Mixed Messages

by CloveeD

Warnings: M/m Yaoi/slash, mature implications, some cussing. Un-beta'ed.
A/N: Suddenly hit with a Tsubasa RC heat recently. This is a byproduct. Was listening to Akihiko Matsumoto's 'Tegami' for background music.
Another source of inspiration was from re-reading Lost in Translation by Ontogenesis. It's too bad there hasn't been an update for years -
that fic's approach to language is super fun. Here though I'm basing Fai and Kurogane's interactions on the lack of words Fai spoke during battle in the manga.


Neither of us are looking at each other. I look at the tips of his black hair, and he looks at somewhere above my ear. His breathing is loud, and mine are muffled against his taut skin. Kuro-rin's armor and skills must protect him well throughout the years - for a warrior who loves to fight, he has surprisingly little scars on his skin. My hand travels down his back, and finds only a small rise at the small of his back, a jagged line lying across the contours, pale in the dim lamp light.

His breath hitches for a millisecond, but it is loud against my ear, and hot against my skin. For all the traveling we have done, neither of us have had much leisure time like this to ourselves. But now, right now, he is all mine. Mine to touch, mine to have, mine to breath against, breath with, and breath for.

I wrote something to Ashura-ou once, on a slightly unsettling night during our journey. There was snow where we were, just a thin layer of it, incomparable to Celes, but just as light, and just as white. I felt (ironically) homesick. I felt lonely. My eyes were on the snow, but my mind was on the bodies that Ashura-ou had left behind on the cold, stony floor. One of those bodies had told me what a smile was. Another two of them smiled back when I did, and told me that they were thus happy.

But that was a long time ago, and I didn't finish writing what I wanted to say to my king anyways. They were some very disoriented words. I am still working on it. He was my king, is my king, and always will be my only king. Nothing in all the worlds and dimensions, not even himself, or what his hands have done, can change that. I miss him. I feel a dull ache in my chest for and because of his absence.

Kuro-rin mutters something against my head (sometimes I suspect that he enjoys having a mouthful of hair for reasons I cannot fathom), and I do not know what he has said. But his fingers (callouses and roughened skin of their pads) travel up my neck, and rest just beneath my face. Kuro-pon doesn't try to be gentle - he just is. Something about having had a gentle mother's touch. I am not certain what this means either.

He whispers something else to me (his language was just as curt as his personality sometimes), and then takes my breath away. I miss Ashura-ou, I love Ashura-ou, I would die for Ashura-ou. I wanted to die for Ashura-ou.

What I have here in my embrace, however, is more than enough to live for. Please touch me. Please touch me. You make me want to live.

With Mokona gone and our language barrier up, I have stopped speaking. This seems to (to my great amusement) make Kuro-pon a little anxious, especially lately. Perhaps because he is still constantly expecting to be able to jump up with a sword in hand and respond with a "I'll kill you right now!" when I next spew something airy and fun from my mouth. Perhaps I should say something soon to ease his worries.

"Kuro-pon." I tell him (his eyes widens slightly as though surprised to hear me talk), "Would you like to make love?"

My tent-mate looks momentarily confused, but one of his brow twitches, most likely having picked up the words 'Kuro-pon'. He says something back with his teeth bared (rather like a suspicious guard dog when one approaches them with something beyond their recognition). I continue on.

"I think I would like to make love to you, Kuro-pon. You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?" (for a moment there, Kuro-pon looks at me with a completely confused expression) "-I would like to stick my fingers into that mouth of yours, pry open your gritted jaw, and make you confused and hot as you will wet my fingers with saliva leaking down your jawline. And then I will suck the air right out of your mouth, make you pant, make you writhe, make you want, make you loud. My adorable, adorable Kuro-pon. Would you like that? Would you let me do all that to you, and then tell me that it's okay because you're tough enough to take all of me?"

He doesn't understand a word I have said, and continues to look at me in confusion for a moment longer, before jumping up in agitation when he realizes that I am continuously calling him Kuro-pon. He yells something (this time I am quite certain it's something along the lines of 'I will kill you you idiot mage' because he is taking out his sword) and then begins to chase me. I laugh and laugh and run and run - and he will never understand what I have just said.

My adorable, adorable big black puppy.

I am scared. What if the Ashura-ou they speak of here is my Ashura-ou?

(Please touch me. Please come and touch me. I don't want to forget to want to live.)


(1/2)

2/2 is already written. I will post it in a week. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.