Author: Narucch, aka moi-même
Fandom: DRAMAtical Murder
Characters: Seragaki Aoba, Mink
Disclaimer: it's not true, it will never happen, I do not represent the characters, I sadly don't own them, this is 100% free daydreaming
Warns: yaoi, non-con, junkie!AU
Word count: 1.702
Notes: written for the second Badwrong Week (BDSM, violence, dub/non-con) organized by the Italian LJ community Mari di challenge. Also, inspired by what Mink said to Aoba when he kidnapped him – “You’re like a junkie.”
I have a small headcanon about the Mink’s man in love with Aoba’s voice. His name is Shintani and he wears a dirty cape when he’s in the city. Sorry ‘bout that. By the way, the drug that inspired me was ketamine.
Also, me not being a native speaker might lead to weird stuff being written. So if you spot errors, I'm willing to correct them ASAP :)
Once Mink wanted to follow some of his men, to see who was actually doing a shitty job, his dealers being good for nothing or Midorijima’s people being losers.
He wasn’t personally in charge of the drug dealing branch of his gang—drugs could get you addicted in no time and pum! you had a money-sucking habit. He had to make money, not lose it.
“Here’s the last one.” Shintani was walking ahead of him, showing Mink the way. “He’s a pretty fine boy, I wonder why he got the habit, he does K, pretty hardcore stuff.” They were walking away from the center’s shops and bright lights, moving to a quiet neighborhood. “He’s no troublemaker, and his voice… he doesn’t really talk that much—”
“Shut up,” ordered Mink. Shintani was talking too much and being suspicious as fuck. He already was, with that dirty cape wrapped all over him. Couldn’t he find a better way to hide the junk, like, for example, using a bag?
They reached a small, anonymous house; only the first floor. Shintani took a small rock out of his pocked and got near the entrance garden. He threw it against the window on the second floor. A small light flashed and then faded again. “Come,” he said to Mink. He followed him to the back of the house. “We have to wait.” Shintani was rubbing his hands and looked almost too happy to see that boy. “He lives with his grandmother,” he explained.
“Hey,” whispered Mink. His Allmated landed on his shoulder a couple of seconds after and he just touched his cockatoo’s head.
They waited for a couple of minutes before the back door opened. Shintani got in and Mink followed him. That house smelled like dust. They were in a dark hallway and there was no point in looking around, so he just followed his man up the stairs. They got into a bedroom and there he saw that boy for the first time.
He was pale and eye bags were carved in his cheeks. His t-shirt and trousers were stained, Mink could see it even in the dim lighting. The boy sat on the bed and handed Shintani the money. This took it, counted it and handed the boy a syringe. Was Shintani handing him pure stuff? Fucking idiot.
The boy stood up to take the syringe. His hair was long and ruffled. He looked like a lost little beast. The boy unfastened his belt and Mink raised an eyebrow. Once the boy had kicked his jeans out of his way, he sat again on the bed, landing without weight on the duvet.
“You can go,” he said with a soft voice.
Shintani had something for that boy; he wasn’t moving, probably just eating him with his eyes, but Mink was hypnotized as well by the softness of the boy’s manners. He was—and he felt stupid thinking it—pretty. At least for a junkie. K suited him well.
The boy probed his leg and smiled by himself. Blue, messy locks of hair were covering his face. He took the syringe and pierced the skin near his knee. He was aiming at the muscle. Then he fell on the bed with his arms open, syringe still on and everything. He was smiling, lost in the blissful relief of junk.
Shintani got out of the room in silence, and Mink followed him, again.
“Don’t you usually sniff or eat that stuff, so the hallucinations last longer?” he asked. He didn’t know much about it, but he had some basic knowledge.
His men just shrugged. “Aoba likes it that way. Makes them more vivid, he says.”
He began to visit the boy after Shintani, a week after that meeting, got back at Scratch’s base all excited because that Aoba kid was so lost in his dreams that he had given him a blowjob. Mink was suspecting something else, but he was also interested in the boy himself.
The day after Mink took some K and jumped on his bike, with his Allmate flying over him.
Among all the addicts he had visited with Shintani, that boy was the youngest and the worst. He remembered his skin as transparent, and wondered if he could see veins and muscles through it. That boy might have been a junkie, but was still good looking. And desperate. Maybe that was the reason he was going at his place? He was pretty desperate himself.
Mink bathed in despair. All the sins he was committing for the sake of his vendetta… he was already damned, and—he realized with a grimace—took pleasure in mingling with other wasted human beings.
So after he had gotten there, he threw a little rock against the boy’s window and walked to the back door. The boy opened it, ran towards him and just hugged him. “Give me more of it,” he whispered. His words were feverish. “It’s not enough.”
Mink just handed him the little bag with K watched him. The boy ran inside and when Mink got in, he just followed the light to find the kitchen. Dust aside, it was a pretty nice house, still—where did the boy get money for his junk? Mink sat on the table, while the other was cooking the K. He just watched the boy getting limp and almost bodiless, not graceful anymore, just as transparent as glass. It didn’t hurt just because he knew that for the boy there was nothing else than junk, it was too late.
Watching the boy stare at the ceiling and grab the air with his pale fingers wasn’t enough anymore after a while. Mink just wanted to see a spark of life in those pretty eyes circled by violet and blue. Also, the business wasn’t doing so fine and getting angry at his men was pointless, since it wasn’t their fault, and he needed to get angry.
Once in Aoba’s room, he punched him. Weightless as a butterfly, the other fell on the bed. Yes, he couldn’t feel pain for a while, but he wasn’t even protecting himself from other hits, he was just staring at him with doll eyes.
“How did you become like this?” Mink asked him. How could he get angry at him? Aoba couldn’t harm anyone. He was just an hungry child—with blood coming out of his mouth and probably a cracked rib.
“Headache,” was the dreamy reply. The boy looked at his hands full of blood and started drawing on his palm with his finger.
“What a shitty excuse. Tell me,” Mink got near Aoba and grabbed him by his hair. He was a good actor, he was really good at looking mad. But his question was genuine.
“I prescribed myself medicines for my headache.” Aoba had a stupid smile on his face, and blood was on his teeth. He didn’t look like an actor, though, he was more like a mask. “Granny’s weren’t enough.”
Mink let him go and sat on the bed next to him.
After that time Aoba got more responsive, especially when he was gaining back control over his own body. Once he stared at his own arm for a hour, tracing veins and muscles with his finger. He was humming out of tune.
Aoba was perfect to make him forget about everything; Mink could just get pointlessly angry, although he never did. He felt like he ought to be angry, so he just acted that way. Aoba couldn’t care less.
Once he leaned onto Mink—his mind was probably swimming above their heads—and touched his crotch with his elbow. That gave Mink the perfect occasion to overreact, because he had to do it. The boy was challenging him.
“What are you doing?” He smashed the other against the wall. He knew he could be loud, since Aoba’s grandmother had died months before and he was just getting thinner and dirtier.
Aoba’s eyes were like a doll’s. The connection between his body and his mind was so frail Mink though it was on the point of breaking. He had to prove something to himself before that. Aoba was not speaking.
“Do you want me to do this, yes?” Mink asked him, but maybe he was talking to himself, asking to himself if he was really so eager to take advantage of a poor junkie who didn’t know to be still alive. How low could he go? He had already reached the bottom of Hell, maybe he could start digging. He unfastened Aoba’s belt and made him drop his jeans, but the boys’ expression was still dreamy and tired.
“Scream,” he ordered. He made Aoba spread his legs and looked at the pale skin, the needles’ stings, red, violet and blue, a map of the stars. Dry blood was also staining his skin. Aoba was inhuman, but Mink couldn’t be distracted. He held the other’s neck with one hand, crushing that hurt throat in his chokehold.
“Scream,” he repeated. Was Aoba still even alive, or was he just a living spirit, the incarnation of pale hunger?
He was tight, but Mink wasn’t surprised. It was like fucking a lifeless body—Aoba was still warm, though. He could still hurt him, he could still make him bleed, thrusting without worrying, without caring about Aoba too much. He wiped his forehead and just looked at the boy in the eyes. His mind was still cold, his hands were shaking, and not from pleasure. He couldn’t do it.
Aoba came back one hour after, soulless and empty. The K had stopped circulating in his body. He just looked at Mink in the eyes, looked at his legs still spread. Did he recognized them has his? He touched his bloody lip and turned to the floor. He puked.
The next day Mink just came in by the front door and Aoba took his junk without a word.
“You are not supposed to let me in,” he said.
Aoba’s lips were dry. He rushed into the kitchen, to take a spoon and crystallize the liquid K on the stove.
Mink was happy he never got a habit from that shit. He also never came back.