Dangerous Play

By: scarecrowslady

folder J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop › D

Rating: Adult +

Chapters: 20

Views: 2,606

Reviews: 4

Recommended: 0

Currently Reading: 0

Category: J-Rock/J-Pop & K-Pop › D

Rating: Adult +

Chapters: 20

Views: 2,606

Reviews: 4

Recommended: 0

Currently Reading: 0

Disclaimer: Disclaimer: This is a piece of fiction. Ergo: not real or factual. I do not know D (or any other jrock band) and I am not gaining profit from this!

Stop to Think

I do not own the lyrics "Hunger" by ASP. Nor do I profit from using this song for my chapter titles. This is not real. It's fanfiction. And it's for free. Enjoy~

Dangerous Play

Chapter 17: Bewildered

"All you lovely children stand to feel and stop to think... Thank God for your bewilderment and force your eyes to blink"

There comes a time when the drug loses its edge. When even those familiar doors of escape are closed to you. The senses are dulled, the excitement is lost – and your need for fulfilment and control is unsatisfied.

Kisaki, watching Asagi pose in front of the camera for another photo-shoot, wondered what had happened to the world – for it to be so grey. Was it Asagi's silence? The aloof stance? The withdrawn air which Asagi had drawn around himself was rather off-putting.

A part of him wondered if it was his fault. After that night, Kisaki felt that perhaps he had taken Asagi to a place the vocalist had never wanted explore. The edge had felt glorious for the bassist – but Asagi had not volunteered his feelings on the matter. As the boss of Syndrome, Kisaki knew he could have pressed the issue, but was aware that Asagi would only retreat further within himself.

Asagi has weapons, Kisaki knew. Although he rarely uses them. His eyes... his body... the threat of competition... and that air of untouchable-ness... I pushed him into a corner – and he must think that Since he has fallen to the depths, there is no where else to go...

Kisaki sighed. He hadn't meant it to end like this.

For anything to end like this.

He could see it – the end, as it were. Already, Kisaki had planned how he would wind down the band. It had been a good run, he supposed, but in the end, it couldn't last. This wasn't the group which would take him to the top.

As before, all those stresses had returned – and he wondered if they would haunt him for the rest of his life. Asagi had seemed to be the answer...

But perhaps not. Perhaps... I will have to let him go... And yet... a part of me wants to prolong the struggle...

A troubling thought.

-0-0-0-

“Asagi,” Ruiza asked. “Wanna go out to karaoke tonight?”

“Karaoke? Who's going?”

“Sin, Shion, of course... and a few others from the club I like to hang out in,” Ruiza nodded, encouraged by the cheer on Asagi's normally withdrawn face.

“Sounds like fun,” Asagi paused. “I think I'd like to –“

“Stay home,” Kisaki ended Asagi's sentence as he bustled into the room. “I don't feel like going out.”

Asagi's face shifted into a neutral mask as he turned away to grab his mike.

“I felt like going out tonight,” Asagi said softly.

“Well, I don't.”

“I hardly ever get to go out. What am I? A prisoner?”

Kisaki stared Asagi down for a moment.

“Fine. Go out and sing – but don't come back home tonight.”

A warning.

“Whatever,” shrugged Asagi. “I'll see how I feel at the end of the day.”

“Who knows... we might end up all fagged as hell,” Sin added, trying to lighten up the suddenly tense atmosphere.

It's rather awkward, to say the least, Ruiza sighed, shifting the guitar as he settled into another practice session. But it's good to see that Asagi is standing his ground for the first time in a long time.

Asagi grabbed his music sheets and slipped to his spot. For the first time, he hated practice session, the small room – the stares which seemed to force themselves down on his neck. Generally, Asagi could understand some of the sensitivities of a crowd, but the heaviness surrounding him was unmistakable. Already the vocalist could feel a headache coming on.

He sighed and tried not to look too depressed. Such kinds of attitudes could affect practice negatively...

It's my chance to try my hardest. To be professional... at all odds.

At all costs...

-0-0-0-

Ruiza wasn't happy at all. Not in the slightest. As he watched his friends become progressively more drunk, the electric guitarist wondered when the time would come. When Kisaki would finally spout the pathetic goodbyes – when the band would fold under. Syndrome's death was eminent. He thought.

He hoped.

Not just for my sake, but for his as well... Ruiza sighed, thinking on Asagi – who had opted out for the evening after all. This is pathetic, though. Even if we were to disband what would happen to us all? Would we be so useless as to give up on life in general and never improve ourselves? Could we not from the ashes of this whole endeavour build something better?

Ruiza leaned back on the sofa and groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. Just remembering Asagi and his powerful voice frustrated him. He could see a future there – something that was threatened by Kisaki's strictures and love of destruction. Making music with Asagi – freed from restrictions – that would seem the best.

I would love to work with his music.... For all time...

-0-0-0-

Not so far from Osaka, in the large city of Tokyo, a bright young singer-guitarist stared up at the moon and wondered at the glory of it. It was white and serene – hovering like a pure disc in the sky – soaring above the roar of the city. As much as he loved cars and the urban life, the moon spoke to him of times past, history forgotten...

How many samurai stared up at this kind of moon before sacrificing their lives for this country, he wondered. How many times has this land see such a moon rise?

It fitted his more melancholic mood. Once again, he had frequented the night club in hopes of finding that one time fling he had so much enjoyed. He remembered the soft skin with fondness – not only the skin, but the light voice.

Yes, the sex had been fantastic.

But it wasn't just the sex which had burned itself so deeply in his mind. Despite his pragmatic nature when it came to finding satisfaction, the musician had become enamoured with his one-time fuck buddy. Such a word did not seem applicable to the whole encounter. Time had given the whole meeting less superficial meanings.

It surprised him, this growing desire. Even if it was only to talk with that shy man – to discover who had destroyed his self-confidence. He had so many questions. Who had deprived him in such a way – that there would be surprise at generosity within sex? That there would be equality...

Such a person defied understanding for a free spirit like him. It piqued his interest.

So he had searched – whenever he had the free time, he looked.

But the serene beauty, like the moon, seemed unreachable.

-0-0-0-

That night, Asagi found himself once again, huddling on the chair of his balcony, feeling even more miserable than usual. Cuddling Donna helped a bit – but not much. Perhaps it was because the night air was so gentle and the moon so full – it seemed like the kind of evening one should enjoy with one's lover. It was the kind of time he would have like to lie with his beloved and whisper sweet nothings to. Instead, he sat there – ass aching, welts slowly swelling on his back and buttocks.

There were other bruises – unseen to the air – wounds laid open by the lash of Kisaki's words. For some reason, the bassist had found some kind of satisfaction from the hurt on Asagi's face – as the vocalist's looks, tastes, desires and dreams were laid bare before a cynical eye.

“You think that you are going to get married to some beautiful, talented woman and live happily ever after?”

Perhaps, even worse than Kisaki's self-satisfying sex. Worse than the spatter of Kisaki's cum on Asagi's thighs. By the end of Kisaki's rant, Asagi almost welcomed the feel of the bassist's belt on his skin. It seemed like a fitting punishment for someone who had allowed himself to be violated – and enjoy it.

But it's over... for now...

Small comfort. Behind him, the apartment lay empty. For many, the silence of one's home would feel oppressive – but for the vocalist, it meant that he was at last alone. If only alone to dwell on his iniquities.

Extending his hand, Asagi drew out his favourite book of all time from underneath a pillow. Flipping listless through the worn pages, he wondered what kind of hypocrite could find solace in the sacred words. It was a comforting feeling though – the familiar texture of the covers. As comforting as Donna's soft fur. It fell open easily in the middle – and his tired eyes, adjusting to the dim lighting of the closed balcony, fell on a underlined piece of text:

“Create in me a clean heart...”

Leaning back, Asagi's sigh ended with more of a sob.

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