tampered | totally not even friendly

Current Location: Building #11

totally not even friendly

When; Now
Rating; R for language
Characters;

at_titude, and anyone in B#11 who wants to drop in
Summary; Spitfire has extremely questionable taste in music. ...actually, Spitfire is questionable. Period.

A twitch shot across Kaito's face so hard and his mouth so twisted fast that teeth nearly cleaved the end of his cigarette off cleanly. Eyes attempted to drill fiery holes into the apartment door before his irritated self, as music violently vibrated off the wood, desecrating his brain.

WHAT THE FUCK. Why had he agreed to this rooming arrangement in the first place? He fucking hated AT users! ~~Well, granted, some weren't half as bad when obeying the law.~~ So why the fuck was he sharing a room with, not only a road king, but a fucking gay beautician-by-day and FLAMING FUCKING PLAYBOY FIREHEAD-BY-NIGHT?

Sucking on his cigarette as if holding a severe grudge against the comfort, Kaito pushed into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind his entrance. Although irritation shimmered from his lean body like ghostly crimson lightning, his face managed to keep a relative calm. Somewhat calm. At least his mouth hadn't erupted with curses. Yet.

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A look of immense concentration took over Spitfire’s face as he registered the door slam, along with the entrance of one angry croc. Had he forgotten to leave the door unlocked? No, that didn’t seem to be the problem. Judging from the look on Kaito’s face, it was obvious that the music wasn’t blasting loud enough. Not a problem! Reaching forward, he twisted the dial to the right and watched the neon numbered digits rise in volume. The walls seemed to echo the words back as he calmly shuffled through his meager deck of expressions.

Today didn’t seem to be the style for smirks, so he settled for throwing a pleased half-smile over his shoulder.

“Welcome home!”

Unfortunately, Kaito's body had chosen to stop right near a speaker (for some oddly masochistic reason, ~~or maybe he liked the beat~~ DENY DENY DENY) when Spitfire so cheerfully cranked the volume up even higher. The sheer intensity nearly blasted Kaito into the couch--actually, in fact, his left foot did jerk against his right leg in traitorous surprise, and soon, butterfly psychopath found himself sprawled out against the sofa in unpleasant surprise.

"Fuck!" Gurgling venom at the back of his throat, Kaito glared across the room at the...oddly-pleased Spitfire. Was that flaming bastard mocking him?! "Are you fucking deaf or something? Or do you fucking want to make everyone else comfuckingpletely deaf?"

Hmm? It seemed like Kaito wanted the music louder. Unfortunately, Spitfire couldn’t oblige him this time; the volume was already maxed out. And by the slew of facial expressions currently flashing across Kaito’s face, maybe it was for the best. The man looked like he was going to have a conniption.

Or a baby.

Hopefully it was the former because Spitfire couldn’t handle kids unless they went by the name of Nue. What a pity, the boy would’ve had fun in a place like this. But seeing as Nue wasn’t here and Kaito was . . .

“What’s that?!” he tapped a finger against the shell of his ear, “Can’t hear you. Speak louder, please?!”

As an answer to that godfuckingawful question, Kaito contemplated whipping that smile off of Spitfire's face, but then realized that the flamboyant hairdresser might deprive some sort of sadomasochistic pleasure out of the action ~~(not that Kaito, himself, wouldn't)~~; so the platinum blond settled for swallowing a great deal of his loud aggravation. Nearly snorting with disbelief, Kaito yanked the cigarette from his mouth rather neurotically and crushed the smoking butt against an ashtray. Immediately, his hand reached into the inner fold of his jacket for another.

However, as his fingers brushed over cool metal, his crocodile brain sparked with a new, shiny idea. Whipping his gun out, Kaito coldly aimed for the stereo and finger jerked the trigger in with sick satisfaction. One heavy rubber bullet jolted across the room at the central nervous system of the blasting speakers and --

Well now, that was rather uncalled for. Spitfire peered at the now ruined speakers of his newly bought sound system and gave an accepting shrug. It’d served him well; let it rest in peace. Kaito, on the other hand, still needed to prove himself useful. The man was a bouquet of dynamite ready to explode and it suited Spitfire’s requirements right up a certain point. That point had almost been reached. Though, he’d really been hoping for a conniption. For now, he’d start small and work his way up to an agreeable resolution.

The waters still had to be tested, of course.

After all, picking strangers up wasn’t part of Spitfire’s normal routine. Not that the idea didn’t pique his interest, but he had better things to do. Like observe AT riders and watch for that moment, that special little seed within all riders, to bloom into a fragrant blossom of wings. Sometimes, reconnaissance was hard work. He’d watched Buccha for the same reason and his eyes still needed cucumbers galore to wipe the bags away.

Thankfully, he didn’t have nightmares about it anymore. It helped that ‘Wind’ G-men’s leader, Shinjuku’s crocodile, had come into the picture. And what a lovely picture Kaito made!

”Oh?” a loose smirk flared across his lips, “That wasn’t nice.”

An instant of flames curled outwards, fresh and fierce as if the very make-up of Spitfire's form was constructed of heat. Fire. Like Apollo, he became the sun stretching its arms out to push the sky back and then merge with it as one.

Kaito was not impressed. Or at least, his face refused to reveal any sort of positive reaction to Spitfire's sudden flare of intensity. This time, when the blond reached into his inner pocket, he really did draw out a fresh cigarette.

"When the fuck have I never been fucking nice?" Kaito retorted, arching his slender neck back so sunlight could slide down the smooth curve of his white flesh. Flickering tongue licked parted lips slightly, as to remove the stray platinum strands which had slid across his face and stuck gently against his mouth.

The sleeve of his jacket dangled loosely around his thin arm as the croc's hand, poised with an unsmoked cigarette fitted tightly between two fingers, reached out and thrusted the end against Spitfire's burning skin. "Light it."

The tip burst into a cherry, orange bright and glowing softly within the dim confines of their apartment. A proverbial candle in the dark, where there was no light to speak of. Rather, Spitfire’s was an illusion birthed from the violent skid of wheels against substance, grounded heat that spiraled up UP UP and never came down. To descend was to end, but his flames darkened, went out before an emergency crash landing could take place and, like the phoenix, they were reborn again.

To fly, one had to become a god. Crack the ribs of humanity and dip the heart in gold. Spitfire had attained that through his road.

And so he watched, almost benevolently, as smoke wisped away from between his skin and Kaito’s cigarette. An acrid scent filled the air, sharp with an underling softness that almost went unnoticed.

“How worthy are you, hmm?” slender, well-manicured fingers wrapped around Kaito’s wrist. His grip was firm. Unyielding. And underneath he could feel bones like any other. How quaint! Even fangs had a weakness.

Using the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, he reached forward and took a hold of Kaito’s chin, “Shinjuku’s crocodile, was it?”

underlying*

LOL. I R TYPO QUEEN 8D

Fingers closed into a fist as muscles contracted violently under Spitfire's grip. Struggle, yes, but Kaito had not yet built up the fury ~~or perhaps he was masochistically curious~~ to unleash the adrenaline required for breaking the Flame King's clutch.

Visage forgot pink and dove straight for the red as crimson streaked across Kaito's high cheekbones like a shot of fire. A low growl of pure animal--stirring panther rather than crocodile--rumbled and ruptured from the back of Kaito's throat as his teeth clenched, white gleaming, between Spitfire's scorching fingers.

Tick-tock. Kaito could feel his stomach heat to a boil, steam smothering his insides, as rage began to churn, bubbling to the surface slow at first, but then faster, harder, faster. Tick-tock. Lean, long body frame trembled as one by one, the last strongholds against insanity crumbled away...

"Get. Off."

Before Spitfire could say anything, the door slammed open. Agito stood in the doorway; fangs bared and his eyes a slitted gold virus of killing intent, “WHO THE FUCK WAS MAKING ALL THAT FUCKIN’ NOIS-“

. . .

Agito stared.

Agito stared some more.

An indecipherable look came onto his face as utter silence latched onto his throat and refused to let go. All that was heard was the creaking door. Creak. Creak. CREEAAAAK. This was what people meant when they talked about coming across a scene that went beyond all logic.

"NGGGH," Agito couldn't speak. No WORDS. FUCK. Stone-faced and completely set off balance, he made an about-face and slammed the door shut behind him.

“I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!”

As Agito marched into the apartment, Kaito's eyes shot wide open with alarm and his jaw twisted desperately within Spitfire's grip so he could face the stunned Fang King with a glare, head on. Too late. Agito had already fled.

That was it. Rage shot up Kaito's spine, gurgled, spewed, spurted out like a bubbling, gushing geyser in heat. Pushing against Spitfire's grip, Kaito leaped onto his feet, back stiffly erect, while wrist and chin still restrained by fleshly bondage.

"Shit, you want to die, fucker?" Hiss, hiss, not much of a panther now, nor a crocodile. "What the fuck was that? What the hell was that MPD piece of shit doing in here?"

As if to cut Kaito’s tirade short, another flare of theatrics ensued. This time the fire thickened and licked around the delicate edges of skin and sight, creating a havoc of rising hair. It was a work of art; a platinum express card that went over the limits. The teeth neither scared him nor did they instill a sense of fear. They were part of the animal and with that came a certain pride.

And it’d be an absolute pleasure to tame that hiss and water it down into a contented purr.

“You’re easily excitable, aren’t you?” he spoke like a god articulate in the speech of beauty; low and below, with a trail of heat that mingled with the bare flesh of Kaito’s throat. A self-satisfied smile touched the corners of his lips as he changed tactics and let the man loose.

Perhaps this was warning enough. It wouldn’t do to completely alienate Kaito; for now he’d allow the crockodile to fly as high as he wished.

“Please, allow me to show you where our rooms are located,” the congenial smile returned.

The cigarette had not been lost, although nearly crushed, in Kaito's fist; and through the sensual drama, a lone nicotine-deprived portion of his brain remained clear enough for his captive hand to flick back so the tip could catch on fire.

The blond allowed for Spitfire's voice to roll over him like smothering tides, and Kaito's mind separated the reception, almost as if he heard with his skin and vision, not ears. Those words, that question, failed to receive any notice from the agitated network of neurons flashing across Kaito's skull; rather, his half-closed eyes, brimming and spilling with lashes, concentrated upon the flickering shadows that Spitfire's flames had cast against the walls. Kaito felt the steam--slightly suffocating--tickle under his chin, and his lids glided close as Spitfire released his hold.

Cigarette went directly in mouth. When Kaito's vision resumed, he noticed, with a twitching eyebrow, radical carmine engraved around his wrist as if he had been burned.

It took a while for Spitfire's "request" to register. Kaito simply sat there, leaning against the couch for a few minutes, sucking on that cigarette as if he would die tomorrow. Finally, crushing the half-smoked comfort against the ash tray (again! within the last, what, ten minutes? five?), he stood up. "You better not have fucking lied. There better be two goddamn rooms."

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totally not even friendly

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