Disclaimer: Xenosaga ain't mine, etc. etc...
Yuriev/Gaignun non-con selfcest and mindfuckery . No specific timeset, somewhere mid Episode II or III. Definite bits of URTV 3P and Nigredo/Rubedo. Naughty: Oh yes.
Skin-Tight
I hate him.
I hate him in the way that I hate, that aching and vicious way that rages so loud that I can't hear my own thoughts. The way that should be Albedo's and not mine. I'm not the one who is crazed and out of control.
At least, I shouldn't be.
And he laughs, he's amused by my struggle, entertained by the fact that all the movements that I once took for granted are now just beyond my reach. He's a parasite breeding in my body and in my (his?) head until I'm not sure when he's feeling my thoughts or I'm experiencing his.
I feel like I'm slowly dying in a living coffin.
My only solace is knowing that he hates me every bit as much as I hate him. I know he's done this before to other clones, made other vessels for his immortality, each one a bit stronger than the last as if to test his own will. He crushed me like an insect, but I came so close and he hates that.
It's the worst when I dream and I feel like I'm being watched all the time, like my head his his personal movie theatre. He sits back with his astral popcorn and watches as I am a child again, or stuck inside a cage made of pulsating flesh, or being pressed into the ground by an unseen force, or the rare moments when I experience the touch of another's body.
He giggles like it's a comedy at the memories of the three of us, skinny little children playing at being adults. Feeling the illusion of closeness. Hands touching hair touching lips in the dark where we thought no one would ever see us. Me on the outside, trying to be a part of the thing that Albedo and Rubedo shared and only ending up even more separate than before. Even though it hurt so much then I miss it, want it again. Just the dreams of sharp-edged memories makes me burn low down and feel tight inside my skin. The presence of Yuriev's bemused consciousness humiliates me even further and beckons me into wakefulness, where I am lying panting in my mussed bed and staring up at the dark ceiling.
You're a sick man, he commented.
I cringe. I can't hide the reactions in the theatre of my mind. You're not even in a position to talk.
Oh really? A mental smirk. I think you enjoy this sort of thing. My (his?) hands begin to unbutton my night shirt. The cooling sweat on my chest brings shivers that I wish I could suppress as my hands press into skin that is hot and clammy. I want to close my eyes – not that that would help – but he keeps them open and watching as I caress myself. It is an odd, disconnected sensation, the hands and body being my own and yet completely out of my control. It makes me feel sick.
My right hands travels upward to dip inside my open and willing mouth. I want to bite it. In a spurt of anger my jaw clenches and I do, drawing blood and a curse that could have come from him or me. Yuriev laughs at my foolishness. Who are you biting?
My left hand is already traveling down to the elastic waistline of my pants and I begin to resist in earnest, slowing the movement down to jerky, seizure-like tugs. There are boundaries I will not let him cross.
Yuriev chuckles. Why waste your energy on something as trivial as this? We're just playing a game, that's all.
I scowl. Whether I communicate willingly or not he will reply.
Your pride? Your pride is not a game? I don't think you understand what you are. In my distraction, my (his) hand pushes into my briefs and touches the half-erection there. You are my tool, and only that. He lets my body tense as he begins stroking. My own body begins to thwart me and I can only muster half an effort in resistance. He overrides it effortlessly.
What sort of things do you enjoy, hmm? An image came unbidden to my mind of Rubedo crouched over me, hand on my erection but eyes dead on mine. His thighs pressed into my stomach as he reached back and pleasured me without watching, knowing that I wanted him looking at me. Knowing that I wanted him.
My, my, I suppose unit number Six-six-six's... small stature had you two getting quite creative. Didn't you ever feel just a bit like a pervert?
I don't like to think that the small noise that comes out of my throat is me. It's him.
Tell me, Six-six-nine... Who do prefer, Six-six-six or Six-six-seven?
I gasp as my (his) thumb brushes over the head. I love them both.
Come now. Don't be coy with me. Don't tell me that Six-six-seven's contamination by U-DO hasn't changed something in your mind.
I don't respond.
...Or is it even that? You are so careless in your affections to love a lunatic. No, it's something else. Ah, it must be strange to have a lover who looks exactly like you do... or exactly like another.
I feel my muscles clench in a way that is only partly because of the light squeeze on my erection.
I see, so that's it... Six-six-six is still so fixated on his twin. He would take Six-six-seven over you in a second and you know it. Half the reason he is with you is because you remind him of his twin.
Shut up! He takes my doubts and fears and twists them until I almost believe they are true. I know Rubedo more deeply than you could ever hope to, you freak.
Now, my boy, that's where you're wrong. I know everything about Six-six-six that you do. Even the soft noise he makes when he's just about to come –
Shut the fuck up! Another uncharacteristic flare of anger strikes me and I want to push him out of my head even more than I have all night.
Oh, I don't think you really want me to leave. At heart, you're still the good son. With the word 'son' the hand that had been in my mouth trailed down to pinch my nipple. I cried out like I never do when I am in control. You want to please me, I want to please you, it's a give-give relationship. ...Ah, you don't appreciate good irony.
My breathing begins to accelerate as he picks up the pace, second hand moving down to join the first. My pants have now been pushed down to expose my swollen member to the night air.
Shall I give you a fantasy to heighten the experience for you? Hmm...
In my mind Albedo is moving above me, driving himself onto my shaft as my hand strokes him. I get a flash of his eyes and there's no chaos there beyond that of sex, the haze of U-DO cleared from him. Then a pair of lips plant themselves on mine and tongue follows, playing with mine before he withdraws and it's Rubedo, but not like I knew him – he was larger, a full frame, and he fit, this older him, this was how it was supposed to be with his fingers wrapped in my hair and his eyes on mine it was like this –
Fuck you! I shove the image away. Stop doing this!
You want it. Why not just take it?
It's not real. That isn't them. That's not how it is.
Yes, always the realist, you. I suppose all you have here, and now, is me. Isn't that also something else you wanted, once? Your unconditionally loving father?
For a split second my mind ignores the sarcasm in his voice and I tremble as I build towards orgasm, unable to struggle against the inevitable.
There is only one word on my lips as I come.