Title: Rhythm & Bruise: Gaara's Story
Series: Monoshizukanohi//Naruto AU
Pairing: Many, many pairings. Almost everyone in the Naru-verse is here in some capacity or another.
Word Count: Ongoing
Warnings/Notes: Dark fiction. Bloodplay, angst, violence, abuse, gangs, D/s, bondage, impact play, other.
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Summary: The streets of Monoshizukanohi are not kind to youth, and Gaara is no exception. After running away from an abusive home, Gaara struggles to find meaning in life through violence, drugs, and anything he can manage to survive. Join him as Gaara and his ever-present friend Jody struggle from the streets to the top of the social strata. It's rags to riches, despair to hope, and everything in between.
“Stryke, you are not yourself tonight.”
It’s the refined caller from last week; Kiba recognizes the voice and the air of superiority in the tone. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, mouth pulling into a small smirk.“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared about me, babe.”
Kiba leans back in his chair at the studio, lit cigarette in hand. The only light comes from the red-covered lamp in the corner. The only sound is the voice in Kiba’s headset and the faint snoring of a massive, white dog lying at Kiba’s feet. The studio execs don’t like Kiba bringing Akamaru with him, but fuck ‘em. They weren’t here, and Kiba needs the comfort of the sleeping dog right now.
In front of Kiba is the instrument panel, a pack of smokes, his favorite Zippo, and a piece of strawberry candy. On a table next to him are a half-empty bottle of Jack and a mostly-full two-liter of Coke. Above him, smoke swirls and fades.“I enjoy your show as a study of hedonism and find it fascinating in its ability to push the envelope. But tonight you play music and answer questions with questions. So.”
The caller trails off, and it is too bad that Kankuro is sound asleep on his couch with the radio still on with volume low.
Kiba grunts and pulls the mic closer to his mouth. What the caller says is true: Kiba’s played more music than dirty talk tonight, and he’s avoided many of his usual verbal games with old psychology tricks. Repeat what they say; ask and you shall receive and manage to avoid thinking about life and loss for a little while…“Maybe I got things on my mind, babe. Maybe I just want to keep you guessing. Maybe I got the shits.”
The caller makes a disgusted noise. “Maybe you’re an ass.”
The line disconnects, and Kiba rumbles a low laugh into the mic. “Boy’s still got no teeth, Monoshizukanohi. But he’s got a helluva hard on for ol’ Stryke.”
Kiba grabs the bottle of Jack and drinks directly from it, not caring that half the city listens eagerly to the slosh and swallow. He wipes his mouth with the back of his bandaged hand and sighs loudly in the silence of the studio. The lights blink on the panel in front of him, but he ignores them.“But he’s made me want to confess, and I know you want that. You always want the dirt, and you know Stryke’s good for dirty little secrets and bruises and things that make the weak cower in the dark.”
Kiba stubs out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “So I’ll tell you true that tonight he’s not the only one with blue balls and an unclaimed hard on. My favorite pretty-speakin’ toothless wonder is far from the only frustrated soul, and maybe his insult came close to a vein, Monoshizukanohi.”
No one’s ever heard Stryke quite like this: seemingly melancholy and angry in his honesty. It pains the heart of many a listener, and more than merely a few think that if they had Stryke to have and to hold, he’d never sound that way again.“Tonight you’ve heard me croon and listened to the bitches swoon. It’s early and late, citizens of this great city of hate, and you know what that means?”
“Has anyone ever told him that he sounds like a bad impersonation of Dr. Seuss when he does that rhyming shit?” Sasuke asks mildly from his side of the bed as he turns a page in the latest Stephen King novel that is propped up on his bent knees.
“Shhh!” Naruto hisses. His brow is furrowed and his arms are crossed over a bare chest as he listens to Kiba. He wonders what in the hell is wrong with the Inuzuka and silently wishes he wasn’t so busy with work lately. “Means it’s story time, my friends. I owe you an update on the man who now knows both my name and the taste of my blood.”
And with the words there is a collective pause in penthouses and apartments and city streets alike. Images of fangs and glittering eyes dance in the imaginations of many, and even more pull their lips back in dismayed curiosity.
Kiba’s chair creaks as he sits forward. There’s the clink-strike-breath of another cigarette, and Kiba’s eyes close as he muses to the masses.“This story is short an’ the chapters are few, but My Immortal Irritated does not seem taken with me. In fact, he’s runnin’ scared and firin’ at me as he flees. I got his attention – I told you, boys and girls, I am good at what I do – but now he’s intent on forgettin’. I know what he wants, and it begins with me and ends with maybe us, but…”
A drink, a long drag, a tired sigh, and the city mourns with the voice of the somber DJ.“And so I ask you, my people of Freakdom: how far do you go? When love would rather stab you than kiss you; would rather build walls of denial than get to know you…How close to the knife’s edge do you press? How long do you beg? Or do you bother? Bite me good and wise, Monoshizukanohi…I need your teeth tonight.”
In the master bedroom on the top floor of his shared renovated townhouse, Kakashi sighs in the dark. He rolls his head on his pillow to look at Iruka, who sleeps on his side curled into a ball. When he dreams, he looks all of about fifteen, and Kakashi smiles before leaning over to lightly swipe his lips over his lover’s hair. Iruka doesn’t even stir, and Kakashi carefully slides out of their warm bed.“Stryke here. Speak.”
“Oh my God – is it really you?”
A woman’s voice sounds giddy and breathless in Kakashi’s earbuds, and he represses a snort as he silently pads down two flights of stairs and makes his way toward the kitchen. “Oh yeah, it’s me all right,”
Kiba replies in his best sultry voice. Even Kakashi admits it’s a good one. The kind of voice that makes one want to do things…all sorts of things, in fact. He grabs a glass out of a cupboard.“I can’t believe I got through…I just had to try because…”
“Because what, sweetheart?”
“Because I wanted to ask if you really let some guy, like…bite you. For real. Like Edward Cullen and shit.”
Now Kakashi does snort; honestly, the children in this city. He pours himself some water and feels sorry for the idiot woman. She should be grateful that this is an on-air encounter and not anything happening face-to-face, for Kiba would grin that feral snarl of a smile of his and proceed to intimidate her into a corner.
And the bitch of it all is that he’d do it for fun because Kiba thought it a treat to toy with his food. But she’d go away hot, bothered, and eager for more, none the wiser to his scornful snickering.
Kakashi often found that the things he admires in people are simultaneously the things that most aggravate him.“You like teeth, sweetheart?”
Kiba husks over the airwaves. “Like the idea of some hot guy latchin’ on to my throat and marking me his? Twisting skin and lickin’ a hot, needy, tongue over my flesh ‘til I – “
Kiba pauses and hisses a little into the mic. “Moan?
The woman doesn’t answer in words, but her whimpered swallow is heard by eager and sympathetic listeners.
Shaking his head, Kakashi grabs his phone off a table and shoots a text message off to a certain cell number.“Bet you like that,”
Kiba rumbles. His phone beeps to tell him he has a message:
DR. L CALLIN. GET RID OF BITCH.
Kiba grins. “So tell ya what, babydoll: I’m gonna moan for you now and let you think about teeth and blood and fuckin’ sparklin’ skin. Sound good?”
“Good, baby. ‘cause Stryke’s here for you: all you have to do is want it.”
Kiba texts back as he unleashes a breathy, heated, half-sobbing moan into the microphone pressed against his lips that makes Kankuro sit up on the couch with a curse, has Kakashi bursting into laughter, makes Naruto look at the radio with a loud, “AW, HELL!” and has the woman on the other end of the line speechless, blushing, and insanely grateful she had the balls to call in the first place.“Oh fuck, baby…”
Kiba nearly whines. Like he’s a second away from coming, but in truth he’s limp and languid as he looks at a light go bright on the board. “Oooh, gotta go…dream dark for Stryke.”
Kiba disconnects the line, smug and self-satisfied. He pulls a long drag on the bottle of Jack before he picks up a particular call-in line.“Damn you people are gettin’ me hot tonight,”
Kiba pseudo-pants into the mic, queuing in the call. “Stryke here. C’mon…make me beg for it.”“Stryke.”
Kakashi speaks the name like the crack of a bullwhip. “It is like you call to me from deep, dark place and I answer you to the help.”
Some listeners muffle cries or laughs of delight, suddenly more awake than they have any right to be.
Some turn off their radio dials immediately, thinking it time to be off to sleep.
Others just roll their eyes indulgently.“Well fuck me, Dr. Love! Long time no hear,”
Kiba laughs delightedly. “What can I do you for, Doc?”
“You can do me to tell more of this blood-sucking man.”
Naruto groans and puts a palm to his forehead.
“And that’s my cue,” Sasuke says, snapping shut the tome of a book and getting out of bed. “I’ll be down the hall.”
Naruto lets him go; it’s hard enough for him to listen to Kakashi’s horrific Russian accent with any sort of patience. His Uchiha is likely to set the ancient alarm clock on fire if forced to listen to more than a sentence or two.“…not much to tell,”
Kiba continues on the radio. “What, you callin’ in to help me, babe?”
“Your terms of tenderness are equally annoying as the lack of detail. You ask of us – all of us – question: how far we go for love, yes?”
“It is a topic near and dear to my cock at the moment, yeah.”
In the studio, Kiba’s finger reaches out and almost – but not quite – touches the piece of strawberry candy.
Kakashi snorts in the darkness of his home and tilts the kitchen chair back, one hand behind his head. “All things dear to your cock, Stryke. Of this we know. But you go as far as you have to for the love. If knife involved, you take wound. If teeth are sharp, you learn to love feel of incisor on skin. Should be no jump for you, eh?”
Naruto listens to Kakashi and thinks about what he knows of the gray-haired man and Naruto’s old teacher, Iruka. Images of Kakashi at Glow after hours drinking and bemoaning the adorable brunette who would happily give him the time of day but absolutely nothing else dance behind Naruto’s eyes, and he smiles, glad things turned out the way they did.
Then Naruto swivels his head and looks toward the door to the bedroom which is slightly ajar after Sasuke’s flight. The blond man loses himself in memories of screaming matches, fucking in bathroom stalls, spankings, video games, begging, and petulant dark eyes.
But all the bad – the smirks, the disobedience, the arrogance – is rendered null, void, and unimportant as Naruto recalls buying Sasuke a chain pocket watch three years ago for his birthday. Sasuke’s father used to carry one very similar, and Sasuke held the thing in his hands for ten long seconds – Naruto counted – before throwing his arms around Naruto’s neck and whispering a rushed, heated, “Thank you.”
Naruto grabs his phone off the nightstand.“So you’re sayin’ I do whatever it takes. Sacrifice dignity and body and pride and whatever else just to get a shot to kiss this guy.”
Kakashi’s expression turns equal parts tender and concerned. Gods…Kiba never picked easy paths. It was no mystery to the gray-haired man whom the Inuzuka was after; Kakashi made it his business to know everything, after all. And it was an easy thing to link Kiba’s questions about a certain redheaded DJ to the Inuzuka’s on-air banter and poetry.“I am Love Doctor. Of course I think you do all for matters of heart. You are Stryke: you do not give in or up or down. You give chase and do not fear the red haze.”
The words are enough to let Kiba know that Kakashi understands too much.
Kiba takes a long swig of whiskey and looks down as his phone beeps: a text from Naruto.
KAKA RITE. IF <3 CRAZY THEN U TAKE WHTEVR.
Kiba snorts a little in the mic, thinking that if anyone knew about loving crazy people, it is definitely Naruto. Listeners wait with bated breath and imagine their many versions of DJ Stryke in various dark rooms that are terribly far from the mark. They listen, they dream, they wonder, and – crazily – they hope for the best for their favorite, nearly-real, wicked man.“You know what I love most about this fuckin’ city?”
Kiba says.“Inexpensive cable with the 24 hour porn channel?”
“Nah – though that’s nice. I love that everybody here’s as fucked in the head as I am.”
“So true, Stryke. Is so true.”~*~