Bure, Bure
Disclaimer: I don't own Black Cat!
A/N: You will not believe how long it took me to decide a pairing/fandom for this stupid fic. D8 Inspired by Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei's theme song!
Warning: Weird shit is perpetrated in this here fic. Like, pedophilia and necrophilia. And pedo-necrophilia. And regular sex. Which is implied, but which still might offend your virgin heart. So, like, look away, and, uh, stuff. I totally messed with the canon setting of Saya's death. So sue me. Wait no, don't.
Summary: He smiled sadly. "I'm twisted like that." She smiled lovingly. "Yeah? Let's be twisted together."
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Twist.
Lalala.
Twist.
One more time. For me, for me. Twist.
The world spun on through the night and they spun on through their dreams. The man, the woman, the love.
The music.
Rough notes of scorn filled pleas. Twist. The murderer, the murdered, the murder weapon.
The wannabe hero.
His dark eyes shook with anger and fear and a delicious disgust. The cape billowed around him as he read the note again.
Oh, how many times must he have read the note?
Poor baby. Poor Train. Too late to save anything, too late to save anyone.
The murderer, the man, Creed. The murdered, the woman, Saya.
The murder weapon.
The sword.
How he must've leapt to her door, opened it, rushed in to see the mess they'd left behind. And then a dash to the window, and the fireworks—
Creed's hand twitched in his sleep, and his hair stirred in a zephyr. And he dreamed of that night.
The fireworks, the beautiful fireworks the city was celebrating so joyously as Saya died.
Her blood was on his skin. On his lips. He licked it. Hmmm. Twisted. Was he twisted? Was he warped? Was he insane?
He was just trying to help Train. His partner, his equal.
The kids were so terrified, it sent thrills of joy through his nerves. He wanted to kill them too. They hadn't really done anything, but Creed wanted to kill them anyway.
So he did. He grabbed their collars one by one as they stood like transfixed bunnies before a headlight and he kissed them as he slit their throats, kissed them so hard on the lips the coroner would find bruises if the corpses were still there tomorrow.
And then he couldn't stop.
And then he threw aside his sword.
And then he pressed himself to the first one's body, his young body that had nothing worth noticing, and he undid both of their pants, and the boy was gasping for his last breath, terror in his eyes—
Oh, yes, oh yes, he was twisted, and that was probably why Train was so mad at him.
But oh, yes, the boy felt so good around him in his deathly stillness, as the light in his eyes faded to opaque dullness.
The man hissed softly and dug his nails into the body's skin.
"Creed! What the hell do you think you're doing!?"
And the dream ended, and Creed woke up.
Wanting it.
Wanting a boy.
Wanting a little body in his bed, now, and wanting it cold and unmoving.
Twist, twist, little twisted monster…
He knew what he had to do. He knew what he had to do.
"Echidna!"
Where was she?
"Echidna!"
Why wasn't she here?
"Echidna!"
And then she was, she was here, she was in his bed, peering worriedly into his eyes.
"Hmm?"
"I had a dream," he said, "I want you to hear it."
Twist.
Oh, la.
For me, will you twist again? Just twist away.
He looked for a reaction. "I'm twisted," he said, with more than a hint of pride.
She scooped him up. "Yeah?" she said.
He smiled sadly. "I'm very, very twisted."
She smiled lovingly. "Let's be twisted together, then."
Twist—what?
What, what?
"What?"
"If you wanna be twisted, if you want little dead boys, lets go get them."
"No."
Wait, what, again? What was he saying?
"I don't want to be this any more. This...twisted. No more."
She cocked her head and listened and looked. "Oh?"
"Yes. No more. If you're here, I don't need to be twisted. Well, not that kind. I don't need the boys."
"You need to realize something. I'm here. I'm right here."
She pressed his ear to her heart. He heard its heady thumping. He wanted to feel that thumping forever. He wanted to feel it thumping through her, in her. He wanted her.
Oh, was this a new sort of twistedness?
She slipped out of her shirt. "Let's be twisted together," she whispered, "Without all that. Just you and me. And two very sick imaginations."
"Ours?" he breathed.
"Ours."
"We'll need things."
She smiled at him, lovingly, again, and kissed his nose.
"I know. I'll go get them."
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Oh god that was weird. And oh my GOD this is my 100th submission to this damn site. I'm just gonna blather hopelessly for a bit, excuse me.
Here's to hoping the next hundred come into existence much, much slower. D8