Rose Red, Dragon Blue
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Yugioh
Rating: M for incest, yaoi, profanity
Author: Jade Li (jade-crimson-tears)
Beta: AnkhAscendant, Salkiethia
Chapter 1
If someone were to ask me how I felt about it at the time, I would say that I had felt good enough.
If someone were to ask me how it felt at the time, I would say that it had felt like salvation.
But I was foolish to believe that I could hold onto anything this good. It was a momentary letting-go, a slip of control and nothing more. I was too damaged to make it last, more like slamming the walls back up with triple the security after allowing Mokuba to glimpse into the fortress I had worked so hard to maintain.
Mokuba had intended to sustain my life with his love. Did he really think that I would willingly give up dying – the ultimate form of control, just because it was now my turn to play out the damsel in distress? I wouldn't be so selfish as to allow him to take on the role of the savior. I was however, selfish enough to run like a bat out of hell when the most fitting opportunity arose. It was naive of Mokuba to think that for once, my love would be strong enough to withstand the darkness of my heart. I never did damage control, and he should have known better.
In spite of Mokuba's intelligence and experience, he was gullible when it came to the subject of happily-ever-afters. I could only blame it on his age.
I had always believed that it was better to never knew hope at all, than possessing it, only to have it dashed into a million pieces. It would not be possible to put them back together, the remaining shards of false hope, because they cut so deep that every time I touch them, I begin to bleed.
Because in the end, it was all just a trick Mokuba played to tie me down to the realm of the living.
I had to believe in that, rather. I didn't know the plausibility of that statement, but it was a better gamble than supposing that Mokuba fell for the person – if one could call it that – I had become; that he saw me at my worst, accepted me for who I am, and cherished me as if I was the most precious thing in the world; that he loved me unconditionally, even if I had nothing to offer in return, nothing but empty promises and a broken body.
As I recall it, the kiss was airy at first, with our lips barely touching. There were fleeting and gentle caresses, until Mokuba took the initiative and pushed me against the wall. Looking into his eyes, I knew the sexual tension between us could only be left unattended for so long. I didn't remember who did what and when from that point onwards. There were sighs, gasps, moans, screams… the only thing I could feel was heat, and the friction, hot as Mokuba's mouth and searing like my hellish desires, escalating exponentially as our bodies danced in passionate unison. My breathing was erratic, my eyes became unfocused, the rhythm fastened, my movements went out of control. I didn't think about whether I could withstand it, didn't care if I got burned down to a crisp. I wanted this, needed this, told myself that after I had this it would change my mind about the whole dying business and falling in love with the idea of falling in love with a good lay to top it off would bribe me out of my unhappiness and everything in my life would return to the closest thing to functional…
Of course none of that was true. The notion didn't dawn on me until I lay spent in the darkness hours after my release, finally coming to the realization that in the process of claiming Mokuba as my own, he had used his body to anchor me to earth, both physically and metaphorically, and succeeded with surprising grace.
I had played right into Mokuba's trap. My infatuation with him grew stronger as each second passed by, trapping me effectively with him, in this dimension, although not for much longer if I could help it. Mokuba may have been skilled enough to keep me here, may even have earned the right to do so, but a dragon tamer such as myself could not be caged up like an animal. It just wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be right at all.
So the first thing I did in the morning was to handpick a rose. I was always one for symbols and motifs, an even greater one for dramatic exits. I needed to do decent damage the first time round, make the blow count, because Mokuba, for all he had done for me, didn't deserve to be hurt twice. If I was going to break him irreparably, the least I could do was not to drag it out.
"Love and lust are two very different things," I said to my own flesh and blood. "I wanted your body, never your heart."
Mokuba's expression was frozen, frozen except for the slight quiver in his bottom lip as betrayal glistened a little too brightly in his widened eyes. The signs were obvious enough to tell me that my dart had hit home. I threw the God forsaken flower across the room, not bothering to look to know that it aimed straight for Mokuba's heart. The windows were open and my trench coat billowed around me as I turned to leave everything behind.
After all, a lover's thorned rose was just as capable of drawing blood as the remaining shards of false hope.
Mokuba needed to get a taste of his own medicine, and I was obliged to return the favour.
But that was not it. It would not be accurate to say that I was seeking vengeance. Death took his time in playing cat-and-mouse with me. I was only refusing to be controlled by adding in my own catalyst.
Because now that I had broken Mokuba, there were no more excuses left for me to keep breathing.