Black Heart

By Xara

Fandom: Gravitation

Rating: NC-17

Summery: Fame can be a terrible thing… Songfic for Medea

Disclaimer: Gravitation is not mine. Black Black Heart is not mine. Gravi is Maki Murakami's. Black Black Heart is David Usher's. Both are used without permission. Sue me and all you get is a big pile of nothing. And it wont even be interesting nothing.

***

One of the first things I bought when I had enough money not to have to worry about it anymore was this car. Its beautiful, a sleek and sexy Mercedes S500, so quiet you barely know that the engine's on, and the stereo alone cost over three thousand dollars. Yuki says it's ironic that the only quiet thing I own is my car, and I usually pout and then we have wild sex, because there are very few things Yuki and I do that doesn't lead to sex. Yuki says it's my teenage libido and he only does it to shut me up, and maybe he's right. But Yuki isn't here, and without a sensual lover, I have to have something else. Plus, being almost twenty, I don't want to be associated with who I used to be, a loud, sexy temperamental teenager. Now I'm getting older, I want to be rebellious, sexy and unpredictable. It just sounds better.

And I'm not so innocent anymore. Would you expect me to be? I've had a lover like Yuki for almost 3 years, and you lose your innocence pretty damn quick after about a month of him. I've ditched the clashing clothes, and toned down the pink hair. I'll never be able to lose it, but its there, interspersed with black and purple, a remnant of my beginnings as Japan's most loved singer. I love it. I love the fame. I love the fact that I have so much money I can do whatever I want, and have anyone I want. And I shall. I sing because its what I love, and I sleep with Yuki because I love him. But Yuki is getting old too. He's predictable, and it's starting to bore me. And after last night's phone call, I've realised that I don't need him to satisfy me. Someone who's haunted my dreams for a million years, whose name is always on my lips if I'm asked who I would like to fuck most in the world. It never really occurred to me to make a move, but then I was called last night by an incredibly aroused voice who told me exactly what he'd like to do to me, every kinky thing, where his tongue would be, how fast, how slow, how hard. It was breathtaking that anyone would call me up and tell me this. And giving who it was, I had to take the chance. I had to have this little last fling, after so many meaningless ones while Yuki's been away on book tours and movie signings and all that other crap that he does. Does that shock you? I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm a whole lot better.

My silent car and I slip through the heaving Tokyo traffic, Its blackened windows hiding my face from the everyday people wandering along the pavement looking for the three things we humans need, a meal, a distraction and a fuck. The three things that drive the human race. Right now, I need two of those.

I flip on the stereo, press a random CD, and the perfect evening driving song comes on, as the lights change and I glide forward, singing under my breath.

Something ugly this way comes.

I turn a corner, my eyes searching for the tell tale landmarks of my target neighbourhood

From my fingers, sliding inside

Another junction, another wait. I flick open my phone. Five minutes past. Damn, I'm already late.

All this blessings all these burns

I'm godless underneath your covers

The lights change, as does the scenery. This is definitely the area for people looking for a mindless fuck. Fitting that mine lives around here, a stones throw from the brothels and kinky massage parlours. I smirk and sight the tall apartment block, and its penthouse with the lights on, and a dark figure standing in the window, watching the world go by, like he's had to for so many years.

Black black heart

But would you offer more

Would you make it easier

On me

To satisfy

I'm on fire

Rotting to the core

Eating all your kings and queens

All your sex and your diamonds

I park outside, and shuffle inside, the biting cold of the late evening nipping at my exposed skin. The door is open for me, and I step through, entering the elevator with mounting trepidation. I feel like I'm doing something wrong and yet, I love this feeling. It gives sex a new meaning. Would I get found out? Would I change my mind about being in love with Yuki?

The lift stops, and I step out. There is only one door, unmarked. The penthouse, where the sexiest man I know lives.

I pause here. I know that something inside me is telling me that I shouldn't do it, that I shouldn't go and indulge myself for once. Ok, I indulge myself a lot more than I should, whenever I feel like it more likely, with whoever I want, whether it be Hiro or some passer-by in a dark and dank alleyway, or a crazed fanboy backstage at a concert. I love sex. I love the physical loss of control but the mental gain. I don't care about anything then, not about the album or the band or the fact that were doing it on Yuki's desk/in an alleyway/on the metro/dangerously near Hiro's favourite guitar. I love danger and threat and I like it dirty and hard and as kinky as they come. I lead a dangerous and glamorous lifestyle that will probably come and bite me in the ass, maybe literally, later in life.

I reach to turn the door handle, but before I can, the door is opened and I find myself staring into the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. Only one man could have those eyes, and he's the not one I'm here to meet. I want Ryuichi. Sakuma Ryuichi. The man staring at me is not him. The face is too familiar, too associated with my life. My face breaks into a slow grin of realisation, and Tatsuha's demonic face smirks back at me. We both know exactly why were here.

I spot Ryuichi a few seconds later, still standing against the full windows, staring out at the traffic. The apartment is dark save a few candles giving a flickering, haunting light, and the starlight for you romantics, city light for the realists. The only stars tonight are in this room.

No pleasantries, no small talk. Just how I like it. I shut the door and immediately I'm pinned against it, Tatsuha still maniacally grinning as he swoops in and kisses me, open mouthed and ferocious like he really wants to eat me. Not that I would mind, but he's not who I'm here to see. My eyes slide open and I can see now what he's doing. Ryuichi has turned around, and is watching us. His eyes bore into my skin, and I finally realise why Tatsuha's here.

I said that I wasn't as innocent as I used to be, but I can tell you this. Sakuma Ryuichi is defiantly not as innocent as he seems. You may think of him as this happy-go-lucky man who turns into a devil on stage, but is never without his Kumagorou or his happy smile. You may think that. And in part, it's true. But when Ryu-san is away from his millions of admirers and the judging eye of the public, in a bedroom with his partner, he's not sweet. The word nasty comes to mind, but in the strange sexual practices way rather than the mean way. Ryuichi's sexual tastes run parallel with mine, voyeurism, exhibition, bondage…all the good stuff that every self respecting sex addict loves and thrives on. I love when he's like this, and usually, I would know what to expect, but the added element of my lover's sexy brother adds another flair of excitement. Obviously, we're going to give Ryuichi a little peek show.

Tatsuha's hands are amazing things, long and tapered and amazing at getting round the tightest of leather show pants, undoing as many buckles and straps that adorn most of the seduction clothing that I own. Within minutes my pants are pooled around my ankles, and I have one leg draped over his shoulder, and his talented mouth and tongue are wrapped round my cock sending me to heaven and back. The straightforwardness of this excites me more. No waiting, no postponing, no teasing, just hard and raw, every moan and action amplified so that Ryuichi can catch it, all the way on the other side of the living room. This show is solely for him, but I have already guessed Tatsuha's plan to get me out of the picture: blow me so hard and so well that I wont need Ryu to do all the things he promised me over the phone, so that he can have all the things that he's always wanted. He doesn't fool me, since I know that Tatsuha has had his wish more times than I could count.

But Tatsuha's little plan seems to be working, and soon I've started screaming and moaning loudly with pleasure, rolling my head around, practically screaming Ryuichi's name. But just before Tatsuha really does take me further than I can allow him to go, I shout and push him off me, grabbing a handful of loose shirt and pull him back up to eye level, or at least as close to eye level as I can get with my shoes off. My mouth descends on his quickly again, and I kiss him hard and thoroughly, relishing and cleaning the taste of my bitter pre cum from his mouth. I drop to my knees, without wasting a look on Tatsuha, and swallow him to the hilt. It doesn't take long until he's almost completely gone, and I can feel the tip of his cock growing harder and dripping copiously into my mouth. But my eyes are open and none of this is registering, as I'm sucking off Tatsuha while at the same time my eyes are locked with Ryuichi's over the other side of the room, his blue eyes boring into my skull, and I can sense almost every single emotion filling the room from our shouting minds. Its delicious, the lust is clouding my brain and the danger is almost godless. I'm on fire, and yet I'm rotting to the core. Its wonderful yet I know that what I'm doing is wrong, and its because its wrong that I do it. Tatsuha…I feel that he doesn't understand these things as Ryuichi and I do. He is too young; he knows nothing of what we feel.

He has to go.

I up the speed, humming in the back of my throat, and predictably, he comes fast and loud, screaming my name. Now, that I wasn't expecting. Stupid child, he is too much like me at that age, when sex was a wondrous thing and everything was new and even the simplest moves were kinky as…well, fuck.

I swallow, resisting the urge to spit, not out of the need to, just out of insult to Tatsuha. My god, I'm acting like too much of a bitch. But frankly, I don't think he deserves to have the pleasure of servicing Ryuichi-sama. He doesn't appreciate the delicate balance of power; he wants everything to be like it is in his brother's books, all soft caresses, fragile looks. And he wants to dominate. Oh, the poor deluded child. May he one day find out what sex is really like. But not tonight. I'm not in the mood to take my lovers brother and show him everything I know.

I get to my feet, sniggering slightly to myself, and turn around to face Ryu-sama. Except that he isn't there. A sidelong glance at Tatsuha shows that he really isn't up for much more tonight. His eyes flicker open and my heart hardens, and I snap at him, "you aren't needed anymore tonight", and with a final glare I stalk to find my master.

I find him, predictably, in his bedroom. I must tell you about that first, since it's a strange place if you've never seen it. The room itself is large, and sits on the corner of the building, with full-length windows all around that don't open. The remaining walls are strange, one is covered in shards of broken mirror, shattered pieces of porcelain and splinters of glass…its surreal and looking into it is like seeing a million images curving round. The other wall is dominated by Ryuichi's large cast iron bed. It was custom made, and I know this because there are very few beds in the world with built in clasps for chains and handcuffs, and not many beds that are made to hold up to 4 people. At the moment though, it only holds one very naked, and very aroused Sakuma Ryuichi, chained to the bed by the chain attached to the matt leather collar.

Ryu-sama loves to dominate, although I think that its because his entire life has been dominated by someone, Tohma especially, who looks so damn innocent but is as twisted as hell when you get "close" to him, but I wont say any more about that.

Time has raped Ryu-sama. He never had a chance at being anyone but Sakuma Ryuichi, the boyishly beautiful vocalist. He had to live a fantasy set out by everyone, especially Tohma. It was a blessing, but it came at a price. He had no power for so long, twisted and compressed and pressurised to be the best he could be, that this side of him I'm sure is the real one, the real, nasty, semi-evil with a black, jaded heart. He takes power where he finds it, and he has power over me.

He beckons with a long finger, and I move towards him, stripping off all my outer layer, physically and mentally, so that by the time I am below him I am raw and open in ever sense of the word. My hands are bound with soft leather bracelets, allowing movement but also not. Everything with Ryu-sama is a metaphor, he is bound by the collar, yet has supreme power over me, who is bound is a much less harsh way. His every movement moves the bed in a surreal way. I hate waterbeds, for the pure and selfish reason that I associate them with Yuki, and with the time that I found out that stiletto boots and waterbeds don't mix. The aquatic movement of the bed is horrible, raising questions in my head of why I do this. For the rush? The danger? For the glory of being another orifice for Ryu-sama to use for his own pleasure, to get the pleasure from him, to be controlled, to learn so one day I can emulate him when he is old and no longer needs this?

Sleeping…no, I shouldn't use that word. I sleep with Yuki. I have sex with Hiro. I get fucked by Ryu-sama. That is the balance of power. Whatever it is, it is a holy experience for me, and like the temple and holy acts, rules are observed, though never openly spoken. There is no kissing, no declarations of love, no pain and no regrets. This is an act of convenience, and forever will be. I'm sure that Ryu-sama gets off on the fact that I try to be the younger version of himself…just think how amazing it would be to fuck your younger self. Forget that I am Shindou Shuuichi, sexually extravagant at the same age where Ryu-sama himself was bumbling and inexperienced, and where I am NG's biggest international export, when then he barely had a few singles out. But the little things don't really matter. Physically I am a younger, more delicate version of Ryu-sama, and that is what excites me is that he knows it too.

I am presented with my second cock of the night, and I take it gracefully. This act is like bread and wine to me. If I had to request a last meal I would want this primal and illicit act and I would be slaughtered happily. I love this obscene pastiche of sex, Ryu-sama thrusting hard into my mouth, why I try valiantly to use my tongue to heighten his pleasure, and also to keep my teeth as far away from his cock as possible. I know this action inside and out, metaphorically speaking. However tempting, he won't bring himself to climax like this. He never does. This little part of him that isn't all sadistic in sex hates that part, and plus, I've had many say that my ass is the best part of sex, so why should Ryu-sama deny himself it?

I love being taken by Ryu-sama, no matter where we are, how frequent or how rare, it's always a rush for me. It makes me weak in the knees just thinking about his entering me forcefully, his cock wet with lube and forcing deep into me, rearranging my insides and pounding me to completion. I consider it to be one the great things in life. And so when Ryu-sama sighs and pulls out of my mouth gently, the anticipation builds up inside me almost instantly. I ponder whether I've become addicted to him, whether I would be able to survive without this to look forward to. I'm not sure whether I would, but I don't like that thought. I want everything to do with him, and yet I want nothing to do with him emotionally. I want sex, but I don't want the after.

I feel him enter me and it feels like everything I've ever longed for, everything that I've ever felt in my whole life has built up and suddenly come true. I feel it from the toes to my fingers, and for the first time this evening I feel alive. I can feel pleasure coursing through every nerve, setting parts of my body alight until I am burning with lust and I can feel my grip failing. I see my master, my dictator, my Ryu-sama, I see that look he gets, when those beautiful blue eyes meet mine and his hair is flat against his neck and the way that we see into our souls and into each other's eyes. What I see is scarier than anything, its like seeing the meaning of life, seeing right into his brain and connecting, understanding and I know that he does this for the same reason that I've been kidding myself that I'm not. I do this to forget. I do this to forget that I'm trapped in a cage of love, that I'm trying to forget that I'll never be able to live a normal life, that I'm addicted to fame and to everything, and that the Shuuichi I was when I was young and naive and who took the bus instead of a fast car is crying that I've sacrificed my art for the material world. I see all this and how I realise how I am truly mirrored in Ryuichi. Forget the physical, I can see that I am the same as him in my mind. He does this to forget that he is Sakuma Ryuichi, the famous one, the asexual one, the spontaneous and the creative one, the man who is completely different to everything, who the press love and hate because he never does anything to live up to his eccentricity besides carrying a small toy. Both of us are ugly, jaded and the same. We both are united in the disgust at who we have become.

Ryu-sama, my master, my beautiful mirror is reflected like the very mirrors that adorn his wall, his cracked and crumbling façade deteriorating and like me, he starts to lose control, and his body gives way and he comes deep into me, screaming my name and how he loves me and never wants me to go. The barriers are down and I do the same, coming hard against him and gasping his name and my own declarations of dependence. And together we break every rule and cry together and hold each other, joined together as two sides of the same person, two halves of the same future, and I vow never to let this go.

End.

Authors Note: I don't really know what I unleashed while writing this, but whatever it was poured out, and by god, I haven't an idea whether this is terrible or amazing or somewhere in between. I hope you enjoy it. Medea especially, since this was written for you, and although was supposed to be light-hearted, I hope you enjoyed this just as much.

Love, Xara