Who Breaks a Butterfly Upon a Wheel?
Cephied Variable

"Words have a power, Ritsuka," Soubi said softly as he pressed the soldering-gun into the boy's hands, "Make me your fighter."

Ritsuka's fingers curled around the device, but his lips turned downwards and his eyes went dark, "Soubi..." he said lowly, voice coming in thick from somewhere in the back of his throat. He didn't finish his sentence, so Soubi elaborated:

"It's crude, but it won't bleed."

"I-I won't do!" Ritsuka finally stuttered, going red in the cheeks, "Why would you even ask me!?"

Soubi took a deep breath and leaned closer, resting his palm on the boy's warm cheek. Ritsuka nuzzled into the touch, probably without noticing, "I want to belong to you, Ritsuka. I want you to erase the name 'Beloved' from my body and make me yours."

Ritsuka shook his head, "You're not my belonging, Soubi."

Soubi just gave him a benign smile and began unbuttoning his shirt. Ritsuka growled in frusturation, and made a spinning motion with his free hand, "Fine, fine. Then just- turn around." gracefully, Soubi did so, "Sit down!" Ritsuka barked after a moment. Soubi did this also, crossing his legs and setting his hands on his knees to brace himself. Absently, he touched his fingers to to word on his neck and remembered the solid concentration in Seimei's eyes as he'd carved it- first, lightly with his pocket knife and then deeper with a heated needle. He'd wiped the blood away impatiently before the wound had time to cool. Soubi's back was already thick with scars- this wouldn't hurt enough.

Ritsuka moved quietly behind him- sounded like he was pacing, intermittent with a soft clink like metal on glass. He could feel the boy's breath against his neck suddenly and he closed his eyes, eager for the sweet sting of melting, glowing heat. Instead, Ritsuka grabbed his shoulder and something cool and wet and soft slid down his back. Soubi knew immediately that it was a paintbrush. The incorrect one, he reflected, for what it was Ritsuka was attempting to do.

A pause in movement, and Soubi could hear the muted click-whizz of a photo being taken. Ritsuka appeared in front of him and stubbornly shoved the camera into his hands, "There. I wrote it."

Soubi lifted the camera gingerly and pressed the 'display' button. There, dim-lit but expertly angled, was his own back, decorated with clumsy line of scrawled romanji written in sparkling-black ink. He raised his eyes and stared up at Ritsuka through his lashes- the boy was glaring defiantly.

"Ritsuka, wh-"

"Don't you dare ask me why!" Ristuka snapped, crossing his arms. Soubi frowned, and the boy's expression softened, "L-look," he waved his hand irritably, "Later- when this is all over- I-I don't want to have to think about it every time I look at your back? Okay?"

The nervous lilt in his voice, the subtle tremor in his shoulders, the aching kindness his eyes seemed desperate to mask- there was little about Ritsuka that wasn't painfully endearing but, oh, it was that innocent but deliberate implication of after and later and the future that sent shivers all through Soubi's body.

He set the camera down beside him and whispered: "Whatever Ritsuka wants," fairly certain he had never been so sincere in his life. Gently, he reached up and tugged Ritsuka's wrist, delighting in the way the boy fell into his open arms despite a muttered protest. They stayed like that for a long time- Ritsuka's face pressed into Soubi's sharp collarbone while his little boy hands slowly rubbed away the drying ink, as if the word 'LOVELESS' had never been written there in the first place.

fin.