Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Ink and Gunmetal ❯ Chapter 3

Title: Ink and Gunmetal Author: OtakuAngelD
Series: Gravitation Part: 3 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. This chapter contains masturbation, voyeurism, and nurse cosplay fetish
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gravitation, or its characters. Those belong to Maki Murakami. If they did belong to me, I would have Hiro and Shuichi banging each other so that K and Yuki could be together

This chapter is dedicated to Yuki Eiri’s lungs. And all the times we see him coughing them up.


It had been one of those weeks for me. Or more so…for him. And all because of K. Or should I call him Claude. I rather prefer K. It fits him better. At least I think it does. But that’s not here or there. It doesn’t much matter what I think when Eiri’s got the body. And here I was hoping so badly to go and see K again. To go and teach K the meaning of pain. The meaning of need. The meaning of us. Not that he thinks there is an us…not yet. I haven’t told him that there is yet. I suppose I haven’t gotten the opportunity.

I blame my other half of course. Stupid Eiri. Idiot Eiri. I suppose he knows in a way what I want to do to him. What I will do to him, the next time I saw K. Perhaps he doesn’t know, but he knows something happened. After all, he did fid that note of K’s. If it wasn’t me...or a part of me, I think I would have died of laughter right there and then by how worked up he got. Enough to go see that doctor again. To get more drugs I suppose. To put me to sleep. I won’t go quietly. It’s Eiri that should go to sleep forever and not. Why can he screw the brains out of some little boy, but I can’t bang myself a sexy manager? It’s not right, it’s not fair. It’s not protected by the hand of karma. It’s just too bad that I have to be taken on the ride too.

I rather detest the taste of my own blood in my mouth. Now, were you to give me a razor and K’s pale skin, I might just be convinced to give him a taste. But mine, I hate. That is why I can’t stand it when Eiri makes me work myself to death for his deadline. It’s rather ironic that I’m the better author than him. Then again, this next book I’m going to do…I think it would be quite a big surprise. I wonder if K will realize that the girl in that story is him. Not that I care. K is not the kind to be ravished gently by caring lovers. No. He’s mine, and the kind to be bent over the nearest table and fucked until he can’t remember his own name. Until he can’t remember…that name. That Ark…whoever that may be.

But because of Eiri, and the book and the drugs, I’m trapped in a place I hate more than being trapped inside Eiri’s mind. I hate hospitals. I hate them. They remind me of times and places I would rather forget. They say I was coughing up blood. They say that Shuichi brought me. They say he’s very worried about me. I honestly don’t give a damn what he thinks. If I’m dying, so be it. But I don’t want that little boy to be the one next to my bedside. I don’t want that zero talent hack anywhere near me right now. But I suppose once again, he is a means to an end. After all, if Shuichi is worried and can’t work, then he’ll be around sooner or later. So I suppose that’s the good thing about trying to see what one’s lungs look like. It means that I get to see him again. Even if that means tossing Shuichi out until such time as I chose.

By the time he arrives, I’m already bored of this all. I hate waiting. I might be in my death bed for all I know. I don’t have time to wait on a reluctant blond. Though I suppose I can forgive him for not wanting to come in and be alone with me. I’m sure he still remembers me. I’m sure he can still feel how I tired him up. I’m sure that even now, a week later, that he still has some of those bruises in the shape of my hand on his fine ass. After all, I was not gentle with him. Regardless of how kind I might have been afterwards to him. After all, that’s how it worked. The Master was to make sure his Slave had the comfort he deserved after he had behaved well.

But K was not a housebroken puppy just yet. I could still see it as I always have, and always will. Even though he stood on the other side of a room, as far from me as he could get, I could see the danger he possessed. That danger that made me want the older blond for my own. No, my K would never be a puppy. He would always be a beautiful, trim and deadly attack dog. But he was still my dog, regardless of how much he might think otherwise. Perhaps, one day I would put a nice collar about that lovely neck of his. If only so no one else would think they could take him from me. Anyone who tried…I was going to kill them. Regardless of the fact that I might be in a hospital bed, I will get out of my grave to slaughter them if they think they can take my K from me. After all, he already gets taken from me every time by a person I still have found nothing on.

I wonder if I told him I was about to die, if he would tell me about Ark. I doubt it. Not with how he avoids me. Not with how silent he is, just staring at me with those blue eyes of his. As if waiting. Expecting something from me. I wonder if he’d afraid of me in a way. I raped him in a parking lot. I tied him up. I’ve hit him, quite a few times. But I would think he would have been made of sterner stuff than that. I never thought K the kind to be a coward. Or perhaps it is because I haven’t given him permission yet to talk.

I am about to when he finally speaks to me. I will never know what does on under that golden hair of his. For a moment, I thought he was being a good pet. But then he goes and talks to me like I am the worst person in the world. He is angry with me. For being sick. He says that I am worrying Shuichi, but I hear under it. We’ve only been together twice, but I know it already. He is not mad at me for Shuichi. K is angry at me for himself. And at himself. I can see how much he must hate himself for actually worrying about me. A man who still hold his favorite handgun for ransom. I must have gotten under his pretty skin a great deal if he’s actually worried about me. I suppose if it was him there in the bed instead of me, I would have been just as angry at him, for not telling me about his condition. I wonder if he is blaming himself for what has happened to me this time.

I know that I can’t be too physical at the moment. My body is not up to it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not about to try and use what I see as guilt against him. No, I want K to feel guilty for what has happened to me. The more guilt he feels, the more I’m sure I can make him do to make it up to me. He seems to be that sort of man. He seems the kind who will never forget a debt. And if he was the one who put me here, regardless that it’s not true, then he owes me. And I want to collect what I can from him. So it’s no shock to me that I tell him what I do.

Because of his stunt with the typewriter, I had to rewrite everything. Thousands of words. Days and days of work had to be redone. All because he had messed with my typewriter. Because of him, I get no sleep. Because of him, I didn’t eat. Because K had touched my typewriter, I had had a relapse and the stress had gotten to me. Yes, K had almost killed me, all by touching my work. It was a bit heavy, but I know how to pile on the guilt. My old man has been doing that for years. Playing sick and trying to guilt me into marrying some cunt I don’t even care for so that he can have grandkids or some shit like that. I really don’t know what the old man wants anymore. I stopped giving a damn a long time ago.

He’s shifting. He hands are tight at his side. Those marvelous, beautiful, deadly hands are shaking just slightly. Poor K. Poor Mister K. You are such a good man. So responsible. Even though you never seem to show any of that when you are blowing up buildings and shooting at innocent band members. You feel responsible for me. You must hate yourself for what I’ve said you’ve done to me. You are a good man. I’m sure you’ll want to do something to make it up to me. Because you are such a good man, I shouldn’t take advantage of you. But I will. I will, because you are so good. I don’t know how you managed so long without me there to protect you from those who are like me. Those who would use and abuse such a good man like him. Now that I’m here though, I’ll make certain that I am the only one who can manipulate him like that. Though in my heart I also know that K is letting me do this to him. I have seen him with other people. He can even ignore Tohma and that man’s manipulative charms.

I wonder though, even as I tell him what he can do to make it up for me. Will he do it? If he does, it will be the first time I have him. The first time that he is mine alone. You can’t go away into your own head for what I want from him. I’m sure of that. That’s why I tell him what I do. Because I am certain that he can’t escape in his mind and be with Ark. Not if he’s doing things to himself. Still, I’m glad he didn’t run right away to get those things I asked him for. He seemed to want to make sure I was really actually dying before he would relent and give me my ‘last wish’. I’m quite positive my hacking up more blood was enough to convince him of that fact, even though I knew it was a total lie.

My dying wish…He had to grant it. Only he could. I told him what I wanted. It was simple really, and a wish that might come from a writer of near pornography hidden under the veil of romance. I wanted to see me a sexy blond nurse before I died. And I wanted that nurse to be him. I would get the rest after. Once I had him in the room with me once again.

Now, I had thought that K had looked quite faceable in the school girl disguise. I never thought he would ever cross dress again. But I had been specific. White nurse uniform…Tight, so that the buttons almost didn’t hold. Short skirt, showing off his legs. I suppose that at some point, if I get him to cross-dress for me again, I’m going to have to shave K’s legs for him. But that does help keep him masculine. He even did his hair up for me. I have always considered pigtails to be nature’s Handlebars. Now, I don’t like screwing women, but I have on occasion. For research purposes only. Grabbing and holding onto twin tails of hair can give sex a whole new kind of leverage. With K, he has so much hair that his pigtails pit even a girl to shame. I’m upset with him though, because he didn’t wear the heals. He’s still in his original foot gear. I guess I can forgive him this once. This was on short notice. I doubt the nurse’s station would carry pumps in K’s size. It probably took K’s waving a gun to get what he was wearing now.

I can tell he’s uncomfortable about this. He might have been K-ko-chan, but that had been his idea. Even as he approaches, he once more states that I had better really be dying, or he was going to make sure I was dead. He’d not shot me yet, so I doubt he’d do it even now that I was making him dress up again for me. I can also tell he is humiliated by this. Just In the way he sometimes tugs at his skirt to hide the thigh holster he is wearing. Even in costume, my K is never without his security blanket. His hand is on the catch that will free his firearm at the slightest hint of trouble. I won’t give him the chance.

As I said before, pigtails are perfect for grabbing. His are especially perfect. One hand on each streamer of hair and enough tugging, and his lips are mine. A kiss. I think I taste cherry lips gloss. Probably from the nurse he had stolen the outfit from. Then I shove him away from me. Hard. I call him naughty. Though I told him that he was not to wear underwear when he came back, I berate him for it. I call him dirty and loose and easy and a slut. I know each name must hurt him because he winces a little. I call him a whore. My whore. But the look I get is empty. He’s gone already. Gone far away, where my cruel words barely reach him. Only touching that part of his brain that tells him to obey.

I wonder for a moment what his triggers are. I wonder what it is that sends him away into his head like that. I wonder, but I can’t ask. Why tell such things to a supposedly dying man. Not that he could tell me anyway. Not when he stands were, so meekly, head down to mutter soft agreements that he is a whore and that he is sorry for it. But I don’t want sorry. I want him to show me how much of a whore he is. I shift in my sickbed to get a better look. He sits when told. Spreads his legs out to each side when told. It is like he’s a machine and not a man anymore. But he’s still in there. K’s still a man.

He is hard already and on display for me where I lay. His skirt hiked so all of him is showing. I can taste him in my mouth. It is a memory, but still I taste that cock from even this far away. I shift again, so that my throbbing hardness won’t become a bother. I tell him that he’s to show me how he likes it. I want to see it. I want to see how K likes to be touched. Since I’m to sick to touch him myself, I want to see him do it.

I watch those hands I have fantasized about as they moved. One going into the nurse’s blouse to pop a button or two, in order to pinch and twist hard at one nipple. His other hand fondling his balls rolling them in his palm for a moment before moving up to caress his shaft. I see it now. He moved, scratching down his chest. I see it now. How he likes it. The pain of the one hand being offset by the pleasure of the other. His eyes shuttered closed and his head lulls back, giving me a view of a bobbing Adam’s apple. Jerking in time with the hand upon his throbbing dick.

It is torture for me. He is so hot there. I wish I wasn’t still stuck in this bed, with IVs all over the place. If I wasn’t, I would be unable to stop myself from taking him. But I can’t. I can’t cum…so he can’t/ His breath hitches and I know he is near. But once again, he disappointed me. Even as his own fingers start to delve into that tight hole of his, he moans. Without gags of cloth or tongue, it is quite clear to me. It is the first time I have really heard it…K called for Ark. Ark please. Please do me. Those were his words. And I saw red.

A vase with wilting flowers shattered against the wall, right past his head where I had thrown it. I seemed to be in very high spirits for a man about to die. Yet K didn’t shoot me. K never shoots me. At me, yes. But a bullet from his gun has never entered my flesh. I tell him to leave. To get out of my sight. Right now, as mush as I want him, I can’t stand him. I can’t stand K. K who when lost in his head wants another man to screw him.

Right then, I hated K. I hated K and I hated Ark more. And I didn’t even know who this Ark was. So I could only take my hatred and anger out on K. But I needed to get well first. I certainly couldn’t get back at K for scorning me if I was stuck inside a hospital ward.