My friend Himi was trying to write a fanfic and asked for help, and this was basically my thought process. It turned out pretty good, sort of poetic, so I decided to keep it.
Warnings: Necrophilia! That about says it all.
Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about RO. These characters belong to two other girls I know who play. ~_~
Love Never Dies
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Rapheres is killed in battle.
Bartolomeo was on his way to help him, but he was too late.
Though he never truly showed it or even quite admitted it to himself, he really loved Rapheres. He's distraught and not thinking straight as he normally might. He casts Redemptio, his own welfare completely unimportant to him knowing that Rapheres isn't there.
He falls and Rapheres awakes slowly, not really sure what's going on. Rapheres, unlike Bartolomeo, had always been certain of his feelings. He never really bothered past the married-couple-esque bickering and teasing because, since Bartolomeo was always so indifferent and seemingly emotionless, he assumed Bartolomeo did not feel the same way.
But when he sits up and Bartolomeo is laying several feet away cold, silent, dead, something snaps. Rapheres crawls over to him, his shirt still torn from where the Rybio had ripped into him.
"Barto. B-Barto...!" he cries but he knows that Bartolomeo can't answer.
"Owly, wake up," he sobs, but of course Bartolomeo is gone, and Rapheres takes his shoulders, shakes him, dead weight in his hands.
Overwhelmed with feelings of regret and despair and more than anything, so much love, Rapheres kisses him, lips already icy, thinking just maybe true love's kiss can save the day.
But Barto doesn't respond, and Rapheres feels desperate and kisses him again and again, his lips and his cheeks and his neck. He kisses him and nothing works, and he's becoming frightened and the overbearing feelings of suppression rise in his stomach and arouse him in a way which frightens him even more.
The sun is setting and the clouds are heavy and finally they break, slowly beginning to weep as Rapheres does, as Rapheres moves his hands from Bartolomeo's shoulders, down, down, down, over layers of clothes that frustrate Rapheres as he has never been frustrated before.
He tries to delude himself, that if he could just feel his skin, if he could touch Bartolomeo then Bartolomeo might feel him and wake up and love him. He wants to believe this and pushes Bartolomeo's shirt up, revealing more skin, something solid to latch onto. He touches it, runs his thumb slowly, longingly over his abdomen, the indent of his bellybutton, and it doesn't satisfy him. He moves down, kneels and presses his lips to Bartolomeo's stomach, and tears fall to the cold skin.
"Owly," he weeps, "wake up, please wake up."
He's not awake yet, and Rapheres shuts his eyes tightly, but his tears trickle down anyways.
"I love you, Barto."
"I love you, please wake up."
"I'm sorry, I should have told you before. I love you. Please wake up!"
The rain is becoming heavy and Rapheres' face flushes, distressed and so very overwhelmed, overwhelmed with things he's never felt before.
As he tries to deny to himself that Barto is gone, paradoxically, he realizes that there was so much he never could experience with Barto before…
Before...
A loud sob escapes him, and he pushes against Barto, whispering desperately "Owly, please," against his abdomen.
A clap of thunder sounds in the distance, and Rapheres can feel his heart beginning to race. Is it fear, or has his morbid desire become too much for him? He isn't sure and for a moment he doesn't care, for the wind is strong and Bartolomeo's head moved in a way that was mesmerizingly lifelike.
Something inside Rapheres surges and he shudders and suddenly everything is hazy and his hands move to the clasp of Bartolomeo's pants. "Owly, I want to feel you.
"If I feel you from the inside out, won't you wake up? Owly, please…" he groans and pulls Bartolomeo's pants down, down, down and there he is, all of him, all Rapheres'. His tears fall a little faster and his heart beats a little quicker. The wind moves Bartolomeo's head again and Rapheres would like to imagine goosebumps rising along all the exposed skin.
There are none, but Rapheres shakes a little as he weeps, "Aren't you cold? I'm sorry Owly, I'll be cold with you so that it's fair."
He removes his clothes and wills himself to be just as cold as Bartolomeo—cold as death—but his heart is hammering away so fast he can't count the beats, and he knows he's aroused which frightens and yet entices him even more.
"Can't I? Owly, can't I love you? If I love you won't you wake up?"
He's between Bartolomeo's legs and he leans down to kiss him again, those cold lips, one heart fluttering against another still one. He tries to position himself—he doesn't know what he's doing—and he slips and suddenly everything is tight and white hot. Bartolomeo's skin is so cold but it makes Rapheres feel even hotter.
The walls surrounding him cling and it sends shivers down his spine. "Ah…!" he sighs, a mixture of a cry and a gasp, not quite either. He wasn't prepared for this, and his body feels like it's on fire, and that's not fair, not when Bartolomeo is still so cold.
He moves, his hips move, not against Bartolomeo as always but inside him, uniting them, making them not two separate beings but one; as if Bartolomeo could feel this fire by something like osmosis.
Rapheres is panting now, sweat mingling with tears and rain alike.
"Owly, can't you feel me?" he gasps, and he doesn't understand why Bartolomeo won't wake up, why Bartolomeo's body is so like ice, juxtaposing the fire emanating from Rapheres.
But this fire is too heavy to last, and Rapheres sees stars behind his eyelids as all his love erupts from him, all of it pouring into Bartolomeo's gracious form, spilling and overflowing him.
For a few moments Rapheres feels like he's glowing, on some sort of high that he's never before experienced. But it passes soon enough, and his body seizes with cold and despair. Bartolomeo won't wake up.
His stomach, his brain, his heart feel hollow. There's nothing left now but this cold. Rapheres drapes his body over Bartolomeo's, and hates that his heart still beats while Bartolomeo's refuses to. He clings to Bartolomeo's unmoving form and cries, his body shivering. He hopes that maybe by morning he won't be shivering anymore.
Maybe by morning, he too can be like ice.
This is my December
This is my snow-covered home
This is my December
This is me alone
My December, Linkin Park
