Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade or any of its characters, merchandise, TV rights, ect… (I think you get the point.) Nor do I own the song 'Say It Like You Mean It' by Matchbook Romance.

Summery

ONE SHOT – All Kai ever wanted was her. All she ever wanted was Brooklyn. All they ever got was a pain it was impossible to let go of. (Kai/Ming-Ming) (Lemon)

Like all of my work this is just something that happened to float through the empty void inside my head. Like it or hate it please R and R as honest opinions are always welcomed, as are random acts of worship.

Lamb: I've been neglecting these two as of late and I really shouldn't be. But here at last is some more blue on blue action for the few people who like this pairing.

Muse: Though I could probably count all of those people on one hand and still have fingers left.

Dedi: You have hands? Well this fic is dedicated to Maid-Sama, because she loves this pairing and because she is writing a Kai/Ming-Ming/Rei fic. So, Maid-Sama, this is for you.

Lamb: As always sorry for any bad spelling and if you feel the need to throw things at me please wait until I've hidden behind the sofa kay!?

Muse: On with the fic!

The best is when you say the worst is over,

It's like saying we had luck with a three leaf clover,
And you kept saying that over and over,
And I still catch you looking over your shoulder,
And it's okay, I know the only times you really loved me,
Were the times when you weren't sober,

All the Reasons

For the taste,

The alcohol, bitter sweet on her lips that only seemed to make her kisses more intoxicating. Addictive, that was the word he thought as he struggled to delve deeper into the warm cavern of her mouth. Wanting, as always to know and explore every inch of her. Letting his lips trail soft kisses across her sweet skin, pausing here and there to nip lightly at the flesh. The taste of candy and ice, bitter sweet, just as everything about her was.

For the sight,

That beautiful elfin form arching over him, her head thrown back as she let sensation wash over her, drowning out everything but the moment that she lived in. For the sight of her face lit up in delight, her wide, open smile seeming almost contagious as it lit up the enter room. But no more. Now her face, more often than not, was twisted with a potent combination of rage and hatred and he knew he would do whatever it took to remove that look from her face even for a moment.

For the sound,

Her voice. Throaty moans of pleasure, as opposed to the abject cries of loneliness and despair he knew she still gave vent to. Husky whispers urging him on; harder, faster, don't ever stop. Blotting out the memory of her painful sobs. Sobs which he knew he was at least partly to blame. And that final damning sound, that cursed name falling from her lips. A name that was not his.

For the fight,

The fight that had started them running down this treacherous path, from which it seemed he could not turn back even if he had had the will to do so. That battle, which had left so many, lives in chaos; hers splintered and shattered beyond recognition, his spinning out of control with out any point of recognition to cling to. And that third cursed life, plunging ever further into the depths of darkness, dragging them both down with it.

For the weak,

He was weak, he knew he must be. It was the only explanation for why he let her treat him this way, for why he actively encouraged it. But when he saw her, lying beneath him like that, a faint red flush blooming on her cheeks, her eyes closed as her head was thrown back and her lips slightly parted as she gasped for breath he knew he could not give her up. When he saw her like that, so open, so vulnerable; her weakness only served to make him weaker.

For the strong,

They had both been strong once. In different ways perhaps, but both of them had been strong. But not so any more. He had robbed her of strength, taken away the only thing, the only person, that supported her and in doing so he had forfeited his own power. Before they had been so young and vital, so full of life, blasting aside any and every obstacle that stood between them and whatever it was they wanted. He had broken apart the one thing that had kept her from him and in doing so had left them all nothing more than a collection of cold and empty shells.

For the light,

Even in the depths of darkness the smallest glimmer of light will shine like a new born star. The way that light had once danced in her eyes, warming everything that it touched, melting the ice that had long ago formed around his heart. But he had been unable to do anything other than look on as that light, like a candle that guttered in the wind, flickered and died. He knew that he was the reason for its loss.

Say it like,
You say it like you mean it,

He would never forget that first time. When she had come home, her face pale and drawn, dark circles round eyes red and puffy from crying and the pain and grief that twisted her mouth. He had stood unmoving in the doorway as she sobbed, her head resting on the shoulder of the brunette who held her tightly. In a voice that was no more than half choked cries, she had said that the redhead was not the same person any more, that he might as well be dead, would have probably been better for deaths merciful release. Fresh tears had spilled from her eyes when she confessed that when he had looked at her the moss green eyes had been blank and empty as if she were a stranger that he had never before met.

Long into the night she had sat at the kitchen table, darkness closing in around her, attempting to drink herself into some blessed oblivion. Strange, he had not thought she would be a vodka and hard liquor sort of person, but for hours she had stayed making steady progress to the bottom of the bottle that had been almost full at the start. It had been his, one he had brought back from his last trip to Russia, strong enough to burn the skin from the back of the throat, but she was swallowing it like water.

For a time he had watched her, never moving closer, instinctively knowing that his was not the company she would wish for. He had known that she sensed his presence, felt the heat of his crimson gaze on her, even if she neither raised her head to acknowledge him or hiss at him to leave her to her solitude. It was only when, seemingly hours later, she had drained the bottle dry did she finally turn those large, alcohol glazed, eyes on him. She had risen from her seat and crossed the floor with a purposeful, even stride; the vast quantity of alcohol she had consumed seemed not to have effected her in the slightest.

She had stopped in front of him and with out hesitation reached up, her fingers entangling themselves in the thick slate strands of his hair, as she dragged his mouth down to hers. The furious hunger of her kisses left him breathless and dazed, she had seemed almost desperate to feel something, anything, except for the hollow empty ache of loneliness that he knew bloomed within her breast. Even then he had know it was wrong, that the course of action she was taking would leave him damaged and broken beyond repair but he could not find it in him to stop her.

Not a word past between them as they swiftly moved from the kitchen to his room and within moments all garments had been shed and they were on his bed. Hands roamed, fingers teased and lips sort to taste as the moved in the shadow filled room. Until at last had at last found her again. Finally her sharp muffled cry as he felt the touch of her depths on him as at last he touched the deep blood centre of her. He wanted to never move again, for she fit over and around him in perfection. The woman, so familiar and yet still unknown, who he wanted for his own among all the others but knew that she never would be.

The subtle swelling of her inner flesh, the imperceptible flowing movement, clinging then releasing. Pulling him yet deeper until he could not bear his own peace and moved against her arching curved body. Their increasing hunger bringing them to a pitch of active seeking until their bodies in unison gave way to a final yielding and there was no more active movement. Only a common vulnerable rhythm. A rhythm of utter harmony and a movement so perfect, one breath, one beating heart and one soaring complete release into the sweetness of oblivion.

It was all he had ever dreamed of and still more besides. She seemed to fit around him perfectly as if she had been made for him and him alone. It didn't matter if it didn't last, if it never happened again, for he was first and therefore a piece of her, no matter how small it was, would always be his. And then it all came down to that one last moment. To the final climax. To the junction of the passion between both lovers that was released with one final thrust and one final moan. And in that instant the proud Russian knew that he was lost.

For the wait,

In that warm glowing aftermath when she lay nestled against him, when he could feel himself still buried deep within her. That perfect golden moment that he would try to cling to, trying to prolong it for as long a possible, to fix it in his memory. The tick of the clock slicing time into finer and finer slices as he held on to the passing seconds as long as he could. Pressing them like wild flowers between the pages of his mind, to preserve them forever. Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before she ripped away another fragment for his soul.

For the crush,

Perhaps it had started that very first time he had seen her face, when his team-mate had come running in waving around the CD case, her image in bright colours adorning the front cover. But the fact was that once he had started to fall it had become impossible to stop. Everywhere he went she seemed to be there too. Always smiling, always laughing and always in the arms of her own love. The redhead, the man who stood like a wall between him and that which he wanted the most. A wall that she could not and did not wish to see past.

For the fear,

There was so much for them both to fear. He was afraid that one day she would leave and would not come back, that he would just be left alone in the prison he had created for himself. Scared that she would turn round and tell him what he already knew, that she didn't want him, that she had never wanted him. But her fears were of the demons that whispered to her in the dead of night. The monsters that were hiding under the bed, the monster in whose bed she slept. The pictures in her mind that she could not escape from, distorted images of her love being driven insane, loosing his mind because of man she now allowed to put his hands on her.

For the lush,

That's what the called her behind her back. It was a throw back to another era, a drunken lush. The paparazzi had a field day when the found out that she was drinking so much, but the excitement faded when she didn't react and when the next big scandal came along they forgot about her completely. Day by day she was fading slowly, but he saw her as he had the first time. As a boy in the grip of his first crush would see the girl of his dreams. He saw her as lush in the playground sense. In the 'you are perfection' sense . In the 'you are all I will ever want' sense.

For the love,

His love for her. A phenomenon that had ripped his world apart the first time he dared to acknowledge what it was that he felt for her. He, who had always prided himself on neither wanting nor needing another person in his life, was terrified to realise just how much of a hold over him he had let her take. And her love that was not for him but for another, someone he could never replace and he knew she would leave him permanently if he should try to do so. The love he could delude himself into believing she felt for him when she held him tightly to her body. But that faded, like she did, with the rising of the sun.

For the hate,

Her hate. Her hatred of him, pure and blinding in its intensity. He knew it was the only thing that drove her on, the icy loathing she had for him was it seemed all that she had left to cling to. She blamed him, and him alone, for all her pain and loneliness. Condemned him for taking from her the only person she had ever truly wanted, and so she used him to try and block out the horror of the loss that he had caused. And even as she hated him, he hated himself for hurting her.

For the touch,

The way his skin would flinch and jump as she ran her fingers almost lovingly over the contours of his body. Her fingertips tracing lightly, the haphazard pattern of silvery scars that criss-crossed his pale flesh, the touch so delicate that it was like the brush of silk. Those scares a harsh reminder of just what he had done, of why she was here with him. And so he would hold her as tightly as he could, running his hands over every dip and curve of her slender form until he knew every inch of her by heart.

Just say it like,
I will wait out for you,
I will wait out,
Over and over,
Just say it like you mean it,

And after her eyes would be heavy, glazed like fallen stars with the combination of alcohol and the complex mix of emotions that filled her. But a slight smile would play on her lips, as her arms wrapped tighter round him, holding onto him as if he were the only thing that kept her grounded. After a while her breathing would start to even out as sleep began to claim her, and her eyes would gently start to drift shut.

He thinks that it is in these moment that he loved her the most. When she was lying there, glowing in that aftermath of their love making. The still and silent moments before she brakes his heart with softly murmured endearments, as he knows she always will. As she always had from that very first time, and yet he still couldn't find it in himself to turn away from her.

More than anything he wanted to scream at her, he wanted to fight for her, to fight with her, to hit her, to argue with her, to throw her out of his bed, out of his mind! But he couldn't. Every time he promised it would be the last, that this time he would put an end to the madness. But he never did, he would simply kiss her forehead and hold her tightly as she slept. All night he would stay that way, listening to the soothing calm of her heartbeat, and watched with dread for the approach of morning. For with dawn's light she would awaken and in her eyes would hold nothing but icy loathing.

Each time she turns that look upon him, every time she snatches at her discarded clothing and leaves the room with out saying a word to him, he wonders if she will come back and what he will do if she doesn't. But she always does.

At least once a week she will stumble blindly into his room, the stench of drink of her breath so strong that it almost sends him reeling. And though guilt tares at him, ripping him apart from the inside, he still welcomes her back with open arms. Losing himself in the wonder of having her, telling himself that he doesn't care because she was there with him.

Only once did he ask himself why. Why he persisted in chasing a dream he knew to be cold and empty, for the answer that came from the depths of his heart, came far too swiftly to be a lie shook him to his very core. Three little words I love her. So he would carry on as long as she would let him, basking in the warmth of that love… a one sided love. Telling himself that it was enough, that it was all he needed.

But every time she spoke that loving refrain as she drifted off into the arms of sleep, he would feel another piece of his heart wither and die. Each time she confesses her love for someone who was not him. With that soft voice she would brake a little more of him each time, every night erasing just a bit more of what he was.

"I love you, Brooklyn."

Lamb: The first time I heard this song I knew I had to write a Kai/Minmin fiction with it, the whole idea just seemed right to me.

Muse: As if anything that goes on in your head could be called right.

Dedi: With us living in it what did you expect, but, Maid-Sama we hope you liked it.

Please R and R I'd love to know what you thought.

Big love and inspiration

Lamanth