Disclaimer: Don't own TRC. I do, however, own several KuroFai pics I drew on me own. :Chesire Cat grin:
Whaddup, yawl?
Due to the positive feedback I've gotten from many (read: 5) readers and their asking if there will be more from me…well, I've just decided to go ahead and fulfill that wish! Not entirely sure whether or not anymore oneshots will be forthcoming, due to the fact that I've gotten a crossover idea. I unno. Get back to me on this.
This is a very strange little drabble with a very strange twisted ending. Read and enjoy, fanz. Nya.
Summary: Just some KuroFai vignettes, cause I can't think of anything else to write right now. Nyaa.
Rating: Mostly Teen, light and heavy. I'd ask that if you're not a fan of yaoi/shonen-ai/BL that you not read these. Despite what you may believe, I DO work hard on these. Mmmkay? Mmmkay.
Not Another KuroFai Oneshot Column!
Written by the Illustrious Half-Light
Movement First: Wondering and Learning
Your head and hair feels good on my chest, and the puffs of air in your deep slumber are so very soothing. But you're there and I'm here, and all I have are these thoughts, one after another, the things I've wondered and the things I've learned.
I've wondered for the longest time just how long you've kept that cucumber-cool, detached mask of yours—it's in your demeanor, or lack thereof I should say. Sweet, beautiful darling, what happened that caused you to wear this mask? Why is it that you have to hide the sorrow deep within?
I've learned, beloved, that I am not the only one with scars; that I am not the only one whose history mars my skin with white reminders of my past. The successes, mistakes, things that maybe were both or neither—everything is written in that delicate swipe, the gentle mar that graces your skin as I cradle you.
I've wondered why you seem to like me so; haven't I done everything I can to distance myself from you, tried to save you from the pain I've caused and know I will cause to you? My hands tighten in that beautiful hair of yours as I hate and love you in an instant. Then both fade way to weary understanding. No. I don't understand, and I wonder. But that's okay for you, isn't it? Knowing that as we rush into battle, arms raised against this creature or that for the sake of a simple feather, you'll be at my back, and I'll be at yours. Quid pro quo, give and take, a game.
I've learned that, once you trust a person, you like to be touched. Again, this isn't something I think I'm quite used to yet in you, the way you're always just out of reach. But you didn't fight after the battle, when I took your hand. You simply closed your eyes as I tore my cape to shreds and bound your wounds. I remember we took our places—opposite sides of the kids—but somehow that touch lingered in my heart, no matter how I tried to push it out.
I've wondered if you stay awake at night, looking at the sky through the ceiling and letting fly your sighs and quaking, shaky breaths, remembering the fires that burnt your past. What was it—a lover, a friend, a brother? What is it that you run from? Are you even running?…I don't know. I only know that it's sometime after midnight that you roll over, sigh, and slip into sleep like a pair of old pajamas.
The only reason I know this is because I learned, seen, caught a glimpse of who or what you really are, after that day, after you espied that one you once knew, your face grew ashen white and that comfortable mask slipped just a little—you couldn't see it, but oh, could I, oh how could I not? And the rest of that day was spent in silence in that little group.
I wondered what dream it was that tore you violently from that dream and ripped your throat to shreds with a scream, with me by your side in an instant. You clung to me that night and I held you tenderly—not a habit, but needed, all the same—until your ragged breaths subsided and sleep reclaimed you once more. I wished you the most blissful oblivion possible and then cradled you like a lover that night, even daring a little nibble at your ear, a lick at your lips. You tasted like the chicken soba we'd bought for lunch earlier that day. I made a mental note chicken soba was from now on my new favorite food.
I learned after that that you didn't like being alone. That with that same voice you'd always used you grunted you'd hold down the fort, just like that. Only to find that, when I came home, you were huddled in a corner with tears down your cheeks. I told the kids I wanted to take a soak and it's all right, start dinner without me, and Kurogane's asleep and would you take care please not to wake him up? The rest of the day until sunset I spent holding you and stroking that hair, whispering words and songs from my land into your ear until your consciousness danced into nothing, and I rested with you again that night.
I wondered if the begrudging 'thank you' was something you really meant or just said out of habit. But you did mean it, didn't you? Because you stayed a little closer after that; you let me see a little more of you under the cover of dark, because dark was okay and you could deny it later. Isn't it funny? We both hide in the dark. But I admire you for your—
You snore; softly, but hey, they also say a rose by another name would be just as sweet. So the bowling pins that are my thoughts line neatly up again. You're starting to affect me, dammit. Oh well…it's not all bad.
Where was I? Oh, yes. I learned the effects of alcohol on you. The mistakes I'd made in the wake of those eyes and the bottles you left behind you. You must really like alcohol; because it tastes good, or because it numbs the pain?
I still wonder what made you ask me, almost grudgingly, if I wanted to join you at the local inn to buy a drink or two. I know now; it's because you didn't want to be alone. And so we went and bought some wine and sake, brought it home. We shared some with Sakura. Only a little.
I learned last night just what goes on behind those eyes. The face you showed me up until now was a rock-solid mask. But it was only when the knight and his lady retired with the creature to bed that the two of us lay across from one another, souls bare with the stink of alcohol, looking out from behind our eyes. Seeing your eyes, the pain…oh, god, I just wanted to hold you, to kiss those eyes, make you forget if only for a little while what haunted you.
And I wonder just what possessed you to make that first move, to place a hand on my thigh and press those lips against mine, this time the taste of vodka and ginger ale. Whatever possessed you, us, to entwine our limbs, lips, everything in that slow, passionate dance I am eternally indebted to.
You're shivering, lover-mine, are you cold? I plant a soft, wet, lingering kiss on your forehead and pull the coverlet up around us. But your shaking doesn't stop and I realize with dread what you must be crying about.
I've learned that you cry, even when we consummated our passion—lust, desire, love, same thing in the rush of hormones. I remember feeling wetness on my lips as I kissed your cheekbones, trying to reassure you it's okay, I won't hurt you, just close your eyes and let it go. But then I tasted salt and realized with horror that you were crying. I should have ended it then and there, but your arms were too strong and you wouldn't let me pull away. By the time you let go, I couldn't have, even if I had wanted to.
I wonder what brought on those tears now as we lay together on these sheets. I remember asking you last night through a haze, trying to kiss what I had caused away. You evaded, telling me they were tears of happiness underneath choked words and reassuring smiles.
I learned that you are really bad at evading things.
And as you tremble against me and stir, and I know you're to awaken soon, I wonder just what it was that made you this way, so defensive, so afraid, what reduced you to this trembling mass of a man.
And I have no doubt I'll learn. But as your eyes fly open and you gasp at breath I have no time as I kiss your face, those eyes, each and every individual finger telling you it's all right, it's all right, the demons are gone and are you still tired? Yes? Then go back to sleep, koibito, I'm still here and I won't leave.
And so as you resettle against me in the morning light and drift off to sleep as easily as you left it, I wonder what it was that drew us together in the night.
But I've learned that it doesn't matter. None of it does, Kuro-tan, because I love you even when that person you were cries underneath that stone mask.
Now time for sleep. I'm tired from all this comforting. I can only hope as my eyes slide close that you sleep well, my beloved, my own, my Kurogane.
Sticks and stones can break your bones
But words can be decieving,
So leave the authoress a review
And the rewards will be pleasing!
Okay, review whoring aside: Seriously, folks, I appreciate feedback so long as it remains positive and constructive. I remember my dad asking me two years ago why I needed reviews so badly; and now I understand it's because writers NEED an audience just as winter-parched earth needs rain (note that I didn't say desert; deserts are their own ecosystem and, as such, can function on as little rain as possible. In fact, I think too much water would destroy a desert..). Writing is a give and take job; I give you enjoyment, and I take into consideration your comments; you take your enjoyment, in turn, and give me what you think. That way, I can improve, and everybody's happy.
In general: Feedback's appreciated, nyaa! Help me become a better writer!
Jaaa neeeee.
:Half-Light
