Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Ink and Gunmetal ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Title: Ink and Gunmetal

Author: OtakuAngelD

Series: Gravitation

Part: 1 of ?

Pairing: Yuki X K, Ark X K in the past, some references to Eiri X Shuichi

Rating: very NC-17

Warning: There be smut here. And S&M. And OCC, and first person.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gravitation, or its characters. That belongs to Maki Murakami. Those belong to Maki Murakami. If they did belong to me, no one would ever see K-san ever again ;)

Authors notes:

 

First and foremost, this fic is NOT for the squeamish. There will be rough sex and S&M, there will be swearing. There will be scenes of more of less forced sex. You have been warned. Also, there will be great OCCness. Why, because there can be. You don't like it, don't read. There will be first person from a split personality. You have been warned.

 

And now for the real authors notes. I found this on a site, and I was intrigued. I'd never heard of a man called Ark before, when referring to Gravitation, as I'd only seen the anime. So I looked him up, and low and behold, I got this, in reference to Ark. “He and K share a common past, he saved his life when they were mercenary soldiers, but they can't work out their relationship about those good 'ol days” Got to love those pronoun uses. Which he!! What past? Relationship…There was a relationship? And in K's profile, it says he has an Illustrator friend (presumably Ark) that he shacks up with for a bit.

 

Thus this fic.

 

 

Notes: this chapter is dedicated to K-ko-chan. K-san, you look hot in a skirt!

 

 

Sometimes, when he's sleeping, I can hear him moaning softly. It's not the moans I give him when we have sex. No, those are beautiful. More musical than any song Shuichi has ever written. The cries when I finally take him still linger long after I have finished with him and he is sleeping quietly at my side. No, these cries are tortured. These moans are that of a man whose past is as filled with as much mystery and pain as my own. I wish I knew why.

 

There are so many things I never knew about him when we first met. All I knew was that he was dangerous. A psychopath who enjoyed shooting at people and blowing buildings up. One who got off by putting his Desert Eagle against other people's heads. He even threatened me a few times with his more dangerous toys.

 

But I soon got over that. I know why he hides behind those guns of his. Or I'd like to think I do. The American is much like me, in that vein. He tries to keep things dangerous to his already wavering sanity at arms length. An arms length made more distant by the fact that there is a cold barrel between him than whatever it is.

 

Maybe that might be the case. Maybe not. Maybe, I'm playing the writer again and over romanticizing him. But at the time, that is what I believed. That is what drew me to him. Because no one had the balls to shoot at me. No one dared to try to harm me and lived a healthy, well respected life afterwards. No one, that is, but this handsome older man. He was just handsome enough that I had to let him live. Especially when I started to imagine that long golden hair out of its usual ponytail spread over my pillow, mixing with my own.

 

That's when I knew I wanted him. I have always been addicted to deadly distractions. My cigarettes, my beer, this man. And what a distraction he was. I never knew that I would be one to be attracted to older man. I thought I'd had my fill of them, with the original Yuki. But he was different. He was just too beautiful to ignore.

 

The afore mentioned hair that just shone like its own sun and bounced when he walked. A walk that was far too smooth for its own good. As an author, I'd have to call it the walk of a man who knew he was dangerous. The way he held himself just cried that, like me, he'd seen tougher, more serious times. That he hadn't always been a band manager. And his hands. Oh God, his hands. I could wax poetic about his hands all day. Long, elegant fingers that just had to be callused from his weapons. Hand I could easily imagine clutching at my skin. Just thinking about his hands made me rock hard. Made me want his touch.

 

I spent many a night jerking off to thoughts of those hands and him. When that wasn't enough, I'd screw my young roommate in Eiri's place. I'd pound into him and imagine him to be the man I only knew as K. I'd climax with his face burned deeper in my mind. After a while, for a man like me, fantasies like that can no longer be enough. Fantasy might be my livelihood, but I thrive of reality. And my reality was now centered upon the beautiful gunman turned band manager.

 

So, I took it upon myself to have him. To possess him and make him mine. Mine. Not Eiri's. Mine. But lord knew that he was capable of. I never knew what shiny hand gun he might be packing. I can only vaguely come up with the type of self defense training he's probably had. So, to make him mine, I had to be careful. Ironic, for one might tell me to follow my own literary advice. People think Yuki Eiri as a man who can woo any firecracker he desires, much the like main characters in my books.

 

But to thank, I have to laugh. This is reality. It's real life, not some convoluted plot to make the fan base squeal. And K is no woman. Even if he did look thoroughly delicious dressed as a high school co-ed. With those long legs under that sexy skirt which hid practically nothing. Even then, he was very enjoyably masculine. No, to get K, I had to learn about K. About the man behind the letter.

 

I was not at all surprised either by my findings. My golden American used to be Secret Service. I knew about those from my time in New York as a younger man. It did bother me that he would think so little of stepping in front of a bullet. That did make me wonder how suicidal this man I wanted was. But, were he so, I'm sure he'd have put his own guns to use long before. And before the Secret Service, there seemed to be some sort of Military Service. The information there was very hazy. Stuff that not even Tohma, the man who knew every delicate, possibly lucrative secret about a person could not shed light on.

 

I could only speculate. Guess. He might have been a mercenary with his love of guns and his ability to terrorize every building he comes across. He could have been an assassin, due to his strange capabilities with a sniper rifle. Or perhaps a spy. He did seem be able to call down favors for the military very easily. All of them seem entirely too romanticized. Too far fetched. An author's guesses towards his new obsession.

 

All I did find were things I already knew from his association with Shuichi. A wife and a child in America. A career minded, high paid, well loved actress, and their darling little boy, who made him forbidden to me. Or should have. I've always gotten off on going against the status quo. And I am a romance writer. It's one of my favorite lines. Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest.

 

He was indeed very sweet when I did finally get my hands on him. And had I known it would have been so easy, I would have been fucking him weeks ago. As it was, our first time was neither very romantic nor terribly gentle. He had tested me and teased me to the point of breaking, and he didn't even know he was doing it. Every time Eiri stepped into that studio, I was there too, watching him. Wanting him. Being denied him.

 

Any more of those nonsensical American jokes, or casual shooting at people, I think I would have exploded. Taken over and banged him right there in the sound booth. Any more and I know I would have lost all control over the situation and his pretty ass wouldn't have been able to walk correctly for a week. It is indeed a good thing that Eiri doesn't show up at Shuichi's place of work often. Because if he did, the kid and all of Bad Luck would be watching me screw their blond manager on the nearest available flat surface.

 

When I became too unbearable, I dragged Eiri there, and then I waited until it was just K and me. Just the two of us. I took over and had a rather angry fight with Shuichi to force him to run off like he always does. The others soon gave up after telling me off. I knew he'd stay a while longer. I knew because I knew K's every routine by heart. He's much like me, and so he's easy to predict. That, and for a while I stalk him in Eiri's place.

 

We argued in the parking lot. I found it amusing that his rapid angry words would switch so quickly between my Japanese and his English. I wonder if he remembered that I knew English almost as well as he did. I was also amused by the foulness of his words as they came out of that pretty mouth. And all I wanted was for him to use that mouth to better uses. Which is why I finally snapped and kissed him.

 

It was a humgry, possessive thing. I knew it was. But damned if he didn't respond to it. He responded in just the ways I anticipated and expected him to. My beautiful, predictable K has his Glock to my head so fast I almost didn't realize he'd pulled it. I could only smirk at his sudden heavy breathing. He was angry at me. I could tell. But he had underestimated “Eiri” greatly.

 

K was something I desired. Not the I that was Eiri the writer, but Yuki the killer. He was a man I knew I didn't have to be gentle with. Here was someone who could take what I could dish out and still be healthy enough for more. Here was a man who had the balls to pull a gun on me.

 

I will always remember that look. That shocked, almost vulnerable look when I disarmed him. I love that look. He's relied on his .45 caliber shields for so long that he was empty…helpless…without them. But that was where I made my mistake. I took away his shield. I had greatly underestimated the power of a desperate man. I underestimated K.

 

The man called K put a hurting on me that I can still feel today. I have never been punched so hard so many times in such rapid succession. I'd never been thrown around with such ease. Like me, without his shields, he was a different man. Even his eyes had changed. To the eyes of a killer. Eyes I know too well from myself. Blue eyes were distant, as if it was not me he was trying to fight and kill, but a ghost from his hazy past. But I won't let anyone say that Yuki Eiri doesn't give back everything he receives with interest. Despite the fact that I would be hacking up blood for weeks to come, because of the stress, I would not let him beat me. Not when his mouth had tasted so good.

 

When push came to shove, I shoved harder than he. Our physical confrontation came to a sudden standstill. His back pressed against a wall. His arms pilled behind his back. My body pressed heavily against his. I took my taste of victory. And while he didn't totally submit to my searching kiss, eh didn't' fight me either. I think he had finally recognized who was dominate, even if he seemed oh so far away from me.

 

I didn't want his distant from this. I waited so long for this. I wanted him here with me. So, I hit him. It was the first time since my misguided youth that sexual practices started to become violent. Even more disturbing was his slight groan at it, and the shivers I felt through the both of us. Did K truly like the pain? Or was eh still locked away inside his own head, much like I am, most the time. I don't know. All I did know was that hitting him in the face like that made me harder for him.

 

I'm always surprised how fast a pair of trousers can come off. And, incidentally, how hungry the sight of his naked cock resting just below a thatch of blond curls made me. I never though a man like K to be a screamer, but he did. He made the most wonderful sounds with I unzipped myself and shoved myself inside of him, his blood soothing my way. It was just the one scream before he started to get into it. As much into it as I already was. Even as I pounded into him, I could hear his soft, moaning pants. Pleas to someone called Ark. Even as he slowly began to meet my thrusts unconsciously.

 

Imagine it. The most famous romance writer in all of Japan fucking another man against the dirty wall of a public parking place. Someone so normally worried about his image not giving a damn, too busy reveling in the tight heat of his lithe blonder partner. A man known for never coming first, unable to hold back because he was just that amazing of a screw. Only then, once I was finished did I allow him his pleasure. Leaving myself deep inside of him, even as I fisted him until he ejaculated over my hand.

 

He said that name again, when he came. Ark. I felt jealousy more fully than I ever had before. This man was mine now. Mine. Not some mysterious person from K's past. I had marked him mine, and I would do it again and again until I truly did own the all of him. As I have forgotten much of the original Yuki, I would make this man forget about this Ark.

 

I left him like that. I left him covered in his own blood and semen. Mine leaking from his now swollen hole. I left him in a glorious, sexy disarray, though I wanted nothing more than to turn back around and fuck him a second time. I left K, and I told him that if he wanted his gun back, he'd have to come to my house to get it. And, I expected him to wear something sexy for me. Then I went home, his feel still around me, his smell still on me, and his taste, lingering in my mouth. I knew, I knew, because K was like me. K would come and get his gun back.

 

To Be Continued