New Chapter of Breathe

[xenjn]

Title: Breathe
Author: Xenjn
Rating: NC-17
Main Pairing: Kisaki x Riku
Side Pairings: RikuxKiyoharu KisakixKiyoharu
Warning: Strangle fetish.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from Mago. Deal with it. XD
Notes: RIKU'S POV  CHAPTER THREE IS UP~!

When I was a child, my father would abuse me.

To admit such a thing, so bluntly seems to be one of my greatest faults. But I’ve never been one to hide my emotions, or the truth for too long. I’ve never been one to hide anything, really. I wear all my thoughts, all my emotions right on my sleeve for everyone to see.

And yes, my father would abuse me. He would wrap his large coarse hands around my neck, and squeeze.

I never told anyone about the euphoria it gave me.

It was father’s favorite punishment, he claimed it to be ‘the most effective’ in shutting me up when I spoke out of place, or asked one too many questions.

Oh the euphoria I felt...

There was no pain, only a numbing, yet pleasurable sensation of liquid ice, halting in my veins. There was no darkness, there was no light. There was nothing, only the sound of my heart as the beating slowed. It was all I could feel, all I could hear. And for those few moments, the world would fade as I lost myself within the slowed beating of my heart.

This is, I’m sure, what drew me to music. Rock music has eight beats, so of course, when one listens to it, their heart speeds up to match the pulse of the sounds.

It was, and is, the closest I can get to that feeling of euphoria, without having to stunt my own breathing.

I dared not tell anyone of my secret; it was all I had, my only weapon against him. For my father, it was punishment. And you know, you aren’t supposed to enjoy your punishment. Perhaps that’s why I valued it so much, not just for the pleasure it brought, but for that fact that it was my own secret little ‘fuck you’ to my father.

But as I look back on it now, I realize that he drew pleasure from this simple act as well, and I find myself wondering if he felt that same euphoria crushing my windpipe, as I felt when my breathing halted for those few, delirious seconds.

There’s no use in wondering, however, because I know the truth. I know he enjoyed it just as much as I did.

So it was fair, and just. But twisted, and broken in its intention.

In it’s meaning.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Because in the end? In the end, he won. Because he was cured, and I was addicted.
--

“DOMO ARIGATOU, OSAKA ~!!!”

The screams I draw from this crowd, are feeble, at best, and the most they do is compel Goosebumps to rise along my flesh.  It’s pathetic, and worthless in its own right, and does nothing to hold back my urge. However I endure and bow to them, thanking them once again for coming out to see us.

I listen to them with indifference as I suck in a short, meager breath, and hold. My eyes slide shut, just for a moment as I halt my breathing, trying desperately to tune into my own heartbeat, and calm my aching nerves.

It doesn’t help much.

Because it’s just not the same. My craving is creeping up again, and I find myself longing to feel warm, course hands around my neck, squeezing until I forget how to breathe.

I’m almost in shock as I feel tremors run up my spine. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve felt the craving to this extent. Once, not too long ago, I was sedated, and I no longer needed to have my breathing stunted to reach that euphoric high.

The crowd’s screams had been enough, the sheer power they gave off, thousands upon thousands screaming for us, for more. Coupled with my endless infatuation with a certain bassist, and my close friendship with the rest of them, I found myself suddenly feeling…

Full. Whole.

Complete.

My lungs begin to burn and I slowly let the air leave me, before inhaling deeply.

Inhale, exhale.

Now I stand upon this stage, the lights burning into my flesh, and I find I feel no power from these screams, these fans. Perhaps Kisaki had spoiled me in that way, with the stadiums, the thousands of fans, the encores.

Inhale, exhale.

With each breath my craving grows, and I find myself scanning the crowd and the ones around me, hoping, searching for somebody, perhaps a fan, who’d be willing to stunt my breathing.

Inhale, Exhale.

Shaking my head, I try to rid myself of such stupid thoughts. My band mates would be disturbed, and my fans are too sweet, they’d be too afraid to hurt me, or too confused to understand what I want.

My Goosebumps fade along with the crowd’s weak, halfhearted screams. It’s as though they’re expecting something more, something better, and are disappointed to find that there’s nothing left.

Inhale, Exhale.

Unable to face the disappointment in their eyes, I bow once again, before turning and making my way off stage, my neck tingling.

Absentmindedly my hand comes up, and I rub firm circles against my Adam’s apple.

“Riku.” His voice startles me, and immediately my hand flies away from my throat before I turn to face him, face the man whom I so recently claimed to be ‘done and over with’.

Inhale, Exhale.

“H-Hai?” Even now I get jitters when I feel his piercing eyes upon me, and I always have the sudden urge to cover myself, and scream at him to just stop looking at me. But the most I manage is a twitch of my pinky finger. He looks at me for another moment, before giving a slight nod of his head in approval.

Apparently I’ve done a good job.

I tell myself to scoff, to roll my eyes and blow it off, just so he’d know what it feels like to be blown off.

But I can’t, because my stomach is lurching, and my throat constricting, and every fiber of my being begs to be acknowledged by him once again. So much so, that I move closer to him, and it takes me a moment to realize just what I am doing as I step closer. But for the first time, in a very long time, I let my body, my heart free to do what it wishes.

I no longer have the strength, or the courage to fight off my urges.

I’m standing in front of him now, my fingers reaching out, brushing against his own, and he resists the urge to lurch away. I place my hand atop his, gripping it softly and bringing it up slowly. “Riku…Nani?”

“Shh.” His hand arrives at my neck, and I press down on the back of his fingers, so that the pads of his fingers touch my throat, and my Adam’s apple.

He’s watching me intently, with a sort of…morbid curiosity playing in his eyes, he purses his lips, but says nothing, trying to understand what I am trying to do.

When he makes no move to stop me, I push the digits harder and my entire body shutters in pleasure, my airway slowly constricting. We’re watching each other intently now, and I don’t think I’ve ever had the chance to look into his eyes like this.

My throat constricts as I press harder, and his constricts as he swallows dryly.

He speaks first, his voice quiet. “…Riku…What’re you doing?” He asks me; more curious then disturbed, and makes no move to pull his hand away from my neck.

I stare into his eyes for another moment, before I speak.

“Kisaki-Sama…” My voice comes out in a low, almost husky whisper, and I realize just how aroused I’ve become from the simple act. I press his fingers down harder, and sigh almost contently as I begin to hear my heartbeat.

“I don’t want to breathe anymore.” His breathing deepens, and his eyes begin to fog over, and he swallows. My hand slowly drops from his in a silent urge, he seems to understand, and takes over, pressing the pad of his thumb against my neck, and pushing.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, he’s not even pressing down all the way, and oh god it feels so good. My entire body is melting, aching for him to continue, and I never knew it could feel this damn good. My eyes flutter closed as I tune into my erratic heartbeat, my lips parting in an almost silent moan.

I whimper however, as I feel the pressure fade slowly, I look at him once again, my breathing deep and uneven as blood and precious oxygen flows through my body once again. As I watch him, the way his fingers are twitching, tingling from the act he just performed, I feel the sudden urge to ask him why he stopped. I only get as far as a breathless whisper of “Kii-Sama…” Before he interrupts me, his voice shockingly even.

“You have autographs to sign, Riku.” With that, he turns from me, and I watch his back as he walks away. My neck tingles, my fingers burn, and my body craves more.

Inhale, Exhale.
 
I feel bad.

I never thought I could be so…cold, to my fans. They had come all this way to see me, even some from America…And I blew them off.

But my anger outweighs my guilt. Suddenly I found myself uncharacteristically enraged when Kisaki-San pulled away from me. I glance over at him now, and he’s looking through the crowd of girls with an almost hungry look in his eyes.

I can’t help but to scoff and look away, my fists clenched under the table I’m sitting at.

Bastard.

“Riku-San?”

If he wanted to get off he could just ASK me. It’s not like I wouldn’t be willing.

“Riku-San?”

Oh yes, that’s right…he’s STRAIGHT. Uh huh.

“…Ano…Riku-San?”

Yes, right. He’s straight. Just like he said he was into older women. Which is EXACTLY why he’s staring at that girl with a hungry look in his eyes? A girl who really couldn’t be a day over 18.

Bastard.

“Hello? Riku-San?” I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I see a hand waving in front of my face.

Great. Another fan.

I shake my head, inwardly trying to take those thoughts back. What’s WRONG with me? I normally LOVE my fans…

I glance back over at Kisaki-San…He’s talking to her. Bastard. It’s his fault.

I force a smile to my lips and look up at my fan girl. The first word that comes to mind as I glance her over is…cute. Yes, quite cute. But still sexy. She looks foreign too.

She blushes a little and bows, telling me her name and how she’s from America and how she’s been waiting to meet me for a very, very long time. I must admit, this warms my heart a little.

I manage a smile and a thank you while I glance her over once again. She blushes under my gaze, and I can’t help but grin at that, the way she’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

She wants something from me, and I’m sure it’s not just an autograph.

My eyes dart towards Kisaki-San’s direction, he’s speaking to the girl still, flashing her a smile, making her giggle. He must feel my gaze on him however, and he glances over at me.

Fine. Two can play this game.

I grin up at my fan girl, who’s still blushing, by the way.

Yes, she’s quite cute, and I’m sure Kisaki-San can tell this girl is my type. I take her hand and press a light kiss to it, smiling at her. “Thank you for your support. I’m very grateful that you came all the way here just to see me.”

She nods in thanks, her face still flushed. She seems quite unsure of what to do, and I use this to my advantage.

I ignore my duties to my other fans for a few minutes, and focus all my attention on flirting with this girl. My fingers brush along her wrist, enjoying the feel of her soft skin.

She seems to be coming over her initial shyness, and I find myself more and more willing to take her home with me tonight. His eyes are on me now, and he knows what I’m doing at this point. I don’t bother to look up and spare him a glance.

I can already feel his eyes burning into my skin.

Telling myself that I don’t NEED him to get off, or to even have fun, I glance down at my table, and look for a sheet of paper. I might as well write this girl a backstage pass, that way she won’t have to wait outside for me. But before I can bring my pen down to the blank sheet of paper, I’m stopped by a large hand gripping my wrist tightly.

“Riku. You’re keeping your other fans waiting.” Kisaki’s voice is firm and demanding. I look over to where he was standing before, and see that the girl he was so adamantly flirting with, gone.

Unable to help it, a grin comes to my lips. “Hai, of course. Gomen-ne, Kisaki-San. I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”

We both know it’s a lie.

He sends a glare at the girl who I was speaking to, and she seems to challenge it for a moment, but in the end, Kisaki won and she walked away, looking quite dejected.

I feel bad again.

Great.

“Ano, Kisaki-San…Can I have my wrist back please?” He turns his glare towards me, and I read it easily, basically demanding that I stop fucking around and get to work.

But what it really means is that…He’s jealous.

Another grin comes to my lips, and I continue working, trying to ignore the clenching in my neck, and trying to resist the urge to rub my Adam’s apple once again.

I won, didn’t I?

No. I lost. Just like I lost with my father.

Because I’m still addicted. Because I still want him, I still lust and burn for him.

And after everything has been said and done, after the doors to the concert hall have been closed and locked.

Even after we say our goodbyes, even after he pats my head and drives away…

I still want him.

And even if it kills me…

I will have him.  

I never thought something like this could be considered an addiction.

A compulsion, yes. A craving? Yes. But an addiction?

...

My mind is in chaos.

Each breath I take seems to get caught in my throat a moment before exhaling, and I find my fingers constantly returning to my neck, rubbing firm circles into my Adams apple.

The frustration of dissatisfaction is slowly driving me mad, and I find, just like before, that I am unable to heal the issue on my own.

I’ve never been able to stunt my breathing on my own. Well, it’s not that I’m unable to do it…its quite possible, but what’s the point? I find that I can never draw any pleasure from the act. The most I can do to satisfy my urge is to press my fingers against my throat.

However, I’m not sure if rubbing my throat quells my urge, or heightens my need for it.

I’ve tried to keep myself preoccupied, trying, in vain to distract myself from the clenching sensation in my larynx. It’s almost sickening, how I crave your fingers around my throat again, Kisaki-Sama.

Your long, calloused fingers send me into a delirious wave of euphoria, just from the lightest of touches.

And I’m sure; you are the only one who can cure this addiction of mine, if only because you are an addiction yourself.

You are my addiction.

We seem to have reached a new level of awkwardness, haven’t we? Our ‘relationship’ is one of indifference now. If it could be called a relationship at all Hell, It can’t even be categorized as friendship anymore. Just indifference. I am a vocalist; you are my producer, to you, that’s all it is.

Or at least, that’s what you’re trying so desperately to make it seem like.

Something tells me there’s much more to this little game then you’re willing to admit.

But I’ll humor you, and play along. As I silently urge for you, as I knowingly brush past you, our skin touching for those few, subtle seconds. I relish in the feel of your skin, if only for a second before it’s gone, and inwardly I can’t help but wonder if you feel the same longing for flesh as I do.

…What a stupid question. Of course you don’t.

What am I thinking?

My fingers come up to rub my Adam’s apple once again, and at the rare times we do speak and you catch me doing this, your eyes narrow and a frown comes to your lips.

Oh, so you do remember that night, don’t you? Huh, I thought for a moment that I was the only one, but I suppose it hasn’t been haunting you as much as it’s been tormenting me.

Not that it matters though, I counter your pouty angered look with my own look of distain, and I’m half tempted just to call you out on your fake emotion, and tell you to just stop fucking pretending that you care.

Just stop.

But you don’t. Instead I feel your eyes on me more often now, watching me for signs of disarray.

Your cold indifference, coupled with your prowling eyes…It’s enough to drive me mad, and to bring my addiction, my craving into overload, until we’re back where we started again.

Until I’m back where I started again.

A stage, an audience, surrounded by the music blaring in my ears. My music.

This time it’s different, this time…I can feel them. I can feel the crowd, the fans, I can feel their screams and the heat of their bodies, radiating from down below.

All too suddenly I find my craving rising once again, If only because I’m reminded of another time, another crowd, from not too long ago.

But right now, that doesn’t matter. All that matters is their cheering, their heat, as it penetrates my chest in all the right ways, soon, nothing else matters but the music. Not you, not my father. Nothing. And I did exactly what I knew I shouldn’t.

I gave into my inhibitions.

My hand reaches out, brushing along the skin of each of them, my fingers tingling as they touch back and a scream leaving my lips at the sensation rising in my throat.

It’s hot, and the music is loud, pumping in my ears, speeding up my heart rate as I can’t help but to bob along to my own band. My voice is coming out almost raspy, the air is husky as my singing screams of arousal.

They scream back, and never in my life have I enjoyed having such a loud, responsive crowd. Fuck rules, edicite. Who says you can’t scream, who says you can’t sing along?

Who says you can’t bang your head to the music and feel the song within the depths of your soul?

This crowd has power…I have power, and I abuse it in every right, almost moaning right then and there as I press my fingers to my throat on stage, in front of them all, rubbing, hard, almost groaning into my microphone.

They seem to respond to it well, bobbing their heads as I continue to sing, moving my hips to the beat, my eyes sliding shut as I feel sweat rise from my pours. My tongue comes out to taste the air…delicious.

The heat is almost unbearable for the rest of the live, my craving is becoming unbearable and I found myself rubbing my throat on stage multiple times, a hot shiver ghosting along my spine each time I do.

By the end of the show, by the end of both encores the crowd demanded of us, my body is trembling in excitement, in a natural high drawn from these fans of ours. I scream for them one more time, and thank them with everything I have for coming out to see us.

They scream back at me, and I find that I can’t resist the urge to press into my throat once again. But as my adrenaline slowly fades, I find myself becoming hyper aware of everything around me, of each cry, of each band member, each stage light burning into my skin.

And suddenly I’m all too aware of your eyes, suddenly I feel them, and search through the crowd, until I spot you, all the way in the back. Your dark, beautiful eyes flashing with discontent.

You look positively infuriated.

I smirk at your anger, snicker at your concern, and brush it off as though it were nothing.

With my eyes on yours, and your gaze burning into my flesh, I bring my hand up one last time, rubbing my throat, my eyes sliding shut in a light pleasure.

Right on stage, right in front of you. A challenge if you will, as though I’m screaming at you to stop me if you dare. To say something if you can.

But I know I have nothing to worry about. The chances of you following me backstage, into my dressing room and confronting me while I have an obvious erection in my pants and an obvious craving for flesh, is slim to none.

You fear my touch all too much to take that sort of risk.

Which is why I’m almost shocked to find you already waiting for me in my dressing room by the time I arrive. Perhaps I got too carried away on stage, reaching out and touching the adoring fans, or congratulating my band mates for a great job done. Because I didn’t notice you leave the room, I didn’t feel your eyes leave mine.

But I’m all too aware of them now, boring into my skin with a look of irritation flashing within the dark irises.

“What the hell was that out there?!”  You always have to have the first word, don’t you?

“A damn good live, that’s what it was.” I’m feeling mouthy tonight, so sue me. Enough is enough, if he thinks I’m going to hang over his every word like an obsessed little fan girl then he’s wrong. Not now. Not tonight.

Because tonight the crowd’s screams are still echoing through me, because my craving is almost unbearable, making me want to lash out at the man in front of me, only because I know he’s the only one who could satisfy this urge.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it!!”

Oh, he’s pissed now, and the fact that I’m grinning, and scoffing his anger is only enraging him more.

“Honestly Kii-San? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe you should clear it up for me, huh?”

His eyes are blazing now, and he takes a step closer to me, his stare is almost menacing as he glares down at me. I’m almost intimidated…almost.

“What were you doing? What have you been doing Riku? Why have you been…?” He trails off, unable to find the words he’s trying to express.

And I, being the oh so loving vocalist that I am, fill in the gaps.

“Why have I been…What? Choking myself?”

His eyes widen for a moment at how quickly I am admitting it, but says nothing, only tilts his head in the slightest of nods.

I send him a smirk, my tongue coming out to touch my piercing instinctively.

“I told you Kisaki-San…I don’t want to breathe anymore. And If you refuse to stunt my breathing, then I’ll do it myself.”

The look on his face is almost priceless, but I bite my tongue, watching his reactions, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Luckily, there’s no need for me to play 20 questions with his facial features this time.

“Why do you want to…kill yourself?” The words are almost choked out, as though he can’t believe he’s saying that himself. I suddenly am unable to hold back, and soon start laughing, almost hysterically.

His frown worsens, and his glare is anything but kind, but he says nothing, only crosses his arms and glares down at me, waiting for my response.

Silly Kisaki-Sama~ I can’t believe he thought that…Ha! It really is humoresque, but then again, I can’t blame him. With the way I worded it especially, perhaps that’s why he’s been so… ‘concerned’ lately.

After I calm down from my laughing fit enough to speak, I look up at him, a few chuckles leaving me as I tell him. “Trust me, Kii-San. I have no intention of dying just yet…You don’t need to be too worried.”

I see him visibly relax at my words, and for some reason makes me feel as though a weight has been lifted off my own shoulders. But I ignore the sensation, not wanting to loose my leverage.

He does blink however, when my words, in their entirety sink in. “...Too worried? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And if you aren’t attempting suicide, why the hell are you choking yourself?”

A grin comes to my lips as he says this, and I take a moment, trying to determine just how I want to word this.

“Do you know what a fetish is, Kisaki-San?”

He shoots me a dirty look when at this, and my grin only widens.

“Asphyxiation.”

He blinks once or twice. “What?”

“You heard me…you know what asphyxiation is, don’t you?”

He nods...slowly, as though he is unable to process the words.

I grin up at him once again, patting his arm. “Good. Well there you have it. I have an asphyxiation fetish.”

“…” My producer was silent for another moment, staring at me with a look of almost disbelief and I wait patiently for him, watching his reactions with that amused grin that refuses to leave my lips.

“…How long?”

“Hm?” It takes me a moment to understand the question, and I’m about to respond before he asks me again.

“…How long has this been going on?” He looks…almost horrified, and genuinely concerned. The pure emotion in his eyes wipes the grin off my lips. Dammit.

“…I don’t know…Since I was nine, I guess.”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment, and I find myself fidgeting, my fingers twitching and my throat tingling, the heat in my stomach is pooling impatiently and my lower body, as well as my throat is begging for satisfaction.

He seems shocked at my answer, and I can’t blame him. “…Nine…?” He asks, disbelief written all over his features. He shakes his head for a moment, trying to clear his mind.

“Wait…Why hadn’t I noticed this before?” I can’t be sure if he’s asking himself this, or asking me.

I answer anyway.

“I’m good at keeping secrets that I don’t want people to know, Matsuura.”

I think the use of his name, in such a cold tone snaps him out of his aforementioned shock. “…Kenji.”

Rolling my eyes, I run a hand through my hair, sighing deeply. “Kisaki-San, will you please just leave now? I want to get changed.” And jack off. I don’t tell him that though.

But I’m sure he’s noticed my body trembling slightly now, and the burning of my lower belly is driving me stark raving mad, to the point where I’m just tempted to touch myself here, if only to scare him off.

“…Wait. First, tell me what you meant by too worried.”

Honestly I didn’t really know what I meant when I said that, but suddenly a thought strikes me, suddenly I realize just how I can use this to my advantage.

After all, guilt is a beautiful thing.

“It means…That I need it, Kisaki-San…I need it more then I’ve needed anything…” My eyes lock with his own. “Almost more then I need you.”

Once again, he’s struck silent, and I continue, pulling all of this out of my ass as I go along.

“Like I said, I have an asphyxiation fetish. You didn’t notice before because it wasn’t as bad before…and after that last live…When you…” I trail off for a moment, feeling my throat go dry at the memory, the heat in my lower belly rising and my pants tightening.

“…You made it start up again, Kisaki-San…Like I said, I need this, to the point where I’m choking myself on stage just to get it. I’ve never done it before, but at this point, I’ve already begun…”

I don’t need to tell him the implications of those words, he knows all too well that doing such a thing can easily lead to an accidental death. I also don’t need to tell him that I can’t get off on my own, that I can’t cure my own itch.

He swallows dryly, and I see his fingers twitch. “…Can’t you have someone…?”

“No. It only has to be you. Or nobody at all.”

“…Why?” he asks me in a hoarse whisper, his eyes boring into my own, and I can see the battle he’s having within.

“Because…” I respond, feeling my lips twitch into a genuine smile. I reach out, taking his hand in my own and bringing it up to my face, pressing a soft kiss to the pads of his index finger.

“You’re the only one I can trust with my life.”

He inhales with his mouth, his breathing becoming heavier as I run his fingers along my lips, then down my chin, slowly, my entire body shuttering at the feel of his skin on my own.

He swallows thickly, dryly, once again, licking his dry lips. I can still see the battle he’s having with his morals, with his pride. But his hand is limp in my own, allowing me to move it as I please.

I trail it lower, until his fingers touch my throat, but I don’t press down, even though my entire being is begging that I do so. I hold back.

“Do it.” I whisper to him, staring directly into his eyes. My words seem to bring him out of his heated discussion with himself, and he stares back at me with wide eyes, his lips parting slightly. “..Riku.”

“Do it…please.” I beg him, feeling my eyes water as my craving becomes almost unbearable. I’m almost shaking in anticipation now, and I don’t know what I’ll do if he refuses, if he pulls away and leaves.

Luckily for me, I don’t have to worry about such a thing, because all too suddenly I feel his hand, no longer limp in my own, wrapping around my neck, his thumb pressing into my throat.

Oh god yes.