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[personal profile] je_levy
Title: Butterfly Inferno
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Akame, Nakanishi, Kokame, and so many many other KAT-TUN combinations.
Warnings: This is intense; I mean, angst like you rarely(?) see in a JE fic.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, and this fic was true, then you'd have read it sooner I'm sure. lol. No seriously, KAT-TUN isn't mine and nor am I going to get money for being a serious perv
Summary: In desperation, each member of KAT-TUN silently makes his effort to repair the problem they're all afraid to talk about, but too often desire rides higher than necessity. 'Pain like this is something you can't erase, so we have to do what we can to make it all hurt a little less...because of who they are to us.'



   He’s just driving home when his phone buzzes. Ueda has begun to tell how the night is going to go based strictly on the way Kame’s mails are worded. When he gets a string of emojii followed by sweet, coaxing words, he will find Kame at his apartment seated on the doorstep, knees drawn up with a plaintive, friendly expression in his eyes. Ueda will have to tread lightly on nights like that, making sure not to withdraw into himself too easily. When they are blunt, and short, he’s expected to go there to Kame’s apartment and Ueda will have to deal with a bewilderingly seductive rage.

            Tonight there are only the words, “My door’s unlocked.” An image strikes Ueda’s mind of a white shirt falling away from a long, angular back. It could’ve been a woman’s with the way the spine dips in right over the buttocks and the shadows cast around the hips. Every proportion is entirely female to his senses, but for the ever-awakening presence of Kame’s scent and his soft, boy-like voice trembling with erotic mewling sounds.

            When did he become such an expert at this?

            Of course, it must not have been as easy for Kame either, Ueda knew. He hadn’t quite realised for some time that Kame’s digs at him, the teasing, and touching were all the proper precursors. Ueda, having had little interest in any of the members sexually, didn’t make any of the right conclusions. He’d thought of the other man as a necessary evil in the face of KAT-TUN’s success, and that his personal milestone in growing up was to overcome his hatred for Kame, and it had been such a strong soul-swallowing hatred. Ueda never could co-exist with anyone who had such obvious flaws yet refused to acknowledge them.

            It was only with time and observation that Ueda was able to learn that it wasn’t as though Kame refused to acknowledge his flaws, but that he was not allowed to do so. Within the space of a month, Kame became the second Tackey with the younger juniors clamouring for him, to be like him, to talk to him and their senpais calling him in for dinners, meetings, and acting work. Within the space of a few years, Kame was looked upon as Kimura Takuya’s successor as it were. Slowly and surely, expectations rose, and hoop by hoop Kame jumped until the twenty-three year old had achieved the title of Johnny’s poster boy with all its media poison to go with it.

            And suddenly Ueda’s resentment transformed into something like pity. So when Kame assumed a high-handed tone when speaking to him, Ueda would smile his way through the conversation, when the invites for drinks in the evening became routine, Ueda would drink very little, but laugh easily, and finally when Kame’s irritating little escapades towards ‘skinship’ became far from tolerable, Ueda would calmly remove wandering hands, joke away indiscreet air kisses or accept the untimely hug.

            Acceptance, Ueda would sometimes find himself scratching out in kanji when he thought absently of their youngest member. And he did learn to accept if not tolerate Kame’s new hold over him until one such night. Two a.m. rolled by and the shochu was undiluted as Kame downed glass after glass, seated comfortably by his center table. Ueda, bleary-eyed and sleepy, had watched Kame from across the room as the boy set his glass down, dark narrow eyes affixed to his own. Ueda remembers how amusing it had been at first, Kame standing up, running his finger down button after button until he stood bare-chested. As Kame crossed the room to him, Ueda’s automatic reaction as always was to shut down, push away, but it’s Kame, and for some reason that he cannot yet fathom, he must please Kame.

            And Kame had come to know that very well.

            As the mail promised, the door is unlocked. Ueda slips inside the dimly-lit apartment cautiously.

            “How is Nakamaru?”

            He hears the voice on his left, and turns to meet eyes with Kamenashi, shirtless, leaning against the kitchen counter, half a glass of water in hand. “He’s fine,” Ueda mutters, removing his coat and setting it neatly on the back of a chair. Without thinking, he’s already switched into auto mode. He takes a moment to gather himself again. He still remembers the burn from the last time he went auto on Kame, remembers the striking look of disdain on the other man’s face when he was done.

            “I noticed he’s been strange lately.”

            “Strange is a part of Yuichi-kun’s character,” he spits out, laughing weakly if not a little desperately.

            “Sou?” Kame says, and the small-talk quota has been fulfilled for the evening. Ueda rounds the table and stands at the counter opposite. Kame’s eyes are as thin as slits as he raises the glass to his mouth; he doesn’t drink it normally, but rather tilts the glass so that the liquid pours in a thick stream over his parted lips, wetting his chin and from the scent Ueda realises that it was something alcoholic. The right end of Kame’s mouth curves into a wide, easy smile. He leans forward, tugging lightly on Ueda’s earlobe before trailing his thumb down his long silver chain earring. There’s a moment before Ueda realises that his own breath has quickened, that Kame’s soft and insinuating touches awaken his memory to nearly each vibrant second of ecstasy the other man had ever given him. 

            Kame stands, his back to him, before the dinner table. “Come,” he says, not looking back, but rather reaching down and gingerly unzipping his own jeans, bending over to pull them off his feet. Ueda watches in distinct awe as the younger boy rests his hands against the surface of the table, his legs parted. Ueda expels a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding before he goes to him. Next to the sandiness of his hand, Kame’s back is white and even in the dim light Ueda can’t help but experience a crippling lack of breath at the sight before him, and that is the thrill he waits for.

            Using the very tips of his fingers, he traces careful waves down Kame’s spine, and gasps a little as the other boy shudders reflexively, the muscles shifting right beneath his skin in deep grooves and wiry tendons reaching all the way up to the nape. Tonight, Ueda’s afraid to touch, afraid to reach for something he’s not too sure exists. He doesn’t press too close, but he leans down to lay his forehead close to Kame’s shoulder seized by an abrupt voracity just from the scent, but he exhales hot breath softly, slowly and doesn’t breathe in again. Even as he moves down and dips his tongue into the valley of Kame’s lower back, he doesn’t breathe.

            Kame lets out a small whimper at the wet contact, and Ueda still won’t breathe. His chest begins to strain. He trails his tongue upwards and then downwards. There’s no taste, only the friction of skin against his tongue. He presses his palms against Kame’s waist at the same time as pressing his own hips up against him, resisting the urge to inhale still. He pulls back as his tongue reaches the indent right above Kame’s buttocks and the sound of the boy’s subsequent shuddering gasp is a pure delight.

Standing on the very tips of his toes, he leans over Kame, pulling the other boy’s head back sideways so he can reach his mouth. Finally, Ueda exhales, gasping for air over Kame’s mouth, breathing in fumes of shochu, and Kame leans forward, biting Ueda’s lower lip lightly. There’s little Ueda can hold back after that; he opens his mouth against Kame’s, reeling with a sudden want, a heavy liquid burn rising from between his legs so that even as Kame’s tongue winds into his mouth, he’s pulling his own belt buckle open with one hand whilst the other slides slowly down Kame’s stomach.

“A…ah, T-Tatsuya…”

            The murmur against his lips sets him alight. Despite his pause to reach for the condom and lube in his pocket, Kame remains a burning mess beneath him, breathing unsteadily between intervals of moaning. Ueda knows these are gratuitous sounds that Kame makes as a means of communicating his encouragement, but the sounds always work on him. Sometimes they’re all he thinks about when he tries to relive these moments. Filling his palm with the gel-like cream, he first wraps his hand around Kame, sliding his fist up and down a few times slowly, squeezing between inches until the other boy turns away, leaning deep into the touch, digging his fingers deeper into the lacquered table.

            He starts with his thumb since he’s sure he won’t be able to wait much longer especially as his grip tightens on Kame with each stroke. Seconds pass as he prepares Kame. Only the other boy’s soft groans fill the silence as Ueda slows his strokes before gingerly pushing in, allowing him to be swallowed whole.


            There in that moment, in that sacrosanct pause, Ueda knows that Kame is entirely his. There is no past and there is no future.


There is only the vibrant, bleeding seconds between them where he quivers at the heat within Kame, and Kame mutters breathless words: apologies, prayers, pleas.


This time as he thrusts, Kame’s back muscles constrict and his cries are uninhibited.


Ueda feels himself charged with intensity, fire and electricity all at once, forcing all in one desperately into the body beneath him.


As painful as the first time, Ueda feels Kame’s squirms bring him to the brink and the warm fluid spilling over his left hand makes his own senses flood into frenzy.


His own stomach constricts and a world-shattering white crashes through him leaving him completely immobile even as his mind processes his emotions, his pain, and his confusion. Then there is calm, and Kame is sobbing, curse words and pleas blended to perfection. Acceptance, Ueda thinks a little sorrowfully. It is a selfless of a man to accept what he does not want. But as he silently wishes that Kame’s weeping had something to do with him, it begins to dawn on Ueda why he feels so guilty when none of this is his fault.


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August 2012

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