FIC: Anesthesia (7/8)

Mon, 27 Dec 2004 05:38:18 GMT

Title: Anesthesia
Author: Falstaff
Genre: Crossover (With Zetsuai/Bronze)
Characters: Muraki, Nanjo Hirose, Oriya
Comments: Rated NC-17
Status: 7/8

Anesthesia ~ Chapter 7

The next time I’m in Kyoto, I spend the night at Kokakurou. I don’t want to, but there really aren’t any other options for a man like me.

For a Nanjo.

But I’ve slipped away without taking a girl. Maybe that means I’m neglecting my duties; I hope young Oriya doesn’t find out. He’d take it personally. That’s the only way he knows how to take things.

But the strangest thing has happened over the past few weeks. My interest in women is nonexistent. My interest in anyone… besides Muraki Kazutaka.

It’s ridiculous. I’ve left behind handsomer and more mysterious people than him in the past. Alone in one of Kokakurou’s traditional rooms, I light a cigarette and try to forget silken hands, a hot mouth pressed over mine, mad talk of demons and curses and James Joyce.

And I am starting to forget, when I hear footsteps in the hall. I’m still forgetting when they stop in front of the door to my room and there’s a light knock on the edge of the panel.

It must be Kurauchi, but he never lets himself in without a word from me.

And by now the panel is sliding back.

And everything I’ve been forgetting comes back all at once, like the ground rushing up in the moments between when you jump and when you hit.

“Good evening,” Muraki says as though he has every right to be there in my doorway, his tie and collar loose, the moonlight silver upon the silver of his hair. “Nanjo-san…” He hesitates a moment. It’s not like him, and that makes it more pronounced. I can almost hear the muscles at the back of his throat working helplessly as he searches for words.

It’s even less like him to have come without a speech already prepared.

Whether he means to or not, he gives me time to collect my thoughts. “What the hell are you doing here, Muraki?”

“Visiting you in exile.” He’s smirking faintly as he comes inside, sliding the door closed behind him. But there’s no force behind the expression this time. It’s like a nervous habit.

He kneels opposite me on the tatami. He’s very close. And he says, “Not enjoying the accommodations?”

“I’m enjoying them very much.” I mean to punctuate the next words with a sharp glare, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. “I like the solitude.”

“Of course." He reaches out, touching the back of my hand so tenderly that I know he must be planning something horrible. “Nanjo-san, listen… Do you remember what we spoke about before?”

We spoke about a great deal of things, but I know there’s only one he could mean. “Muraki, stop. I like you much better when I can imagine that you’re not a raving lunatic.”

He stiffens a little. I can feel it because his hand still rests over mine, right where I’ve let it remain. “That’s what I mean,” he says. “I was mistaken, Nanjo-san. I ran a DNA test, and… I was mistaken about you. About your blood.”

“What a surprise,” I mutter. “Muraki…” And then I sigh, and shake my head, because I don’t really know what to say to him. “How did you know I was here?”

“I have an anonymous source.”

“Oriya?”

He smiles, just a little. “Perhaps. Don’t worry, Nanjo-san, he isn’t bothered that you didn’t take a girl after dinner.”

He’s turned so I can’t see anything but a little triangle of throat beneath the hair that falls over his face. Not for the first time, I wonder what he’s so desperate to hide. I’m quiet a while, waiting for him to look at me, which he never does. And the silence becomes uncomfortable. “Are you really that upset?” I say at a last.

“Upset that you didn’t fuck one of Oriya’s girls?” He laughs. “I can’t say that I am upset. Though… I’m not really the jealous type, either.”

“Shut up. You know what I meant, Muraki. I haven’t seen you in two months."

“I know.” He nods, slowly. “I know. But… I’m searching for something, Nanjo-san. And you may be many things, but you’re not what I’m looking for.”

I’ve never been dumped before, but even without much experience I’m confident that what I’m hearing is pretty high on the list of most surreal break-ups ever.

All the same, I am Nanjo Hirose. No one dumps me.

“Then it’s just as well,” I say. “It saves me the trouble.”

And he glances up at me for the first time. “What…?”

“If you aren’t going to do the job for which I hired you, then I’ll have to terminate your contract. That’s just good business, Doctor.”

His eye narrows a little, but then he laughs. “Are you firing me as your boyfriend, Nanjo-san?”

I thought I’d seen all his tricks, but those words hit like bokken when you’re not wearing body armor. Those words bruise muscle and crush bone.

What I want to say next and what I do say are very different things: "What the hell do you think this is, Muraki? Don’t try to toy with me.”

His lips twitch, and for a moment he almost looks hurt. As though, without even trying, I’ve found my way past all his defenses, past his impenetrable borders.

“The end,” he murmurs. I watch him push away, and I watch him get to his feet. And I watch him turn away from me. “I think… it’s the end, now.”

It seems to take him hours to cross the floor. It was like that the first time, too, I think, when he crossed my little brother’s hospital room to stand next to me. To kiss me.

That was almost eight months ago.

And in the back of my mind, softly, I hear my brother’s voice. Koji’s voice, rough with that ugly, mocking laugh he has.

“Did you know you loved him then?” my brother’s voice asks me. “Have you figured it out at all? What kind of education were they giving you at your fancy American schools?”

Koji never did let me do anything the easy way.

By now, Muraki’s at the door. I stand, toss my cigarette in the ashtray and take a step after him. “Wait…”

There’s a moment when I think he’s not going to look back, and I don’t blame him. But then he turns, just a little, showing me the curve of his throat, the fall of his silver hair. “Now who is playing with whom, Nanjo-san?”

His hesitation encourages me, though perhaps it shouldn’t, and I come forward, almost close enough to touch. “Don’t be so melodramatic,” I say, and I take his arm. Not quite gently, but he should know me better than that by now. “Come back inside.”

“Why?”

As I draw him away, he slides the panel shut again. “Because…” I say. And he turns back, leaning against me like he’s anticipating a kiss.

I don’t disappoint him.

But as he leans away again to catch his breath, I sigh. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“I know.” He leans in again, giving me a kiss that pushes the rest of the world into the background. “It isn’t like you at all.”

“Nor you.” I wrap a hand around his tie, drawing him back inside. His hands flutter over the buttons of my suit coat. “So… what are we doing here?”

He laughs as he draws his hands down my chest, twin highways of heat over my bare skin. “I thought that was obvious, Nanjo-san.”

“Call me Hirose.”

The words are out before I knew they would be, and though Muraki looks surprised by them, I’m sure he’s not nearly as shocked as I am. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Maybe because I hardly know him, but he’s still closer to me than anyone else. “If you’re only going to be here for tonight, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Call me Hirose.”

“Very well.” He seems to think a moment, as though sounding out the syllables of the name. “Hirose.” He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that more to your liking?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

I slip his glasses off his nose for him, fold them and put them away in the breast pocket of his coat. Without them, he looks younger. Pretty, instead of handsome. And I can see why he persists in wearing them.

He lets me tug him over to the futon, and we slide down to it, a tangle of loosened suit coats and silk shirts and sensible solid-color ties. When I slip my hands beneath his clothing, I can feel sleek muscle, winding and unwinding, tensing and relaxing in a familiar rhythm of arousal.

I flick open his pants, and his erection presses into the hollow of my hand. For a moment, I can only stare and try to come up with the disgust my father would want me to feel.

Then Muraki reaches down between our bodies, touching my wrist lightly with two fingers. “Hirose…” And when I look up, his expression is tight, anticipatory.

This is all his fault. I know, because I would never have come up with something like this on my own. I’m an innocent victim in all this, a prisoner of war.

He’s on top of me now - kneeling over me with one leg on either side of my hips – but I catch his wrists before he can slither away, and turn him over. He laughs as I flip him onto his stomach, shifting my weight over him to grind him down into the bedding.

“Oriya was right about you,” he murmurs, breathless.

“What did Oriya-san say about me?” I slide his pants down, far enough to reveal the tops of his shapely thighs.

“He called you unpredictable. At first I thought he just lacked imagination…”

“But now you know better?” I hold a hand to his mouth, and he slips his lips over one finger, drawing it into the hot dampness of his mouth. “Should I be flattered by that?” My voice doesn’t sound the way I want it to; the way his tongue rolls over my skin saps the will right out of me.

“I…” My finger slides from between his lips, wet and slick. “I don’t know,” he confesses.

And everything he’s ever told me might be a lie, but that I can be sure is the truth.

I trail the heel of my hand down his spine, and slip that single wet finger into him. He gasps, convulses sharply, so I have to press my other hand to his shoulder to hold him still.

“Hirose…” he pants. “You bastard.”

“Shut up.” For the first time all evening, I’m glad I’m staying here, in Kokakurou, where everything is provided for you. I shift my weight forward, pinning him, and with one hand I reach out and slide open the discreet little carved wooden box beside the futon. Inside, there’s a little vial of oil; I make enough of a show of retrieving it, that I’m sure Muraki gets a good look.

I can’t see his face; I think he just barely manages to keep from smiling.

I make myself slick with one hand, and keep the other pressed to the back of Muraki’s neck. He struggles a little, not enough to break away from me, but if I relax my grip it will be. And I know he’ll pull away if I give him the chance.

But when I shift forward, pushing up against him, he stops squirming all at once. I hope he starts again soon.

“Muraki…” I shake my head. “What have you done to me?”

“I don’t know.” His hips shift subtly, just a little ripple of feverishly hot skin. “But after tonight, you won’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be gone.”

“You shouldn’t even be here now.”

Then I arch forward, pushing into him, and he’s the only hot pliant living thing left in the world.

He gasps my name; one of his hands claws at the outside of my thigh, the other arm is crooked against the futon and he uses it to leverage himself back against me.

It’s no use trying to tell myself that he’s not the best I’ve ever had. That nothing will ever be as good as he is again.

Even I can only make a lie stretch so far.

What I can do is convince myself that it’s his fault. It’s him, not what he does to me. It’s something fundamental that I always took for granted, that he melts and reforges, purges and purifies.

The bastard.

I slip my arm around his waist, pulling him up, back to lean against my shoulder. And his hair almost parts around his face.

“Hirose…” One hand moves up to up my cheek, and the other falls over my wrist, guiding my arm down. His hand closes around mine, urging my fingers to wrap around his cock. I half stroke him, half let him thrust up against me, tight efficient jerks of his hips until he twists his face against the side of my throat and breathes a soft moan.

There’s a rush of heat over the back of my hand and my wrist. The flex of internal muscles draws my own climax from me a moment later, and I fall back bracing myself on my palms.

Muraki reaches back, winding his arms lazily around my neck and pooling his weight on my chest.

We wait a moment in silence, and it still isn’t long enough to decide what I want to do next.

“Muraki. I…”

He laughs softly, turning slowly to kiss me. “You are a remarkable man, Hirose. Your brother is nothing compared to you.”

It takes me a moment to realize that the heat flooding my face means I’m blushing. How strange. But not as strange as what I do next; I don’t turn away from him to hide it.

I reach out instead, and slip a hand beneath the wing of silver hair that falls over his right eye. He flinches, so subtly I can’t see it, but I can feel the slight tremor that slides along his skin in the places we’re still touching.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

And I don’t really know, so I say, “How bad can it be?”

He lets me slide his hair aside, tuck it behind his ear.

It’s very poor form to answer a rhetorical question, but I can feel my lips tilt up into the hint of a smile. “Not so bad at all.”

He looks away, and I run my fingertips over the faint scar beneath his eye. “How did you lose it?” It would be a tactless question to ask anyone but him. I know he won’t mind. I’ve come this far, gotten this close, already.

“A fire. Many years ago.”

“Oh? You didn’t sell it to a demon? Have it purged by some arcane magic?”

He laughs, a soft breath of amusement and relief. “I am sorry to disappoint you. It was nothing so glamorous.”

“A shame.” A kiss him again, one more to remember, and then I pull away. We dress in silence, and I turn back to face him just as he finishes buttoning his coat.

“Goodbye, Muraki.”

“Good night.” He smiles, and flicks his hair back over his eye.

He goes to the door and lets himself out.

And he’s gone.

(Crossposted to deadly_passions)

FIC: Anesthesia (6/?)

Fri, 05 Nov 2004 04:41:57 GMT

Title: Anesthesia
Author: Falstaff
Genre: Crossover (With Zetsuai/Bronze)
Characters: Muraki, Nanjo Hirose, Oriya
Comments: This one's for the Muraki/Oriya fans. <3
Status: 6/?

Anesthesia ~ Chapter 6

"Nanjo Hirose…"

All week, I've been turning that name over in my mind like a clever anagram. It's practically to be expected that it come to the surface like this eventually.

And Oriya glances up at me, his pipe slanting from the corner or his mouth. "Him again?" He looks out over Kokakurou's gardens, dark now on this moonless night. "It's not like you to maintain an interest for so long."

"Mm, no, it's nothing like that, I assure you."

"I'll bet." The way he said that would have been tense, were it anyone but him. Anywhere but this. "And tell me then, Muraki," he sighs. "Has he scattered his secrets like cherry blossoms at your feet yet?"

I laugh softly. The last time I laughed, Nanjo Hirose's arms were looped around my waist and my lips still tasted of him. I shouldn't remember it now, but my laughter then sounded nothing like it does now. "His DNA test speaks to me like a volume of poetry."

Incidentally, there is something deliciously ironic to me about the way I took the sample for the test from the inside of my own mouth. Perhaps it would have been less theatrical to simply draw some blood… but by the time it occurred to me Nanjo-san had lost more than enough of that. Spilling family blood is always more troublesome than you would expect. Orestes would say the same.

And who, I must wonder, will be the first to summon the Furies down upon the Nanjo house?

"Indeed?" Oriya is trying terribly hard to sound uninterested, and, to his credit, he's very nearly succeeding. "Is it everything you hoped for?"

"All three of the Nanjos are very remarkable men, Oriya. However…"

He raises an eyebrow. "However?"

"However, they are not what I have been seeking. Anything inhuman is buried too deeply beneath the generations for me to trace."

"Such a shame." Oriya shakes his head so long hair falls in front of his eyes. "And where does that leave you?"

"Where I began."

"Mm. Not quite."

"Oh?"

"No. If you want things to go back to the way they were, then you'll have to forget about Nanjo Hirose."

That is one of the stranger things I can remember him saying to me. It's a little worrisome. "It's very sweet of you to be concerned, Oriya, but…"

"He has troubles of his own, Muraki. And he will draw you in."

"Then he shall find me the Scylla to his Charybdis."

Oriya raises an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

"They were monsters." The word comes out as a sigh. "That's all."

He looks away, out over the courtyard, and as he's turned from me the floodlights hidden in the trees and tucked away in the grass wink out. All at once, so the color is washed away, leaving the gardens as monochrome as a dream.

It's midnight. The lights always go out sharply at midnight.

"It doesn't really matter, though."

"Doesn't it?" There's a little skepticism in his voice. "You always say that when you don't want to take my advice. When it isn't… convenient for you."

I had not framed it in those terms before, but I know that he's right. "Duly noted," I mutter. I stand. Circle closer, like a predator, to kneel beside him. Against the darkness of the gardens, the indigo of his robes is very vibrant.

I never dream in colors that bright.

"Did you need something?" He brushes black hair from his face with one hand, presenting the side of his throat to me. None to subtle tonight, is he? And I find myself thinking that his rough palms would be close enough to what I really want, but nothing else about him would even come close.

I run my hand up his arm, crushing the silk of his haori beneath my fingers as though I can wring the smell of familiar tobacco from it. "Nanjo-san…"

He smiles. The expression doesn't touch his eyes. "No. I'm Oriya."

He's rarely been so… cute with me, and so it comes as a bit of a surprise now. I kiss him on the corner of the mouth, a little reward for his troubles, and I say, "He was never afraid of me. I think that was what I noticed first."

Oriya sighs, hair slipping again in front of his face, like a portcullis crashing down between us. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Especially not with poor excuses like that."

"Excuse?" I find myself pulling away from him a little. "It's not an excuse. He… fascinates me."

"I know he does." Oriya turns to face me, shaking his hair back again. He sets his hand on my jaw, holding my eyes with his, like he used to do when we were much younger and he would explain a geometry problem or a grammatical rule to me. "And so it's an excuse."

He shakes his head. "Honestly, Muraki, if all you wanted was someone who wasn't afraid of you, you'd be here with me."

"I am with you."

"Are you?" This time his smile is a little less bitter, a little more resigned. "It's getting harder to tell these days."

"Oh? Perhaps, then, I ought to… reassert my presence."

Coolly, he watches me for a moment; silk hisses as he gets to his feet.

I rise to meet him, taking one of his hands between mine, pressing my palm against his so I can feel the places on his skin that have been worn bone-rough by the hilt of his katana.

"Muraki…" he says quietly. "I trust, in the end, you'll do what's best."

I tilt my head against his shoulder. My hands guide his down between our bodies. I'll be damned if I spend another moment snagged on the memory of Nanjo Hirose.

(Crossposted to deadly_passions)

FIC: Anesthesia (5/?)

Thu, 14 Oct 2004 02:51:28 GMT

Title: Anesthesia
Author: Falstaff
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Crossover (With Zetsuai/Bronze)
Characters: Muraki, Nanjo Hirose
Comments: And then... the oral sex.
Status: 5/?

Anesthesia ~ Chapter 5

I only doze off for a few moments, I'm sure of it, but when I open my eyes again, the sheets have been changed. More than that… the room has been changed. I slide my hand down my side, and realize my bandages have been changed too.

I'm the only thing that's still the same.

Or… maybe that's not quite true. There's a little rustle of movement beside the futon I'm laying on. "Aki?" I murmur. There is no one else who would have been watching over me… How embarrassing that sounds.

"No, Nanjo-san. He's gone to rest; you only just missed him." Muraki sets down his book, and stands. He picks up my glasses from the little table next to the bed, and slips them on for me.

"You…?" I'd probably sound a lot more surprised if I could make my voice come out as anything more than a harsh whisper. "What do you want?"

He sits on the bed beside me; he's delicate about it, but the movement of the mattress makes me wince. "You asked me to stay," he says. "And if you change your mind now, you can't have your overtime pay back."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost a full day. I'm glad you're awake, actually. Akihito wouldn't stop pestering me…"

"Shut up, Muraki!" That came out sharply, and I regret it at once. It makes me cough, makes my dry throat burn.

He blinks. "Calm yourself." He slides an arm behind my shoulders, lifting me from the pillows. There's something almost wary about his movements, and that's when I realize… I set him on edge. I have to laugh at that, even though it comes out like a harsh gasp for breath.

"Calm," he says again, and lifts a bottle of water to my lips.

"I can…" The taste of water on my lips wipes out all my words. He said that it's only been a day, but it might as well have been years. It seems I can feel that first drink in every cell of my body.

Muraki tilts the water bottle back, and I reach up, snatching it out of his hand. Sitting up, it turns out, isn't as difficult as I thought it would be. It's staying there that gives me a little trouble. A low growl of pain flares in my side, but if I put the wood-paneled wall at my back it's not so bad I can't bear it.

"That's not necessary." I raise the water to my lips, just to prove that I can.

Yet Muraki doesn't seem impressed. He shrugs mildly, standing up again. "As you wish, Nanjo-san." He returns to his chair, crossing his legs delicately at the knee, and retrieving his book. "Try to get some more rest."

As though I could sleep, with him sitting there sulking like that. It's terribly undignified.

Lying back down seems like it might be more trouble than it's worth at the moment, so I just slump against the wall. I can't see the spine of his book from here, but he didn't get it from my library. I don't have any cheap paperbacks like that. I don't much care for people who bring books wherever they go…

"What are you reading?"

He glances at me over the top of the novel; his glasses slip down his nose, just a little. "It's Joyce. Ulysses. Have you read it?"

"No." The last time I read a piece of fiction was when I was eight. "Is it good?"

"Mm." He closes the book, and sets it aside. Almost too eager for a distraction. "Do you want the truth? Or the answer I've prepared for people who ask me if it's good?"

"Why don't you start with the truth."

"It's dreadful." And the way he laughs when he says that, I can't help but laugh a little myself. "Absolutely dreadful."

My hand moves over the sheets, clawing them up into little ranges and canyons. And it's just like him to assume I meant it as an invitation. He puts the book aside, and returns to sit next to me once more.

"Thank you," I say, without looking at him. "For… attending to me."

He leans in, and my lips part beneath his kiss. I suppose… that's supposed to be an answer. His hand moves to cup the back of my neck, and I turn to face him. Turn, into a deeper kiss, the hot velvet of his mouth.

If my wound would only start to ache again, I would have an excuse to push him away, but he's… perhaps gentle is the wrong word. He's careful, as he sets a hand on my knee, draws it up my thigh. He's cautious, as he slides around to kneel across my lap.

"What do you think, Nanjo-san?" he murmurs between kisses so deep I can feel the sharp ivory of his teeth cutting into my lips. "Have you given in yet?"

"Not a fucking chance."

I like to believe that I'm the type of man who can say something like that and mean it, even as I tilt my chin up to give Muraki access to my throat; even as my hands slide under his coat and up his shapely back.

"I didn't think so." His mouth closes around the side of my neck, like a predator; his tongue traces the path of a vein beneath my skin. His hands do something insufferably clever down between my legs, and my cock twitches eagerly in response.

It's hard not to have a little grudging respect for someone who can still do this, in spite of all his setbacks. I really have been a stubborn tease, haven't I? After the last few days, I'm finding it suddenly very difficult to keep up a pace like that. I'm finding it difficult to keep up a great many things.

Izumi would have been perfect, you know. Perfect… if not for his sobs.

I take Muraki's hands between mine, guiding them to the top button of my pants. "I am curious…" My voice comes as a soft, hot breath, spilled against the damp skin of his temple. "As to whether or not you have been worth waiting for."

He hesitates a moment, leaning back on his knees so our eyes meet. Cold gray upon cold gray… "As I understand it," he says at last, as those long delicate fingers tug at buttons and zipper, laying the front of my pants open, "It would be very bad for my health, to disappoint you."

A latex-cool hand closes around my cock, stroking it to hardness.

He sways forward, until his forehead is pressed against mine. It seems a ridiculously intimate gesture, even with his hands already twined around me. I struggle to remember the last time I let someone rest against me like that.

Akihito is the name that comes to mind, but that's not what I want to think about right now.

Muraki's mouth tastes coppery, metallic like blood, and that makes him hard to ignore. Easy to let distract me. Only when he's certain that I am completely tangled up in him does he pull back, slip away from me to kneel beside the bed.

His hands draw me forward. "Come here. You can lean against me."

I wouldn't lean against him if I only had one goddamn leg left. But I do move closer, to the edge of the bed; I rest my weight back on my palms. His eyes meet mine over the rise of my body, and he doesn't look away as he leans in, as his tongue flicks out to slide along the underside of my cock.

No one has ever done that before. Held my gaze so I couldn't look away from what was being done to me. And suddenly there are no crisp bills or eight cylinder engines to think about. No matter how good my hair looks, it's not good enough.

There's nothing, but the lingering warmth of his mouth. But the cool air he breathes over the dampness he's just created on my skin. But the silk sheets knotted beneath my fingers as my hands curl into fists.

My mind wrings new words – adjectives and adverbs - out of the syllables of his name, because it's the only way I have to describe the Muraki-ness of the situation. How Muraki-esque things have become.

His lips part, and he tears his eyes away with what I've surely mistaken for a hint of hesitation, to slip his mouth over me. I can see the muscles at the sides of his throat relax as he takes me in with one quick breath.

And for a moment, I'm afraid nothing will ever break the silence.

"Ah…"

I don't even recognize the voice as my own at first. Because my voice doesn't waver around the edges like that. My voice doesn't pitch strangely whenever someone does something silly like this with his mouth.

My voice does not have to be stifled with one hand pressed to my mouth, teeth digging into the second knuckle of my index finger while I'm completely helpless to look away.

The muscles at the back of his throat work around me in a slow rhythm. He coils around me, constricting and relaxing, winding and unwinding to match the steady pulse of blood at my temples.

He doesn't move much; doesn't bob his head or thrash around. He doesn't need to. Everything happens just under the surface.

I don't know him well enough to say whether or not that's just like him.

One of his hands slips away from my thigh and flutters downward like a leaf cut loose from a tree. If he knows that I'm still watching him, then he's not very subtle about it; perhaps he doesn't know. Hasn't figured out yet that I can't tear my eyes away from him, no more than I could tear my body away.

And even as he coaxes a strangled little moan from me, rips it from my throat, he brushes two fingertips over himself through the front of his pants. He seems to hesitate a moment, then his hand wavers and he slides it between his thighs. I catch the little shiver that runs through him only because I know what I'm looking for.

I know then, that he's not the only one with power here. He's as turned on by this as I am.

Perhaps that is a bit ambitious. He may be aroused, but my own arousal is reaching critical mass, ground zero. A white-hot molten core deep in my body.

I'm watching him while I try – and fail, I'm sure – to choke back a moan, as my body convulses once with release and then I shudder. Trembles, as my arms give out and I lean forward against his shoulder, just like I swore I wouldn't.

"Muraki…"

He drags his mouth over me slowly as he pulls back, taking most of the mess with him. His jaw tightens a little, and he swallows.

No one has ever swallowed my come before.

"That was, perhaps, not the best thing for your condition, Nanjo-san." His lips quirk into a little smile, and he reaches to push my glasses back up my nose. It's not like any expression I've ever seen on him before.

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

He pushes to his feet, and I find my eyes drawn to the place where he teased himself with his fingertips. Through his clothes, I can't tell if he's still hard. When he reaches out to take my shoulders and steady me, I brush a hand up the inside of his left thigh. Just to satisfy my curiosity.

The next breath he draws is sharp and startled. I slide the backs of my fingers over him, and his hips move, just slightly.

"What about you? Does this hurt?"

"I would not say it hurts, exactly, Nanjo-san."

As he pushes me back to the bed, I curl my fingers around his tie. He doesn't resist much, but he's very careful as he crawls over me. He edges around my stitches like he would a sleeping dog.

I can't help but laugh, as I reach up to remove his glasses for him. "How delicate do you think I am?"

"I would not wish to injure my most esteemed patient."

"Nor would I wish to displease any man I allow near me while I'm asleep."

I crook one leg, pushing my thigh up between his. Sleek muscle flexes against me, and he coils back, breathing a little sigh.

When he wraps his arms around my shoulders, I can smell the musk of his aftershave, the same as always. But beneath it, faintly, I can catch sweat and anticipation lingering on his skin. He presses himself against my hipbone, grinding down. His body reverberates with a little moan, like a cat's purr.

He's still dressed, and I am mostly not. But the fabrics he wears are as warm and soft and slippery as skin. His lips meet mine, and I can still taste myself on the inside of his mouth.

It's not as bad as you might think.

For what feels like a long time, he's the only thing that moves. His hips against mine, beneath my hands. His mouth, sucking kisses from mine until we're both out of breath. There's something damp under my hand, and it takes me a moment to realize that I've torn my wound open again, and blood has soaked through my bandages.

That probably means I ought to stop him, but his breath is already coming in soft sighs. His movements are less controlled than they were when we began. I'm still debating the best way to broach the subject, when he turns his face against my shoulder and cries out sharply.

He shifts a few times, restlessly, and then all the strength seems to rush out of him. "Uh…" he murmurs, and lifts a hand to inspect the blood staining his fingertips. "How careless of me, Nanjo-san."

His voice is a little rougher than normal, but other than that there's nothing different about him. Strange, when I feel that I'm changed enough for both of us.

He leans back calmly, replacing his glasses, and begins to unwind my bandages. "The stitches are holding," he says. From a bag beside the bed, he pulls fresh gauze and begins to tape up my side. "Just be still, and the bleeding will stop soon."

"Muraki…"

"Mm?" He glances up from his work, tilting his head slightly so that his hair falls not quite away from his face. He leans in; I think at first that he means to kiss me, and so I tilt my chin back a little.

But he presses his lips to my ear. "I know a secret about you, Nanjo-san."

"And what might that be?"

His laughter is silent, just a hot breath of air against my cheek. His voice is not so soft that I can't hear the mockery in it. "You like boys better than girls."

"That's…" I shake my head, pushing him back. "That's disgraceful. What nonsense."

And he laughs. Which should serve only to make me angry, but instead I feel heat building behind my cheeks. I'll never forgive him for this, for making me blush.

"What an odd reaction. Really, Nanjo-san. A worldly, educated man like you… I shouldn't have to tell you this." He slides the backs of his fingers over my cheek. "It's all right. There's no reason to be ashamed."

"But I'm not…"

"You are. But I promised you discretion when I came to work for you, didn't I?" He touches my cheek again, so I have no choice but to turn back to face him. "Perhaps," he says. "I could match your secret with one of my own."

"I don't know what about you could possibly interest me."

He arches his back, and stretches out on the bed beside me. "It's something you will never guess, I assure you." Carelessly, one of his hands slips into mine. And, like when he swallowed earlier, I realize that no one has ever held my hand before, either. His voice is quiet, but not so quiet that I cannot tell that he's lucid.

"You see," he says. "I'm not entirely human, Nanjo-san."

Before I can respond, he goes on. "Don't say anything yet. Allow me to explain." As though there is anything I could say to that…

"In recent years, I have found certain latent abilities within myself beginning to awaken. I am able to absorb stray energies and redirect them as I see fit. I won't bore you with the details, as I do not fully understand them myself yet. However, I believe this talent was passed down to me genetically. Along with… certain other traits. This hair, these eyes… they are inhuman, don't you think? As though they should not be found in nature." His hand tightens around mine, convulsively. "Do you understand what I am saying to you, Nanjo-san?"

I don't know what to do, so I tell him what he wants to hear. "You think that I'm like you. Of this… unnatural bloodline you speak of."

"Yes." He moves suddenly, rolling over on top of me and pinning my shoulders to the mattress. There is a feral gleam in his eyes. And even though he's quite obviously mad - dangerous and deluded – it never occurs to me to push him away. "It makes sense. You feel it, don't you? Sometimes, it seems as though your senses are heightened. As though you perceive things that other people do not. Sometimes, it is so strong that you feel your mind is going to give way beneath it…"

And what happens next, I will never tell anyone. What happens next, I will, for my own sake, have to force myself to forget. Because what happens next is, for just a moment, what he says seems to ring true. Seems to cut through all the logic and make sense to me, somehow.

It's as though he's looking through me, like I'm not even there at all.

And I raise one hand towards him. I think, for an instant, that it's going to be to throw my arm around his neck, to pull him down and embrace him, as they say, like a brother.

Instead, my hand snaps around his throat.

His eyes widen in surprise, and mine narrow in retribution. I sit up, forcing him back to his knees. I must be squeezing very hard, because he lifts two fingers to rest against the inside of my wrist.

I find myself wondering if he will make a beautiful corpse.

"You need to," I say, "get out of my bed."

He nods, swinging one leg over so his foot brushes the carpet. I let him go, and he pushes to his feet. "Nanjo-san…"

"You're quite mad, aren't you? I'm embarrassed for you."

He rubs at his throat. "And if I can furnish you with proof of what I've said?"

"Then I still won't believe it, because it's nonsense."

He lowers his gaze. At first I think he regrets what he's said, but then I realize… no, he's only amused. "As you wish, Nanjo-san. Perhaps it would be best if I took my leave of you for the time being, mm? You have had a trying day."

He gathers his bag of medical supplies, sets his book inside it as well. I can only watch him, to make sure he leaves nothing of himself behind.

(Crossposted to deadly_passions)

FIC: Anesthesia (4/?)

Sun, 10 Oct 2004 04:07:41 GMT

Title: Anesthesia
Author: Falstaff
Genre: Crossover (With Zetsuai/Bronze)
Characters: Muraki, Nanjo Hirose
Comments: Spoilers for Bronze Vol 6.
Status: 4/?

Anesthesia ~ Chapter 4

"Really, Nanjo-san, you're going to have to try to stop squirming."

When a man like Muraki comes at you with a sharp object, it becomes very difficult to keep still. When you've been stripped of half your clothes, and you're flat on your back in bed with him kneeling over you, one hand on your shoulder to pin you in place… Well, it doesn't help matters much.

"I don't squirm. You're the one who wouldn't give me the painkillers I asked for."

The wad of kitchen towels he has clamped over the hole in my side is starting to stain red. He holds it with one hand, threads a needle with the other and with his teeth. Nearby, an IV trails blood into the bend of my arm, and my veins suck at it hungrily. "I did give you painkillers. Any more right now would be lethal."

"I told you, I have a very high tolerance."

"If that's the way you feel about it," he mutters, "perhaps I could just take you to the hospital. There, at least, they'd have proper equipment."

"No," I say, and it's impossible to keep my voice from rising. "Here… is just fine. I don't want to go to the hospital. I…"

"I know," he says. "I know. You want it kept out of the papers. I think you just enjoy remaining an enigma." His eyes flick up to mine. "Or else you were just looking for an excuse to spend the evening with me, alone in your bedroom."

That's not funny…

"I don't know what you're so worried about." My eyes follow his hand as he lifts the threaded needle, holds it over a candle flame to sterilize it. "If I die, you won't be held responsible."

His expression softens a little, and he surprises me once again: he has a smile that's not completely hideous. "What are you smirking about?" I say. "I didn't say I was going to die, you know."

His smile disappears the instant he becomes conscious of its existence. They call that psychology of awareness. They call what I have a lateral puncture wound to the abdomen. They call it massive blood loss. They call it… just what I deserve.

And Muraki says, "Don't bite your tongue." Then he lifts the kitchen towels away.

A little mouthful of blood spits out of the wound, splattering the white bed sheets, the white wall, like a field of roses in bloom.

"Fuck! Muraki!"

"Calm down." He lowers the needle. I've never had stitches before, and so I'm not sure what I expected. A pinch, I suppose, a little nip.

But what it is feels more like a pulse of hot electricity as the needle goes in, agony so intense you must be able to see it. Snaking red and white lightning under my skin, racing from my hip up to my shoulder. And then he pulls the thread tight, and I have to remind myself that there really is no way I can be turned inside out through a hole in my side, no matter how much it feels like that's what he's trying to do to me.

"Breathe," he says, as he drives the needle in again.

Pain like this affects the way you think. In my mind, I can hear myself say very clearly, 'Muraki, can you perhaps tell me what has become of my youngest brother?'

But what comes out of my mouth sounds more like, "Muraki… what? Koji… please… Goddamnit!"

He pauses in his work, the point of the needle jutting out of my side like the head of a sea monster on an ancient map. He doesn't answer right away, but maybe he doesn't need to.

"Is he dead?" My voice is hoarse, as though holding in my cries did as much damage as letting them all out would have. "If he's dead… you can tell me. I saw what he did, and so I know better than to hope otherwise. I've been expecting…"

"Nanjo-san." He says my name sharply, as though to wake me from a dream. As though I were only sleeping… "No. He's not dead." Then he sighs. "Not that I know of. He's just… gone."

"Gone?" I say it again, to be sure my foggy misfiring mind isn't just interpreting that word wrong. "What do you mean? Muraki, for God's sake, he…"

"I know." He nods. "I saw the blood. But he is still not here."

I hear myself laugh, as though from a long way off. "He's a beast. That little fucking monster…" And as he slides the needle in again, I surrender a little shivering hiss of breath.

This time, he doesn't stop what he's doing, and he doesn't look up, but he reaches to comb the fingers of one hand through my hair. "I'm halfway done. My apologies, if it hurts."

"It's fine." It's not as though I haven't been hurt before, after all. Then, before he can pull his hand away, I reach up to pin it against the side of my face. I'm not quite sure why; perhaps because he's already seen so much of me, and it doesn't seem worth it to keep anything now. Later… I'll just tell him I couldn't think clearly. "Koji…" I say. Muraki's skin is usually cool to the touch, but this time it's like ice. "My brother isn't mad. He's just… angry. It's not the same."

"I know." I can't see his eyes, but I don't need to, to understand exactly what he's talking about. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Me?" I can feel my hold on his hand go slack, and I let it fall. "You think I would try to kill my own brother?"

He shrugs. "Is that so strange?"

"I'm trying to protect him." But I've said that so many times, it's like a declaration of love; it's lost all its meaning. "Even… from himself."

"I see."

"No, you don't." I'm telling him things I never thought I would say to anyone. Perhaps I want him to ruin me. He could, with what he knows, and I think he would if he thought it might be amusing.

God, my father used to say, just watches and kills us when we get boring.

Contrary to what he might think, Muraki is no god. But I've told him things I couldn't tell Akihito, and I couldn’t tell Kaoruko, and I certainly couldn't tell Kurauchi…

And my throat aches, dryly, to tell him more.

"Listen," I say.

"Later," he replies. "When I'm finished."

"No." I'd touch his hand to still it, but I don't really want him to stop. I am still bleeding, after all. The truth… isn't worth dying for. Not this truth. "Listen."

He glances up, and there's something faint behind the cold steel of his eye. "Then speak, Nanjo-san. And I'll listen."

How strange, that it comes as a relief to hear him say that. My head falls back against the pillows, and I'm still beneath his hands. It's not as difficult as I had thought it would be.

"We were younger…" And I have to stop myself to laugh. Bitter laughter, like cheap wine or aspirin when you let it dissolve in your mouth.

He'll laugh, too, before I'm done.

"If he were here, I could keep him safe. None of us… asked to be born into this fucked-up family."

Muraki glances up at that, and I don't care. However bad I look to him right now, it's not even a fraction of how I feel and I'll consider that a victory. I want to stop, but I keep talking, as though my lips are the only thing the morphine has numbed.

"He took everything. Everything… that should have been mine, and all I thought was that I'd take something that was his. And he was supposed to come back, then."

"Nanjo-san." He sighs, shaking his head. "I apologize. I don't understand what you mean."

"You don't need to. Just tell me…"

Tell me I had no other choice, that's what I want to say. I want to say, Koji is keeping a lover, and that lover is preventing him from returning home, where he belongs. And all I wanted was to warn that boy, Izumi, not to get involved. That was what I wanted, and what I didn't want… was for his voice to make me shiver the way it did. For the taste of his mouth and of his skin to invade me the way it has, like a slow poison in the blood.

"Just tell me… Do you think it's that you go to Hell for the things you do? Or for the things you don't?"

He's quiet for a moment, and his gaze searches mine. He won't find anything there. My eyes are silver, like mirrors and like his eyes. We will do nothing but reflect lies back at each other, for all eternity.

"Do you mean me, personally? Or was that the collective you?"

I open my mouth to respond, but never get a chance to. He pulls the stitches in my side tight, and all that comes out is startled little yelp. He ties the thread off, cuts it with a scalpel. And he smiles, faintly, like a wisp of smoke. "It's going to leave a scar."

"What doesn't?"

"Indeed." His fingers flick through my hair, lifting it out of my eyes. "You look dreadful. I'm nearly done." From somewhere next to the bed, he lifts a brown vial. When he uncaps it, I smell the bitterness of iodine.

"It's going to hurt," he says.

"I can imagine," I reply.

The hand on my hair grows tight all at once, holding me still as his mouth finds mine. His lips are so familiar now that I don't bother fighting. I can learn to live with a lot of things; certainly, with these cold, intermittent kisses…

And then, he upends the bottle of iodine over the fresh stitches.

The pain isn't immediate, and that only makes it worse. I have time to tense up, wind tight like the driver of a crashing car… and then a flash fire of agony spreads out of the hole in my side. Muraki closes his eyes, keeps his mouth pressed to mine and smothers the soft cries as they spill from my lips. He drinks them, like a vampire.

When the searing heat has faded enough that I feel as though I could regain some dignity, Muraki pushes back to his knees.

"Bastard…" My voice is quiet, and dry as a desert by night.

"That difficult part is over, Nanjo-san," he says as he tapes gauze over the stitches. "Now, all you need to do is rest."

I hear myself murmur, "I'm tired…" But I'm not sure if that's supposed to be an agreement. "Will you stay here, while I'm asleep?"

"That… will cost you overtime."

"And how much is overtime."

He smiles. "More than I'm worth."

And I realize too late that the sheets beneath me are soaked in blood, and that when I open my eyes next it will be dried, congealed blood, which will most certainly be an unpleasant thing to wake to.

And, "Shit…" is all I have time to say, before letting myself be pulled down, into darkness.

(Crossposted to deadly_passions)

MWA HA HA HA! Intro to me... he he he... be4warned!

Wed, 06 Oct 2004 12:59:37 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: Neko-Chan, Ookami Neko, WolfKat, ... prety much anything you want ^^|
Website: T-T unfortunately none. *sigh*
Your fandoms: he he he... Saiyuki, Dragon Knights, Fake, Demon Diaries, X/1999, Gravitaion, Wiess, Yami No Matsuea, ect...ect...ect...
Do you wear glasses: Hai ^^ and they're cute ^^
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: MURAKI! -^^- and Hakkai if he counts ^~
Who has the sexiest frames:... -^^- Muraki... and ... the chick from X... with the beast (T-T can never remember her name)

Konichiwa *bow* ^^ Neko-Chan here. -^^- hmmm. this looks like a happy place with fun death and destruction ^^ yay. *hearts* P.S... please excuse my spelling. I really can't spell T-T. Arigato *bow* I hope I can find something to contribute! ^^

Obligatory introduction

Sun, 03 Oct 2004 09:52:51 GMT

Name or pseudonym you go by: lopt
Website: http://asgard.250free.com Sorry for the abscense of formatting.
Your fandoms: active - 'Saint Seiya'; inactive - X, Tokyo Babylon, Rayearth, Revolutionary Girl Utena, Discworld, etc, etc, and more etc...
Do you wear glasses: yep.
Favorite Bad Man (or Woman) in Glasses: ~~Bill Gates,~~ Fuuma Monou. I'm also fond of Eudial of 'Witches 5' from 'Sailor Moon S'. :)
Who has the sexiest frames: Fuuma Monou in vol. 16

FIC: Anesthesia (3/?)

Thu, 30 Sep 2004 18:41:11 GMT

Title: Anesthesia
Author: Falstaff
Genre: Crossover (With Zetsuai/Bronze)
Characters: Muraki, Nanjo Hirose
Comments: The song Hirose's thinking of is Shivers, by Nick Cave.
Status: 3/?

Anesthesia ~ Chapter 3

It's an hour past midnight when I open my eyes.

I've slept, but only a bit. The sound of footsteps in the hallway is very loud in the place, back here in the traditional rooms where the walls are made of paper. The idea, I believe, is that if one drinks enough, one will stop hearing it.

But I've drunk only sparingly. Alcohol doesn't sit well on a stomach full of pills.

They didn't have Imitrex back when Kokakurou was built. They didn't even have Ibuprofen. But the world has moved on. It always does.

The girl I was with is gone now. Her name was Murasaki, a fact I remember not because I have any attachment to her, not even because it was so obviously a pseudonym as whores do not have names with such character. Only because I was taught early on that names could be powerful weapons in the right hands. She was here before I closed my eyes, because that's what the girls here do. They wait for you to sleep.

It's meant as a consideration, but it only makes things painful.

The muscles in the small of my back ache from making love… Pardon me, from fucking. From pounding her through the futon while she clawed at my back and stifled little cries against my shoulder. I wanted it over quick, and so I closed my eyes and thought about money and fast cars and how damn good my hair must have looked.

That was, if I recall, what did the trick, so to speak.

She even took the condom with her when she left, I notice. I had dropped into the ashtray beside the futon. I remember liking the way it ruined the quaint charm of this place.

Murasaki told me she was clean; I didn't need to wear one.

I told her she was a filthy little whore and I didn't trust her. I told her she had already lied to me about her name and about her age, and that she was probably half-eaten alive by syphilis. But I think what I really meant to tell her was that I like the feeling of rubber.

I think, if I could have, I would have put on latex gloves before cupping her lovely breasts.

It smells like sex in here.

My clothes are folded neatly on a low table, and I shake them out and pull them on again. Suit, shirt, tie, vest, trench coat… I'm overdressed for a cigarette break, but it makes me the same inky black of Kokakurou's gardens at night.

I put on my watch, my cufflinks… but I hesitate before I reach for the wedding ring. Against the dark tabletop, it makes a perfect little circle of platinum. A zero. Meaningless and empty.

When I slide back the panel and step into the hall, it's at the same moment that Kurauchi is leaving the room beside mine. He's left his suit coat somewhere in the shadows behind him, and his tie is loose at the throat. I must have woken him from a very sound sleep.

"It's all right." I pat the coat pocket over my heart. "I just want a cigarette."

"I'll come with you."

"You don't smoke."

"Yes, but…" His expression does something I can't quite make out in the darkness. "For company."

"Protection, you mean?" I say.

"No…" He shakes his head, only once. "Hirose-sama…"

"Unnecessary." I turn on my heels. "Go back to bed."

The night air isn't so cold that it burns, nor is the wind so strong that it blows out my match before I can touch it to the end of my cigarette. The gardens here always smell as though it's just rained, and I wonder if it's something that Mibu-san planned. I would not put it past him. He's clever, that man, and exacting as a knife.

At least… that's what they say.

And what, then, am I to make of the sound of slow footsteps on the dirt path? What indeed, when it's long past the time when the last patron should have retired to his room and I should have these gardens to myself?

I turn slowly, and the sound of footsteps grinds to a halt.

"Nanjo-san?" says a voice so unpleasantly familiar that I bite down on my cigarette, almost hard enough to shear the filter off.

It's not until he laughs, that I finish the job. And the cigarette slips away, spiraling to the ground less like a shooting star and more like a 747 with three engines in flames. It winks at me once, there amidst the stones of the path, and then goes out.

"What a surprise, meeting you here," he says in the voice the snake uses to lure its prey closer… but I have no intention of being eaten alive "Are you enjoying the accommodations?"

I know I ought to just leave, but I've already made the mistake of meeting that slate gray eye – the only one he lets me see through his hair – and I'm frozen to the spot. The chill in his gaze has turned to ice in my blood.

Hypnosis is my first thought. My next is, Don't be stupid, Hirose.

"Boring," I say. "I find them… insufferably boring."

"Oh?" A silver eyebrow twitches. "Then why are you here?"

"Because it is expected of me."

"The burden of wealth, I see." He makes two cigarettes appear in his right hand. Keeps one for himself, offers the other to me.

Much to my annoyance, I realize I can smell the faint spice of his aftershave when I pluck the cigarette from between his fingers.

"Muraki… you need to leave."

It's a ridiculous thing to say, because he's already swaying closer so he can hold a silver lighter to the tip of my cigarette. The hem of his coat brushes fleetingly against my ankle, and the flame casts a photonegative of shadows over his face.

"Do I?" he says. But he doesn't. "My apologies."

His words send clouds of smoke into the night air. "It came as quite a relief to hear that your brother has made a recovery. I did say… it would take a miracle, didn't I?"

"I never believed you, though. Koji is stronger than you can imagine."

"Or perhaps he is just luckier?" Muraki sighs.

"No. He's most certainly not lucky at all."

"A shame," Muraki says, but he's looking up at the moon. "A shame… about your father, as well. He has finally passed on."

"He was never very lucky, either."

Muraki just shrugs. "The king is dead. Long live the king."

A silence then, one long enough for me to realize that, if he kisses me again right now, his mouth will taste pleasantly of tobacco and toothpaste, cinnamon and bonfires. My own, however, will only taste of the whore I've just used.

If he kisses me again, in this garden that always smells of fresh rain, under this moon so heavy on the horizon that it looks like a plaster model, I will most likely let him, I realize. If he comes toward me, dressed in white like a wraith, I'll let him tangle his hands in my hair to pull me down. I'll let him push himself against me, so close that I can feel the muscles in his stomach winding tight with arousal.

And after he kisses me… Well, I haven't thought that far ahead.

"Shall I be honest with you?" he asks abruptly.

Though I very much doubt that he will be, and perhaps that he even can be, I nod. "I think I would like that very much, Doctor."

And so he steps closer, letting his cigarette fall behind him like the lives he leaves broken in his wake. "Hospital work… does not suit me," he says as he draws close. "I need a more specialized sort of employment."

"What do you expect me to do about that?" I hold my ground as he comes to me, and I'm not sure why. I know already that he has no bluff to call.

"If I am not mistaken, Nanjo-san, you are in need of someone who can keep secrets." He smiles without showing any teeth. "And I am quite skilled at that. My work at present… will soon begin to tire me."

But I know he's already tired, for I've noticed the dark circles under his eyes from too many sleepless nights. He tries to cover them with makeup, like a woman would, and in a few years, he'll be using the same stuff to cover the faint scars left by a facelift.

Because sensuality is just another weapon to him, another gun in his arsenal. And while his mind is sharp as a scalpel, his beauty he wields like a blunt object. He uses it to make cracks in the surface, and only after that can he use his finer tools to widen the gaps.

He's so vain that he's almost a mirror. Like the song says.

"Am I to understand that… you're asking for a job?" I blow a breath of smoke in his direction, and for a few seconds it serves as a shield.

"I assure you, I am skilled in many things. Not just being discreet."

There's a very slight chance that he's not lying. He has shown discretion so far. So far, I have not had to dispel any nasty rumors that, three months ago, this man knelt between my legs and his mouth soaked all the resistance out of me.

So far, no one knows that I almost let him…

"Your credentials speak well for you," I say. "You graduated first in your class from Shion University."

He smiles, as though pleased. "You looked me up."

"I did."

"Just as well." And his smile does not waver. "I looked you up as well."

I'm not particularly worried about that. The worst he could have found about me would be things he already knows.

"Perhaps," he says. "This means we can come to an understanding."

The smoke screen between us is gone, and I have forgotten to conjure another. He steps forward again, so close that, when he speaks, I can feel the heat of each word on my throat.

"Perhaps it does," I say.

And, like the cigarettes before, a business card appears in his hand. He reaches up, taps the corner once against my lips, and follows it with a kiss. A searing, wet kiss that I've been expecting all night. Expecting it back in my room while Murasaki's nails carved eight crescent moons into the backs of my shoulders. Expecting it even while I knelt on the tatami, sipping bitter tea and listening to Takatori-san and Kawabata-san talk politics.

His lips leave mine, and I feel my body wind up, tensing in anticipation of his touch.

But his graceful pickpocket fingers only slip the card into the inside pocket of my coat. He must feel the little bottle of pills there, yet he doesn't seem to care.

And, it's strange, but I don't seem to care either.

"My cell phone number is on there," he whispers. It's odd, to hear him conduct business as though it's pillow talk. "Call me any time this week."

He steps back, turning away, and I take the card out and look at it. Numbly, I realize that the words – 'Muraki Kazutaka', in a sweeping black script - have a meaning. Something more than a turned back and a coat that sounds like the beating of white wings, growing distant as he walks away.

"Muraki…"

He glances back, and that cool smile has returned. "Yes? Was there something else you wanted?"

I take a deep breath, and when I exhale it scatters the last of his kiss from my lips like ashes. "Is this a Tokyo number?"

For a moment, his smile wavers, and when it returns there's something different about it. It's shakier, as though I've found something faulty in the foundation. "Yes. How forgetful of me. I should have written it down."

He turns away again, and I don't know if he looks back, because I don't watch him leave.

(Crossposted to deadly_passions)