Blurred - Kamiyama/Honma [Oneshot]
May. 14th, 2009 06:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hoopyfroodTitle: Blurred
Pairing: One-sided Kamiyama/Honma
Rating: PG
Summary: There's a fine line between love and hate.
Kamiyama craves Honma.
When the young Producer slides his hands, beautifully pale with long delicate fingers, over his shoulders and round to his back, and says so softy, “It'll be alright Kamiyama, I'll take care of you. Just remember,” he wants more. Wants to be engulfed by him. To take those hands and lovingly kiss his knuckles, to say, "I believe you."
Instead, he slumps under their weight. Forced down boneless and limp onto the floor at Honma's feet. Where he belongs.
Like clockwork, he gives into the familiar dull ache in his temple as it spikes sharply and splits his very being in half. Leaving him jagged at the edges, rough and raw, easy to put back together but not to fix. “I'm going to fix you,” Honma promises into the side of his neck, nose cold and breath warm. He wants to be fixed. Wants Honma to fix him.
But Honma very rarely brings any relief. Instead he brings a buzzing. A soft vibration that makes Kamiyama's ears itch and the back of his throat tingle. It's like the low hum of a bee constantly fluttering just around the shell of his ear.
He knows if he tries to swat it away, he'll just get stung.
Kaniyama hates Honma.
The memories, fragmented but vibrant, wash over him just like the vast expanse of water he dreams about. They're suffocating. Honma reaches out and saves him. Pulls him from the pit of despair and seeming endlessness, grounds and anchors him. Stops him from drowning.
Only to then push him back in.
Yes, Kamiyama hates Honma. But oh how he craves him as well.
When he feels the feather light touch of lips, always such a mesmerising shade of red that Kamiyama wishes didn't remind him so much of blood, on the top of his head, he shivers in desperation. It's become hard to know what he's desperate for anymore. Is it to remember? To regain a life he lost so long ago? Or to simply hang onto the one he has now? Here, with Honma. With the pain. With the buzzing.
It's all he knows.
Honma towers over Kamiyama, bored and uninterested as he stares off into the corner of the room. Annoyance eats away at him as he realises this particular visit is proving more and more fruitless with every useless garble Kamiyama struggles to form into a sentence. Into a memory. And here he thought they were finally making progress. What a shame.
He clicks his tongue and takes his hands out of his pockets, ready to leave. Kamiyama jerks forward slightly, involuntary, one hand raised just above where it was laying uselessly on his knee.
“I-I-lo-lov,” Kamiyama stutters loudly into the silence, but the words disappear before they can be forced out. His mouth feels dry.
Only now does Kamiyama become aware of the goosebumps prickling across his flesh, the flimsy white bottoms doing nothing to cushion his knees from the cold, hard floor. He looks down at his hands and clenches them into fists as he tries to calm himself down, tries to stop his head from swimming and focus his eyes.
Honma slowly swings his head back round, tilting it downwards slightly to look at Kamiyama. He smirks and crouches down infront of the smaller man. The sound of his clothes shifting as he moves is strangely deafening in the small room and Kamiyama only just manages to resist from shooting his hands up to cover his ears.
“What?” Honma grips at Kamiyama's shoulders, squeezing tightly as he smiles, only just keeping in his laughter. “You love me?”
Kamiyama whimpers, his body shaking uncontrollably as he ducks his head in embarrassment. He clutches at the thin fabric that covers his legs, willing himself to not give in and reach out to Honma instead.
Honma moves a hand up to Kamiyama's cheek, gently guiding his face back up so he can look him in the eyes. He strokes his thumb lazily over a high cheek bone as he leans closer, putting them cheek to cheek. “What a sickening thought,” he whispers.
With a scratchy, pain filled cry, Kamiyama slips from his grasp and slams down onto his side, clutching desperately at his head. Honma grins down at him in triumph, greedily drinking in the sight. He never tires of watching the man in front of him shatter and splinter. And he probably never will.
There's a fine line between love and hate.
Kamiyama just wishes he could see it.
Pairing: One-sided Kamiyama/Honma
Rating: PG
Summary: There's a fine line between love and hate.
Kamiyama craves Honma.
When the young Producer slides his hands, beautifully pale with long delicate fingers, over his shoulders and round to his back, and says so softy, “It'll be alright Kamiyama, I'll take care of you. Just remember,” he wants more. Wants to be engulfed by him. To take those hands and lovingly kiss his knuckles, to say, "I believe you."
Instead, he slumps under their weight. Forced down boneless and limp onto the floor at Honma's feet. Where he belongs.
Like clockwork, he gives into the familiar dull ache in his temple as it spikes sharply and splits his very being in half. Leaving him jagged at the edges, rough and raw, easy to put back together but not to fix. “I'm going to fix you,” Honma promises into the side of his neck, nose cold and breath warm. He wants to be fixed. Wants Honma to fix him.
But Honma very rarely brings any relief. Instead he brings a buzzing. A soft vibration that makes Kamiyama's ears itch and the back of his throat tingle. It's like the low hum of a bee constantly fluttering just around the shell of his ear.
He knows if he tries to swat it away, he'll just get stung.
Kaniyama hates Honma.
The memories, fragmented but vibrant, wash over him just like the vast expanse of water he dreams about. They're suffocating. Honma reaches out and saves him. Pulls him from the pit of despair and seeming endlessness, grounds and anchors him. Stops him from drowning.
Only to then push him back in.
Yes, Kamiyama hates Honma. But oh how he craves him as well.
When he feels the feather light touch of lips, always such a mesmerising shade of red that Kamiyama wishes didn't remind him so much of blood, on the top of his head, he shivers in desperation. It's become hard to know what he's desperate for anymore. Is it to remember? To regain a life he lost so long ago? Or to simply hang onto the one he has now? Here, with Honma. With the pain. With the buzzing.
It's all he knows.
Honma towers over Kamiyama, bored and uninterested as he stares off into the corner of the room. Annoyance eats away at him as he realises this particular visit is proving more and more fruitless with every useless garble Kamiyama struggles to form into a sentence. Into a memory. And here he thought they were finally making progress. What a shame.
He clicks his tongue and takes his hands out of his pockets, ready to leave. Kamiyama jerks forward slightly, involuntary, one hand raised just above where it was laying uselessly on his knee.
“I-I-lo-lov,” Kamiyama stutters loudly into the silence, but the words disappear before they can be forced out. His mouth feels dry.
Only now does Kamiyama become aware of the goosebumps prickling across his flesh, the flimsy white bottoms doing nothing to cushion his knees from the cold, hard floor. He looks down at his hands and clenches them into fists as he tries to calm himself down, tries to stop his head from swimming and focus his eyes.
Honma slowly swings his head back round, tilting it downwards slightly to look at Kamiyama. He smirks and crouches down infront of the smaller man. The sound of his clothes shifting as he moves is strangely deafening in the small room and Kamiyama only just manages to resist from shooting his hands up to cover his ears.
“What?” Honma grips at Kamiyama's shoulders, squeezing tightly as he smiles, only just keeping in his laughter. “You love me?”
Kamiyama whimpers, his body shaking uncontrollably as he ducks his head in embarrassment. He clutches at the thin fabric that covers his legs, willing himself to not give in and reach out to Honma instead.
Honma moves a hand up to Kamiyama's cheek, gently guiding his face back up so he can look him in the eyes. He strokes his thumb lazily over a high cheek bone as he leans closer, putting them cheek to cheek. “What a sickening thought,” he whispers.
With a scratchy, pain filled cry, Kamiyama slips from his grasp and slams down onto his side, clutching desperately at his head. Honma grins down at him in triumph, greedily drinking in the sight. He never tires of watching the man in front of him shatter and splinter. And he probably never will.
There's a fine line between love and hate.
Kamiyama just wishes he could see it.
