The Secret History
Please Note- This fic has been rated Mature for a reason! It contains graphic sexual references/conversations, homosexual sex, alcohol use, violence and loads of swearing and generally grown up situations. Please adhere to the age of consent for your country. I take no responsibility for those who don't.
I do not own the copyright on these characters. I get no money for writing about them. It's purely an act of worship (and lust) so please don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway.
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Have you ever lain in bed in the small hours with fire in your belly and thought, imagined, pictured things that you would never admit to in the cold light of day?
Because that’s the strange thing about night. Honesty creeps out of the dusty corners and desires are whispered that you will deny with all your soul in the morning.
Anything is possible in the dark.
Now, maybe for you such thoughts are not a problem. No one will ever know about them. You are spared any blushes. Unfortunately I am not so lucky.
Because my night time deviance is Schuldig.
It happened before Weiss, back in those days when my rage was like red hot coals heaped upon the head of anyone ill starred enough to encounter me. The days when my need for revenge outstripped my skills and entirely overwhelmed my reason. I lived in a one room shit hole and worked in restaurants where my glaring face regularly put people off their food. I spent my free time in the most dangerous places I could find, trying (none too subtly) to track down the man responsible for destroying my family. But if I am honest I have to admit that what I was also trying to do in those wild, raw months was get myself killed.
Call it survivors’ guilt, call it late adolescent angst, call it an inability to endure the weekly visits to my sister and her white faced, lifeless hospital self. I knew that I had to avenge her, to avenge all of them and that doing so would take me through a sea of blood. Who would I be on the other side?
No one I liked, I suspected.
Before long all I was sure of was that I wanted to feel something other than fear and hate and loneliness. I wanted to feel anything else.
I met him three days before I was recruited by Weiss. Even now the timing of it makes me cringe, makes me wonder if malicious spirits were watching me and directing me to the worst possible person. I imagine them rolling over with laughter.
I was drinking in a hotel bar. I had been informed by an acquaintance (not a friend, I didn’t have friends) that this was a popular meeting place for Tokyo’s underworld bosses and I was moronic enough, young enough, to believe that my quarry would just wander in unarmed and unguarded and that I would be able to kill him with my pawn shop knife.
God, I was stupid.
Instead I sat there for much of the evening being glowered at by the barman who clearly felt that I was lowering the tone. As the time passed and my nursed drink slowly depleted I became more and more depressed. The idiocy of my behaviour (even I couldn’t bring myself to dignify it with the word ‘plan’) dawned on me. Even more humiliatingly it was apparent by midnight that my ‘informant’ had been having a laugh at my expense. This hotel bar was not the haunt of gangsters and godfathers. It was a gay bar.
Perhaps it wasn’t an official gay bar and the denizens were certainly discrete but there were just too many beautiful men there, drinking together and completely ignoring the occasional glamorous woman who sat there for a bit looking confused before leaving in a huff.
I was grinding my teeth and planning what I would do to the man who had sent me here when a westerner sat down next to me and asked me if I wanted a drink. I turned to tell him to fuck off but the words died on the back of my tongue. Green eyes lit with wickedness bored right through my brain threatening to pin me to the wall. But it was his mouth that trapped me there. I had never seen a man like that before. He smiled with a mixture of cynicism and lust. He didn’t even seem to try to hide what he was thinking. He looked at me like he wanted me right there, up against the bar.
My mouth went dry and I couldn’t speak.
“I’ll get you vodka,” he said, not at all fazed by the way I was staring at him. The drink appeared at some point but I wasn’t sure when because all I could see was him. Everyone else in the bar was fading into the background. I instructed my legs to stand up and leave the building but they completely ignored me. They appeared to be no longer taking orders. So I knocked back my vodka in the hope that it would somehow kick start my brain. But of course the warm alcohol spreading in my blood only worsened my predicament. My head filled with strange thoughts, hungry thoughts and secret needs that only usually entered my mind when I was alone. I couldn’t help wondering if a man like me could attract a man like that, a man with charisma a mile wide.
The westerner had his head slightly to one side as if he was listening to something. I felt very much as if he knew what I was thinking, then berated myself for being so ridiculous.
“Another one?” he asked, when I finished.
‘No,’ I thought.
“Yes,” I said. He graced me with a smile, lips a little parted, that made me breathe in sharply and turn away to watch the barman pour my drink. Unbidden images flooded before my eyes. I could see myself pulling the westerners clothes off. I could feel his skin under my teeth. I shook my head as if to empty it. The barman’s mouth was twitching as though he was repressing laughter. I flushed angrily and grabbed the glass with tense fingers. I could sense the westerner looking at me still. ‘After I have drunk this I’ll leave,’ I told myself, ‘I am clearly coming down with some nasty virus and I should be in bed.’
“You don’t so this sort of thing often, do you?” The westerner said.
“What do you mean by that?” I demanded, too loudly. The barman turned away with shaking shoulders. The westerner smiled again.
“I meant, drinking vodka. You don’t seem to be used to it.”
I shuddered with embarrassment and looked back into my drink. It was probably too much to hope that two vodkas could cause memory loss. I didn’t ever want to remember this.
“Oh.”I said. The alcohol was dilating my eyes, I could almost feel it, and my skin was warming. The ability to leave the hotel bar seemed even more beyond me, like in a dream when you know you have to be somewhere else but your legs won’t move. Now it was well past midnight and the bar was emptying. The barman was drying glasses in a pointed manner.
“Shall we have another drink upstairs?” The westerner asked, his accent ran over my body like honey. I could almost feel it caressing its way down my throat. A shiver of excitement made its way through my belly. The night had taken a very strange turn and I felt like some exotic, attractive creature. Not like me at all. Somehow when the stranger asked if I wanted a drink I heard him ask me other things too and, just for once, I wanted to be a real person, a real, wanting, lustful thing with no agenda, no vengeance, no doubts.
“Alright,” I said, and we both knew what I was agreeing to.
He led me to the lifts. I tried not to glance around at the hotel staff. They surely knew what was going on but the westerner showed no sign of self consciousness. He behaved as though it was the most normal thing in the world to pick up a strange young man in a bar, ply him with vodka and take him to his room. He moved like his body had plans, had expectations, as though his skin was anticipating me. The utter confidence of his stance as the lift doors slid shut made me even more aware of my own sick tension. Part of me wanted very much to be walking down the street, away from here and away from this man. Something about him wasn’t right; like a badly dubbed film he didn’t seem to hold together in any natural way. His eyes were like an amoral cat’s, looking at me sidelong now and then with an expression that suggested that I should be afraid of him. He had a manner like a bored devil come down to play with humanity.
His hotel room was expensive, all deep carpets and shining walnut. This did not surprise me; he must always have the best of everything. Huge floor to ceiling windows glared out over the city. I went to them and it was as though you could just take one step through the glass and walk out into the sky, falling forever into the neon spiked dark. I stared and stared, my heart pounding, my brain faltering, vodka in my heart and lust in my soul. I felt oddly and pleasingly passive, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.
He appeared behind me, reflected in the glass, his hand moving over my shoulder and draping, possessively, on my chest. I could feel the heat of his fingers through my clothes. His eyes met mine in the window glass. We were lost in a sea of reflection, hungry eyes and caught breath. And, once again, I felt as though he knew what I was thinking.
“What do you live for?” he asked me, his mouth moved languorously, as though we were falling asleep. His breath moved against my neck.
“Revenge,” I said, my automatic reply to questions like that, but it sounded frightening to me now. I suspected that the man stood behind me knew more about such things than I ever would. Compared to him I was a child in violence.
“But what do you want, late at night when the whole world is in heat?”
He spoke as if he already knew the answer.
“I imagine what it would be like to...give in.”I said, at last, not sure where the words were coming from but recognising their truth.
He smiled slowly. His eyes terrified me, thrilled me.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
But afterwards I began to remember myself and shame reared it’s ugly, inevitable head. Just as I thought what a fool I had been, my lover kissed my throat and said,
“You had better get dressed Aya, and get back to your revenge.”
My blood ran cold where for an hour now it had been nothing but heat. I looked at him. He was smiling at my fear. He lay there naked, smirking like he had won some kind of victory over me.
“I never told you my name.”I said. He shrugged and grinned and I quickly looked around for my clothes. Panic threatened. I was soon dressed and standing by the door. Something about the way he was looking at me made me sick with terror and guilt. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave, even now.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He laughed happily and it made me shake.
“I’m the thing that you will think about, late at night. I am the thing that you will try to forget.”
Abruptly he was out of the bed and pushing me back against the door, his hand on my jaw, forcing my face to look at him. His green eyes were sparkling.
“I am the biggest mistake you ever made.” He whispered into my mouth.
I kicked him away and fled the room with his laughter ringing in my ears. He made no attempt to pursue me and I flung myself into the lift, my eyes smarting with horrified tears, my hands trembling. ‘I should have known, I should have known’, I thought. Something had been wrong right from the start and now I felt sure that when I knew who he was, I would regret this with all my soul.
And now? Now I encounter him on missions and I wait for him to say something, to humiliate it me with the past in front of Omi or Ken, but he doesn’t say it.
He just smiles at me, slowly.
I do not own the copyright on these characters. I get no money for writing about them. It's purely an act of worship (and lust) so please don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway.
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Have you ever lain in bed in the small hours with fire in your belly and thought, imagined, pictured things that you would never admit to in the cold light of day?
Because that’s the strange thing about night. Honesty creeps out of the dusty corners and desires are whispered that you will deny with all your soul in the morning.
Anything is possible in the dark.
Now, maybe for you such thoughts are not a problem. No one will ever know about them. You are spared any blushes. Unfortunately I am not so lucky.
Because my night time deviance is Schuldig.
It happened before Weiss, back in those days when my rage was like red hot coals heaped upon the head of anyone ill starred enough to encounter me. The days when my need for revenge outstripped my skills and entirely overwhelmed my reason. I lived in a one room shit hole and worked in restaurants where my glaring face regularly put people off their food. I spent my free time in the most dangerous places I could find, trying (none too subtly) to track down the man responsible for destroying my family. But if I am honest I have to admit that what I was also trying to do in those wild, raw months was get myself killed.
Call it survivors’ guilt, call it late adolescent angst, call it an inability to endure the weekly visits to my sister and her white faced, lifeless hospital self. I knew that I had to avenge her, to avenge all of them and that doing so would take me through a sea of blood. Who would I be on the other side?
No one I liked, I suspected.
Before long all I was sure of was that I wanted to feel something other than fear and hate and loneliness. I wanted to feel anything else.
I met him three days before I was recruited by Weiss. Even now the timing of it makes me cringe, makes me wonder if malicious spirits were watching me and directing me to the worst possible person. I imagine them rolling over with laughter.
I was drinking in a hotel bar. I had been informed by an acquaintance (not a friend, I didn’t have friends) that this was a popular meeting place for Tokyo’s underworld bosses and I was moronic enough, young enough, to believe that my quarry would just wander in unarmed and unguarded and that I would be able to kill him with my pawn shop knife.
God, I was stupid.
Instead I sat there for much of the evening being glowered at by the barman who clearly felt that I was lowering the tone. As the time passed and my nursed drink slowly depleted I became more and more depressed. The idiocy of my behaviour (even I couldn’t bring myself to dignify it with the word ‘plan’) dawned on me. Even more humiliatingly it was apparent by midnight that my ‘informant’ had been having a laugh at my expense. This hotel bar was not the haunt of gangsters and godfathers. It was a gay bar.
Perhaps it wasn’t an official gay bar and the denizens were certainly discrete but there were just too many beautiful men there, drinking together and completely ignoring the occasional glamorous woman who sat there for a bit looking confused before leaving in a huff.
I was grinding my teeth and planning what I would do to the man who had sent me here when a westerner sat down next to me and asked me if I wanted a drink. I turned to tell him to fuck off but the words died on the back of my tongue. Green eyes lit with wickedness bored right through my brain threatening to pin me to the wall. But it was his mouth that trapped me there. I had never seen a man like that before. He smiled with a mixture of cynicism and lust. He didn’t even seem to try to hide what he was thinking. He looked at me like he wanted me right there, up against the bar.
My mouth went dry and I couldn’t speak.
“I’ll get you vodka,” he said, not at all fazed by the way I was staring at him. The drink appeared at some point but I wasn’t sure when because all I could see was him. Everyone else in the bar was fading into the background. I instructed my legs to stand up and leave the building but they completely ignored me. They appeared to be no longer taking orders. So I knocked back my vodka in the hope that it would somehow kick start my brain. But of course the warm alcohol spreading in my blood only worsened my predicament. My head filled with strange thoughts, hungry thoughts and secret needs that only usually entered my mind when I was alone. I couldn’t help wondering if a man like me could attract a man like that, a man with charisma a mile wide.
The westerner had his head slightly to one side as if he was listening to something. I felt very much as if he knew what I was thinking, then berated myself for being so ridiculous.
“Another one?” he asked, when I finished.
‘No,’ I thought.
“Yes,” I said. He graced me with a smile, lips a little parted, that made me breathe in sharply and turn away to watch the barman pour my drink. Unbidden images flooded before my eyes. I could see myself pulling the westerners clothes off. I could feel his skin under my teeth. I shook my head as if to empty it. The barman’s mouth was twitching as though he was repressing laughter. I flushed angrily and grabbed the glass with tense fingers. I could sense the westerner looking at me still. ‘After I have drunk this I’ll leave,’ I told myself, ‘I am clearly coming down with some nasty virus and I should be in bed.’
“You don’t so this sort of thing often, do you?” The westerner said.
“What do you mean by that?” I demanded, too loudly. The barman turned away with shaking shoulders. The westerner smiled again.
“I meant, drinking vodka. You don’t seem to be used to it.”
I shuddered with embarrassment and looked back into my drink. It was probably too much to hope that two vodkas could cause memory loss. I didn’t ever want to remember this.
“Oh.”I said. The alcohol was dilating my eyes, I could almost feel it, and my skin was warming. The ability to leave the hotel bar seemed even more beyond me, like in a dream when you know you have to be somewhere else but your legs won’t move. Now it was well past midnight and the bar was emptying. The barman was drying glasses in a pointed manner.
“Shall we have another drink upstairs?” The westerner asked, his accent ran over my body like honey. I could almost feel it caressing its way down my throat. A shiver of excitement made its way through my belly. The night had taken a very strange turn and I felt like some exotic, attractive creature. Not like me at all. Somehow when the stranger asked if I wanted a drink I heard him ask me other things too and, just for once, I wanted to be a real person, a real, wanting, lustful thing with no agenda, no vengeance, no doubts.
“Alright,” I said, and we both knew what I was agreeing to.
He led me to the lifts. I tried not to glance around at the hotel staff. They surely knew what was going on but the westerner showed no sign of self consciousness. He behaved as though it was the most normal thing in the world to pick up a strange young man in a bar, ply him with vodka and take him to his room. He moved like his body had plans, had expectations, as though his skin was anticipating me. The utter confidence of his stance as the lift doors slid shut made me even more aware of my own sick tension. Part of me wanted very much to be walking down the street, away from here and away from this man. Something about him wasn’t right; like a badly dubbed film he didn’t seem to hold together in any natural way. His eyes were like an amoral cat’s, looking at me sidelong now and then with an expression that suggested that I should be afraid of him. He had a manner like a bored devil come down to play with humanity.
His hotel room was expensive, all deep carpets and shining walnut. This did not surprise me; he must always have the best of everything. Huge floor to ceiling windows glared out over the city. I went to them and it was as though you could just take one step through the glass and walk out into the sky, falling forever into the neon spiked dark. I stared and stared, my heart pounding, my brain faltering, vodka in my heart and lust in my soul. I felt oddly and pleasingly passive, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.
He appeared behind me, reflected in the glass, his hand moving over my shoulder and draping, possessively, on my chest. I could feel the heat of his fingers through my clothes. His eyes met mine in the window glass. We were lost in a sea of reflection, hungry eyes and caught breath. And, once again, I felt as though he knew what I was thinking.
“What do you live for?” he asked me, his mouth moved languorously, as though we were falling asleep. His breath moved against my neck.
“Revenge,” I said, my automatic reply to questions like that, but it sounded frightening to me now. I suspected that the man stood behind me knew more about such things than I ever would. Compared to him I was a child in violence.
“But what do you want, late at night when the whole world is in heat?”
He spoke as if he already knew the answer.
“I imagine what it would be like to...give in.”I said, at last, not sure where the words were coming from but recognising their truth.
He smiled slowly. His eyes terrified me, thrilled me.
[censored content - adult access must be enabled to view it]
But afterwards I began to remember myself and shame reared it’s ugly, inevitable head. Just as I thought what a fool I had been, my lover kissed my throat and said,
“You had better get dressed Aya, and get back to your revenge.”
My blood ran cold where for an hour now it had been nothing but heat. I looked at him. He was smiling at my fear. He lay there naked, smirking like he had won some kind of victory over me.
“I never told you my name.”I said. He shrugged and grinned and I quickly looked around for my clothes. Panic threatened. I was soon dressed and standing by the door. Something about the way he was looking at me made me sick with terror and guilt. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave, even now.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He laughed happily and it made me shake.
“I’m the thing that you will think about, late at night. I am the thing that you will try to forget.”
Abruptly he was out of the bed and pushing me back against the door, his hand on my jaw, forcing my face to look at him. His green eyes were sparkling.
“I am the biggest mistake you ever made.” He whispered into my mouth.
I kicked him away and fled the room with his laughter ringing in my ears. He made no attempt to pursue me and I flung myself into the lift, my eyes smarting with horrified tears, my hands trembling. ‘I should have known, I should have known’, I thought. Something had been wrong right from the start and now I felt sure that when I knew who he was, I would regret this with all my soul.
And now? Now I encounter him on missions and I wait for him to say something, to humiliate it me with the past in front of Omi or Ken, but he doesn’t say it.
He just smiles at me, slowly.
