For those of you who notice this before skipping to the latest chapter, everything's been rewritten for the heck of it. Minor details changed, so there's no real need to reread everything if you don't want to. Love you all!

Rating: T+
Disclaimer: Uhm…yeah, no.
Chapter Title: Control

--Yuki—

Putting aside all facts after the matter, you remember that it was you who started it all.

You recall how angry you were that day – a lot more so than usual. School was making you frustrated with it's problems and events and most of all the people. They seemingly didn't have anything better to do than dawdle over you, and it pissed you off. Having been bottled up inside you the entire day, you were ready to bite someone's head off.

He was just standing there absently, leaning against the wall in the hallway. You remember how you purposely agitated him, starting a meaningless fight. It was simple. Innocent. You wanted to vent. He was the easiest outlet. He rose to the bait easily, though his argument was weak, and you remember how much you didn't care – how you were glad he could only offer a token fight at best. The rain wasn't your fault. And you remember feeling oddly thrilled when you got him worked up enough that his eyes narrowed to catlike slits, and he grabbed the collar of your shirt. You remember wanting to fight. Wanting to push him further. Wanting to…

You're not sure why you kissed him. You don't remember telling your body to move. Hell, you expected him to be down on the ground by the time you were leaning into him. The only thing you are sure of is that everything kind of… stopped. Almost as if you had cancelled each other out. Anger fizzled down and died. Frustration met satisfaction. He stared at you, shocked and unmoving.

When he finally pulled away, he pulled away slowly – not in the jerking, disgusted motion you would have expected – with a warm blush rising on his face, and you watched as he walked unsteadily down the hall and out of sight just like that. Not a word in your direction. No acknowledgement. No glance back.

Just a unsatisfied feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach.

--Kyo—

You remember the first time he really came at you. You considered the first time a fluke – a freak accident never meant to have happened and never meant to be spoken of again. The floor was slanted, there was a breeze, an invisible ghost making mischief – you didn't care. When you walked away from him the first time, you remember how you were already forcing yourself to forget it. To make it the nothing that it was.

But then… the second time came around.

You don't remember if you had expected it or not. You think you had the notion that he had been watching you. You were paranoid about him staring, so it was only natural that you noticed. But when you ended up at home, his hand fisted in your shirt and holding you against a wall, you weren't really sure about anything anymore.

You don't know when you went pliant, can't remember if you put up any fight at all – where had your hot temper gone? – but you knew the second he kissed you hard that you were getting into something deep. Something you couldn't quite decide whether or not you wanted to get into.

You could have ended it. Could have erased any possibility of this ever happening again. Of it being allowed. Instinct told you that this was bad, and wrong, and, more importantly, dangerous. Being a Sohma yourself didn't exempt you from the harsh views of the family, and being one of the zodiac would make that even worse. All it would have taken was a push; if you expressed revulsion, pushed him away, yelled at him, you could have stopped anything from happening.

You knew this.

But when he pulled away for a moment, lips brushing yours, breath running across your mouth, you leaned back, unable to stop.

So, maybe it was really you who started it.

--Y—

You know that things are the way they are now because of you. There is no way that this isn't your doing, even if it isn't yours entirely.

Because really, you could have stopped this at any time, and that might have ended it. You remember that for a while it was you who continued it. School was tough, being on the student council; accessible to all, in view of all, and everything that built up under your perfect skin boiled and itched, wanting that new outlet. Other sources of relief just didn't work now that you knew that simply kissing him was more than sufficient. If you had just stopped going to him, cut off that sort of contact with him, you're sure it would have stopped everything dead it it's tracks.

Oh, you would try not to go to him. You would try not to do anything because you knew what you were doing was wrong. It wasn't even so much the fact that you were two boys – two related boys – as it was that you were using him. He allowed it, it was convenient, and that made you feel disgusted with yourself. Made you feel dirtier than you already were. But, come time you were overworked, overstressed and pushed to the limit, you found him again.

Scarily enough, you were getting addicted.

--K—

For some time, you had yourself convinced that all you were going to do was receive. Your pride kept you from ever going to him the way he came to you (forcefully and desperate). The fact that you didn't resist in the slightest – not from the beginning – seemed far enough. Honestly, you don't know why you let him. Despite the fact that you still hated his guts, wanted (needed) to beat him, and always fought with him, you still just sat there and let him do what he wanted. It baffled you to no end, leaving you feeling guilty of sin, angry that you were allowing things to move in a direction you knew it was a mistake to move in. It heckled you constantly, pressing on the back of your mind.

You let it eat away at you though, the feeling. You never thought about it. Didn't want to think about it, or argue with yourself about what was right and wrong. If you thought about it, you would have to take notice of the little things. Little things that, if taken into deeper account, might add up to something neither of you could deal with. You could barely deal with it then, as it was.

So, it was no wonder, really, that the pressure eventually got to you. You were stressed. Getting angrier and more frustrated with every miserable step you took because you knew what you wanted, and it pissed you off. You don't quite remember when it started, but suddenly, the idea of going to him instead took purchase in your mind. You were pretty sure you were going crazy, and you hated it. Hated the way that you were waiting for him to come to you – hated the way you didn't want to wait. Like an itch, it tortured you until you could take no more.

You were angry. You had been forced to stay after school under disciplinary purposes that involved you, a window, and a broom with a loose head. You gave the broom a twirl, busying your hands so you wouldn't punch the annoying boys assigned to clean with you, and the thing went flying. It was unfair, seeing as how none of it had been your fault, and walking home, you mind was simmering – the need for action taking over what enraged thoughts you had.

On impulse, you barged into his room. On impulse, you ignored – or rather, blatantly disregarded – his dissent. He was busy. Didn't have time to be messing with you. It was quite clear within a few moments that he would be making time. You manhandled him rather spectacularly, considering the many times you failed to even lay a hand on him. His back was flat on the bed, arms pinned where you held them at the wrist, and before you could think that this was finalizing it, that this wasn't good or that this was the next step – on an impulse that never should have been – you claimed his mouth with your own.

All thoughts, all complaints or struggle or reason, stopped there.

Looking back, you have no clue what took over you. You had never been the aggressor of any kiss, and the fact that you would suddenly turn the tables and know how to do so without awkwardly stumbling through seemed awfully clichéd. You suppose, though, that it's your nature to just charge right into things, instinct taking over where you lacked. You touched on the fact that it was probably him who gave you precedent to follow.

It certainly was similar, the way you both dealt with the other. He would hold you down, restraining you even if you didn't struggle at first, similar to the way you were holding him down to his own mattress. Somewhere along the line, it became clear that fighting didn't necessarily rejection. Just another way to make this a little less than what it was.

You're grateful for it now that the roles are reversed. In a way, you want him to fight you. By denying him freedom, you're challenging him to try and stop you. The more a fight it was, the more you could pretend it really was a fight. More than that, though, is the fact that you don't want him to be able to reciprocate to the point where he can touch you beyond your consent.

Because that would make it something entirely different.

And maybe it was all about the control for you. Maybe from the beginning, it was all about having power over him, being able to retaliate in some form for all the attacks you had undergone and be above him. Be stronger. Gripping loose limbs that don't need restricting, it might even be likened to the fact that you've lost a substantial amount of control over this entire situation, and need to exert it over what little things you can.

Like his wrists. His body. His lips.

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