Me wo Fusete // Divert Your Eyes Psycho le Cemu Yura-sama x Aya by Tendai tendaikudou @ yahoo . com Archive: Probably, but write and ask me please ^^ C&C: Very much welcome so long as it's not flaming~ ~ This writing disturbs me more than anything I've ever written before. I try to stay far away from anything involving nonconsensuality, but this fic detoured along the way and went where I didn't plan it to. I'm aware that Aya is not mentally mindfucked like I have him in this piece of fiction, nor is Yura a vicious sadist as I've written him here. I am a supporter of reality in any fiction and that is part of the reason why I did not continue this piece of fiction to encompass the hours or days after the encounter and will probably not write anything else about these two in this PLC universe that I've created. I do not feel as though I have the objectivity after things I have experienced and seen to write realistically about what Aya's reaction even as soon as the day after this would be. It would be too difficult for me, and so if anyone wants a sequel to this I'm sorry - there is next to no chance that I will write a story directly about these two again in this PLC universe unless it is set a while before or a long while after the events in Me wo Fusete. The situation will be mentioned in other fics, for example Daishi refers to it in Kono Hoshi ga Kuchihateru Made, but there will not be any more direct scenes like this for them that I can forsee. (31 January 2004: Well, so much for that - this has become a much more detailed timeline than I thought.) However, I will definitely write this pairing in another PLC universe/storyline/whatever you prefer to call it. It is one that I like quite a bit, I just don't feel as though I have either the mental stamina or writing skills to continue what I started here. You should all know that the situation written about below is not okay in any sense of the word. There is a fine line between rough love-play and abuse, and this piece crosses over between the two of them a number of times depending on how you look at the way Aya perceives what is happening during the course of events. Consensuality is important in any counter and I do NOT condone nonconsensual actions by anyone at any time. Please forgive any mistakes in the French at the beginning, it has been a long time since I've had to speak it and I know a few of my verb endings are probably a bit off. ~ Mat's note: Okay, I don't usually comment on the fics that are archived here because I have reasons unfathomable to the general populace. Or I try to make myself into an insane webcreature like that but it's not happening. Anyway, I decided to archive this because it's well written and because Tendai has effortlessly shown us instead of told us that there's something not so good about what happens below. You don't get enough of that sort of great storytelling often. ~ Un jour: Je dirai,"Je t'adore," et tu sauras qu'il signifie que je t'adore assez que j'assassine pour toi. Que je tu assassinerais, avant une autre personne a pu tu toucher. Someday: I will say,"I love you," and you will know that it means I love you enough that I would murder for you. That I would murder you, before another person could touch you. ~ Yura is terrifying when he smiles. I'm sure a lot of our fans would disagree with me. When they think of Yura smiling, they no doubt visualize the welcoming, friendly Yura in the Roman Hikou video. It's his eyes that change. The curve of his lips is the same, and if I could hold my hand up in front of his face to cover his eyes, I might actually call it a kind smile. It's tempting to do that now - just lift my hand up and cover the rest of his face so I can pretend that he's not frightening me so badly that I want to scream for someone to come get me out of this situation. I know that if I screamed, Daishi would burst in and Yura would immediately shift his expression to something more friendly, or at least something less blatantly terrifying. Daishi, as much as we all love him, falls easily for a friendly expression and would no doubt think that I was just overreacting to something. Seek might listen, but he is far too shy to intrude on something like this. Lida? Lida got me into this trouble in the first place. If he was the one who interrupted, it would only be worse for me after he left the room. Yura's voice draws me out of my musings: "Are you paying attention to me, Aya?" I swallow hard and nod once before I remember that he prefers it when I speak. After that it takes my mouth a moment to recall just how to do that, and it's not until I see one of his elegant hands raising as if to hit me that I burst out: "I am! I'm paying attention!" Ugh, I sound defensive even to myself. He sees through it, I know he does because for a moment there is an expression of triumph on his face. Now he knows that I was not, in fact, listening to whatever he was just saying to me. You see, Yura enjoys having power over someone else. More specifically, he enjoys having power over someone else when that person has screwed up so badly that they'll take whatever he gives them and say thank you after. I don't mean that in the figurative sense, either. I've wound up kneeling in front of him and thanking him demurely after he's punished me more than once, and I have no doubt that if it's what he's after tonight, I will find myself in that familiar position once again. "That's strange Aya, because from where I'm standing it looked like you were off in your own world again. Similar to the way you were earlier tonight, but without that delightful flush to your cheeks." I wince. "I'm sure Lida liked you with that color. It matched his hair, after all." I wince again, my eyes shifting their focus from that too-nice smile down to his hands. Yura has beautiful hands, I've wondered sometimes if it's a drummer trait - in photoshoots that I've seen of other groups, their drummers have had lovely hands as well. I'm not entirely certain why the thought occurs to me now, but as it is, it serves as just another distraction from what I should be paying attention to. "Stand up, Aya." I obey. What else can I do? My legs aren't trembling as badly as I thought they might if I had to get up, but I know he can still tell that I'm nervous even without me swaying to make it blatantly obvious. Yura is nothing if not good at reading people, and I am terrible at hiding anything from him. I close my eyes slightly while I wait for whatever he has planned next, just enough that I can't see his but open enough that he won't be able to tell unless he comes closer to me. The room we are in - my hotel room - is silent for a few minutes and then I realise he has moved to stand behind me while I was stranded in my own thoughts. A hand slides up against my back, fingers running upwards with palm pressed flat to my spine. I arch slightly forward and am rewarded only with a hiss that tells me not to move again. We do not necessarily need to speak, Yura and I. I know what his sounds mean, but he also knows that his words have the power to either frighten me senseless or arouse me in the same way. His hand pauses at the back of my neck, the heel of it resting almost thoughtfully against the bump where the softer curve of my back meets the nervous stiffness of my neck, fingers drumming right under my hairline as though the place between my head and my shoulders is just a table for him to rest on. I want to turn around and hit him, for a moment, but I don't. No matter what people might think about me and my attitude under the cuteness I portray in character, I do not have the courage to turn around to face Yura, much less hit him. But the desire wells up in me, strong and potent - where does he get off, anyhow, treating me as though I'm just an object for his convenience? There have been a few times when I have almost given into that desire, times when his arrogance and his treatment of me have become so unbearable that I've actually raised my hand towards him. But Yura knows me and he knows that he only has to say that if I touch him, any hope I have of being with him in the future will vanish. I hate myself for that weakness after I back down, and make no mistake, I always back down. The idea of Yura treating me coldly, even the idea of him treating me with the same friendly reservedness that he does the other three - it makes me shudder and want to cling to him even if he is the one who hurts me so badly that I want to kill him at times. A pressure is felt suddenly against my neck, his thumb and smallest finger curving around the outside so I wear his hand as though it were some flesh-created choker at the back of my neck. The other three fingers have moved from tapping pensively to tangling lightly in my hair, twisting it once hard just to get my attention. He can't see my eyes, but he knows when he has it by the sudden twitch of the muscles in my neck. "Explain to me Aya, what was going on when I came into Lida's room. Perhaps I was wrong and what I saw wasn't what it appeared to me." Have you ever felt the colour drain from your face? I know that people talk about seeing it, but sometimes it's like you can feel yourself suddenly turning into a pale non-entity whose only thoughts are consumed by feelings of mindless panic. That is what I feel like now, and I can only hope that I will become so drained of colour that I will melt away into nothingness because I cannot make myself answer his question with any sort of dignity or coherency. I try all the same and I manage to choke out a few words: "I..Yura..I was..." That's as far as I get before the hand on my neck squeezes just hard enough to let me know that I should stop talking. It's not that he's being compassionate, he is just impatient and knows that if he lets me, I will continue to stammer like this until I've worked myself into a panicked frenzy. Yura does not deal well with people panicking, especially not when he is furious at them. His hand at my neck disappears, but a few seconds later his arms wind around it instead and his head rests against my shoulder, chin digging in hard enough for a moment that I want to try to squirm away but resist the urge since I know that is what he is trying to goad me into doing. One hand rises and he strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers; I release a shuddering breath that I didn't realise I had taken after my pitiful attempt to give him the answer he was looking for. "Your communications skills are as flawless as ever, Aya. Since you appear to have lost the power to speak for the moment, I am forced to attempt to reconstruct the events as they must have happened. I'm sure that you will speak up and correct me if I get something wrong, won't you?" He doesn't expect an answer to that and I would be even more of a fool than I already am if I tried to give him one. I just stay silent and still in his embrace, reminded of a snake curling around something small and furry before it squeezes it into a breathless death. The fingers that were stroking my cheek hook under my chin now and turn my head slightly, I can feel his breath against the corner of my lips and I take a breath of my own, focusing all of my willpower on keeping it even so I don't sound as terrified as the frantic racing of my heart would tell me I am. "It was Lida's doing, wasn't it? We all know how he can be - even the fans know at this point what his main interest is. He has made it blatantly clear at times that he cares quite a bit for such base things, and I'm sure that tonight's problem was him trying to force his interest on you, wasn't it?" Damn it, I should be speaking up now. Lida is my friend, and I do not know what Yura will do if he gets the idea in his head that my fellow guitarist has been trying to molest me against my obviously weak will. But there is also the fact that Yura might just be taunting me to consider, and the sense of self-preservation that has a stranglehold on my vocal cords as well. I'm not certain if I could speak at this moment even if I wanted to. Even breathing seems like a colossal effort. "That's it, I know. Lida was just giving into the urges that he has, I know more than anyone what a tempting challenge you can present at times. You like to show such an innocent face to the world don't you, both in and out of costume? But I know what lurks underneath it, I know what you really need, don't I." His voice is soothing and I feel myself suddenly wanting to cry, body and mind aching with the need to apologise even though my pride will make my words come with a stutter. I know he can feel it, because his arms at my neck tighten and for a moment I think I feel his lips brush against the corner of my own, though perhaps my senses are just tricking me into thinking his breaths are something more solid than they really are. My head tilts back slightly against the warmth of his neck behind me, a silent plea for him to stop taunting me and just move on to what all of this is leading up to, be it good or bad for me. It's the waiting that I can't handle and he knows that, he uses it to his advantage when he deals with me in moments like this. He plays off of my fears and my tenseness, fingers playing over my frayed nerves with the delicacy that everyone would expect of him. But I doubt, somehow, that most people would envision Yura's sophistication and apply it to moments like this one. "Poor Aya. It must have been terrible to have to endure Lida's advances. His touches, the kisses that I saw him giving you so happily. You certainly put on a brave face." I realise only now that his arms have vanished from my neck and those clever hands are quietly stripping me of what little clothing I had time to pull on before being dragged out of Lida's room by a Yura who was more infuriated then than he seems now. His voice is easy to sink into, though, so I am not too surprised. I have lost myself in his tone and words many times before this, even without my penchant for sinking into and drowning in my own thoughts. My arms raise mechanically so he can slip the shirt I'm wearing off over my head and with that much ease does he have me naked, pants on the floor at my feet. I need only to step out of them completely to willingly strip myself of any dignity that I might have had left. I am not given that chance, though. The room spins in a sick twist of beige carpet against off-white walls. I come to know the colour of the wall intimately after a moment, finding myself pressed against it, the textured surface digging into my cheek because his hand is pressing my head into the wall hard enough that it seems he is trying to shove me through it somehow. A dull throb starts in my temple and I realise that part of the disorientation I am feeling is due to the fact that he was not the epitome of gentleness in bringing my head to touch the wall. Any desire that I had to cry has vanished now, replaced by a nauseating apprehensive feeling that twists low in my stomach and won't go away no matter how hard I try to force myself to ignore it. He is hurting me and I know it is only a matter of time before the pain gets worse. "A very brave face. In fact, it almost looked like you were enjoying it at first, before you realised I was standing there." Those words aren't so much spoken to me as hissed at me, and were it not for his hand crushing my head into the wall I think I might sink down and curl myself up into an instinctive, protective ball on the floor. My legs aren't strong enough to support me for a few seconds after his words sink in, and it's only when I feel a sharp ache in my neck that I realise that my weight is being supported by my head and force my legs to stiffen again before I injure myself. "Yura, please!" Somehow, I manage to get two words out. Normally he would be pleased to hear them, but at this moment it just seems to make his anger increase, fingers twisting into my hair until my head aches even more. I almost wish that he could just push me through the wall at this point, because at least there would be a barrier between us and I might be able to rein in the feeling that's mixing with the sickness in my stomach: The awareness is suddenly dawning on me that I have made Yura more angry than I have ever seen him before. It is a terrifying realisation. Before when I have done something to earn his irritation, I have always been confident that at some point in the encounter, the pain will make the detour towards pleasure and both of us will come out of it with our respective needs satisfied. But now, now I am not so sure. In fact, I doubt at this point if anything remotely like pleasure will come unless it is to be followed by some sort of mind-crushing pain immediately after. "Please, Aya? Strange, that's exactly what you were saying to Lida as I walked in. Only you said it so much more beautifully then, didn't you? Your voice was breathless and you sounded like you were quite aroused instead of trying to get away like you should have." On the last word, he brings my head away from the wall a few inches and I experience a few seconds of hopeful relief when I dare to think that this torture is over at least, even if he is going to begin another one. But my hope is destroyed when he shoves me towards it again, the side of my head hitting the wall and leaving me more dazed and in pain than I already was. I sag now, but he is there to catch me and if it were not for the fact that I think I might be sick because of the dizziness and terror, I might revel in the embrace no matter how angry he is. For a few seconds I feel him walking but I am not quite sure where he is taking me. My eyes are closed, though I don't realise it until a harsh light comes on and I open them. The bathroom? Why has he brought me here, unless he has completely snapped and intends on drowning me in the bathtub? I can see straight now, at least, and so I'm able to see his face when I look up at him in confusion. It's not as comforting as I thought it would be to be able to see his expression. His eyes are cold and his mouth is set somewhere between an emotionless line and the smile that's so deceptively gentle. The median he has found between the two options is terrifying, though I cannot explain to myself why. When he sets me on my feet again I moan and cling to him because the movement makes my head hurt spectacularly for a few seconds. He allows it, doesn't pry my hands off of his arms like I thought he might. I am allowed a few moments to get my bearings and open my eyes again and then he is turning me around, moving me not towards the bathtub like I thought he might but towards the wall between the bath and the sink. It's a wide space, about five feet across, and the bar holding towels is mounted horizontally in the middle. I watch with a dizzy sort of confusion as he jerks the towels off carelessly, and for some reason that makes it even more obvious what his mood is. You see, Yura is usually painfully neat. I prefer the spaces around me to be clean, but he goes even further and demands that things be kept not only clean but orderly in arrangement. For him to destroy the balance of a room with an action even that inconsequential is strange and it scares me even more than his more obvious, physically-shown irritation did. But I do not protest and just lean back against him, letting the warmth of his body serve an as illusion of protection even though he is the one I need to be protected from. His hands, the hands that I had admired earlier when this confrontation began - it seems like it has been hours now but I know it hasn't been - wrap around my own and lift them. I feel the cool metal of the towel bar against my palms before I fully realise that he has wrapped my fingers around it. The clinging grip I take is more an automatic reaction than anything, since I have sensed somehow that he is going to move away from me and I am afraid that if I do not hold onto something I will fall down. The dizziness is still there, but it is mostly gone now, replaced by a dull ache that throbs in my temples. My back has grown cold during my dazed musings and I realise that yes, he has moved away because I can no longer feel the warmth of his skin radiating against my own. It seems too great an effort to lift my head and so I don't bother to look up, content (or perhaps just too drained) to turn my forehead from its place against the wall. The coolness of it feels good and even though I have reason to hate the walls of these rooms, I cannot help my weakness. Footsteps fall against the tiles behind me, but I still don't look up. The first strike drives the breath out of me as though he hit me in the stomach and not on the back. It doesn't hurt particularly, other than to leave a vague ache for a moment before fading away, replaced by the painful gasping movements of my throat as I try to fill my lungs again. Getting struck by this flogger is different than others. The one he uses now is one that I have only felt once before, and even that was just play. It is the force behind it that is supposed to leave an impression, not the pain. I think for a moment that I would almost prefer pain, but that is all I am able to think of before another blow comes. If the first was terrible, the second is almost unbearable. The shallow panting breaths I took after the first strike in an effort to get air without hurting my throat do not serve me at all, and it feels as though the thud of the leather on my back has not only forced what little air I had out, but has caused my lungs to turn on themselves in an effort to squeeze out any hidden oxygen that might remain inside. This time Yura is merciful and lets me have what seems like minutes to find my breath, though I could not tell you whether it is for my own benefit or simply because he doesn't want me to retch on the floor until he is done with me. I know that it must just be a few seconds even though it seems like hours, but even those precious few moments are enough to give me back air and stop my insides from spasming from the lack of it. Some people might think that after a few blows, the thump of the heavy leather tails against my back might not feel so bad, but they have no idea. In between the strikes that come I try to convince myself that eventually it will get better, but it never does. I am given two in quick succession and then a few moments to catch my breath before it starts all over again. Yura has settled into a steady rhythm now, and I briefly have the thought that perhaps that, like beautiful hands, is a drummer's trait, wondering if drummers in other bands have the same skill with a whip that he does. It gives me a strange feeling of pride to imagine that they do not and that our band is the better one for it. Such thoughts are not uncommon for moments like this. My mind tends to wander in barely-restrained hysteria even in our more tame sessions, and I cannot be held responsible for the irrationality of my thoughts at this moment when he is beating me to assuage his anger and punish me rather than to give us both pleasure. The progression of images and words that pass through my mind are dizzying, I do not completely understand them no matter how hard I try to concentrate on my own thoughts rather than on the beating that feels as though it is driving me a few centimetres at a time into the wall. I do not realise that I am crying until the sound of leather striking flesh has stopped, only then do my own animal-harsh sounds reach my ears. I am clinging to the bar as though it will save me from this somehow, fingers gripping it so tightly that my knuckles are white and I am unsure if I will be able to let go or if they will have to cut my hands off at the wrist to free me from my self-imposed restraint. The sounds that are coming from me are not words, they are the noises of fear and pain, the moaning breathless crying that only someone who has experienced true terror can comprehend. I do not think that Yura has ever felt that way, but somehow he understands - it is another one of the mysteries about him that I do not understand, and he uses it to his benefit either to soothe me or frighten me even more. For now he does neither. I am left to stand there, gripping the bar tightly, until my sounds have died to sobs that anyone could understand, the sounds of someone who is confused and nervous all at the same time. My shoulders are trembling but I do not have the mental capacity at the moment to damn myself for showing that weakness. The skin and muscles of my back are starting to ache slowly, and I know somewhere in my mind that in a few hours I will begin to develop bruises that will make me cringe when I see them in the mirror but I do not care. All I care about now is to find out whether or not that is enough to assuage the cold rage I saw in his eyes when I looked at them last. "Yura.." I moan his name before I realise that I have the ability to do so. For a few seconds nothing happens, and I feel a growing terror that he has just left me here in the cold glare of the bathroom to deal with everything myself. It is a frightening enough thought that I cannot cry from it, all I can do is stand there with my death grip on the bar and tremble. I don't dare lift my head to see if my suspicion is true, because I do not know what my mind will do if I find that it is. Fingers sink suddenly into the muscles under my shoulder blades, and even though it hurts unbearably I do not mind because it means that he is there and has not left me alone to deal with the guilt of what I made him do to me. My actions caused this, that is the point that he is trying to drive home even though he has not said it - he does not need to say it because I know. The beating was not solely for punishment. Punishment was part of the purpose, make no mistake about that. But Yura knows me and knows that physical pain cannot compare to what I will heap on myself when I realise that my actions caused him to get so enraged he could not restrain himself enough to show his anger in a way more elegant. I feel like a dumb beast who cannot respond to anything but brute force and he knows that that feeling is something that will get through to me more than any physical sensation ever could. "Please.." I am crying again now, this time because I am scared that he will never forgive me and that he will make good on the threat he has spoken when I have almost tried to hit him and leave me. Even though he has caused me pain and is still causing me pain with the way his fingertips are digging into my back, I need him. He waits until the noise of my crying has gone before he asks me a question, and his voice is low and beautiful like it should be, without the fury that I heard lurking in it before. "Do you love me, Aya?" Love? I want to tell him that love cannot begin to describe what I feel for him. I do not love Yura so much as I am addicted to him. If I do love him it is with the sickening, soul-eating love that an addict feels for their drug. But I can do nothing but nod because at this point I am unsure as to whether or not that is more real and more truly love than the affection that people sing about. "Good. Because I love you." I think that his admission frightens me more than anything else he has done tonight. Yura is the sort of person who will love with a possession that has the ability to shatter the object of his affection if they cannot hold up under the weight of it. His is the love that leads to sordid stories of husband and wife murdering each other in the tabloids, the love that Yura will give me is the kind of love that many would call criminal because of the steps that are taken to ensure that I will always be there at his side. But it is love, and now I am crying again. ++ Jrock Home Fics Home