Russian Roulette
Author: Nataku
Rating: R
Warnings: Shonen ai
Pairing: Shenlong/Long
Date Started: October 21, 2001
Date Ended:
Author Note: Shenlong and Long belong to the owner's of Bloody Roar. I make no money off of this. This is YAOI people. Shenlong/Long. A little OOCish...sorta craptified half-idea. If you don't like, don't read.
Russian Roulette
CLINK
CLINK
CLINK
Red eyes gazed up at fathomless brown as the man spun the barrel of the gun around. At his feet were five bullets and only one remained in the revolver.
"One more game?" the red-eyed man asked softly. The wind gently ruffled his coat and long black hair as he breathed in deep. The smell of the sea greeted his nose, salt and seaweed with the tint of the city. He could see the lights from where they were, glittering like stars that crashed into the earth. A smile played upon his lips as he looked at the other man.
"Just one more." A particularly strong gale kicked up a fine sea spray as the brown-eyed figure spoke. The moonlight glinted off his glasses as he watched the other man. Deep in his heart, he knew. To play this game was not just about whether or not the next time he pulled the trigger it would be a bullet. To play this game would mean to trust chance.
"That's what you always say."
The wind blew past both men, ruffling clothing and blowing spray in their hair. The brown-eyed man's robes fluttered as he cleaned his glasses, then took the pistol from his clone. Large, heavy cuffs encased his wrists and ankles, yet he still moved as gracefully as a dancer. Holding out the weapon, he tilted his head, the aim dead solid on the red-eyed man. Pulling the trigger, he felt his heart beat quicken, like every time.
CLICK
It was empty.
Long looked up at his counterpart. There was no fear in the ruby eyes, no hesitation, only steadfast determination. In those eyes, behind the cruelty and blood lust, was a solid wall of iron will. It never wavered, never shifted, the single unchanging presence in his warped existence. At times the Kempo master felt his hate melt slightly with a sort of desperation, a need for something to cling to that wasn't so...unfamiliar. He was used to the malice and blood in those eyes. He was used to the cruel, mocking words. He was used to...Shenlong.
The red-eyed clone looked into the glinting brown eyes of the other Chinese man and felt the corner of his lips curve up.
//So it was blank again...//
Sometimes he wondered just how far he could go, just how many more times they would play until that bullet went off and buried itself deep into his flesh. Before the smoke would clear and he would see grim satisfaction in those beautiful eyes as his life's blood burst out of him in a fountain of red. He felt no fear of that day, only vague interest in Long's reaction. Would he embrace death?
He practically burst out with laughter. Ironic to be killed by your own hand, neh? Would that be considered suicide?
Long looked down at the gun in his hand, then spun the barrel again.
"Do you know that cold will over ride pain?" the words were almost conversational in the tone as he played with the weapon.
The clone blinked for a second, then nodded.
"Why?"
"Pain can't kill you. It can make you wish you were dead, but it still won't take your life away. However, cold, no matter how soothing, can. Ironic how something comforting would kill you, neh?" Long spoke as flatly as he could, but couldn't keep the note of pain and longing out of his voice. He wanted...no needed something to end it. Something to break the ice around him, something warm and real. The sorrow was heavy in his heart, at times making it hard to breath, making it hard to go on. The guilt was unbearable and no matter what he did, it kept on haunting him. He was a fool.
Shenlong cocked his head slightly, pondering the words. Vaguely, he wondered what was running through the other man's mind. Living with people hunting him down for the bounties on his head taught him to read between the lines, and there was definitely something going on with Long. Not saying anything, he continued to watch, ignoring the occasional sound of dogs barking and cars running by on the highway.
Fog shrouded the two of them in their own private chamber, like a heavy blanket. As if they were the only two left in the world. It was easy to let the rest of the sights, the sounds, the life flowing around them to just drift away until they really were alone in each other's mind.
The red-eyed clone's head snapped up as he saw a sudden flurry of motion. The Kempo Master had stepped out of his silent daze and narrowed his eyes in determination. The revolver spun as he fired five shots, one right after the other. On the very last click, the bullet streaked out with a thunderous crack. Time seemed to slow for Shenlong and he could hear every breath he took, like some raging storm inside his own ears. His heartbeat resounded in his body, beating like a ceremonial drum. As his vision tunneled, he could have sworn he could see every ripple the bullet made through the air, every single second ticked by as the object streaked right by his face, merely grazing his cheek.
"..." not saying a word, he lifted a hand to his face, fingers gingerly touching the cut. The digits came away with crimson blood. The red-eyed man brought his fingers to his lips and delicately lapped at the liquid. Yup, it was blood alright. His gaze went back to Long and his head tilted to one side with a small smiled. It was deliberately off aim. Slowly, he clapped, a chuckle escaping his curved lips.
"Very good, Long Singh. Very good."
The gun dropped to the ground with a clatter, smoke still rising from it.
"I don't know...how much longer I can do this..." the Chinese man whispered softly. He looked weary, so very tired. It was as if Atlas had dropped the world on a mere mortal's shoulders and let him bear the weight, the sorrow, and the pain of the universe itself. His cheek bones looked sharper with the shadowing, making him look almost gaunt, then a light flashed by and revealed still supple flesh.
"You look beyond your years old man." Shenlong shoved his hands in his pockets, casually walking over to the other martial artist. "But sorrow looks good on you."
Fathomless brown eyes met red, looking almost sarcastic.
"You have no idea how grateful I am for that comment, Shenlong. You are truly the most flattering individual I had the pleasure of meeting."
"Che, no problem Singh." One red eye winked.
"Please, if you would have the respect not to call me that...it's disrespectful." The Kempo Master didn't even look up, head cradled in his hands. He could hear silent padding footsteps and the ocean breeze brought the scent of the open waters...and of cigarettes and liquor, of cologne and an fragrant musk that was unmistakably Shenlong. It was slightly heady...a pleasant smell even.
//Or maybe I'm just tired...//
"Loosen up a little."
He blinked as a hand slid under his chin, knocking away his hands and tipping his face up.
"You're already starting to get wrinkles from worry."
A cool finger, slightly wet traced a line on his forehead, leaving a moist trail in its wake. As the wind blew, Long shivered slightly.
"My, I left a bloody track on your face...allow me to clean it up." not even waiting for a response, the red-eyed man leaned forward and delicately lapped at the red stain, rasping his tongue over the flesh and enjoying the coppery tang that underlined the sweeter flavor of the other man's skin.
Eyes wide, the Kempo Master froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights...
Author's Note: To be continued...-_-; dunno when my muse will visit me again. Again, flames shall be used to toast marshmallows. I gave warnings (point)
Author: Nataku
Rating: R
Warnings: Shonen ai
Pairing: Shenlong/Long
Date Started: October 21, 2001
Date Ended:
Author Note: Shenlong and Long belong to the owner's of Bloody Roar. I make no money off of this. This is YAOI people. Shenlong/Long. A little OOCish...sorta craptified half-idea. If you don't like, don't read.
Russian Roulette
CLINK
CLINK
CLINK
Red eyes gazed up at fathomless brown as the man spun the barrel of the gun around. At his feet were five bullets and only one remained in the revolver.
"One more game?" the red-eyed man asked softly. The wind gently ruffled his coat and long black hair as he breathed in deep. The smell of the sea greeted his nose, salt and seaweed with the tint of the city. He could see the lights from where they were, glittering like stars that crashed into the earth. A smile played upon his lips as he looked at the other man.
"Just one more." A particularly strong gale kicked up a fine sea spray as the brown-eyed figure spoke. The moonlight glinted off his glasses as he watched the other man. Deep in his heart, he knew. To play this game was not just about whether or not the next time he pulled the trigger it would be a bullet. To play this game would mean to trust chance.
"That's what you always say."
The wind blew past both men, ruffling clothing and blowing spray in their hair. The brown-eyed man's robes fluttered as he cleaned his glasses, then took the pistol from his clone. Large, heavy cuffs encased his wrists and ankles, yet he still moved as gracefully as a dancer. Holding out the weapon, he tilted his head, the aim dead solid on the red-eyed man. Pulling the trigger, he felt his heart beat quicken, like every time.
CLICK
It was empty.
Long looked up at his counterpart. There was no fear in the ruby eyes, no hesitation, only steadfast determination. In those eyes, behind the cruelty and blood lust, was a solid wall of iron will. It never wavered, never shifted, the single unchanging presence in his warped existence. At times the Kempo master felt his hate melt slightly with a sort of desperation, a need for something to cling to that wasn't so...unfamiliar. He was used to the malice and blood in those eyes. He was used to the cruel, mocking words. He was used to...Shenlong.
The red-eyed clone looked into the glinting brown eyes of the other Chinese man and felt the corner of his lips curve up.
//So it was blank again...//
Sometimes he wondered just how far he could go, just how many more times they would play until that bullet went off and buried itself deep into his flesh. Before the smoke would clear and he would see grim satisfaction in those beautiful eyes as his life's blood burst out of him in a fountain of red. He felt no fear of that day, only vague interest in Long's reaction. Would he embrace death?
He practically burst out with laughter. Ironic to be killed by your own hand, neh? Would that be considered suicide?
Long looked down at the gun in his hand, then spun the barrel again.
"Do you know that cold will over ride pain?" the words were almost conversational in the tone as he played with the weapon.
The clone blinked for a second, then nodded.
"Why?"
"Pain can't kill you. It can make you wish you were dead, but it still won't take your life away. However, cold, no matter how soothing, can. Ironic how something comforting would kill you, neh?" Long spoke as flatly as he could, but couldn't keep the note of pain and longing out of his voice. He wanted...no needed something to end it. Something to break the ice around him, something warm and real. The sorrow was heavy in his heart, at times making it hard to breath, making it hard to go on. The guilt was unbearable and no matter what he did, it kept on haunting him. He was a fool.
Shenlong cocked his head slightly, pondering the words. Vaguely, he wondered what was running through the other man's mind. Living with people hunting him down for the bounties on his head taught him to read between the lines, and there was definitely something going on with Long. Not saying anything, he continued to watch, ignoring the occasional sound of dogs barking and cars running by on the highway.
Fog shrouded the two of them in their own private chamber, like a heavy blanket. As if they were the only two left in the world. It was easy to let the rest of the sights, the sounds, the life flowing around them to just drift away until they really were alone in each other's mind.
The red-eyed clone's head snapped up as he saw a sudden flurry of motion. The Kempo Master had stepped out of his silent daze and narrowed his eyes in determination. The revolver spun as he fired five shots, one right after the other. On the very last click, the bullet streaked out with a thunderous crack. Time seemed to slow for Shenlong and he could hear every breath he took, like some raging storm inside his own ears. His heartbeat resounded in his body, beating like a ceremonial drum. As his vision tunneled, he could have sworn he could see every ripple the bullet made through the air, every single second ticked by as the object streaked right by his face, merely grazing his cheek.
"..." not saying a word, he lifted a hand to his face, fingers gingerly touching the cut. The digits came away with crimson blood. The red-eyed man brought his fingers to his lips and delicately lapped at the liquid. Yup, it was blood alright. His gaze went back to Long and his head tilted to one side with a small smiled. It was deliberately off aim. Slowly, he clapped, a chuckle escaping his curved lips.
"Very good, Long Singh. Very good."
The gun dropped to the ground with a clatter, smoke still rising from it.
"I don't know...how much longer I can do this..." the Chinese man whispered softly. He looked weary, so very tired. It was as if Atlas had dropped the world on a mere mortal's shoulders and let him bear the weight, the sorrow, and the pain of the universe itself. His cheek bones looked sharper with the shadowing, making him look almost gaunt, then a light flashed by and revealed still supple flesh.
"You look beyond your years old man." Shenlong shoved his hands in his pockets, casually walking over to the other martial artist. "But sorrow looks good on you."
Fathomless brown eyes met red, looking almost sarcastic.
"You have no idea how grateful I am for that comment, Shenlong. You are truly the most flattering individual I had the pleasure of meeting."
"Che, no problem Singh." One red eye winked.
"Please, if you would have the respect not to call me that...it's disrespectful." The Kempo Master didn't even look up, head cradled in his hands. He could hear silent padding footsteps and the ocean breeze brought the scent of the open waters...and of cigarettes and liquor, of cologne and an fragrant musk that was unmistakably Shenlong. It was slightly heady...a pleasant smell even.
//Or maybe I'm just tired...//
"Loosen up a little."
He blinked as a hand slid under his chin, knocking away his hands and tipping his face up.
"You're already starting to get wrinkles from worry."
A cool finger, slightly wet traced a line on his forehead, leaving a moist trail in its wake. As the wind blew, Long shivered slightly.
"My, I left a bloody track on your face...allow me to clean it up." not even waiting for a response, the red-eyed man leaned forward and delicately lapped at the red stain, rasping his tongue over the flesh and enjoying the coppery tang that underlined the sweeter flavor of the other man's skin.
Eyes wide, the Kempo Master froze, looking like a deer caught in the headlights...
Author's Note: To be continued...-_-; dunno when my muse will visit me again. Again, flames shall be used to toast marshmallows. I gave warnings (point)