A/N: Needed to upload something after four months... Just a drabble though...


Warped.

Their relationship had always been twisted even before they were Kings: in the days where they were merely acquaintances yet something more– though mentions of their embarrassing pubescent years were never verbally said just hung in the air. Neither the Red King nor the Blue King found their relationship anything but ordinary. In fact it had become something they reached naturally, slowly, and oppressively.

But as though forced like the same polar magnet trying to touch the other, they spent their days grasping at the other. Every kiss filled with a hungry needing lust and their hands all too often roamed hastily into sensitive crooks. Each clawed at the other man to obtain his own selfish need, his own selfish full.

He could not remember the exact details of how the arrangement took place or how it managed to stay stable for so long. Although an intelligent guess was during Mikoto's bereavement for the man who was always by his side when Munakata wasn't (couldn't).

Specifics did not matter for if he could give Mikoto what he wanted– needed –even for a moment, then he would do so. For Munakata would love being used but nothing of kin to masochism; it was the knowledge that the Red King, no, Mikoto solely needed him: needed only him to fill the void the he had left. Trapping them both in a loop of wanting some thing they could not truly have. If that was Munakata's pure love of Mikoto or the dead man's dream lost in Mikoto himself.

But if time taught them anything it was the more they spent the bright days as opposing yet cooperating Kings and those dark nights in sex, the more they came entangled in the other. Trapping them in a mess too warped to escape. Pulling away only caused burning friction (although the heat was more a kink to Mikoto's warped ways) and cheaply cutting the many tangled ties only brought them both down.

As if now they had become too deep in something they did not know what to call themselves. Whilst words were masked professionally, their eyes would hide their pain. Pain: an always frequent resident in the kings lives. Blistering one's throat with emotion that was too hard, much too hard for anyone, to breath let alone scream a raspy curse at the world. A wordless promise– would have been a burden if they did not feel the same –made the kings attach more, made them snatch at the other, made them cling to something stable (but of course both unstable as the other), because sharing their lover's pain hid their own.

So it was rather cruel of him– he knew that at least –to depart from the snowy plains by pushing a heavy burden, both in heart and profession, onto the man his life entwined with. More cruel were his last words. Those not of thanks, nor any sort of confession of his true heart for the Blue King.

Nothing said for the man who had always held him when he could stand no more.

Nothing directed to the man holding his limp bloodied body with only an arm and a sword...