Summary: The truth is ugly, isn't it ?
/ a Reisaru fanfic /
Disclaimer: The series and the characters aren't mine. I make no profits from this.
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No one would love you. You are a freak. A fucked-up in the head freak.
That little voice inside your head whispers. And you believe it. You are alone. You've got no one now that Misaki, your only friend, the only one you can count on, had left. He chose the man whom you used to regard as King over you.
It's okay. You bitterly tell yourself. You only need Misaki so when Misaki isn't there anymore, you need no one else. If no one loves you then you would love nobody in return. It's alright. You don't need it anyway.
Why did that man have to disturb your peaceful solidarity with his unwanted attention for you?
"I love you."
Lie.
"I love you so much."
Lies.
"Only look at me."
Fucking liar.
How could he say those words so easily, so carelessly? You never understand. He could say them to you anywhere, anytime, when there isn't anyone around to pry. You despite him. He shouldn't have lied when he didn't even mean it. Who would love someone like you? You have nothing, not even your sanity when it slips away now and then.
And the biggest lie ever is that saying he loves you.
It's a secret that only you and him know: you are his lover. The kind of lover that a man would take home and use their bodies for sexual release, to put it crudely. But saying he is that kind of person is a bit wrong. Sure you had sex with him but on occasions he simply took you home just to enjoy a homemade dinner ( thanks god he didn't prepare candles or bought you roses because whether you believe it or not, cheesy is in his middle name).
It isn't like you enjoy it or anything. But those nights you spent at his place were... surprisingly okay, besides, who would turn down a chance to be spoiled once in a while? His cooking is good and you never turn down free meals. He even coaxed you into trying some of the vegetable, a bit cabbage or carrot, scarcely, but those are the rare times that you feel like eating. He usually smiles like a dork after each successful attempt to make you eat them. And it pisses you off.
After dinner, you would curl up on the couch, he'd join you watching anything that catch your attention on television. Comedies and dramas seem to be his favorite, then comes thriller and action ( fortunately, never Korean drama because, seriously? ). You don't mind, sometimes you would get caught up watching them and it wasn't boring as you first thought it would turn out to be. Lucky. He has a good taste for choosing movies. He would talk to you, about the characters in the show you were watching and explain to you a lot of things that you had missed in the previous episodes. It reminds you of a child talking about what he likes and there is this sparkle in his eyes every time he talks about his favorite character. You'd fall asleep, on the couch, to his voice going on and on. It's strangely soothing, like a peaceful lullaby luring you to sleep.
(- she's not only appealing, energetic but unique in her own way. Don't you agree that her palable intelligence and down-to-earth sense of humor is good? I can see why that Jacob guy fell for her - )
The next day, you'd find yourself on bed, in your room in the dormitory. Of course he wasn't there. Unwillingly, you'd crawl out of bed to get ready for the day. He never said anything about it, and since you didn't want to take the initiate and start an argument with him, you stayed silent. Somehow, it bugged you.
The routine has been going for sometimes now. The mystery is that, you never said 'no' each time he asked you to 'keep him company'.
"Can't you ask somebody else?"
You asked him once.
"Can't it be you?"
And he replied with a fond expression plastered on his face.
Are you some kind of pet to him? Because that man must have nothing better to do than giving his attention to you. People said you are his favorite. The idea makes your face scrunches up in disgust. Maybe you are the substitute for someone else. Who knows. But then again, he doesn't look like a man who is seeking for a replacement, doesn't even look like a heartbroken man in the first place.
For some mysterious reasons, he likes kissing you and holding you. You didn't even bother asking him why. The way he touches you so tenderly makes you want to shriek and tear his hair out because you are not a goddamn woman who needs to be handle with care. Even the thought itself is disturbing enough. He needn't have treated you like one when he doesn't even mean a word he said. You grant him the privilege to do those kind of things to you because whatever. He could do anything he wants, you had had worse. You slept with him before, why bothered by those kind of intimacy now?
He is allowed to hold you like this, with your head close to his heart, listening to its beating and thinking about how despicable this mendacious man is.
Love? What a joke.
This isn't love.
Not even when you are lying on your back, legs spread out for him and crying out his name so desperately. It is nothing but a big fat lie. Lust is burning in his violet eyes as he reaches out to touch your face. You shake your head, turning away to stop yourself from looking at him. It'd only hurt more than it already did. Shakily, his name escapes your lips, repeatedly, like a prayer, a mantra to your God that is him. You don't care how wanton you look nor how degrading you are, begging him like a cheap whore, you just want him to give you what you want.
It is a physical need that only he could satisfy you. He knows your body better than you do and you despite how he could reduce you into something so low every-fucking-times. He plays with you, pushing you to the edge then stops. It's frustrating and no matter how you want to just throttle him right there, on the bed, you still comply to his wishes, doing what he wants you to and being a good boy for him.
He rarely lose control when fucking you (because calling this making love is disturbing, despite how gentle he is). His thrusts are usually controlled and precise. Aiming to please before pleasing himself. How many times have you told him not to care? Too many that you lost count. He has always been like that so you stopped telling him to. It's hard to tell a man who would sacrifice for others' sake to stop caring.
Such a fool.
A guttural sound marks your climax and his. You grit your teeth, trying hard not to make a sound but the pleasure is overwhelming. Carefully, he pulls out. Having his come inside gives you weird feelings. A part of you wants to grab your knife and gouge out his eyes (that man, even when you told him not to), while the other half just wants to doze off then wake up sometimes later, forcing him to carry you to the bathroom and cleans it for you (which would lead to more sex, not that you mind). He, doesn't seem to feel the slightest bit of guilty, smiles and kisses you. You silently pray that he wouldn't finish the routine by-
"I love you."
Ahh, there he said it.
The rustling of fabric resounds in the room as you said nothing and shift, turning your back to him. He gets out of bed then returns shortly after, you could feel the bed dips under his weight.
"Lay still for me."
His hands are on you once again. Snaking their way up your thighs, soft and wet texture of tissue gliding on your skin, wiping away the remnant of sex. The touch is gentle as if afraid of hurting you. It triggers shivers running up and down your spine. You shut your eyes and will yourself to breathe, steadily. It's not the first time he did something like this but your body's reaction to it was always like the very first time.
Starting from your inner thighs to your crotch, he would fondle your balls if he was feeling playful. Two fingers slowly push up your wet and loose entrance. Biting on your tongue to stop a surprised squeak from escaping, you force yourself not to clamp up on his two prodding digits.
"Please... hurry up... mnn... ngh!"
Is he smirking? Your eyes are shut tight so your vision is temporarily disabled. But he probably is, because you know how he loves having control over you. Hearing your breathless pants and helpless moans turns him on but hearing your pleads throws his self-restraint right out the window.
"So gorgeous. You don't know how sexy you look right now."
He leans down and whispers in your ears as he digs out the semen inside of you. This time, you can't prevent those traitorous sounds from being voiced anymore, not when he is going deeper and deeper, brushing your prostrate on purpose.
"A little bit more, bear with me."
He said but you can't hear anything. Black spots are dotting your vision as he continues his ministration. Fingers curling themselves inside of you, dragging out and wiping on tissues before returning, rotating, bumping against your sweet spot then retreating with sticky fluid. The process is repeated, one, twice, thrice, until he is satisfied. When he finished, you are already a quivering mess all over again. But you are too tired, too tired to get hard again after the previous orgasms. All you want to do now is sleep.
"No more... I'm still sore."
You sob into the sheets as he keeps fingering you even after you are cleaned and his other hand starts playing with your member.
"For me, just one more time, Saruhiko."
"I can't. It hurts. Please, ahh...aarg!"
You know it will hurt, fuck! He made you come three times before, the first time with a handjob, the second with a vibrator up your ass and the third with him fucking you. Your body is still sensitive, one more time and you think you may pass out from the over-stimulation. Fingers find their way up his arms, digging in his sleeves and grasping them in a desperate attempt to make him stop.
And that man smiles. He fucking smiles, calmly and assuringly, but it scares you even more.
Gently, he grabs your limp cock and starts pumping in a slow, almost excruciating rhythm. Your mouth is open but no word comes out, only a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. Ithurtsithurtsithurts- The feeling intensified and you start begging for him. God, to stop, to finish this, to make this stop, to let your body rest-
"Just a little bit more, Saruhiko, I know you can do it."
His grip tightens and kisses are peppered on your skin.
No more. Please. It hurts. I can't-
All the strength in your body dissipates as you reach your completion. Consciousness slowly leaves you but his whispers of appraisal still reaches you. Telling how much of a good boy you are and how much he loves you. A small twisted sense of pride blooms inside of you.
You are perfect, he said, I love you, he said.
Closing your eyes, you let sleep consume the last of your awareness.
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You awake from your slumber sometimes later in the morning. Today is Saturday so you don't have to worry about coming up with a proper explanation about showing up late to the ice queen. Despite what people may think, you maybe lazy, unmotivated and lethargic but causing unnecessary troubles isn't what you do. If anything, you'd like to avoid them, one way or another.
Looking around the room, you realize that he isn't there. The spot next to you is empty and lacks of warmth. Running a hand through your hair, your lips curve up into a smile. Why are you smiling? You don't know. Happiness certainly isn't the cause of it. You smile because it seems fitting for situation like this. Quick question: what would you do if you wake up after spending the night with the man who claims to love you only to find yourself on bed alone? You are not a woman so you don't know what a woman would do. Maybe making a scene, crying on the phone with your friends over this, what the fuck should you do?
Shakily reaching for your glasses on the bedside drawer, you notice that you are wearing his yukata and his scent is all around you. The faint smell of tea and the distinctive smell that of himself. Taking a deep breath, you place your feet on the wooden floor, trying to stand and almost double over with pain. A sharp pain runs from your back side, your hips and down to a certain area below. Using the walls as support, you try to steady yourself on your feet.
Breathe.
Count to ten.
Cautiously you take a small step, then another. It hurts a little but at least, the pain is bearable. You make it to the bedroom door. There are sounds of utensils clicking in the kitchen which immediately grabs your attention.
He is still there?
You feel your heart leaps a little and your feet move on their own accord. Small and delicate steps. One two three four five six-
"Good morning, Saruhiko."
He is holding a plate of bacon and scramble eggs. His hair is still wet from shower and his clothes are hastily thrown on. Only a simple shirt with trousers. But that is not what you should care about. Why is he still here? Wait, this is his place so the question should be 'why are you still here'? Is he doing it out of courtesy? Sympathy? Before driving you back to the dormitory? Continuing this fake act of 'love'? This is wrong, on so many levels that you are at a loss for word.
You are really losing, losing to him.
"Is there something wrong? Are you still hurt?"
"Nothing is wrong."
You smack his hands away and glare at him. Why? Is that tears welling on your eyes? He looks worry now. You are laughing inside and this is hilarious. Right. Why is this hilarious you said?
"I-it shouldn't have been like this! Why are you doing this to me?! Why am I still here? What are those?"- you point at the table, then turn to him - " Shouldn't you be driving me back? Are you pitying me?! Because I don't need anything from you! Tell me why?!"
Furiously, you wipe away those tears and put your hand to cover your mouth. You don't want him to hear you cry. Seeing your tears is bad enough, you can't lose that little shred of dignity you've got left now.
He looks stunned. But then he starts laughing as if this is something funny to him. You feel insulted and confuse at the same time. Finally, he shakes his head and straightens himself up, regaining his usual composure.
"That is called breakfast. I'm not doing anything to you, I'm only making this for us. You are still here because I want you to and I'm not going to drive you back to the dorm, not yet, since today is Saturday and I have plans for us. It's not pity, and I can guarantee that you will need some clothes from me in the next, let's see, two hours, since yours are being washed. And why, you said? Did I not tell you?"
He moves closer and you didn't inch from your spot. Your brain is still busy processing those information. Us?! Did he just say 'plans for us'? Your clothes, now that you remember weren't in the bedroom. He must have took them when you were still asleep. And what the fuck did he mean?!
Leaning down, he kissed your forehead and circles his left hand loosely around your waist. His right hand takes out a white handkerchief in his pocket to gently wipe your face.
"Stop that."
You snap.
"Uh hmm."
He chuckles and holds the flimsy fabric over your nose. Great, now you look like a kid to him. Taking the handkerchief from him to avoid any further embarrassment, you turn around and blow hard into it. This is not a chick flick movie and you certainly don't need a tear stained face to complete the cheesy look of a distressed girl having a fight with her boyfriend. Minus the boyfriend part.
And now you feel like cursing.
"So, mind telling me what's this all about, Saruhiko?"
You stiffen immediately.
"No."
"Why did you cry?"
"It's nothing."
"Saruhiko."
"..."
Arms pulled you against warm chest makes your knees go weak.
"Saruhiko."
"Don't say it."
Bite your lips. Hold back your tears. Don't god damnit.
"Saruhiko."
"...it's not fair..."
"What isn't?"
"You didn't tell me why."
"I love you."
"Stop saying that. You are abusing my name."
"I love you Saruhiko."
"Prove it then. Since you love telling me that so goddamn much."
Show me that I'm not the only one.
"As you wish."
The next thing you know is that you was swept off your feet, literally, and he is carrying you to the couch of the living room. He sets you down, though as gentle as he can be, you couldn't help but grimace a bit.
You pretend that he isn't kneeling before you. You look away when he kiss the curve of your left foot. The tickling of his breath and the butterfly touches on your skin trigger a flush flare up your cheeks. His hands linger on your foot, running fingers down its side, making your skin prickle and shivers run wild. Lips, slightly chapped, kiss your ankle. Tongue sneakily slides along the arch, nibbling, leaving faint pink mark here and there before he gets bore and moves up.
Wandering hands brush against your calf, to your thigh. He kiss your knee lovingly, eyes narrow in deep concentration. Suddenly those touches creep up your inner thigh, and claws of trepidation have gotten a hold of your heart. Is he going to-
"Relax, I'm not going to do anything you don't want to."
He speaks in a hushed tone, assuringly but it alone isn't enough to calm your quickening heartbeats. He skims pass your thigh and aims at somewhere else. He rises from his position, movements unhurried, straddling you, pushing you down on the soft surface of the couch. You close your eyes as he leans closer. Breath labored, your lips move, trying to mutter something. Never before has you heard silence quite this loud. He presses his finger to your lips. No word is needed.
The rustling of fabric is the only sound besides yours and his breathing. He continues his silent worship, picking up from where he left off. Each caress is an gesture of pure adoration. Feathery touches of the lips and light brushes of skin. Fingers buried in his dark blue hair, you call his name. He presses kisses on your chest, softly and tenderly. There is no lustful meaning behind them, that alone is enough to gives you these weird senses of security. Strange indeed.
He takes your hand, violet eyes shine with sentiment. Kisses peppered from your wrist, on your pulse, then those lips brushes against your palm, murmuring something before bestowing each of your nimble digits with affection and unspoken feelings. He tends to your fingers with great dedication and adoration. Each finger, each kiss, a hidden message. You think you saw he utter something under his breath. His eyes catch yours in a longing gaze.
You wound your arms around his neck. The King doesn't say anything. He is waiting.
"Tell me what you want me to do. Anything."
He is always a man of his word for prestige is what he upholds. By anything he means you can tell him to let you go, to stop. Anything that you want him to do.
"Tell me what you want."
Unblinking, you return him a question.
"You will never give me a direct answer, will you?"- the corner of his mouth curls into a smile.
You roll your eyes exasperatedly.
"What you are willing to give me."
"Tch, you own me from the day you took me in. I have nothing left to give you."
"Not. Everything."
"Have anyone told you that you are a greedy King? You can't always have what you want."
"I am well aware. But a King is only a man with power in his hand. Is it a sin for him to desire?"
"No... not a sin..."
You mumble. More to yourself than to him. With a sudden movement, you pull him down to connect your lips with his. He is more than reveled when you took the initiate. You granted him his access and he wastes no time diving in. Tongue prodding and licking the roof of your mouth, stealing your breath and make your head spin with overwhelming emotions. The kiss was long, intense and addictive. The kind that blank your head and drown you in sensation.
"Saruhiko."
"Shh."
"Come closer."
He obliges. Faintly, you found words being vocalized.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
You want to give in, oh how much you want to. But is it okay? To let down your guard and embrace this feeling for him. You know it may hurt but maybe it's alright. It's not a bad thing to give your heart to someone and to be able to say the truth. You are tired, of running and denying him, just because you are scared and there is that feeling of insecure deep down, inside of you. There's nothing more you want than lay your armor down and indulge in this warmth that he offers.
That warmth called home.
Now, you are not the only one.
"I'm in your care now, so please take good care of me."
After a long time, you can see that color of happiness missing from your life returns. Not in the shade of raging red but a calming wave of blue that embraces you and gives you back the warmth you long for.
"With pleasure, my love."
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You are Fushimi Saruhiko.
You are in love with your King, Munakata Reishi.
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*Mindless rant:
Hello. It's... me.
I wrote this after stuffing my head with a bunch of fluff/angst/miscellaneous small shots from some of my favorite authors. Don't know if it comes out as good or not. Updates for other stories will be slow /sad face/. Sadly there are only 24 hours a day /sigh/.
The movie which Munakata talks about is Crazy, Stupid Love. I enjoyed watching it and Emma Stone is one of my favorite actress. And there's Ryan Gosling with his looks-like-photoshoped-extremely-hot body /squeal/.
I don't like Korean drama and Kpop ( mostly because of its fan and the controversial effects it has on their fans in my country, urg... ) but I like DBSK and BoA ( their music is good ). There are some TV series I like. Mostly from 2006. Haha...I'm getting old.
Uhm yeah, I'm done. I'd love to hear from you guys so, drop me a few line :) thanks.
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I really want this to reach 4k words... haha