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They'd always had a connection, him and Die, though it was one so tenuous it escaped description. Neither was it always a pleasant one. In the early days, Die's apparent urge to follow him after a show irritated Kyo, seeing how the guitarist's face turn towards him like a sunflower to the sun, watching it rise, and following it to set, and the scrutiny crawled under his skin like something invasive, something parasitic that tried to climb inside him, take over and control him. They'd had words, eventually, and he'd sent the redhead packing permanently. The live shows got more intense, built-in heat from the ground up that radiated through Kyo and drove the extremes that seemed to mark their performances. Or maybe it was just him.
Creatively it worked. They discussed it dispassionately as a band, drove the timing for greater impact, to let the weight of the performances build and use the raw fury that crawled from Kyo in to shows their fans would never forget. Each night, each show, each performance, and Die... Die just watched. The red flower, face pacing the sun from dawn to dark of each live. He no longer physically paced Kyo's steps afterwards, but his presence was always two steps behind him, a breath above his shoulder. A heartbeat that throbbed against his back as Kyo bled out his grief and rage on stage, then bled off the excess in the shower afterwards.
He drove himself, like the others, merciless in his pursuit to get every thing right, to give their fans every moment of himself that he had. Still, Kyo knew his body and his mind conflicted in that drive and while his mind always won, he knew he couldn't keep that winning streak up forever. Eventually something gave, and something gave again, and then one night his red flower had carried him to the shower-no longer two steps behind but solid beneath his shoulder, supporting him, steadying him. Gentle hands careful to keep their callouses from catching on his skin and hair, hard body dripping wet under the cold water. Cold water. Right. He had a fever. Kyo could feel his eyes focusing again, his body relaxing under those strong fingers as they worked a towel over his skin. His red flower, standing in the glare of its sun without flinching. The vocalist gave a silent snort and caught that wrist with his hand, met those eyes with his own, and tried to look at him. Really, actually look. Tattoos, long limbs, an infinite grace even when manhandling the smaller man in and around the bathroom. Lean chest, hips, and oh, he was hard. He was so hard that Kyo could almost taste him in his mouth from where he leaned against the wall, those hands in his hair wringing the water from it with infinite care. Those eyes looked back, more red in his cheeks to match his hair and Kyo had to taste something, anything, his mouth, if not his cock.
He'd pulled him down without really realising it, and the lips on his were sweet as pollen to a bee as Kyo drank from them, stung him with his teeth and took as much of that sweetness as he could. There was a long silence then, where he could feel Die's heartbeat as clearly as if it were Shinya's drums, and maybe what he was hearing was his own fever dream of honey and sunlight reflected back. There was a smile on Die"s lips though, tongue darting to brush them, kiss-stung, and Kyo knew he had to have that again. Later he didn't remember much beyond that kiss, strong arms folding him in to bed, the flare of a match lighting a cigarette in the dark. Die's bruised eyes behind his dark glasses the next day as exhaustion bowed those proud shoulders. His red flower had tracked him through the night, through the earth until dawn without a moment's rest for himself. Kyo would have called it absurd, but not with how those eyes followed him still.
Die was no longer a presence two steps back but footsteps tracking behind his own. No longer a breath above his shoulder but a mess of hot skin against his mouth, his chest, his cock. Kyo had more of his kisses after that. Eventually, he also got the actual taste he craved, knees aching from shower floors and hot water rinsing away any evidence, long fingers wrapped in his hair to stop him from choking himself, drowning himself on that taste. They were the afterthought to the performance, not the encore, but such sweet thoughts they always were. Eventually his red flower turned to gold, and all Kyo could think some nights was wrapping his fists in those long gold strands. Not to pull or to restrain, but to feel those silky strands spill across his knuckles, bind his own fingers together and tie him fast. This thing between them, unspoken, ragged and sweet was always turning in his head, like a puzzle box hiding something delectable within.
Always the same, his gold flower, eyes heavy below thick eyeshadow, lips parted in the damp heat as Kyo braced his frame against the wall. He'd heard the door (he sometimes didn't), and watched the tall man strip his clothes with sure fingers before stepping in to the water with him. There was the normal pause between them, the common pause as Die evaluated him, looking over his body with hunger he no longer disguised behind his care. And yet there was still care. Those eyes picked out the way Kyo sagged against the wall, how far his eyes actually opened. If his hands were clenched to his sides, or loose, boneless against his hips. Or if they found his cock, one hand wrapped around the length to ease the remains of his tension, bleeding it out in long, slow strokes.
"Good show," Die finally spoke, eyes on Kyo's hands.
"Good enough," Kyo agreed, but there was still something inside him that ached. Something left, something he couldn't expel that hadn't been there before. Something he could never, would never rid himself of. Something... sweet, hot as fever and filthier than infection, something that reached out, claws out, to drag the other man in.
"Are you ..." Die stopped, and Kyo just looked. Waited. Stilled his movements and his breaths and then the guitarist was on his knees, reaching for Kyo's hips.
"Here," the words seemed choked, as choked as Die's breath around his cock and Kyo let himself fall away in to that burning mouth. The water began to soak through that thick gold hair, turning the fluttering strands in to dripping ropes that swayed with each bob of his head. There were thumbs pressing in to the sensitive hollows of his hips, a hand sliding across one bare foot to creep up his thigh. Electricity lanced through the vocalist in the wake of those touches, so sharp and clean as if to flay them both. Die had the hands of an artist, a creator, and he played Kyo's body with the hunger and skill he touched his guitar. The other man was always a thief in these moments, stealing Kyo's breath, his sanity, his heart. He couldn't, wouldn't stop his own fingers from touching that cheek, stroking his hair, feeling where his lips met overheated skin. He'd been aching so long already by the time those lips wrapped around him that he knew that tongue would soon be drawing the last of his pleasure from him, and yet... and yet.
"Please," Kyo could tell his own voice was more air than sound, water dripping past his lips to foul his tongue shaping anything further. Die's eyes snapped open, snapped up, the golden head fell back to try look past Kyo's eyes even as that treacherous tongue still sought his skin for more licks. Somehow, the sight of his mouth on the skin of his hip, where thigh met groin was almost more than Kyo could stand.
"Yes?" Die's mouth brushed his skin as he spoke, re-routing the rivulets of water that trickled over Kyo's stomach. the thumbs on his hips pressed to bruise, and there was an answering heat that streaked through him, responding to the pain and the silence with nerves instead of words. For once, the words were less easy.
"Just... please, just... more," Kyo swallowed thickly, felt the strain of the break from routine with the ricochet of a snapped rubber band flying back to sting the hand. He could feel the welt trying to sink back in to his soul when those clever lips wrapped again around him to suck til Kyo nearly screamed with the need. The shift from that silent, driving hunger to the enthusiasm in every lick, every delicate scrape of teeth had him jerking forward, thrusting desperately against the back of Die's throat. There was no protest from the other man, but Kyo dragged himself back, the movement almost panicked until he had the taller man bent over in front of him. He'd barely registered he had grabbed that wet hair so hard, or that he'd slammed a heavy ring across that soft mouth until he felt sharp pain blossom in his palm. Die, the clever fuck, had bitten him.
The world stopped for a breath, and in that space Kyo found himself sucking in the air that was left for him. When he let it back out he found it made the shape of a laugh, all that desperation dropping away to leave just him with himself, with Die. He didn't mean to laugh at the others pain but before he could check he wasn't misunderstood there was a soft lick to his palm, a sooth over nipped skin that brought the air back with it. Kyo had to let go of one of those elegant hips to uncap a bottle, awkwardly smear his fingers with conditioner-it wouldn't be enough by half, but there was no protest in the body before him, no tension. That mouth still sucked, nibbled one of his fingers and he nearly dropped the bottle before he could set it aside from the shock of the need that swept through him. He slid his slick hand down, down til he could nudge one finger inside, tight and hotter than the air around him. A second finger, then a third, and Kyo's mind quietly, insistently urged him to slow down but that tight heat was now strangling his reason harder than the press of Die's ass about his fingers as the other man's body accepted the intrusion, then welcomed it. He twisted them, searched, felt those hips roll and buck beneath him and he could feel his own moans building up in his raw throat, threatening to overwhelm as he reached further to stroke and press his fingers apart, stretching and coaxing the taut muscles in to submission.
It had been a long time since he'd done this, long enough to doubt himself, until he heard a raw, tearing, "please" resonate from Die, and the thrill of his success had him nipping his own eagerness against that long, elegant back. It dropped in response, arched catlike and graceful, "Come on, please, please, Kyo, I-" Kyo dug in his fingers, pressed, and felt those slim thighs shake where they touched his. "Give it to me," it was no longer a plea but a demand, those muscles clamped hard about his fingers and relaxed again. For all he wanted to keep teasing, keep coaxing, his cock ached and his own thighs were hardly steadier as he spread his slick hand over his length, body hunched against the spray to keep from washing it away before it could be of use.
The golden tumble of hair had turned dark under the water, coiling in cords and knots that Kyo found his hand wrapping in, the thick strands still silk around his fingers. He fitted himself to that tight hole, felt it flex, flutter, then open as he pushed himself inside the yielding flesh. His hand had tightened to pull despite himself, watching as if from a distance as Die's back arched with it, and a hissed, "Finally," ground from between those lips.
Kyo found himself laughing, breathless and shaken as he slid home, mouthing the word in echo as his own legs braced to try get control back over that perfect slide. He could feel Die buckling under the pain of it, tried to slow, tried to stop, but his own desperation had the bit in its teeth and even as he bottomed out and could feel the desperate clench of muscles trying to expel him he only managed to bring himself to a shuddering halt, his own hips inexorably shuddering against his lover's ass. He couldn't hear over the roar in his ears so he gave up on the sense and let himself just feel instead.
The muscles in Die's back flexed, hard and unyielding until they finally softened, his thighs trembling with the terrible ache and there were tiny shifts, too small to be called movement until he realized the angle had changed despite him being unable to stop himself. Then Kyo felt those hips shifting to meet him, and the trembling had turned to ripples of pleasure as finally he'd found the right place to share his own pleasure in their movements. He rolled his hips in earnest then, slowing to drive each thrust deep with a tiny hitch at each end that seemed to send a shockwave through then both. Die was keening beneath him, the sound squashed against his forearm, and Kyo wanted to drink each sound in until he was spilling over with it, drunk on the pleasure and the anticipation and the raw need that rolled through him. All too soon his body gave, the earlier teasing from Die's mouth rising back like a wave cresting to meet the ecstasy of burying himself inside his lover, and he felt himself filling the other man, sticky and hot around his own cock as the added slickness eased the final hitches of his hips. His teeth had left darkening marks on that perfect skin where he'd bitten, indentations that would last well beyond the vulgar claiming of Die's body by filling him with his seed, and Kyo couldn't stop the well of savage satisfaction at the sight.
Unearthly sounds were still slipping from Die, and Kyo almost missed the movement of his own body as he slid free, dropped to his knees and half rose, half climbed up one long leg to get at his lover's cock with his own mouth. He nipped, bit and licked the water from Die's skin, tasted himself as the spray washed the evidence free, and found himself once again half-mad with the hunger to taste, the heat and nearness of Die's body reminding him of his fever-dream of his sweet red flower again. This time, this time he didnt taste his mouth. There was a bare flicker of pleasure-glazed eyes as Die looked down at him, and Kyo pressed those hips back until he could fit between the wall and those thighs.
"Let me," his own voice was a shiver in his ears, distant savagery and need pressed in to such simple syllables. Die had gotten a hand on his own cock and Kyo flicked it free, "Let me," he insisted, mouth opening and catching the water that dripped, mingled with precum, and the taste only drove that desperation higher.
When his lips finally found the tip of his cock the taste only intensified and drove sound away again, narrowing his world to just that sweet and salty musk, the wet heat in his mouth and he chased it upwards to keep it from escaping. Die's legs trembled, long bare feet scraping tile as he watched, eyes as hungry as his own. Then a shift of a bare shoulder let the spray hit Kyo's face and his eyes snapped shut, the water streaming from his own face as he felt those hips shudder forward, back. There were fingers on his cheek, his brow, dancing across his jaw before filling it and there was a sudden swell in his mouth, a flood of salty musk and he swallowed desperately around the pulsing heat in his mouth. So hard, so slick, so much to drown everything else out and he chased it with his tongue as Die's hips pulled back, getting a last fleeting taste before licking his own wet lips clean.
Kyo had been gripping him tight enough to bruise, and he used that grip to clamber his way up. There was just enough room to fit his own body between the guitarist's and the wall for him to stand, and he ignored the slight ache in his knees as he leaned back against the wall, fingers still driving in to sensitive skin as Die seemed to finally get his bearings.
"Kyo-" And there was an urgency in the singer's chest, a desperate ache to stop whatever those words were, and he leaned up to kiss them away, swallow them down and take any ugliness they might have held in to himself where he could lock it away. He couldn't stop the small nips of his teeth, plundering that mouth to ensure nothing of the worry and uncertainty he'd glimpsed was left behind.
"Hush," Kyo's thumbs rubbed, fingers gripped, "None of that. Changing what we do hasn't changed who we are, but... Change is, all that is inevitable." His gold flower, all wet skin and soaked petals was leaning in, leaning down as if for another kiss but instead one of those big hands rubbed his shoulder, stroked up his neck, found the sensitive skin behind his ear and pressed with a thumb like he'd found the 'off' switch on a toy, and like that the air they shared began to clear. There was a hawk-like hunger to Die's features even then, sharp in its intensity but only absently noted as Kyo found wet, brassy strands of hair catching over his own nose and lips, snagging on his eyelashes. Trembling hands combed and folded it back as he let Die look beyond his eyes, dig down beneath the emptiness and the heat to whatever it was he sought. There was a stillness there even Kyo would not disturb, not until Die was finally looking back on to him, instead of inside and beyond. Somehow, for all that Die looked down at him in his arms, his golden flower was back in the sun.