warning: if ur faint of heart u may want to avoid this fic !
Ivan smiles slightly as his fingers glide along Yao's skin. Yao is beautiful, and he always has been, now moreso from when he was just a child. He had grown taller, albeit that he wasn't in any way tall compared to Ivan. He had grown his hair out too, and no longer hid it away under a hat or hair accessory. Ivan's fingers tangle through Yao's soft, copper hair, and he sighs. Yao is so beautiful, and Ivan cannot help but love every part of him.
Back when they were both children, Ivan's love resounded loudly through primary school. He would tell everyone how he was in deep, enthralling, powerful love with Yao. Everyone laughed. Yao had been one of the popular kids, one of the untouchables for lower-class losers like Ivan Braginsky. Ivan was beaten more than once for being a disgusting faggot. Yet, he persisted, he followed after Yao and gave him gifts and love proclamations. Nothing seemed to truly make Yao fall in love with him. Or fall for him even a little. As far as Ivan was concerned, Yao was indifferent to him.
This pattern carried on through not only primary school, but middle school, and it dragged itself into high school as well. Ivan tried for the hockey team, wondering if Yao was into sporty guys. He had never bothered to ask if Yao was gay in the first place; the thought merely never occurred to him. Yet, he persisted, giving Yao a new gift daily, and writing poetry to express his inner feelings about the upperclassman, which he hoped and hoped would one day be reciprocated.. Ivan was naturally devastated when Yao graduated two years ahead of him.
There was a pause in Ivan's communication in this time, as he simply did not know where Yao was. After he too had graduated, it didn't take him that long to trace his object of affection's whereabouts. It seemed Yao was living in a small apartment on the other side of town, and he had a job at a restaurant. Ivan didn't consider himself too bad a chef; he could cook something quite lovely if he wished. Although he already had some adeptness in the field, Ivan took to studying the culinary arts.
He was thrilled when he got the acceptance letter from the restaurant. It had taken him a whole year to get the qualifications, but finally, he was to be working as a chef in the same restaurant as Yao. Ivan dressed in black for his first day at work, tying back his scarf and finding himself an apron. He quite enjoyed cooking, and thought it an easy recline from the stress of taxes and bills that needed to be paid.
Yao was not as excited that Ivan was joining him at the restaurant. He had always thought Ivan was kind of creepy, what with his relentless 'love' and his undying affection. Yao had never responded, because that is what his parents had advised him to do. He really wasn't looking forward to working with Ivan. He just wanted him gone. "Ah.. You are.. working here now?" Yao said, yet Ivan did not turn his head from where he was practicedly slicing meat. "Ivan?" Ivan's head turned quite quickly, and he flashed a blinding smile.
"Yes! Isn't this great?" he chirped, very happy to be sharing a workplace with his love. "We can be together!"
"Hah.." laughed Yao weakly, feeling disturbed more than anything. "I never took you for a master of the culinary arts, Ivan."
"Oh, I never was. I just knew you worked here," he hummed.
"So.. you got qualifications just to work here with me?" he murmured quietly. "Not because you like to cook?"
Ivan laughed. "Oh, I like cooking. It's just an added bonus." Yao fell silent after that, and tried to forget that entire conversation.
He watched Ivan out of the corner of his eye, and it sent shivers down his spine when Ivan's head would suddenly turn, and he would smile and wave. Ivan gave a really bad aura, and Yao could only describe himself as scared. Ivan wouldn't leave him alone during school, and he had to keep following him? What came next? Would the love confessions continue to bombard him? Would Ivan pull out a ring? Yao could only worry and wait.
One evening, as Yao went to leave, Ivan caught him with a hand to Yao's shoulder. "Hey, wait up," Ivan smiled, a smile as sweet as he could muster.
"What is it?" Yao asked quietly, looking up at the tall man.
"I want to talk to you," softly whined Ivan, laughing in a clearly nervous manner. Yao dipped his head weakly. "Right, well," he scoffed quietly, walking out of the restaurant and into the car park with Yao. "Yao, I have a question." Yao braced himself for the worst, practically sweating bullets.
"Are you gay?" Ivan asked, hands held behind him as he walked. "I realize I've never asked you that. Is that why you do not feel the same burning love I do for you?" he queried softly, smiling faintly.
"Ivan, I'm gay," Yao answered quietly, fiddling with his hands as he neared his car. "I just.. don't like you." Ivan felt as if he'd been shot.
"W-what? What about me don't you like? I can change it for you!" Ivan insisted, eyes wide as he tried not to tear up.
"I just don't like you, Ivan. You can't change that, because you are the problem." Yao muttered softly. He didn't feel remorse for being so harsh. Ivan had frightened him all through his schooling years.
"Why?" Ivan asked in a soft and broken voice, taking Yao by the throat and pressing him against his car. "Why is that?" Yao grew alarmed quickly, and held onto Ivan's thick wrists. It was, at this point, a struggle to breathe, and he gasped for the air Ivan was refusing to give to him.
"L-let me .. g-.." he wheezed, and Ivan loosened his hold a little. "You just scare me, Ivan! No means no, and I just don't like you!" Ivan whimpered, and Yao realized he'd chosen his last words badly.
Ivan looks at Yao as he lays, broken, upon Ivan's kitchen bench. It is the only place Yao will fit; Ivan doesn't have another large and flat surface, not one that will fit Yao's cold body. He is so cold, Ivan observes, as he leans in and touches their foreheads. This is the only time he and Yao will ever share a romantic moment. He leans down, causing his warm, soft lips to meet Yao's cold, dry ones. Yao hasn't been dead for too long, but he has already grown wintry and pale. Ivan sighs and kisses him, and kisses him again, and kisses him for all the times he could not have kissed him in the past. Ivan's lips are also cold by the time he grows tired of that.
Ivan paces around the kitchen, wondering what on earth he was to do to dispose of his lover's body. His dear, sweet, innocent little lover lay in front of him; his dear, sweet, innocent little lover, who had never been any of those things. Definitely not his. He lets himself pander to his imagination. Yao was a beautiful man. Ivan changes his mind. Yao is a beautiful man, even as he lays, cold and dead on Ivan's kitchen bench. Yao is not a man who should go to waste, and a quiet, twisted idea starts to buzz about Ivan's head. Yao is already in the perfect position.
Ivan first bleeds Yao, knowing that blood will do no good. He calmly executes a slice to the throat, severing the necessary blood vessels and arteries. He is not a messy man; he has some containers set up to capture Yao's blood. Ivan is quite thankful for the part-time work he did at the slaughterhouse. Yao is much more beautiful than a cow or a pig, however. Yao is perfect, and Ivan will make sure his body is used in a sublime way to match. Lightly, he cuts off Yao's shirt with a clean knife, not wanting to get it all bloody. He gently folds it, and puts it to the side. Yao's chest is beautiful, soft and smooth, and Ivan finds himself almost in tears as he strokes it. He wonders what Yao's beating heart might have sounded like.
The bleeding eventually slows, and Ivan takes in a deep breath. He had never been fond of this part while at the slaughterhouse, and he is not too thrilled now, either. With the knife he has been sharpening almost religiously, Ivan beheads his lover. It is a clean, near-surgical cut, from Yao's throat to the back of his head. Ivan is glad he chose to wear an apron. He had previously moved Yao's hair back so it wouldn't be cut as well, and as he lifts Yao's heavy head in one hand, he lightly plays with the beautiful tresses. It is a shame Yao didn't love him back.
After putting down Yao's head on some cloth, Ivan gets to skinning the body. It's a messy process, but he has it over and done with before long. He sighs as he moves the ill-cut skin aside, setting up a viscera bucket, too. Yao's skin is so soft, and it is unfortunate it won't be part of this little ceremony of sorts. Ivan guts his love after first stripping away the flesh he will use later. He takes from Yao his kidneys and lungs, and even his heart. He wishes he could have stolen Yao's heart from him when it was still beating. Frowning, he holds the dull red organ in his hands, letting his thumb stroke it from one side to the other.
After separating viscera from the better bits, Ivan starts to sort through the actual meat. Once done carving fillets from arms and legs, Ivan puts it away in his freezer, wrapped lightly to keep the different cuts from freezing together. That would be no good. As he finishes stripping the tasteful meat from Yao's body, he sets aside the parts he cannot use, and sits down at his small table, holding Yao's head in his hands.
"You could have just loved me," he says to the severed head, brushing Yao's hair back from his closed eyes. "I didn't mean to have done this," he insists, lowering his head as if it was surrogate for a genuine apology. "What else was I to do with you?" He stays quiet a while, as if expecting an answer from those cold, dead lips. Nothing comes, and Ivan feels himself tear up. "You will not be going to waste, Yao," he claims quietly. "Finally, you and I will come together, we will exist in one body and one soul." This twisted mantra is what he repeats to himself in a whisper as he stands and finishes sorting the parts of Yao he cannot use. He loves them, as he loves all of Yao, but he couldn't eat those ones.
As the days pass, Ivan makes sure he loves every part of Yao. As far as anyone knows, Yao has gone on early holiday. With every passing moment, Ivan tells himself he is just letting Yao join him within his being, and once each cut, each fillet is devoured, they will become of one soul. Meals range from stir-fry, to curry, to spiced and fried, to grilled, to boiled, to battered. Ivan is a fine chef, and his pallet is never bored with him.
This evening, Ivan pulls the last piece from his fridge, a slender piece of meat from Yao's stomach. He has been defrosting this one almost all day in there. He is almost sad that Yao is nearly gone; he has grown accustomed to the light pork-like taste of human meat. He turns this last piece of his lover into a stew, dicing it and putting it in the mix with a beautifully soft blend of spices. As he sits alone at the dinner table, he eats in the melancholy silence he has grown used to. As is the way of a killer, a sociopath, a psychopath; whatever label Ivan wants to give himself that day.
After his meal, Ivan cleans the dishes, and moves to go to bed. He falters in front of his freezer, and turns to face it. Slowly, he opens the door, a shaky, broken smile curling his lips when he sees Yao's severed head within his freezer. "Hello," he says quietly. "How has your day been, honey?" Ivan whimpers between words, hitting his head lightly against the freezer door. "How's work? Are you feeling ill? I love you," he whispers. "Are you lonely? I can.. I can get you a friend," he mumbles, contemplating just how easy it would be to find a new food supply. He could grab a customer from the restaurant, or take a schoolgirl or boy while they were walking home. He'd read that the younger the subject, the softer the meat.
"Goodnight, my dear Yao," he says under his breath, reaching into the freezer and lightly stroking Yao's cheek with his thumb. "I'll have someone to join you tomorrow."
can u guys tell i started hannibal last night
the first thing i publish in ages and its this twisted little love story
ah, writing, how i love thee