A/N - My first finished dmmd fic (with many more to come), done with the prompt "intrusive thoughts" (given by ngc1705) for my favorite pairing, Koujaku and Noiz! Because of the subject matter, it is intentionally chaotic and mildly disorienting, so please be aware that there will be some tense shifting and pronoun blurring. It's also extremely violent and emotionally unsettling, with scenes involving vore, guro, evisceration, choking, eye trauma, cannibalism, hallucinations, disassociation, and false memories.
Right Side Over Left
By PikaCheeka
He's never screamed. All those times you've fou…no, beaten him, kicked him and punched him and choked him and shoved him into the wall and smashed a sake bottle over his skull and prized his -
I'm not like that. I never did that.
Oh you didn't? Maybe that was me… No. No No. That didn't happen. But he can't remember now, can't say for certain he was never missing for that long. No I never did that. We fight. We just fight. He likes fighting. He looks over at Noiz, sitting on the futon with his computer and his coil, Usagimodoki on his knee. He seems so pale, so fragile in the glow of the screens, green eyes like chips of sea glass on white sand. Glass shattering to sharpness in a puddle of sake on the floor that he falls palm first in, blood oozing between bandages as he swears and sighs and never screams even as he's pushed down, bare skin now pressed into the broken splinters such soft skin such beautiful broken skin ground glass rubbed into the wounds glass from that bottle of sake he didn't want to drink, silk from the yukata he doesn't want to wear – he never respects you. That was a good night, wasn't it?
It. Didn't. Happen.
He can feel the smile peel back his lips against his will, a grimace of horror at his other self as Koujaku turns, long canines flashing in a grotesque leer with a new edge to his voice. Tireless tireless. He likes rabbits, a little useless helpless prey animal just a crunch of bones between my teeth your teeth our fingers, how childish. He's still a child, he calls you old man. Just like you're your old man. How old was your mother when you- Stop. Why? Oh that's right, you killed her. Just like you will kill him. Make him scream.
Koujaku flinches, holds up a hand over his face reflexively, "don't don't don't" he mouths the words, a silent mantra against the other him. Himself. He doesn't know who the prey is. He looks over at Noiz again, Noiz the Unknowing, the Oblivious. His hair is still wet from the bath. His black shirt hangs loosely from his shoulders. He always wears socks to bed. He covers so much of his skin, doesn't he, taunting you, hiding the cuts and the bruises and the teethmarks.
The teethmarks. He feels a lurch in his gut at the word, narrows his eyes.
I will rip out every piercing with my teeth. Our teeth. Save the tongue for last and let him drown in blood. And something in Koujaku gives up. Just for a moment, just let me rest. Let me shut myself off… Remember the last time you kissed him, rough and hard and long on the floor of our last ryokan room. He'd worn the yukata wrong, right over left side, and you'd been tired so frustrated at his stupidity. Slapped his hands away, saved him from death that night as you pushed him down and sucked the rage from his mouth and gave it to me, fed me with his rage and your lust and his tongue that tongue with the metal stud pierced through you know it's strange how he reacted so strongly when you bit him isn't it…he can feel it. Wrap your teeth around it and tear back, hold his head down make him scream and choke hold him down and rip your claws across his face lingering over his eyes - do you think he can feel those? – sink a claw into the socket slowly slowly let it give before it explodes let him know what is happening let him scream over it just be sure -
Be sure to wear the yukata correctly, Noiz, right side over left.
Koujaku jerks upright and his eyes snap open. He risks a glance over at Noiz, still oblivious in his long sleeves and socks. Still oblivious with his two eyes, whole and undamaged, not even bloodshot, only sharp and cold and tired and glassy – those eyes always unnerved Koujaku; they never seemed to carry much life. It seems as if he hasn't moved in hours and the older man wonders briefly how good it can be for his eyes, to sit in the dark and look at the screen all night every night. But he's okay. He's whole. He'd be so much more beautiful if he weren't, though. No, no, leave me alone. I didn't think that, you did. No. I'm not like that. Yes. Yes yes yes I am you. Break him. Make him scream.
Three nights ago they'd almost fucked, a confused and increasingly tense fumble before Noiz had pushed him away and rolled over, sighing, saying it was too hot while the boredom seeping into his words betrayed him. He thinks you're boring. He wants you to hurt him. Remember when you waited, staring at his naked back, waited and wondered he was that way before you leaned over and kissed him. Lips ghosting over the metal studs at the base of his neck. He ignored you he ignored us he hates things to be gentle. His vertebrae stick out all down his back, sharp and ugly rocks thrown across the beach just a thin layer of sand and foam protecting them from the fury of the wind. Run your fingers down his back, slow and gentle, and feel him ignore him, feel him hate you. More and more pressure, dig your claws in and rip now, tear him open, skin him flay his backbone like a zipper ragged down the middle opening to smooth red pulsating muscle - don't let him ignore me. Dig down now, wrap your fingers around one of those ugly rocks, pale bones with chips missing from what did he say? A fall down the stairs. You can do worse than that. Take them out. Rip them out, one by one, wiggle your fingers down between the muscle and the bone and feel the edges, pull up, pull up and out and over and over, let the spinal cord snap and scream and the fluids run over my tongue as his life drains into the bed he refused you in. Be sure to wear the yukata correctly, Noiz, right side over left.
Koujaku grimaces, rolls the unlit cigarette more tightly between his fingers. He freezes then, looks down. He doesn't remember pulling it out, and the fact that he moved unbeknownst to himself is – No. The other one moved, the other one – No. You are me and I am you and you I we are Koujaku remember that and remember to make him scream before you say farewell. The voice coils tightly around him, vulpine and rough and taunting. Look at him over there, so pure and so unaware.
He doesn't want to look but he does. Sees the paleness of Noiz's face in the darkness, illuminated by the screen just as it was a thousand lifetimes ago.
Two nights ago they'd fought viciously, reason long forgotten as they thrashed against the wall, breaking down a shoji door before Koujaku had gotten the better of him, a solid blow to the mouth streaking blood across his face, flung him to the ground and crawled on top of him and remember how you closed your hands around his throat then? You can feel it happening all over again now as you slowly wrap your fingers around his neck his thin frail neck and run your thumbs over his sharp clavicles still bruised from last night's kisses and sink slowly slowly so tantalizingly slow into the softness of that white expanse as he rolls his head softly, coming back from the hit, one eye swollen shut as the other cracks open. Koujaku can feel himself near thrum with pleasure as Noiz finally gags, finally reacts with more than irritation and a sneer, finally widens his eyes in real fear and uncertainty giving way to such a delicious divine knowing. It feels good, yes, to have him kick and struggle and writhe under your hands, to have his fingers clawing at yours, his nails ripping through your skin as he struggles struggles struggles so desperately to gain leverage. Pressing down harder, ignoring the spasms in his hands as he crushes down and down. Now lean forward and whisper whisper whisper be sure to wear the yukata correctly Noiz as the green fades from his eyes right side over left you breathe over his skin as you lick one of those chips of glass to be sure there's no more light.
Noiz moves suddenly, shifts and stretches, rearranges his long limbs without blinking and continues to stare at the screen. He doesn't look over at Koujaku, but he cocks his head slightly towards him. Does he know? He must know. He knows what you think about him, what you want to do to him. He knows and he says nothing to taunt you because he hates you, loathes you, only stays by you because he gets things from you. Life is a business transaction for him, the voice hisses in Koujaku's skull. Terminate it.
Noiz moves suddenly, shifts and stretches, rearranges his long limbs without blinking and turns to look at him, smoking in the corner. He knows, he knows, as he smiles and stretches again, arms raised high over his head, shirt rumpled from his position riding over his midriff, glint of his belly button rings in the lamplight. Go to him go to him go to him and Koujaku leans forward, crawls forward because standing is too hard when the weight of the voice is on his back and reaches out to touch the pale skin, the bits of metal. Rip them out. Knocks him down, flat onto his back where he belongs, pulls his shirt up and runs his hands up and over his belly, his chest. He wants to close his eyes, back away, run, but he can't, and Noiz does not move. Noiz the Oblivious. Noiz always wears socks to bed. Hunched over him now, face lowered to his belly, tongue darting out to lick him, lips pressing against the soft trail of hair running down his naval. There's a scar there, running through the trail over and around his left hip. An invitation. Pull the waist of his pants out of the way, follow the scar with your tongue. I won't I won't I won't – and he is suddenly biting him, ripping into his flesh, teeth scraping against his angular hipbone, grinding and gnashing and masticating and Noiz writhes under him, silent. Make him scream. Grind your teeth in more, throw your head back, swallow what you find in your mouth. Devour. The voice shrieks in his ears and suddenly he is howling, a claw through the naval ring, jerking it up and out, hard and fast, leaving a too-shallow wound that will have to be fixed. Noiz sighs and groans beneath him but he does not scream as Koujaku kisses the blood away gently, lovingly, before baring his teeth and leering up at him a moment.
Dig two fingers into the open wound, puncture thin stomach muscles to glide over the slippery layers of guts beneath the just beneath the sinew – he doesn't know which is which and never learned these things but it doesn't matter – they're all be on the floor soon enough. Noiz's mouth is open now, his eyes are glassy now. Dart your tongue out, taste the blood just below you dig a third finger in, a fourth, a fifth, a second hand, rip his belly wide open and hear the wet clink of his naval studs as they fall beside the ring on a floor slick with red now such beautiful red you always knew Noiz had that red in him, didn't you? Beneath that green that ugly tired angry green you hate so much there's always crimson if you.
Dig.
Deep.
Enough.
But it's never enough, you know this now as you rip him further apart, bile-slimed fingers wrapping around the bare ribs, snapping them one by one – bones are never as pure white as the artists say – they are blue-tinged, dirty, alive so alive as you suck out the marrow while he watches. You can see his heart now, beating so weakly so erratically as it swims in its own death. And his lungs. His lungs connected to his mouth, gaping open and making a soft murmury sound. Why won't he scream!? But it's too late now, too late for the scream, and disgust and rage curl inside your throat as you slowly pull the skin back over his torso. Right side over left, be sure to wear it correctly, Noiz.
And suddenly he's awake. He looks at his fingers. Looks at the floor. Looks at Noiz. Nothing happened. Nothing. He simply dozed off. Noiz is alive and whole and perfectly fine. Fine just fine. Koujaku's shivering now as wills the voice back, but he can feel it, feel him, sinking those claws into him, peeling his eyelids back, opening his ears, whispering, whispering, I'm here I'm you you're here you're me. There is no escape from the depths of his mind except to give in. Give in and make the boy across the room beautiful. The voice leers, howls in the blackness, and Koujaku's eyes close again as a violent shudder rips through him. There will be no sleep tonight. No sleep. He is sweating in fear now.
And suddenly. "Old man. I'm going to bed." The voice is as flat as it has ever been, but its sudden presence is painfully sharp for Koujaku. So sharp so loud yes this is reality. This is me hearing. Please.
He doesn't respond.
Noiz shrugs, stretches, and crawls to the other side of his futon, lifts up the folded yukata left by the innkeeper and sighs. "How do I wear this again?"
Be sure to wear the yukata correctly, Noiz, right side over left.
But Koujaku bites his lip until he draws blood and says nothing.