Real Jealousy Lareine Machi x Kamijo by Tendai tendaikudou @ yahoo . com (because she don't need spam, you bot, you!) http://bokunote.viskeimusume.com Archive: Probably, but write and ask me please ^^ C&C: Very much welcome so long as it's not flaming~ Warnings: OOC'ness Boy-on-boy luvvin' like you wouldn't believe Machi uke-seme'ness (It will make sense, I promise ^^;;) ~ This is going to be OOC like you wouldn't believe, I imagine, because all I have to go on are a few translated interviews, some random concert reports and my perceptions of pictures, music and videos that I've seen. I do actually love Lareine - worship them, even. I'm just using them for my own devious purposes right now because there aren't nearly enough Lareine fics out there. So my apologies to anyone who whips themselves up into a frenzy and wants to kill me for making people act weird. Obviously, this is set pre-Lareine-breakup-and-subsequent-reformation-without-Machi when Machi was still there. And sometime during Fuyu Tokyo PV era because I wanted Kamijo with shorter hair for this one. Written mostly while listening to Lareine's album Blue Romance and Ribbon's album Beautiful & Resistance. Don't worry Emiru-love. I'll get to both you and Mayu eventually ~.^ Maybe a Ribbon/New Sodmy orgy? I sort of li---*is gagged and dragged away by the combined members of both groups (other than Kamijo) to work on Machi and Kamijo and leave the rest of them alone* Thank you to Matrim for showing me the list where I got this quote from and liking what I showed her of it. And to Matrim (again) along with all the other people who have written for and worked on the Alpha Male site, since the fics on there finally shoved me towards writing a Jrock fic myself. Annnd, of course, to Machi, who in my head is anything but ladylike in the bedroom XD ~ "Real jealousy always increases the feeling of love." "Where have you been?" It's like this every time I come back, and each time the question comes it makes me smile. It's not a smile that I would show him, of course. He is easily hurt, and if he could see the amusement on my face he would sulk for days until I lavished enough attention on him to push him back the other way. The balance he keeps on the line between feeling worthless and like he means something is a fragile one, and I enjoy keeping him there for the most part. Something as small as the look I wear now could tip him over the edge, ruining all the careful work I've put into building him into one thing: Mine. "Where have you been?" There it is again, but this time under that well-known voice there's ripple of uncertainty. Oh, beautiful boy. Don't you know by now that I won't answer you in the way that you want me to? I say nothing, but I erase the pleased look from my face while I turn around to shrug out of my coat. Let him ask again, and again, until he understands that no answer is forthcoming. And he does, predictable as he always is. Though this time he adds my name and sounds outright desperate. "Machi..where have you been?" This time I do let myself smile, but it's not the amused expression that I so carefully hide from him. No, this is the look that I know he hates so much: The aloof expression that tells him I consider myself higher than his ridiculous, demanding questions. He has a look much like it that he wears on the stage, but his is a facade. Few fans would believe me if I told them what a morass of uncertainty their beloved Kamijo lives in when he isn't in front of the multitudes. They only see something beautiful and untouchable. But now that beautiful and untouchable man is sinking deeper into the couch in our shared apartment, wearing an expression that might be called adorably sullen if there was anyone other than myself brave enough to apply the words to him. I could leave him like this and go to bed - I know that sometime in a few hours I'd feel him crawl in beside me and strive to apologise to me in a number of delightful ways. But tonight I'm impatient and the idea of laying in bed for two hours just to wait for something that is already mine does not appeal to me. Instead of making my way back to the bedroom, then, I come to him on the couch. Some people might say that my going to him was a small submission - that I should have made him crawl to me instead. And on some days I would, but I know something those people do not: A person can express anything by the way they walk. Happiness, sadness, anger. Mayu's walk shows him to be quiet and somewhat inwardly-turned. Emiru's shows someone with a certain love for life that he can't hide. Kamijo's is unconsciously submissive - the way he holds his head, the way his legs move. Undetectable for the most part. Someone once told me that I walk like I'm trying to seduce the world. But tonight I'm not trying to seduce anyone. The man I'm coming to has already been thoroughly tempted and bound. Tonight my steps are those of a creature out to prove its dominance on something lesser than it. And I will - he knows I will because I can see him trying to melt further into the couch with each carefully measured step I take. The panic I can see in his eyes when I bend over him disappears quickly to be replaced by the hurt that I heard in his voice a few moments ago. "Where do you think I was Kamijo?" My hands, strong despite their carefully-manicured appearance, come to rest on the back of the couch he's slumping on, bracing myself as I bend my head down to murmur in his ear. "Did you think I was out with someone else?" I'm curious to see if he'll admit it. He tries so hard to hide any feeling as pedestrian as jealousy, and I find it touching that he still hasn't realised that I can read him better than he can himself. There is something sweet about watching someone cling to the shreds of their dignity before you pry each finger open and release their hold. For now he neither admits nor denies my question. But he does turn his head to the side, away from my mouth by his ear, which gives me the opportunity to get more of the taste I like to indulge myself in. The skin of his neck tastes like tension and arousal on my tongue when I lean closer to lick it, those two flavours that have come to represent him in my mind. Beautiful, delicious Kamijo who can't see that in that gesture he's only shown me the crack in the defenses he likes to pretend he has. Had he just stayed still I might have thought he was only being petulant, but with that movement comes some confirmation. "That's it, isn't it," I say between applications of my tongue and lips to that skin I can't get enough of. "You think that I was out with someone else, doing things to them. But who?" While the question is hissed against his reddening neck, I'm honestly curious about who he sees me with. So I remove one hand from the back of the couch and turn his face towards me, grasping his chin and staring curiously into his eyes that are now a mix of nervous and sulky. "...no one," he finally says, and both those tastes I love so much have become tones in his voice as well, mingling nicely with the pout. I laugh. "No one? But darling Kamijo, if I wanted to pleasure myself I wouldn't leave. I would stay here and make you watch me, touch myself until you wanted me so badly that you would die for the chance to even say my name. You know that." I'm moving now, moving to straddle his lap. The skirt I'm wearing rides up until it's around my hips, and I think I can hear it rip but I don't care right now. I can always buy another, but moments like this must be captured and held tight. I can feel him through the pants he's wearing but I keep the knowledge to myself - let him try to pretend for a few moments longer that this isn't as arousing to him as it is to me. "Perhaps it's Mayu? They say it's the ones like him who scream the loudest when you play with them. Maybe I had my hands tangled in his hair tonight while he was on his knees in front of me. Or perhaps Emiru, hm? He always has so much energy on stage, it's easy enough to think of it in the bedroom." While I'm saying these things designed to draw a reaction from his mind, my arms are winding around his neck in an attempt to do the same to his body. My fingers splay and tangle in his hair, not pulling for now but just keeping him where I want him. "Machi!" he cries, but I'm not certain if that's in response to my words or the fact that I'm now pressing myself body to body against his torso. Probably a mix of both, my darling is sensitive in many ways. I let my fingers tighten in his hair and pull his head back, tilting it towards the ceiling so I have access to his neck again. It's an addiction, perhaps, but in some cases I feel as though addictions aren't necessarily negative things. Every time he swallows I can feel it, every breath that he gasps quickly makes the muscles under my lips tremble. "What is it darling? Does that upset you?" I punctuate this more with the bite I give to his neck than with a question mark, sinking my teeth in just enough that it starts to hurt before I pull away again and look at him. No one would ever believe me if I told them that this is when Kamijo is the most beautiful: Everyone likes him when he is playing at being something independent onstage, but I find these moments when he is gasping for breath like someone drowning, fighting his own reaction to my words, to be insanely beautiful. There is nothing quite like the look of someone who is realising that they are losing themselves to another person and finding that they want it to happen. "Or are you having a different reaction?" A forward shift of my hips is enough to tell him exactly what sort of reaction I'm talking about. I know he can feel me as well, but I make no attempt to hide it like he does. Let him know that seeing him indecisive and frightened makes me want him even more, it will not change the end result of this. Nothing will change the end result of this because once I have my mind set to something I can be quite formidable. I am interrupted by the brief moment of thought by a sound like a whimper coming strangled from his throat. He doesn't voice it completely, but even that small noise is enough to tell me that his hold on his supposed dignity is starting to slip away. Now is the time to offer a moment of comfort - before I shatter and rebuild him again into something even better. "That's right..tell me. Let me hear what you're feeling, put that exquisite voice to another use." My tone could be called soothing, I suppose, were it not for the fact that the sound of me wanting him is obvious in it. But it is all he will get, and after all this time I can't imagine him not knowing that. It's not in me to cater to his mercurial moods, and if he desires comfort from my voice and words he will have to work to find it. "Machi..!" he whines, and I can't help but feel another surge of amusement. He always sounds so shocked when he says my name at moments like this, though I've never been able to tell if it's surprise at his own strong reaction or at the fact that I'm doing this to him at all. Whichever it is, it's a lovely sound - his voice is even more beautiful when used for base things like that than it is when singing. Everything in him at moments like this is vulnerable, and it makes him so desirable I would kill him before anyone else could ever touch him. "My beautiful Kamijo, who can't even tell me what he wants. What he needs. But it's fine, isn't it, because I know what you need, I know every craving your mind has ever had.." While I'm saying this, my lips are travelling from his neck where I kissed a moment ago and up towards his own mouth, hovering there when I purr out two more words: "...don't I?" And he doesn't have a chance to answer because I am craving another taste now, the one that lurks inside his mouth waiting to be discovered. He tastes of cigarettes and wine like he always does, sharper in contrast to the more delicate flavours of his skin. But still I can't get enough of it. I know I'm rubbing myself against him shamelessly now, but there is something to be said for letting the body take over. And besides, the response it brings from him is more than worth the vague indignity of behaving in such a way - he moans into my mouth and I swallow the sound, rewarding him for it with a loosening of my fingers in his hair. It's only when I am forced to take a breath that I pull away, leaving him to gasp and sink lower onto the couch. Some people say that the term kissing someone senseless isn't literal - I know better. With some regret I untangle my hands from the blond-dyed hair I like to play with so much and let my fingers run down the sides of his neck, scraping lightly, before following the downward path to his chest and still further. I stop at his stomach, mere inches away from the proof that this is less a punishment than a pleasure for him, the proof that his independence is shattering even more with every word I say. Fingernails run over his stomach, blood-red against the pristine white of his shirt. It reminds me of other, more painful games that we sometimes play. "No, you don't have to say what you want. I already know. I will make every shameful thought you have ever had a reality, leave you crying beneath me and wanting to die whenever I am out of your sight. Is that what you want, pretty Kamijo? Hmm?" Another thing I don't need an answer to. He thrives almost as much on his self-made torment as he does on my treatment of him, and I know the thought of being little more than an object for my convenience will turn him on unbearably in both the physical and mental senses of the word. "Machi...I want...!" "Shhh. I know." He is so lovely now, the way he bites his lip as though he has a chance of holding back all the words he wants to say to me. He would have me think that he is succeeding, but I know that it is only his own confusion that prevents it. I don't mind, really, it only makes his reaction when I finally tease the words out of him even more intense. But for now, my darling is ready and so am I. And so I finally let my hands continue to move downwards, stopping when they rest on his thighs, nearly under myself. I am watching him now, eyes focused on every twitch of his face. My hands are well-versed in his body at this point, so sight is something I do not need for this. His face when I start to unzip his pants is delightful, confusion and protest and arousal so strong it nearly hurts all warring for the dominant position. Little does he know that I already occupy it - he will feel what I want him to feel, but for now I enjoy watching the conflict going on inside him. It appears the latter of the three has won out when I reach in and curve my fingers around him. He makes another sound, starting sharp and melting into something low and liquid. That's right, my beautiful man. Everything that you think of when you lay next to me in bed at night, I will do to you. It is nearly as pleasurable to me to watch his face and hear the small gasps he can't hold back as it is to touch him as I draw him out of his pants. His hands come up as if to grasp me, but he knows better and they drop back useless to his sides just as quickly. "That's right," I continue the low stream of talk as my thumb brushes over the head of his arousal, tightening my grip just slightly so he's forced to try to concentrate on my voice and what my hand is doing at the same time. He is such a delicious thing to torment in these ways. "Hush now." And he obeys, like I knew he would. My Kamijo is not a rebellious pet by nature, and when it all comes down to it, he will listen to me. It simply takes some convincing at times that to do so is in his best interest. I reward him by a few quick sweeps of my closed fist up and down his cock, and don't reprimand him for the sounds that he can't hold back. He is ready and I was ready when I walked in the door and saw him sitting on the couch with his adorably moody look. Words have fallen into the background, unneeded for either of us, when I stand up again, letting go of him. The skirt is torn, but I carelessly rip it the rest of the way to get it off - there are things more important than clothing and expedience in this case is one of them. I remove the shirt as well, leaving myself standing nude in front of my fully-clothed darling - no underwear with this skirt, it would have shown. One of his hands lifts from the couch and reaches out towards me in silent wanting, and it pleases me that he's still obeying my order for silence. More pleasing, however, is the look on his face that tells me I could tie him down and whip his back to shreds should that be my desire and he would take it and thank me for it later. A feeling of incomparable satisfaction rushes through me at that, the heady thrill of someone who has won in a game. No matter that I always win, the sensation returns every time and is nearly as good as the act that follows it. I cannot help but smirk to myself when I reach over him and into the drawer of the small table beside the couch. We are a dissolute household, we must be if I can reach into such an innocent-seeming piece of furniture and pull out the tube I do. After I have it, I straighten; but not before biting at his shoulder and then kissing the red mark. The act of squeezing the clear lube out onto my fingers becomes something sexual in itself and I can see him watching my hands, wanting but unable to do anything about it. He has always liked my hands, my beautiful singer. Unsurprising, considering the reactions I wring from him with them. It amuses me that I can make him unbearably aroused just by something as simple as spreading lotion over or gesturing with them, and I take advantage of that fact whenever I am feeling like teasing him. It is particularly lovely to do so during practice or, better yet, during a performance when he is unable to do anything about it. On those nights, my dressing room is filled not with people wanting to compliment on the performance, but with the two of us and, more importantly, the sounds we make as we make good on my teasing. When I lower myself over him again my fingers are gleaming-wet, and I can see that his attention has shifted downwards to the evidence of my own pleasure. With my other hand I reach and tip his head back up so he looks at me, murmuring for him to keep his eyes on my face and nowhere else. I shiver at the sensation of wet fingers running down my back as I reach backwards, lifting myself up just slightly to give access to myself. His gaze strays down again and I hiss, causing him to lift his head again with a snap, eyes fastened on mine. "Unnh.." The sound is mine, a shuddering little noise brought about by the tease of my fingers against my opening. I do not tease for long, however - it is past time for me and tempting to simply forgo the lubrication and get down to what both our bodies are screaming for, but I am conscious of the fact that my body will punish me later should I do that. Fingers slide in; first one, then another until I realise that it is impossible for Kamijo to look at my face because I have long since thrown my head back in self-pleasure, until I realise that the fast breaths I'm hearing are my own. It is with some regret that I remove my fingers from myself, but I console my libido-guided body in the fact that soon something better will be there. It is that something better that I reach for next, bringing my hand around and using his cock to clean my fingers off. He thrusts upwards once and whines in the back of his throat when I tighten my hand around him in warning not to move. He knows better than to do that before I tell him to, but sometimes he just loses control. Understandable, I suppose, but still not something I will tolerate for very long, if only because he is so beautiful when he is being obedient. "Stay still," I hiss as I raise myself up again, the muscles of my thighs trembling because all my body wants to do is drop back down again. But I take this slowly, using the hand already on him to guide him up against me. There is a flash of discomfort at the initial penetration when I start to move downwards again, my body trying to reject by instinct the feeling of intrusion, but I ignore it with the knowledge that it will feel better in a moment. It's not until I find myself sitting in his lap completely again that I look up at him. My breath catches in my throat when I do. His head is tossed back against the back of the couch, mouth open as he gasps to breathe without making it sound like a sob. The strain of not moving is clear in the tension that he shows on his face, in the sounds that emerge no matter how hard he tries to keep them back. He is beautiful. He is more beautiful than anyone else could ever imagine and they will never know because he belongs to me. The thought of something - for he has ceased to become a person at times like this and is merely an object that exists for me and because I wish it to - like this belonging to me is what drives me to start moving on him. My legs protest for a moment and then obey quietly when I lift myself nearly off of the heat inside me. I hover there for a moment, and it is a strain to keep my voice steady when I speak to him next: "Kamijo. Look at me." After he obeys me, turning eyes filled with mindless pleasure back to my face, I reward him by sinking down onto him again. His fingers twitch and sink into the cushions of the couch and I know he wants to sink them into me instead, reach around and bruise my ass with them while he tries to show me how much he needs me. But I will not let him, because I already know. This act is not about him showing me, it is about me acknowledging his need and indulging it so long as I feel it entertaining enough to do so. It is easy enough to settle into some sort of rhythm, upwards motions followed by the sensation of him burying himself inside me again. Now it is my sounds that are heard in the otherwise quiet apartment, but unlike him I feel no need to try to hold them back because I know that the sound of my pleasure will only make his more intense. One of my hands starts to slide over my stomach to where my own cock stands hard against my stomach, and with the other I grab his hair, forcing the direction of his vision downwards from face to where the first hand is wrapping around myself. "Watch, darling. Watch me." Those are the last words I will speak for now because it is becoming harder and harder to gather my thoughts and form them into something coherent. My hand mirrors the way I'm moving on him, slowing when I do and speeding up again after a moment. I can hear his breaths becoming heavier and it makes me smirk, my hand in his hair tightening when he tries to look up again. No, I want him to focus on me pleasuring myself for a number of reasons. It will make him realise that I do not need him and as cruel as that might sound, it will have a wonderful result in him. His fingers are going to pierce through the cushions of the couch but I do not care. All that matters right now is my own pleasure and the hungry look on his face while he watches the pumping of my hand. I glory in my wantonness, speeding up the movements of my hand and of my body when he looks as though he might try to look up at me, reminding him what his place in our relationship is. Mine. He is nothing else that matters. There comes a point at which my mind ceases to function nearly completely and the point of this exercise does not matter anymore and when that point is reached, my fingers slip out of his hair and my arm goes around his neck. I lean forward and bite the juncture of neck and shoulder, sucking on it as I work myself harder and increase the speed of using him to fuck myself. He wants to move so badly, I can feel it in the way his hips tremble whenever my ass brushes against his lap. But I will not give him that. It's the orgasm that I tease myself to that finally shatters what little dignity he has left, and through the dizziness that envelopes me as I paint his stomach white I can hear him sobbing my name, begging incoherently for what is mine to give even if it comes from his body. I hold out for a moment longer before my arms go around his neck, pressing myself against him and digging my nails into his shoulder blades without any care for the marks that will be left there. "Yes, my darling!" That murmur against his ear is all he needs and I feel him thrust upwards once with a sharp scrape of his pelvis against my ass before the heat of his presence there is joined by another sort of warmth - this one wet and slick. The muscles under my fingernails go tense just as it happens, and the sound he makes is filled with pain from that along with the relief and pleasure of me finally letting him have what he's needed since I walked in the door. Eventually we will make our way into the bedroom, but for now I am content to stay like this in his lap, both of us taking pleasure in the aftermath of what just happened. My lips descend to the side of his neck again and I hear him draw in a breath when the tip of my tongue laps delicately against his skin. I speak then: "Your jealousy tastes delicious." ++ Jrock Home Fics Home