Music, Kidd explained, was something one was supposed to enjoy under amphetamines. Or acid, cannabis. Didn't matter much truthfully, but you couldn't really understand the depth, the width, the x=√a² of said thing if you did not have chemicals polluting your veins. Law smiled dumbly, listening, all ears, forgetting about the joint burning away in between his tattooed fingers. D-e-a-t-h, yeah, that was where they would ultimately end up if they kept that shit up. But it was fun. It was so much fun.
Kidd whistled. Ah, Eustass Kidd. His laptop on his scratched knees, musical program displayed on the cracked screen. His things and stuffs, the microphone, his headphone. The semi-permanent smoke. His studio apartment was a bird-cage studio, comfortable and kitch, his couch a refuge. Law'd almost call it safeplace. Almost.
Law pulled the hood of his sweat - Kidd's sweat - a little more over his head, fervently nodding. Yeah, yeah. House music. Shrooms. What, Neptune's circumference? His mother's ass'? He forgot.
"Man, fuck no. Imma' change it up. Just wait."
Kidd always changed up his beats. You wouldn't notice anyway, the difference barely there, but the most important thing, as he always said, was the musical ear. I see, I hear. Law approved or disapproved depending on his mood. The stars in the sky. Doffy being in town. Fucking Vergo-san. Oh, the paycheck. But this time- mother of god, this time. It was heavenly.
"Keep it. Keep it, and don't you dare change," he said, firm, pulling on the sleeve of the readhead to stop him from touching the freshly finished beat.
Law may had been a hard to please asshole, annoyed and picky motherfucker, but he knew talent and could recognize it in others. Kidd always impressed him. Boy was he good and quick at finding the right melody, master of all instruments - or most, fuck the ukulele - and composing, producing, writing always an easy task for him. Law ended up surprised every single time even when he wasn't expecting anything.
Besides, he feeling - big rush of adrenaline, dopamine coursing through his veins as he watched the genius at work, said genius then looking at him with a tooty grin, saying: mate, listen to this shit. And Law listened. He fucking did.
Kidd straightened up, a hand against his neck, popping few vertebrae there. Satisfied smile stretching his black lips. Fire-red hair, fringe too long and falling down his forehead, certaintly time to cut it short but. Time. Time he didn't have, and Law liked his wild locks anyway. His eyes gleaming - clear, full of life. Red, black. Black, red. Dichotomy of human nature. Law lost the exact words a drunk Eustass had used one summer day as he told the tale of the universe spurting from shit trying to explain why he had heterochromia. The only hetero thing about him, he nver failed to add.
The beat was still playing in the back. Some four minutes long track, but Law didn't need the entire thing to know it was good.
Then. Law laughed, wildly. "You added a latin choir to that shit?"
Kidd gave him a pointed look, two fingers painted black under each eye. "Latin is metal as fuck."
You couldn't argue that.
Kidd leaned in and took a lungful of the joint still in Law's fingers. Met the hardened eyes. Grey. Red. Black. A curl of his lips, knowing smirk playing at its edge. Law bit the insides of his cheeks. Was all quintessential. He was sprawled on the couch, against the armchair. Folded in on himself. A knee hit his, so Law hit back full-force, how life - Doffy - taught him. To smoke when your meds prohibited it, your honor, was a crime only if you put someone else's life in danger. Someone else being himself? His thoughts roamed as much as his eyes did, down to Eustass' lips. And that insistent beat. That's my fucking child, declared Kidd. Of course.
Kidd has already turned his back. He lifted the patched up laptop easily, putting it on the table littered with packs of cigarette, random packaging, partitions, polar bear stickers. He had, quoting his own self, fragile synapes. Weak. Thoughts furtive, dying as quickly as they flashed in his genius brain. Wired differently. Those words Law so often heard, elsewhere, but not in the same tone. But he got used to Eustass' antics, quicker than he had with Doffy's crude, spiteful comments. Iceberg - his shrink - said perhaps it was by simple need of approbation, validation. And Iceberg could fuck himself, however right he probably was.
The artist finally faced him, getting closer. Slow like the predator, but with the feline's impatience. No tremor in his move for once, features relaxed. Curious eyes, but then a flash of white, crooked teeth. The chipped one. Yeah, munching on glass did that if you were ballsy - dumb - enough to try. Kidd had a lot of scars to show.
"I wanna do something."
Law stopped breathing. His voice, when he spoke, was raspy, because of the smoke, and his nerves on fire. "Something stupid?" Positive. "Am I involved?" Of course.
Kidd was still grinning. Law scrunched his nose, thinking for a second, but oh hell, whatever. He exhaled. The smoke exited his lungs by nasal cavities, creating a thick white screen between them. Law's lids were heavy and his body wrapped in silky warmth, some unexpected comfort sweeping through him as he laid there, wore Eustass' old sweat. Its owner so close. The heat of his body. He nodded his head, briefly.
Kidd only moved when given consent as Law opened his legs a little, inviting him. One of the redhead's hand against the armchair, the other supporting himself.
Faggot. That was where you always ended, as per usual. His mind swirled with hateful words - not his, or were they? - but Law had to bite his cheeks not to smile like an idiot. He was past all that.
The beat had stopped, and they breathed one another's oxygen in silence. Complete silence - not even the sound of his beating heart, the thudding against his temples, the fear. All gone. His breath so calm. Kidd hovered over him like bad omens, or not - his ancestors' Swadhisthana did not seem to mind very much the hunger in Eustass' eye - and Law felt like his own body, battered and bruised, had been waiting for this very moment from the beggining. Something stupid.
Red and black. So close now he could see the light, the cracks and shadows, the good and bad, the bits of Kidd himself, the bits of others, what he hid and what he bared. The blueberry muffins in his breath. The red hair tickling his face. Law was mindful of the joint between his fingers as he looped his arms around Kidd's neck.
And. Naturally. Chapped lips against his own, and his hands, swift and soft on his skin, not quite daring much yet. Law accepted the intrusion gladly when he felt a body press against his, tightening his own hold. Terrific, stupid stuff.
Their first kiss is more of a peck than anything else. Chaste. Fleeting. And Kidd actually leaned back, asking if it were okay. Permission. Consent. Basic fucking human interaction so rarely granted to him in the past. That big stupid cute redhead Law's heart was growing so fond of. This time, he chased after the lips himself.
They moved slowly, carefully, lazily. Kissed with measured passion, one that never had to be ignored, shut down, kept in chains. Things, between Eustass and he, had been clear from the very beggining. The complicty sincere, alchimy electric. Flirting, teasing. Mutual attraction never burried. The buzz of cannabis turned them langorous, less fervent, mellow and sweet though Law felt his cheeks burn, body answering instinctively, everything tripled. Incredible. Kidd kissed great. Kidd kissed the way he composed- with his heart. His lips went down, biting softly the skin of his neck, where tattoos and pulse met. Law gasped a little. Kidd looking at him, smug, searching for his eyes. Red-and-black. Black-and-red. Black, red. Golden.
Law, driven by a nameless urge to do something now or he'd never, closed Eustass' lids gently and kissed both with every bit of fondness he could manage at that very moment.
"Back home, we don't say stupid. Nah, we use coquebert fot-en-cul of a gourgandin," he said, smiling, a wicked - but soft - glint to his eyes. "But stupid also fits very well, you fucking moron."
Kidd blinked, grin not faltering. "I mean, sure, but. What."
Law rolled his eyes. "It's old french. Thought you fancied that shit."
"I mean, I like Ceasar-latin, not old french. Ain't very fond of Saint fucken' Louis," he shrugged.
Law's legs were still wrapped around his middle. He dug his heels against his back and laughed when Eustass hissed in pain. The fucker and his spiky Docs. That hurt.
"Fuck does it even mean. Fot-en-what," Kidd grumbled, catching both of the other's wrists as they fake-wrestled.
Matching in power, but Law always pushed harder.
Oh no. Would his ancestors' Swadhisthana mind boners, though? He'd have to see.
"Oh, plenty of stuff. Like, sodomite. Cocksocker. Slut. You know how it goes. Them good old days." Law rolled his eyes, though Kidd didn't know how it went.
He didn't ask anyway. With sudden force, Kidd pulled the tattooed kid to his arms, the latter yielping a little, surprised, then glaring when he crashed against Kidd's torso- snot covered Metallica tank top. Tiny siblings. Or maybe pussy-crying over the last episodes of Gossip girl, both very plausible. Law looked up, eyes narrowed, but couldn't hold back another smile. Right. The artist in Kidd knew no rest.
"Yeah, well, fot-en-cul, move your skinny ass. We still needa work. My chakra is swinging. I'm super inspired - eureka or something like that."
Law knew. They still had to write, record, produce. They had time to kiss and hold later, and Kidd's eyes, the softness in them promised as much.
They went back to the natural order of things. Law, squished beside Kidd, cheek smashed against his shoulder or sometime face nestled against his neck, watching him work his magic. Dotted, furry hat back on. Smoking together. Beer bottle one after the other, up until they were drunk enough to use them as microphones to sing or rap or scream the emo in them out.
Law had a pretty good voice. He'd feature in his big-selling tracks, one day.