Disclaimer: Me no own. Sorry.

Author's Note: Yeah...kill me now. X.X I hope this chapter is okay. crosses fingers

Track Twelve: Glass in the Veins

Eiri's fingers caressed the wet trails sliding lightly but constantly over his cheeks to spill onto his lap, desperate to erase their existence from his memory, and he shook his head, tendrils of shadowed blonde gliding across his face, wanting to deny everything. This had to be a nightmare of his overactive imagination -he did write fiction for a living, after all- but the evidence of saltine tears washing his pale, flawless skin awoke him to the realization that this was reality, one he had created and had to live with; there was no choice in the matter. The novelist glanced, almost shyly, towards the passenger side of his car, briefly thinking to see those childish, lovable violet eyes of his lover, but it was an immature thought. Shuichi had disappeared into the surrounding darkness, crying as though Eiri had done something absolutely terrible to him.

'Maybe I did,' he thought, biting his lip and closing his eyes to the world to ignore the burning sensation scorching his vision. 'Maybe...maybe...'

"I...I can't. G-gomen, Yuki...I-I can't..."

Eiri cried against his arm, the steering wheel imprinting his forehead with a colorful pattern of lines he soon forgot, and he slammed his left fist against the plastic casing of the door, rage consuming him. What had he done to deserve this? Hadn't he told Shuichi the truth? Hadn't he confessed everything about his past? About his sensei? About the mistakes he had made? The author felt his body tremble at the thought, too lost in his own momentary grief to actually care that this was unlike him, that this brutal show of any other emotion except annoyance and depression were uncharacteristic of the man that Uesugi Eiri had become, and he sobbed from deep within his chest, hating himself for this weakness that so easily consumed him.

Eiri did not make it a habit to cry, even when he'd been so emotionally afflicted that his heart threatened to shatter, but since Shuichi's ever-insistent spirit had repeatedly corrupted his quiet presence, he had been unable to control his emotional outbreaks. He found that he'd become prone to strikes of anger and self-loathing, sometimes only held onto the world of the living by the tiny fact that his beloved singer would be devastated, literally driven to insane loneliness without his protective aura, and the uncontrollable moments of flooding tears resulted in his own shortcomings, his failure as an actually human being. The real Eiri, unsheltered by his hardened shell of pessimistic lashings of the tongue, was a whore, a prostitute to his desires of giving love and being loved in return. He was the alleyway hooker of denial, spreading his legs to accommodate anyone willing to fill the void when Shuichi just wasn't enough, but his talent, refined and honed to perfection by two demons in disguise, had crumbled beneath his weighted heart, tipping the scales of the afterlife directly towards unforgivable sinner.

Eiri wore his black soul on his sleeve, and he'd contaminated another with his wanton touch.

"Shuichi..." His own voice washed back against him within the miniscule space of his car, echoing dead and obviously empty in his vacant mind, and he almost immediately cried harder, the remorse of his transgression stabbing him continuously in the back, staining his clothes with a definable litany of invisible crimson crimes. He had done this; he had done all of this and without a second thought. His fear of losing his valiant treasure, his pink-haired wonder, to the growing selfishness inside his body had consumed his logic, making him irrational and disrespectful of anything other than how he felt, and he'd driven his lover -strong, courageous, always up-lifting, and irrefutably kawaii until eternity's last breath- away from him and into the embrace of darkness' safety. Eiri wiped at the tears covering his flushed cheeks, their wetness absorbing into his skin, and he decadently avoided the reflection of his own ravaged appearance in the mirror tilted at an angle towards him.

It was his fault, and he had to make it right.

Slipping the key from the ignition, Eiri quickly stepped from the confining space of his imported vehicle -though its obtuse size compared to most Japanese transports was evidently huge, he had been suffocating- and walked towards the minutely lit doors of the elevator, his fingers shaking even as he hit the 'up' button and stepped within the sluggishly opening metal arms to leave the hungry pain of eroding blackness behind. When Eiri's feet embraced the gleaming linoleum floor, memories surfaced before his eyes, tormenting him endlessly, and he leaned against the wall, his nose pressed painfully close to its cold surface. His tongue slid free from its warm prison and licked the barrier thoughtfully.

"Shut your mouth. You are pissing me off. You keep asking 'why, why?' He always asked me the same thing. Indeed, why are you asking me why? Why do you keep coming to see me again and again?" Large violet orbs gaze up at him as the blonde walked forward, edging the other further and further away from his commanding presence.

"I-I..." He slammed against the wall, long arms moving to trap him so that he couldn't move.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" There was a pause. "Oh, well..." Lips brushed against the stoic singer's, and he gasped, allowing a liquefying tongue to purge his mouth and dance over his teeth, over his own tongue. He stood motionless in Eiri's loose embrace, unable to decipher the meaning of his advance, but when a hand skillfully slipped from beside his head to caress his side through the bulkiness of his glossy orange sweater, all coherent thought ceased to exist, and he kissed back, moaning softly at the quickly recognizable flavor pouring into him, all around him.

Eiri groaned mercilessly, his tongue lapping at the metallic-tasting barrier before him, and he blinked, his saliva connecting the novelist's mouth with his substitute lover. Instead of strawberry, he sampled aluminum; instead of pliable skin, he felt un-giving steel.

This wasn't what he wanted.

He clenched his fist, anger and undeniable pain swamping his senses, and he practically raced out of the elevator as soon as it stopped on the floor he had specified, desperate to hold his Shuichi against him, to wipe away all of those tears. The writer didn't even think that his thoughts were erratic, that they surfaced from the anger-laden Yuki Eiri of fictitious romance novels who remained cruel and vicious without cause, and he slipped inside the still darkened apartment, carelessly left unlocked by his emotion-wounded lover in his flee of grief, lemon eyes scanning the shadows for any form of life. He saw none, and his heart sank as he slipped his shoes off, noticing, with relief, that Shuichi's scuffed footwear lay lopsidedly beside one another. At least he was here.

'I have to tell him...I must...'

Eiri stumbled in the dark, his legs almost unable to support him as he avoided the miscellaneous objects scattered on the wooden floor. It was as he had left it after receiving that absurd phone call from his younger brother; he'd been unable to move the mess for fear of losing reality on the situation. He actually had someone living with him, sharing his bed, his space, his life, and the possibility that he was still safe, free of the nightmares that had been his childhood world, was hard to grasp. Eiri was the cautious type, and over the months since Shuichi's persistent clinginess, he still couldn't figure out how everything had come to be. He was glad, he was happy, and no one could take his light from him. Tachi Aizawa nearly had -had defiled him the worst possible way a person could be defiled- but their relationship had persevered. The media, their careers, the differences in their families, their personalities, their untold secrets...nothing could break what had been set in stone.

Eiri would not allow it.

"Shuichi?" His name was music flowing from his tongue, and the first place he had looked -the couch- had been vacant, a lonely ashtray smiling crookedly back at him as he found his way into the bedroom. Their bedroom. "Shuichi?"

There was a soft sniffle. "Y-Yuki?"

"Shu..." Relief spread through the novelist's entire body, and his initial reaction rose above that, anger sparking. Why was he so calm? Didn't he know that he cared? Didn't he know that he was worried?! And, then, everything disappeared; Eiri had already answered his own question.

No, Shuichi did not.

"Naa, Yuki!" Arms wrapped around his waist from the enveloping gloom, startling him from his thoughts, and the enticing aroma of strawberries entranced him, completely making him forget the animosity harboring in his mind. This was the effect his petite lover had on him -when he was ready to explode with anger, he calmed him; when he threatened to do unspeakable, inhumane things, he convinced him otherwise- and although this strange power of ceasing cataclysmic events intrigued Eiri, he could not worry about it or the fact that the singer had him twisted purposefully around his finger. Thin shoulders were shaking harshly against his abdomen, a nose protruding into the center of his chest at a sharp angle that almost, if not already, hurt, and his arms banded Shuichi in a tight embrace, pulling him closer, hugging him comfortingly. Eiri understood that the vocalist was in pain -more emotionally than physically- and to show support was merely another stone on the road he had built for himself. He had fallen victim to the worst plague in known existence, and it began with a disgustingly bright, neon pink 'L'. "Yuki...I'm...please forgive me. Gomen, Yuki! Yuki-"

"Urasai..." His tone was hard and unrelenting, but then his expression softened, and Shuichi actually smiled through his tears. "Come here, baka."

"Naa, Yuki..." He'd barely gotten his name out before avid lips were pillaging his own, a demanding tongue thrusting its way into his mouth to plunge into that warm cavern in a heated caress, and Shuichi moaned against him, wanting more of the delicious chills his older and more sophisticated lover induced in him. He became that wanton sex toy of Eiri's fantasies, brazen in his ventures to please him, and this was the way it had always been between them from that very first, surprising kiss in the elevator to those countless and memorable sessions of heated, desperately frantic lovemaking after weeks of abstinence -book signings and concert tours were close and even between. There remained a spark of fire, a hidden flame of passion that refused to deny its existence inside them. It made them crazy for each other, uninhibited, feisty, ignorant to their surroundings, and seductively exotic. Shuichi felt his knees growing weak beneath Eiri's skilled ministrations, his tongue was licking at his lips, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and he gasped, wanting to stabilize his perfectly planned speech.

He had to confess what he had done -Hiro's taste was still so dominatingly potent in his memories- but it was becoming difficult to decipher one person from the next. Eiri's features were concealed in the dark, masking who and what he was to the lust-filled singer as his nimble fingers deliberately began to slowly slither the binding leather shorts over his lean hips, and Shuichi conceded to the vision in his brain, wrapping his skinny arms around those powerful shoulders, his consciousness evaporating as he hoisted himself up, his leg curling around the other's upper thigh. This lover was a mixture of two beings -blonde and red hair, cobalt blue and lemon-lime eyes- and everything clashed and matched, rivaled and compromised, sending a sharp chill up the singer's spine that burnt a path of hot desire straight to his groin. He thrust his pelvis against the one hovering beside his, and Eiri stumbled back into the dresser, his mouth breaking contact momentarily before attacking his bared throat, the long yellow trench coat Shuichi had worn to his concert fluttering to the floor.

"Let me have you," he growled, his hot breath inevitably close to the vocalist's ear. "All of you...mine." The writer's teeth sank into the soft flesh of his shoulder a moment later, and Shuichi squealed, his arousal skyrocketing. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed this until now, and when Eiri initiated such things, it always meant something new, something exciting, and something that had Shuichi walking slightly funny days after.

"Eiri," he groaned, thrusting his hips up to brush against the writer's surprisingly stoic body, unwilling to deny himself the pleasure of touching the magnificent creature driving him divinely insane, and the singer knew it was a miracle he'd said the right name; someone else's was on the tip of his tongue, threatening to tumble free. "D-don't tease..." Shuichi arched his back, rubbing himself along his lover in a drawn out caress that extracted a soft moan from his target, and he leaned forward after a long, effective pause, smiling generously in spite of the game he played with practiced skill, climbing over Eiri as the author tried to balance them against the edge of the waist-high bureau he'd been knocked into. Fingers dug into the flesh of his torso, holding him still, and the eyes of gleaming gold that stared back at him did not belong to the lover he knew. Where had he gone? "Y-Yuki?"

"I want you, Shu-chan. Do you want me, too?" he murmured, his lips brushing close enough to the skin of his neck to induce a shockwave of shudders.

What type of question was that? Eiri had never asked him anything so redundant before; it was pretty obvious what his answer was. Shuichi ground the throbbing ache between his legs against Eiri, his head tossed back in a way that defined his slender throat like that of a forbidden display, but hands, choking the movements that would further prove how much he desired the insatiable writer, stopped him.

"What?" His usually childish voice was thick and husky, toned down by the pleasure pounding furiously in his veins.

"I want to fuck you," he stated matter-of-factly, slightly damp strands of blonde hiding his eyes, and Shuichi's breath caught in his throat -Eiri really wanted him when he started talking dirty- as his cheeks burnt a color that almost matched the hue of his hair.

"Eiri-" Jagged edges of broken steel pierced his mystified gaze, alerting the singer to a horrible, terrible truth even as the other's daring pink tongue moistened the edge of his bottom lip, hunger evident across his entire visage. Shuichi was looking at starvation, the mass destruction of a peaceful soul torn into multitudes of tiny remnants, and the expression on his beloved's face was ripping him apart, hurting more and more with each passing second as Eiri was lost to the hatred and the anger and false desire within himself. The monstrosity of Yuki Kitazawa's creation had finally returned, once buried beneath the repression of a child's guilty conscience, and Shuichi shut his eyes, refusing to believe that what he had known had existed behind his lover's impenetrable wall of secrets had escaped, finally free to dominate him, to break him, like he'd always feared. "Yuki...I..."

"..." Eiri ignored the singer's soft, nearly inaudible protest as he pried his legs from around his waist, unaware that his harsh grasp was marring that perfectly tanned flesh, and he shoved Shuichi onto the top of the dresser, fingers tearing at the already loose shorts in haste to remove them even as his elbow knocked a bottle of cologne onto the hardwood floor, breaking it freakishly into two neat halves. The musky smell was repugnant, filling Shuichi's nostrils with an aroma that was almost three times as strong as the underlying scent that was distinctly his lover's, but his senses entirely blanked out the moment Eiri's tongue slid over the edge of his navel, his mouth a scorching inferno of fire that sought to destroy him when it enveloped the tip of his exposed erection, suckling softly. Shuichi cried out, his back arching at an unnatural angle as his hands slapped the top of the bureau's surface, nails gouging into the wood to keep himself steady when Eiri increased the suction on his skin, drawing him farther and farther into the depths beyond his lips. His legs trembled violently, unable to comprehend why Eiri was doing this, he would never torture him like this, and he tossed his head back, screaming agonizingly as his lover's teeth grazed his flesh, driving his senses wild.

Eiri's hands wrenched his thighs further apart to create enough room for him between them as he slid to his knees, his movements uninterrupted by the shift of his position, and Shuichi covered his mouth with his forearm, biting his skin hard enough to make it bleed when fingers reached behind him to draw him closer, his legs slipping over the other's shoulders. Saliva and tears were mingling together to form a thick coat of saturation on his flesh, and Shuichi shrieked deafeningly, splitting Eiri's eardrums, as his cock was drawn impossibly deeper into that anguishing heat of molten lava, the suction harder, the experience even more overwhelming than it had ever been before. The singer no longer felt like he was in his own body, this was someone else, he was only a distant spectator of this crude sexual game, and the stars swarming around his head blinked at him in spite, smirking with their ever-persistent twinkle as if to say 'you lost.' He'd become part of a deluded fantasy, it wasn't the dream of being in love and having sweet kisses and marrying anymore, and that tore at him more than anything.

"Yuki...Hi...oh...g-god..." His lungs malfunctioned, completely shutting down from the lack of air, and Shuichi came in one fluid gush, his voice too sore to produce anything more than a scratchy croak that had a smirk forming on Eiri's lips as he greedily drank the warm "essence of Shu." The singer mewled for breath, unaware that it was far from over. Eiri pushed his own fingers into his mouth after he'd pulled away, swirling them, wrapping them in the residue of cum and spit, and the slick sound as they slid free had Shuichi blinking his exhausted eyes open. He was afraid, and his heart pounded.

Eiri had become his death.

"You liked that?" he whispered, his deep, resonating voice oozing with sarcasm. "You want more?" Shuichi shook his head frantically. He wanted to get away; he didn't want this, but Eiri took his silence and wobbly head movement as agreement, and the author stood, one hand grabbing Shuichi by the thigh to hold his hips up while the other slipped towards the opening to his body. The pink-haired vocalist whimpered when fingers entered him, roughly defiling him like he had been once before, stretching him for that thing he'd liked once, and he couldn't bring himself to pull away, to say 'no,' to hate what his precious lover had become. Shuichi owed him this, this was the penalty he had to pay for causing the writer so much grief and agony, and above all, it was his duty as his partner to satisfy him.

He loved his Eiri so much.

Shuichi braced himself for what was to come, silent tears streaming down his cheeks as his soul called out for help, contradicting everything with one word, one name, that he cradled to his heart.

It was one Eiri could never hear.

Hiro...

- - - - - - - - - -

Shower damp locks brushed his face as he walked out onto the balcony of the apartment, a soft, semi-comforting breeze almost caressing him, and Eiri sucked on the cigarette held lightly in his hand, the rising of the sun greeting him in mock salutation. There was a muffled sound from within, but he didn't move, knowing what had caused it. Shuichi had fallen asleep in a ball on their bed, after he'd moved him there, and the thump of his hand hitting the wall as he rolled over echoed into the novelist's ears. Eiri didn't understand what had gotten into him earlier -how could he have treated his kawaii toy with absolutely no respect?- and the revulsion he'd felt after he had withdrawn himself from Shuichi's lax grasp had almost made him vomit. Somewhere in his mind, Eiri knew that the other had told him no, had somehow clarified that he hadn't wanted it, but he'd persisted, too stubborn to let something as juvenile as Shuichi stop him from getting what he'd wanted. The realization sickened him; he didn't take anyone by force, he never had. The writer leaned against the railing, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows so that the exposed flesh of his arms rubbed against the chilling metal, and his mind raced with the memories of that night.

He was so stupid!

How could Shuichi love him, now, after what he'd done?

He'd only wanted to give comfort and be comforted in return, but he'd practically raped his little lover with so much force that his blood now stained their bedroom.

Practically?

Golden eyes flashed open at his comprehension of the situation, and he gasped, his cigarette falling from his loose fingers and towards the ground. Eiri knew the definition of that word, he'd used the basic plot of unwanted sex so many times before in his writing, published or not, and it was ringing repeatedly in his head, convicting him with each syllable he recalled.

Rape: The crime of forcible sexual intercourse; abusive treatment.

Forcible...

Abusive...

He'd raped Shuichi.

He'd raped his Shuichi.

Eiri's fingers shook, his mouth burning with a thousand empty apologies that the singer needed to hear, and he covered his pale face with his hands, unable to move. He'd promised himself that nothing bad would ever happen to Shuichi again, that he would be safe if he stayed with him, but he'd lied. He'd broken the only thing he'd ever wanted to keep, and everything was his fault, though he still refused to believe it.

"Dammit." Eiri swayed as he turned around, his steps unsteady, and he fell against the open glass door of the balcony, unable to support himself.

Why was he such a fool?

Why did he have this affliction with hurting people close to him?

His sensei...

Tohma...

Mika and Tatsuha...

And, now, Shuichi...

Then, understanding came to him.

He wasn't meant to be loved by anyone. The only security he could afford to buy himself was knowing that others could hurt like he had been hurt, could bleed like he had bled, and there was nothing for him...anymore. Shuichi had been everything to him, when he'd finally managed to make himself realize it, but he'd hurt him.

He had to be forgiven!

'I'm sorry...'

 Eiri stumbled back into the apartment, a flood of irritating tears burning his eyes as he staggered into the living room, the gray L-shaped couch grimacing at him in scorn. He and Shuichi had shared so many memorable moments there, and too many times they had ended in hot-blooded lovemaking that had always made both of them forget they were even separate entities, but he had desecrated that sacred place with the sacrilege of his singing god. The author turned his gaze away, unable to get the image of Shuichi happily pouncing on him out of his mind, and he gradually wobbled towards the looming doorway of their bedroom, his face ashen with fear. Uesugi Eiri was terrified, beyond petrified of entering and being rejected for the sin he actually was, and the vibration of that dread constricted around his heart, freezing his blood. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't concentrate. His mind ached with sorrow.

Tohma had trained him well.

Ring...

The novelist jerked, abusing his knuckles against the wood of the door as he pulled back, momentarily convinced that the portal before him was alive with sound, but another shrill noise hummed a second later, pulling him from the mirage consuming him. He reeled towards the phone placed dutifully on its petite charger, and Eiri nearly dropped it as he pushed the power button and tried holding it firmly to his ear.

"What?"

"You got laid, didn't you?" His brother's familiar voice immediately echoed through the quiet apartment, and Eiri was unable to bring himself to answer.

What was he supposed to say?

'Yes, but now I've become a rapist.'?

He didn't think that would work.

"Stop making assumptions," he muttered sourly a moment later, deciding to avoid the subject all together. He still hadn't apologized. "How can you tell, anyway?"

"Easy, Aniki. Your voice is softer...and you're not yelling at me for calling so early," he answered, his own deep tone expressing fatigue.

Was it really that early?

Glancing at the clock above the TV told him that, indeed, it was.

"Whatever." He paused. "What do you want, Tatsuha?" The younger Uesugi laughed.

"You've always been my favorite brother, Aniki..."

"What do you want?" he ground out, tired of playing charades and pretending. He wanted to discard his mask and bare himself to the world.

"Well, I sorta...I was wondering if you'd let me stay. Just for the night, I mean, and then I'll go back home in the morning -er- well, later."

Go back home?

"Where are you?!"

"At the hospital," he answered, sounding somewhat nervous. "Ayaka-chan wanted me to take her, and I couldn't-"

"Whatever. Fine. Good-bye." Eiri tripped back towards that dreaded door, dropping the phone on the couch as he staggered by, and he swallowed as he slowly stepped inside.

What was he going to do?

TBC-

A/N: I'm waiting for the flames and hate mail. LOL. I will repost this, along with replies to reviews as soon as Pato gets it beta-ed.