What am I doing to myself.
This is the first of five drabbles from me about this pairing. I hope it is enjoyable (albeit twisted)!
First theme: Unsweetened Tea
"It's the tissue that breaks first," says Cyril airily, taking the pot off of the stove and placing onto the table. "Did you know that?"
It only stares back at him, breathing heavily. Blood drips and pitter-patters onto the floor like heavy crimson snowfall, covering the white tiles meticulously. The puddles are the same color as Its eyes, eyes that slant and glare and shine with life.
Mine, the Noah whispers cruelly. Mine, mine, make it mine, Cyril, I desire it, Cyril, make it mine—
"I don't know if that's even true, scientifically speaking," he continues on, watching the steam rise off of the teapot before walking gracefully to the cupboard. As he opens it, he continues to speak to It. "But whenever I break something of a human's body, the first sound that always seems to reach my ears is the sound of tissue ripping and tearing apart. Isn't that strange?"
"You're strange," It whispers maliciously, coughing afterwards and splattering congealed blood all over the front of the black shirt Cyril gave it. It pants shallowly, coughing wetly a few more times before taking in a few rattling breathes. Cyril only watches this pleasantly, as if this is a controversial film he has yet to watch.
He tilts his head and walks over to the It dry-heaving in its chair. Bending down, he sets a cup of fine china down onto the table before it and pours a thin stream of tea into the cup. "While I do realize I am strange," he continues, as if it never spoke, "I don't believe I am as strange as you. Do you realize what you are? A being created by the Order. Something melded with their greatest enemy to create…what?" He puts down the pot. Then he walks over and reaches down, tilting its head up to look him squarely in the eye. "Tell me. What did they create?"
It yanks its head away, glaring at the wall instead. Cyril can hear the heavier breathing from its chest, how that simple movement took so much effort. "Something to destroy things like you and the Akuma," it spits out. Then it begins to hack again, shaking and shuddering as blood runs down its chin.
Cyril lets a small, cold smile slip onto his face, impressed. He's surprised that the poor thing has not died yet from sheer blood loss, more so at the fact that it still has the energy to lash out at him. He takes its chin firmly between his fingers and swivels its head back towards him, and as it struggles, he grips tighter. Finally it stops struggling, instead choosing to stare at him with red eyes filled with hate.
"Incorrect answer," he says in a kind, cold voice. He smirks at it before leaning forward and letting his lips brush its ear, a pale thing under strands of pale green hair. "They created something that belongs in neither world. They created something sickening and pitiful, something that is worthless."
The breathing grows faster, ragged. Cyril can feel it trying to force its mouth open from his grip, only to fail miserably. He smiles wider and lets himself drop the bombshell.
"They created a monster."
It freezes, breathing minimal and scarce. Cyril can hear its heart pumping fast, then slow, erratically so. Pulling away from its ear, he leans forward and presses his lips to the bloodied ones in front of him. He can taste iron and copper, ash and tears and metal, cold metal that blinds and rips away life on its lips.
He breaks it finally, and then lets his fingers run through its hair lovingly. It barely even registers the gesture, eyes glazed over from pain and shock.
"Don't worry, though," he croons, taking his fingers from its chin and rubbing it onto the other side of its head. His forehead touches its gently. "I'll take good care of you. You're my monster now, Tokusa. All mine."
Then he pulls away as if taken by a spell, turning and walking gracefully to the other end of the table. He picks up the cup of tea and sips, grimacing slightly, all the while watching Tokusa stare at him from across the table.
"I hope you don't mind," he says calmly, setting the cup back down on the table. A faint red ring has left its mark on the china. "I've forgotten to sweeten it again. Silly me."
He brings it back up to his lips again and touches the rim.
Tokusa shudders.
Cyril smiles.
Okay, Tokusa is referred to as an 'it' because this is from Cyril's point of view. Cyril tends to strike me as someone who views anyone outside of his family as merely objects, so that is how I wanted to portray his viewpoint. :) So does the Noah inside, for that matter, which is also why Desires refers to Tokusa as 'it'. Also, this is pretty much how I imagine their conversations in my head. Sadistic, creepy, and slightly obsessive. Yeah.
Well, I hope you enjoyed, and I wish you all a very late Merry Christmas.