"Through the Looking Glass" chapter 01
And so, it arrives. Idea sprung after idea sprung. This orginal idea was presented to me by my friend Cali, and it twisted and turned into a hideous grotesque blob of goo. A few minor things are off, and I apologize for that; however this -is- fanfiction, remember, and you are -reading- this fanfiction with this warning. Many of the lose ends will be tied together in further parts -- I left them hanging, so don't tell me about them, I'll beat you. This is also very Kensuke/Daiken (more Kensuke then Daiken, however), so if you have a problem with two boys screwing eachother's brains out then you shouldn't read this fic and email me about how wrong I am. I wrote this for every person who enjoys Kensuke. This fic also includes sadomasochism, for all you other hub-jubs out there: S&M. Again, if you don't like that sort of thing, this isn't the fic for lil'ol'you!
Another minor, technical note before the story starts -- I do not own Digimon or any of the respected characters. They belong to... not me. ^^; If you'd like to contact me, please feel free to at: urameshi@aol.com. Luv~
***
Things like this meant to much to him. His breath was long lost, and the air around him was bitterly cold; the only warmth he could feel was that of the boy beside him, curled like a child, innocently tangled in a hot mass of limbs around him. Ken seemed calm, at least, or enough so to drift asleep. His partner, however, lay awake, amber eyes unfocusing and focusing on the familiar plain white ceiling. His parents would be home soon (he let his eyes fall shut), and there was no doubt that they'd be worried about him. He gazed foward in the darkness, refocusing his sight on the flashing red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand. Nine forty three -- he had about twenty minutes until she'd start worrying over him. He puffed a sigh, and let his pounding head fall back onto the pillow. (He didn't take into account that his parents were usually late, though.)
It hurt to move, even the smallest shift sent a fury of pain to his lower abdomen. He rolled over on the small bed with a groan, (the boy beside him just tugging closer in reply) eyes fixed on the numbers as they changed. Nine forty seven. He had to get up now. How long had he been lying there? Four minutes? It seemed longer, somehow. Despite his age, and despite all the times his mother was late, she still managed to worry over him. 'Keeping good time,' she would say, 'is the best thing a young boy can learn -- what are the girls going to think when you're late to your first date?' (Ken usually didn't mind if he was late, though Ken did tend to worry as well, Daisuke wasn't the brightest boy, and trouble seemed to find him more often than he found it) He would roll his eyes at her and agree verbally just to please her.
Ken flinched with the movement, but was lulled back to sleep with a feathery sigh; he was exhausted. Daisuke set either foot on the ground with a wince, shivering as the inhumanly cold floor filled his feet with the same anguish. "...ouch... damn... cold floor..." he muttered softly, closing his eyes and rubbing his side to numb the throbbing pain in his side. He stood slowly, supporting himself with his knees. (The pain wasn't that bad), he could his rear pounding in protest, (okay, maybe it was). He hissed a curse between his teeth, leaning over tenderly to grope for his lost undergarments. Once he had managed to slip into them and secure them around his waist he began his next big search -- his pants and socks. His pants weren't too hard to find (though it was a miracle if he could limp around the room, find his pants, and not knock anything over). He grinned in triumph once they too, were tightly snug around his waist. The socks were the hard part, and he had lost many of them here. His mother frequently asked him what he did with all the socks he lost. He told her that the dryer must of ate them (one time, after Ken had cleaned his room, he had brought him a whole bag of socks). After at least three minutes of searching for his abducted socks, he decided it was best to just slip on his shoes, pull on his shirt and leave. He'd get his socks at school the next day. It was increasingly hard to remember where he had thrown his clothes only a few hours before (though it was hard to remember what you were doing in a fit of passion).
Nine fifty four. Fuck. He snatched the pair of goggles from the nightstand, ('You're not a leader without these,' Taichi had said, handing him the goggles with a large grin and a shake of his finger, 'once you put them on, you're responsible for the team.') then paused before he reached the door. He couldn't leave just yet. He stepped beside the bed, gazing down at the boy cuddled beneath the folds of the dark blue sheets; his bare, pale shoulders were so white, that they seemed to glow. The long, pasty white fingers grasped onto the sheets, holding them protectively to his throat, the sweat damped azure hair in tangles around his flushed cheeks. He could hear the whispered breath that had been crying out his name (and forcing him to beg) not even an hour before. His shoulders slumped and his body relaxed, the pain was forgotten for the moment as he lavished his attention on his lover. He reached out without hesitation, and tucked a few strands of the blue hair behind the ghostly white boy's ear, whispering softly: "Kenchan... look, I have to go now..."
The other boy leaned into his touch unconciously, his body shifting toward him in passive protest. The hand drew down his cheek, and over the slender jaw, he could see, vividly the contrast between their skin (the contrast between them). A smile tugged at the corners of his dry lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright...?" His hand slipped down brushing over his waist before moving over the creaking boards to the door, careful to close it silently; his bare feet padding against the white carpet (that was so finely taken care of), and down the stairs. No one was here. No one was ever here. He had only caught glimpses of Ken's parents before, he knew, inside, that they were nice people, but they devoted themselves constantly to work. At times, he felt really bad for Ken, he came home alone, made dinner alone, and went to bed alone (well, not much anymore); so Daisuke had made sure to see him to bed at least three times a week, and eat dinner with him at least four, or invite him over; or do something with him. Kenneeded people, and he had witnessed what happened when Ken didn't have company ('Get on your knees,' he said cooly, 'get on your knees and beg for your friends back!'), and he didn't ever want Ken to feel that way again. Takeru and Iori made it quite clear, at first, that they didn't trust the blue haired boy; but from later actions, the team agreed in the end, that Ken had changed. Even Hikari found it pleasant to speak with him. However, Ken never considered himself part of the team, despite Daisuke's whining protests.
He passed down the staircase walls, pausing to inspect a picture of Ken's older brother in the darkness, still left hanging after ten years of absence. (He did look a like like the Kaiser -- or the Kaiser looked a lot like him, right?) He let his gaze fall shut, his head turn away and his feet continue down the last of the steps. His shoes were where he left him, waiting for him; the thin green sweater hanging above them. He tugged it over his head, became one with his tacky old gym shoes and headed out the door. It was colder than he thought it would be, he watched his breath become a large puff of warm air before fumbling in his pockets for his keys. Ken had given him a key to his house, he had frequented there so many times, than Ken found it more than plausible to get him a key; and when he left late at night, he could lock the door. His fingers ached, unwilling to move properly as Daisuke locked the door. His body shivering with another fresh gust of wind. The frosted sidewalk was illuminated with the buzzing street lights, and the night was crisp and clear (and a little too cold). It could snow any day now, and the month of January was flying by, like it always did.
His back still hurt. It burned with a new pain, now that he was walking; and his thighs began to protest, stiff and rigid. He drew his arms across his chest, tugging the sweatshirt closer. "...shit, Ken..." Ken betrayed his gentle, quiet appearance. The only person who knew this so well was Daisuke. He knew Ken more than anyone else would or could. Hopefully he'd be able to catch the last bus up to Odiba. He didn't want to call his mom again, he knew he wouldn't be able to walk home the way he was.
The luck of Motomiya Daisuke never failed. He brightened as he spotted the vehicle up the road, breaking into a stiffed run, managing to halt the driver and clamber aboard. He was a heavy set man, probably in his mid forties, with a face like Santa Claus and a short, whiskery white beard to match. "...you okay, son?" He asked, his voice rolling in his throat, concerned.
The few passangers that had gathered on the bus paused to look at him, craning their necks over the sides of their seats to see what the jolly old man was talking about. Daisuke was breathless, and his body was stiff, painfully burning, and cold beneath the worn clothes. "...yea, 'm okay." He replied, cocking a brow a bit. Why wouldn't he be?
The man offered him a worried, concerning glance before pulling a handle to close the bus doors. "...no reason, son, you just look like you've been beat up pretty badly. You're heading to Odaiba, right?"
"..." There was an audible pause, before Daisuke spoke again, "...yea, that's where 'm goin'."
His mom was in a flutter when he stepped through the door. "Daisuke!! I was about to call Ken's house! I was getting worried!" She always did this, despite her own obvious flakeyness. She was his mom, and she worried. He knew that, so he humored her.
"S'alright, mum, 'm okay." He rubbed an eye with the sleeve of the sweatshirt and offered her his usual lopsided grin. He lowered his arms and shrugged at her. "...we just... really got inta' studyin' s'all..." He was physically exhausted, the pain had long since been numbed to a thin buzz that he knew was going to be freshly awakened in the morning. He hadn't had a chance to look in the mirror, but, he was sure he was bruised in the face (or the bus driver wouldn't have noticed anything).
She noticed too, because the moment she set her eyes on him she rushed over to cup his face in her hands, her eyes filled with a new, instinctual concern. Her thumbs ran over his bruised cheeks and he winced. She pursed her lips softly and asked him, her eyes not leaving the markings on his face. "...Daisuke, this is the fifth time you've come home like this, is someone beating you up? Did you get robbed? Is someone after you?"
Daisuke's expression flickered but he managed a weak laugh. "No, mum... I jus'... fell down the stairs at Ken's house, 'e was wit' me th' entire time, mum, really! 'm okay." He waved his hand, brushing it away as if it were nothing. He was tough, as well as absolutely exhausted. "...I think 'm jus' gonna take a shower an' go ta bed."
"Are you sure?" She asked quietly, massaging his cheek with her thumb. "I left you dinner in the refrigorator." She was really worried, he could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes, her actions.
He just smiled at her, trying to reassure her. "I'll be fine, mum." He broke away from her gently, taking her wrists and lowering them back down, side-stepping around her and heading toward the bathroom.
That was the end of it.
He could feel her eyes searching his back, he ignored it.
It had been five years.
Five years the whole world of Motomiya Daisuke had changed.
And so, it arrives. Idea sprung after idea sprung. This orginal idea was presented to me by my friend Cali, and it twisted and turned into a hideous grotesque blob of goo. A few minor things are off, and I apologize for that; however this -is- fanfiction, remember, and you are -reading- this fanfiction with this warning. Many of the lose ends will be tied together in further parts -- I left them hanging, so don't tell me about them, I'll beat you. This is also very Kensuke/Daiken (more Kensuke then Daiken, however), so if you have a problem with two boys screwing eachother's brains out then you shouldn't read this fic and email me about how wrong I am. I wrote this for every person who enjoys Kensuke. This fic also includes sadomasochism, for all you other hub-jubs out there: S&M. Again, if you don't like that sort of thing, this isn't the fic for lil'ol'you!
Another minor, technical note before the story starts -- I do not own Digimon or any of the respected characters. They belong to... not me. ^^; If you'd like to contact me, please feel free to at: urameshi@aol.com. Luv~
***
Things like this meant to much to him. His breath was long lost, and the air around him was bitterly cold; the only warmth he could feel was that of the boy beside him, curled like a child, innocently tangled in a hot mass of limbs around him. Ken seemed calm, at least, or enough so to drift asleep. His partner, however, lay awake, amber eyes unfocusing and focusing on the familiar plain white ceiling. His parents would be home soon (he let his eyes fall shut), and there was no doubt that they'd be worried about him. He gazed foward in the darkness, refocusing his sight on the flashing red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand. Nine forty three -- he had about twenty minutes until she'd start worrying over him. He puffed a sigh, and let his pounding head fall back onto the pillow. (He didn't take into account that his parents were usually late, though.)
It hurt to move, even the smallest shift sent a fury of pain to his lower abdomen. He rolled over on the small bed with a groan, (the boy beside him just tugging closer in reply) eyes fixed on the numbers as they changed. Nine forty seven. He had to get up now. How long had he been lying there? Four minutes? It seemed longer, somehow. Despite his age, and despite all the times his mother was late, she still managed to worry over him. 'Keeping good time,' she would say, 'is the best thing a young boy can learn -- what are the girls going to think when you're late to your first date?' (Ken usually didn't mind if he was late, though Ken did tend to worry as well, Daisuke wasn't the brightest boy, and trouble seemed to find him more often than he found it) He would roll his eyes at her and agree verbally just to please her.
Ken flinched with the movement, but was lulled back to sleep with a feathery sigh; he was exhausted. Daisuke set either foot on the ground with a wince, shivering as the inhumanly cold floor filled his feet with the same anguish. "...ouch... damn... cold floor..." he muttered softly, closing his eyes and rubbing his side to numb the throbbing pain in his side. He stood slowly, supporting himself with his knees. (The pain wasn't that bad), he could his rear pounding in protest, (okay, maybe it was). He hissed a curse between his teeth, leaning over tenderly to grope for his lost undergarments. Once he had managed to slip into them and secure them around his waist he began his next big search -- his pants and socks. His pants weren't too hard to find (though it was a miracle if he could limp around the room, find his pants, and not knock anything over). He grinned in triumph once they too, were tightly snug around his waist. The socks were the hard part, and he had lost many of them here. His mother frequently asked him what he did with all the socks he lost. He told her that the dryer must of ate them (one time, after Ken had cleaned his room, he had brought him a whole bag of socks). After at least three minutes of searching for his abducted socks, he decided it was best to just slip on his shoes, pull on his shirt and leave. He'd get his socks at school the next day. It was increasingly hard to remember where he had thrown his clothes only a few hours before (though it was hard to remember what you were doing in a fit of passion).
Nine fifty four. Fuck. He snatched the pair of goggles from the nightstand, ('You're not a leader without these,' Taichi had said, handing him the goggles with a large grin and a shake of his finger, 'once you put them on, you're responsible for the team.') then paused before he reached the door. He couldn't leave just yet. He stepped beside the bed, gazing down at the boy cuddled beneath the folds of the dark blue sheets; his bare, pale shoulders were so white, that they seemed to glow. The long, pasty white fingers grasped onto the sheets, holding them protectively to his throat, the sweat damped azure hair in tangles around his flushed cheeks. He could hear the whispered breath that had been crying out his name (and forcing him to beg) not even an hour before. His shoulders slumped and his body relaxed, the pain was forgotten for the moment as he lavished his attention on his lover. He reached out without hesitation, and tucked a few strands of the blue hair behind the ghostly white boy's ear, whispering softly: "Kenchan... look, I have to go now..."
The other boy leaned into his touch unconciously, his body shifting toward him in passive protest. The hand drew down his cheek, and over the slender jaw, he could see, vividly the contrast between their skin (the contrast between them). A smile tugged at the corners of his dry lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright...?" His hand slipped down brushing over his waist before moving over the creaking boards to the door, careful to close it silently; his bare feet padding against the white carpet (that was so finely taken care of), and down the stairs. No one was here. No one was ever here. He had only caught glimpses of Ken's parents before, he knew, inside, that they were nice people, but they devoted themselves constantly to work. At times, he felt really bad for Ken, he came home alone, made dinner alone, and went to bed alone (well, not much anymore); so Daisuke had made sure to see him to bed at least three times a week, and eat dinner with him at least four, or invite him over; or do something with him. Kenneeded people, and he had witnessed what happened when Ken didn't have company ('Get on your knees,' he said cooly, 'get on your knees and beg for your friends back!'), and he didn't ever want Ken to feel that way again. Takeru and Iori made it quite clear, at first, that they didn't trust the blue haired boy; but from later actions, the team agreed in the end, that Ken had changed. Even Hikari found it pleasant to speak with him. However, Ken never considered himself part of the team, despite Daisuke's whining protests.
He passed down the staircase walls, pausing to inspect a picture of Ken's older brother in the darkness, still left hanging after ten years of absence. (He did look a like like the Kaiser -- or the Kaiser looked a lot like him, right?) He let his gaze fall shut, his head turn away and his feet continue down the last of the steps. His shoes were where he left him, waiting for him; the thin green sweater hanging above them. He tugged it over his head, became one with his tacky old gym shoes and headed out the door. It was colder than he thought it would be, he watched his breath become a large puff of warm air before fumbling in his pockets for his keys. Ken had given him a key to his house, he had frequented there so many times, than Ken found it more than plausible to get him a key; and when he left late at night, he could lock the door. His fingers ached, unwilling to move properly as Daisuke locked the door. His body shivering with another fresh gust of wind. The frosted sidewalk was illuminated with the buzzing street lights, and the night was crisp and clear (and a little too cold). It could snow any day now, and the month of January was flying by, like it always did.
His back still hurt. It burned with a new pain, now that he was walking; and his thighs began to protest, stiff and rigid. He drew his arms across his chest, tugging the sweatshirt closer. "...shit, Ken..." Ken betrayed his gentle, quiet appearance. The only person who knew this so well was Daisuke. He knew Ken more than anyone else would or could. Hopefully he'd be able to catch the last bus up to Odiba. He didn't want to call his mom again, he knew he wouldn't be able to walk home the way he was.
The luck of Motomiya Daisuke never failed. He brightened as he spotted the vehicle up the road, breaking into a stiffed run, managing to halt the driver and clamber aboard. He was a heavy set man, probably in his mid forties, with a face like Santa Claus and a short, whiskery white beard to match. "...you okay, son?" He asked, his voice rolling in his throat, concerned.
The few passangers that had gathered on the bus paused to look at him, craning their necks over the sides of their seats to see what the jolly old man was talking about. Daisuke was breathless, and his body was stiff, painfully burning, and cold beneath the worn clothes. "...yea, 'm okay." He replied, cocking a brow a bit. Why wouldn't he be?
The man offered him a worried, concerning glance before pulling a handle to close the bus doors. "...no reason, son, you just look like you've been beat up pretty badly. You're heading to Odaiba, right?"
"..." There was an audible pause, before Daisuke spoke again, "...yea, that's where 'm goin'."
His mom was in a flutter when he stepped through the door. "Daisuke!! I was about to call Ken's house! I was getting worried!" She always did this, despite her own obvious flakeyness. She was his mom, and she worried. He knew that, so he humored her.
"S'alright, mum, 'm okay." He rubbed an eye with the sleeve of the sweatshirt and offered her his usual lopsided grin. He lowered his arms and shrugged at her. "...we just... really got inta' studyin' s'all..." He was physically exhausted, the pain had long since been numbed to a thin buzz that he knew was going to be freshly awakened in the morning. He hadn't had a chance to look in the mirror, but, he was sure he was bruised in the face (or the bus driver wouldn't have noticed anything).
She noticed too, because the moment she set her eyes on him she rushed over to cup his face in her hands, her eyes filled with a new, instinctual concern. Her thumbs ran over his bruised cheeks and he winced. She pursed her lips softly and asked him, her eyes not leaving the markings on his face. "...Daisuke, this is the fifth time you've come home like this, is someone beating you up? Did you get robbed? Is someone after you?"
Daisuke's expression flickered but he managed a weak laugh. "No, mum... I jus'... fell down the stairs at Ken's house, 'e was wit' me th' entire time, mum, really! 'm okay." He waved his hand, brushing it away as if it were nothing. He was tough, as well as absolutely exhausted. "...I think 'm jus' gonna take a shower an' go ta bed."
"Are you sure?" She asked quietly, massaging his cheek with her thumb. "I left you dinner in the refrigorator." She was really worried, he could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes, her actions.
He just smiled at her, trying to reassure her. "I'll be fine, mum." He broke away from her gently, taking her wrists and lowering them back down, side-stepping around her and heading toward the bathroom.
That was the end of it.
He could feel her eyes searching his back, he ignored it.
It had been five years.
Five years the whole world of Motomiya Daisuke had changed.