A/N: Short, creepy, and inspired by a nightmare. Enjoy!
Siren, n. One of several musical prodigies famous for a vain attempt to dissuade Odysseus from a life on the ocean wave. Figuratively, any [person] of splendid promise, dissembled purpose, and disappointing performance.
-Ambrose Bierce (American Writer, Journalist, & Editor, 1842-1914)
They lie, entangled between the sheets, their flesh soft and tender. Too young, wary socialites may have commented, had they been privy to their activities, but the two of them are far too careful for that. No one is to know about what goes on between them, behind closed doors, so they continue the charade; it is a great privilege that most value ignorance, and do not dare to search beyond the very surface of their web of lies.
A kiss too soft to be true. That ethereal, wispy whitish-blue hair is spread amongst the sheets and pillows in choppy breaths. He is pale—too pale to be among all this white, and yet it suits him, in a perfect sort of beautiful irony. His partner takes a short, appreciative moment to trail his tan fingers down the faintly blemished skin. Still, however often they convene like this, he cannot help but feel his touch will taint the shadowy figure next to him, just as much as the shadow will ruin him.
"Either do something or stop," His voice does not inflect the tone of a command, but the red-haired one reflexively obeys and presses his omnivorous teeth into that skin, blemishing it once again.
.x.
Kuroko Tetsuya is something of a mystery. When he arrives at Teiko, he goes mostly under the radar. His grades are slightly better than average, his athleticism is nothing worthy of note, and his piercing blue stare is strange, but not so much that people begin to remark upon it. That is, until someone does. He had always enjoyed quiet evenings, sweating his already unseen emotions out on the basketball court. No one had noticed, before rumors spread, and it figured that someone would have found him eventually.
After introducing himself, the quiet, stone-faced youth found a tentative sort of acquaintance in Aomine Daiki, but nothing more. In fact, being around the boisterous and active regular in his first year of junior high only allowed him to lurk in the shadows more often. His thoughts continued to remain unknown unless he spoke them aloud, and even then, because his facial expression was unchanging, no one could know exactly how he felt. Then, he finds a kindred spirit in the sharp-eyed tactician that smirks too much and lets his eyes betray his true intentions more than he does.
"Akashi Seijuuro," He introduces himself like a shark ready to devour his next meal, refusing to bow his head, inherently sizing up the next piece of his large puzzle. It is a pleasant shock when the shadowy individual forces their hands together in a handshake, and smiles, just a bit, if it can be called that.
"Pleasure," Kuroko nods, icy eyes offering a challenge that the redhead cannot refuse.
.x.
The bruises lined up around his neck, from their latest struggle on the mattress, feel out of place, but they will not be around for very long. Those tan hands hadn't even dug in nails this time. Still, every time he moved to end the shadow's life, all he received was a knowing smirk, and no struggle whatsoever, as if Kuroko knew exactly what would happen, regardless of whether he was in this world or the next, and that look had stopped him from finishing the job every time. After trying to kill him, then he would try to illicit a response from him in the form of oddly consensual intercourse, but then, those blue eyes flickered with omniscience again, pale fingers clutched in white sheets.
Akashi loses his temper, only once, the fifth time they've gone through this cycle, and realizes that this frustrating error of emotions is the closest to the love of another human being he is ever going to get. His partner smiles.
"You need me," Kuroko whispers, and the redhead pulls out of him messily, silent save for the rushed pulse of his heart.
He realizes that he's the one that's been violated, all along.
.x.
Sometimes, his gaze is too distant for the others to follow. He realizes that this makes him very hard to approach, but in some sort of self-satisfied way, this is nice enough. Akashi is always readable. He thinks he's got everything under control, but it'll only be a short time before he tests him. The test will be long. Musingly, he wonders if the redhead will kill someone in his frustration.
It shouldn't, but the thought makes him laugh very much.
.x.
His cheek is still smarting red long after his partner finishes slapping him around the bedroom. Akashi's nostrils flare, his left eye is flecked with more and more gold, and his shoulders are bunched up. "What's your excuse today?"
Kuroko shrugs, smiling a little. "I don't have one," He'd purposefully put up a flashier performance than usual, knowing that their opponent was an observant team, and they'd see something so noticeable after the first few times it was presented to them. He likes to see what his hated pawn will do in retaliation. Perhaps he will continue to assure that he wants him dead if he cannot control him. Perhaps he will coerce him into bed until he's bleeding from several countermeasures the cat-eyed captain has put to use. Whatever the reaction, the pale one will be back, hauntingly, calling him, over and over again, and the false idol will be forced to answer.
Today, it seems, Akashi has decided to poison him—just a little, enough to make him violently ill, not kill him—and watch as he retches, everywhere in the bathroom. His fourth dry heave of vomit leads to tears from his eyes, unwillingly, so Akashi comes and presses rough fingers to the head of his penis before encouraging it to full erection, and then almost violently squeezing him into ejaculation. The red-haired one is crying hot tears into pale shoulders as he vomits and comes at the same time, his tan hand sticky and mind shattered into pieces. Akashi vomits all over his shoulder shortly after the fact.
They're both sick.
.x.
The test begins. He decides that leaving without a word will be the most poetic and pleasant thing he can do for the now heterochromatic-eyed captain. The shadow realizes then that he will miss their time together, but there's nothing for it, now. Still, he sighs, because no one will ever understand the inner workings of his mind through physical communication more. The false face he puts on comes back with force, for months.
When they meet again, the response is much as they'd both expected. They are both older, have both grown, have both changed, but Kuroko must stifle his emotions, among the others. Akashi wields those scissors he'd stolen from Midorima with a grace he hadn't had in his younger adolescence, in their sessions behind closed doors and between the sheets. He's proud of the monster he's created.
Whatever he has to say goes duly noted to the shadow. His threat to his current teammate is a thrill. The challenge in his eyes, practically roaring that he needs Tetsuya back, that he'll have his old team reassembled one day if it kills him, only makes Kuroko all the more pleased. They meet after the opening ceremonies, unseen by all, for only a moment.
Akashi doesn't say anything, but his eyes, silently demanding to know why, betray his outward indifference.
"Your determination will note the extension of our future 'meetings'," Kuroko replies audibly, feeling rather pleased with the trap he's laid. The redhead turns on his heel and leaves, so he knows that he's caught him well enough; he's never been able to turn down the challenge in his eyes.
They will never be able to say I love you.