Roses twined around the trellises in the garden, giving off a sickly sweet scent. Mitsuko reeled backwards as the shot rang out, feeling the starburst of pain in her arm. Her eyes prickled with tears and she bit down on her lower lip. Her body crumpled backwards with the force of the bullet, blood warming the sleeve of her blouse. The shell clattered to the flagstone floor, and Kiriyama smirked.
God, it hurt. The pain wasn't just in her arm, but everywhere, pulsating through her body like an electric current. Overhead, she tried to focus on something: the dizzying blue sky or the overpowering roses, curled around eachother like lovers. But nothing took away the pain.
I'm only fifteen...trust first…always trust first…always taking…taking…but Mitsu learned…
Thoughts jumbled her head, neither making more sense than the one before it. She tried to move, to prop herself up, to do something, but all she could do was feel the blood soak her skin. She saw her parents' corpses lying on the floor, blood spattered everywhere–who would have known there was so much blood inside them?–police sirens wailing.
Tsk…orphaned and so very young. Poor Mitsu…
Somehow, she managed to fight into a stand. Her entire body was matted with blood and sweat from the sheer effort of staying up. She fought the pain and tried to will it away as she wiped bloody tears from her eyes.
Her fingers were at her shirt, prying fabric away from two perky breasts.
"You look…you all look. A flash of this, a peek of pink, you all look…" she muttered as she turned to face him, more to herself than to him, really.
"You like this, don't you?" she purred, tossing the remains of her shirt away so that he could see her breasts in their full glory. She stared into his eyes, a brown as hard and impenetrable as dry tree sap.
And for a moment she saw them widen in surprise.
Good, she thought. The pain spiked again, and then began to fade. I've got him. He wasn't expecting this.
THREE MONTHS AGO
She was tall and leggy, like a purebred colt. Her hair cascaded down to her waist, stirring in some non-breeze, and her face was upturned, as though towards the moon. The bar lights glanced off the leather of her tight skirt, the material hugging every curve of her luscious ass.
Kazuo Kiriyama leaned against the bar counter, his fellow gangbangers slugging back drinks. Occasionally, one would say, "You want anything, boss?" Kiriyama always refused. Alcohol wasn't something he was willing to take into his veins. From past experiences, it made everyone act like complete idiots, and he wouldn't be seen as such.
Two of her friends flanked her, the feline, spiky-haired one and the smaller one with long hair. She threw her head back and laughed at something the first one said. He watched the curve of her neck.
"Starin' at Hardcore Souma, boss?" someone asked. He turned his head slightly. Numai held a Jaeger shot to his lips, a smile on his face. "Don't blame ya. She's hot stuff."
Kiriyama turned back to Mitsuko. "Hot?"
"Y'know, attractive? Pretty?" he watched with Kiriyama for awhile. "I'd tap that. I'd so tap that."
Kiriyama reached into his pocket. He pulled out a coin, balancing it on a fingertip for a few seconds to feel the weight of it. "Tell you what."
Numai knocked back his shot. "What?"
"Heads, you get Souma. Tails, I get her."
Numai's jowly face broke out in a big grin. "Now you're talking, boss. Go on. Flip that coin."
Kiriyama flicked it into the air. It shimmered in the dim room, made an elegant arc and landed on his open palm.
Numai tutted. "Lucky."
Mitsuko switched off the hot water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping one of the bathroom's sumptuous towels around herself. She didn't know what was more bizarre: the fact that Kazuo Kiriyama had propositioned her or the fact that she had said yes.
He's never even talked to me before, she thought as she walked over to the mirror, smoothing her wet hair down with her fingers. Not that she minded, really. Kiriyama was handsome and talented and a definite bad-boy, which made him totally screwable.
Still, Mitsuko wasn't sure if she could have trusted herself to accept the invitation. She had seen him beat people to pulp without so much as batting an eyelash. But he wouldn't do that to me, right? I mean, he invited me here. And I don't think it was to beat me up.
She checked her reflection again. Her cheeks were pink from the shower steam, but otherwise, she looked fine. Opening the bathroom door, she stepped into the long hallway that separated his bedroom and the bathroom.
Mitsuko had been dazzled when Kiriyama's driver had pulled up outside of the mansion. It was larger than anything she had ever seen, and she had fucked some rich men. There were rolling gardens and koi ponds and turrets and the like filling up the estate, reminding her of the fairy tales her father had read to her…
My real daddy. Not the touching daddy.
She knocked on the bedroom door. Upon hearing no response, she opened it up. Kiriyama wasn't in there. The room was large and neat, with a big bed decked out with navy blue blankets, a desk, a flatscreen TV and a shitload of bookshelves, all sporting medical books of some sort. The whole room smelled of cedarwood and laundry soap. Mitsuko, used to musty apartments and stuffy offices, found she rather enjoyed the smell.
What should I do? She wondered. Lie on the bed? Wait to surprise him? Where is he, anyway?
She unraveled the towel and hung it on a hook on the door, wrapping herself up in a blanket folded at the edge of the bed. Picking up the remote on the end table, she switched on the TV. Natural Born Killers was playing. Mitsuko had never much liked that movie, but she didn't know when Kiriyama would be back, and she didn't see much else to do.
Kiriyama walked out of the library, closing the door softly behind him. His father sat at his desk, head in his hands. They had had another fight.
"Dammit, Kazuo! I just don't know what to do anymore! You're completely closed off to the world! This isn't what your mother would have wanted, you know…"
As soon as he mentioned Kiriyama's mother, Kiriyama had stood up and thrown his chair aside with enough force to crack it in half. He stood there for a moment, shoulders heaving, considering the consequences of shoving his father's nose into his brain.
But that would just please his father. And so instead, he was headed off to his room.
Why had he invited Mitsuko Souma over again? He wasn't even sure if he wanted to sleep with her. Girls were all the same in bed: squealing and giggling in the beginning, bitchy and hurried in the end.
What was it about her, anyway? At school, in bars, anywhere: she seemed to be there, shining even in the backdrop. Kiriyama had never so much as asked to buy her a drink, but he had spent hours watching her. He had watched her dance, hair flying about; watched her kiss boys she had just met with the flair of a film actress; watched her step into alleyways with sweating men, stuffing fifties into her pockets…
He stopped at the door, opening it silently. Mistuko lay asleep on his bed, the bluish tint of the TV flickering across her pretty face. She was loosely wrapped in a dark blue blanket that barely covered her bottom half. With her hair splayed across the sheets and her naked breasts luminous in the half-light, she reminded him of one of the many Grecian paintings his father liked to collect.
Picking up the remote, he switched off the TV. He took a seat down next to her and turned to look at her, propping a hand up on his chin. Her skin was white as snow, contrasting with her chestnut hair. He reached out and put a hand to the small of her back, simply feeling the softness and smoothness of her skin. It was silky and supple beneath his hand, breaking out in goosebumps where he touched her. Leaning forward, he let his face hover a few inches from hers and inhale her scent. She smelled like something from his childhood, something half-remembered.
Two neatly manicured hands reached down to scoop him up. "Sweetie-pie," a voice crooned. "Daddy's coming to tuck you in." He felt himself being eased into a crib, the bars made of elegantly carved pine. His small hands wrapped themselves around the bars and he laughed as his mother planted a kiss on his forehead.
She had worn some sort of hand lotion. Something that smelled floral and citrusy all at once, something so delicious and familiar that, for months after the accident, he had kept the bottle in the bottom of his dresser.
That was before he had decided that nostalgia was for the weak, and thrown it away.
Mitsuko's eyes flew open. "Kiriyama…" she murmured, and craned her head up to kiss him softly on the mouth.
One of his hands slid through her hair, cradling the back of her head as his other wrapped around her waist. His tongue parted her lips, tasting her, needing her, and she complied, arching her back.
Gently, he sank down on top of her, his hand leaving her hip to trail upwards toward her breast. His mouth slid down her chin and underneath, tracing a path down her neck. She parted her legs, pushing the blanket aside. Her hands slipped under his shirt to dig into his back, forcing him lower down so that their bodies could entwine.
His finger circled her nipple, teasing it into a pink point. She moaned, grinding against his leg. He felt her heat, the raw wetness coming from inside, and he felt himself become hard, the zippered part of his pants constricting his bulge.
His mouth came down on her nipple, the hand that was teasing it brushing her stomach, traveling downwards. She gasped and moaned, her own hands gripping him harder.
"K-Kiriyama," she panted.
"Kazuo," he corrected her, his lips reverberating against her breast. His hand came down to tease the shadowy area between her legs.
"Ah–" one of her hands pushed its way between their bodies, snatching his zipper and yanking it downwards. She unbuttoned his shirt for him, letting him unbutton his pants and kick off his underwear. Naked, he came back down on top of her, pulling the blankets over their bodies and grabbing her hips, moving them into place.
She slackened, lying beneath him as he positioned himself between her legs. He took hold of himself and eased himself forward as he entered her.
"Kazuo!" she moaned as her slid inside her, savoring the unbelievable heat of her core. She tilted her hips upward, throwing her head back as he arched over her, slamming into her.
Her fingers gripped handfuls of sheet, bucking her hips and screaming his name as he thrust faster and faster. His own breath came in ragged gasps as he draped his body over hers. The tight muscles in his stomach and chest gleamed with sweat, and his hair was matted to the back of his neck. The emptiness of his eyes had somehow, momentarily, been replaced with a spark, dancing behind his retinas as he watched her writhe about in pleasure.
"Deeper…harder…" she muttered, half delirious with pleasure. He felt the climax building up inside her, the way her walls clenched tightly about him, urging him to release himself.
And he did. He felt her come, her body shoot halfway off the bed and twist about as she thrashed, spilling her warmth about him. Her orgasm triggered his own, and he let loose a groan as he emptied himself inside of her.
She flopped back down onto the bed, beads of sweat trickling down her body. Soon, her pupils began to dance behind her eyelids, and her breathing became soft and even. Kiriyama gingerly stepped off the bed and reached for his robe, heading towards the shower.
The door to the study was open when he walked past it later, clad in only a pair of jeans. His wet hair hung about his ears, and the light danced off the beautifully sculpted musculature of his abdomen.
"Kazuo. Please come in," his father called.
Wordlessly, Kiriyama stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"I'm sorry if I upset you before." His father folded his hands on top of the desk and sighed. "I heard someone calling your name. Do you have a friend over?"
"I'm sure you've figured out what those screams were," Kiriyama replied simply.
A small smile picked up the corners of his father's tired face. "Is she pretty?"
"She's…" Kiriyama glanced up at the ceiling. He thought of the cherry lips, the dark eyes and the flowing hair. "Beautiful."
"Like your mother was?"
Kiriyama stiffened. "Yes, like Mother was."
"Very well then." His father tipped his head to the side and examined his son for a few moments. "Do you love her?"
Kiriyama remembered her lying on his bed, looking like the angel she wasn't. He remembered her laughing at the bar counter, and kissing his lips, and calling him Kazuo, the name his father only used.
"Yes," he replied without inflection. "I love her."
A/N: So, my first Battle Royale fanfic. I have to say, I started reading this manga one day because I saw it was on the Tokyopop editor's favorites. I think that the characters were amazingly realistic, the plot driving, and the emotions real. That was why I fell in love with each and every character, even the worst of them. Up here, we see what COULD have happened to two of the characters, because I always thought it was a little strange that Mitsuko seemed to be so intent upon seducing him, and why she suddenly brought up Natural Born Killers when she was talking to him. So anyways, without reviews, I won't write the second chapter. Hope I stayed in character, because that was SO hard to do, especially when one's a sociopath and the other's a...sociopath. R&R!
MELLO: How come THEY get an awesome sex scene and me and Misa don't?
MISA: Yeah! Me and Mello want a sex scene!
ELLE: You got raped. Does that count?
MISA: I should write your name down in the Death Note.