Disclaimer: Just borrowing.
A/N: One-shot, uke Seto, first person POV. I originally wrote this as a gift fic for my best friend. It has no point other than just to exist, hehe, and I hope you like it just as much as she did ^_^
Can you guess who is who? ^_~
R&R!
I watch the sky fall, and it is beautiful. The crimson melting into the pale putrid clouds bleeds into my soul, liquid fire burning my essence. I sound sadistic, but I'm not.
I am far more than nothing.
I am innocent, corrupt by my own musings.
I am naïve, tortured by my own intelligence.
I am bound to a prison I cannot free myself from.
It is a self-created prison, one that was there before my presence, and one that I have no choice over. I only choose to bury myself beneath pages and letters regarding nothing of importance, thinking to live.
But I do not.
I am dying because of my fear. My own cowardice strangles my will.
And, I hate the dark.
It scares me.
I laugh at the thought, but it's true, and I shudder away from it.
The feeling starts in my chest, a slow tumultuous churning that makes my thighs tremble and shoulders shiver, but my heart does not beat out of place. It's peaceful, a rhythmic sound that lulls my terrified body to sleep. A cry in the shadows affects my fingers, unknowing that it is my own, and they shake without consent, but I do not move.
My non-existent blanket is my security, wound tightly against my hands.
That, and my secret, wound tightly about my heart.
It's the one that waits in the night; the thing that frightens me. It isn't the dark that makes my breath hitch or my muscles knot or any of those other unpleasant, yet oh, so gratifying emotions I crave. He remains there in the silhouetted door, watching, smirking, satisfied that I have not said anything to anyone (the lies I could conceive with but a flickering of my tongue) about our ploy. He is the thing that I hate but cannot live without.
I touch strands of my hair in the most caring caress of tenderness, loving it and disliking the look I receive. I am handsome but cruel to him. I exist as a heart without conviction, a meandering spirit without a reason to behave in the art of masochism I indulge in.
Why do I think of this?
The entrapment of power he wields over me is never-ending.
I am his forever and beyond eternity.
I sigh into his ear when he touches my shoulder, arms instantly entangle as the hard surface beneath me welcomes us, and I feel wanted. His alien embrace washes away the blue pretense of loneliness I feel. I am new to this tryst, to these feelings, but he is not, and I blindly follow where he leads.
But, I'm afraid again. Afraid of the dark that surrounds us (a solitary candle hisses faintly in the emptiness), afraid of the hold he locks me in with or without my consent.
I always succumb.
His eyes are too enchanting, warm and bottomless. I could get lost in them, drown in them, die blissfully in them.
He senses the hesitation and welds our lips together, so tightly I can't breathe.
But he is my air. I need nothing else.
I moan his name, fingers trembling against invisible tresses as ebony as the growing blackness in my brain.
I'm going numb. I want to scream.
It's all that I remember.
* * *
Light burns into my closed eyes, waking my senses, and I feel dead warmth leaving my body, evidence of our time together and his ghostly presence. He never stays with me, but I am always alone.
I sit up for the first time since our game began, it had been nothing more to him than that, and I blink, unable to recognize where I am.
Oh.
The realization hits me, and it hurts. I cannot lie to myself and say that it does not. I'm in my office, in my house, and I'm lying in my empty chair, half dressed. My desk is vacant of papers, their whiteness is scattered on the floor, and books are de-shelved, pages ripped and torn in rushed carelessness.
And, the thoughts of last night come flooding back to me.
I cringe, whimpering as the tears burn my face. I can taste them, as I still taste him, and I curl into my own embrace at the feel of him touching me, at the vibration of his words in my ear.
I hate this; there is nothing but the love I feel for him.
I don't know why I survive. The pain is too much to bear.
I can't see anymore. I've lost my inspiration to live, but he pulls me back to the world he has created.
He becomes my eyes, but he lacks vision.
I cry.
There is nothing else to do.
I gave up fighting some time ago, and he likes that I do not resist him. I could not, even if I wanted to.
Why dispute the inevitable?
* * *
I sit numbly behind my desk, book shaking visibly between my fingers. He's staring at me. I can feel it through the defenses I have elected to die in.
He unnerves me.
It makes me feel weak, my knees are already buckling, and I am an exposed child once again.
I never used to be like this.
I was resilient.
I was strong.
I was proud like the mighty Blue Eyes White Dragon, but I lost my flame, my bite, my vigor.
I am his prisoner, happy to be captive in his jail, misplaced without his direction. He is the zealous one, and I am less than he.
But I am more than nothing.
Aren't I?
* * *
I curl into my own embrace, in the corner, in the shadows. He is watching me again, my ever-constant judge, and I cannot take it anymore. I cry out his name, accusing him, slaying him with my tongue, but he does nothing. I rise to my feet, the ghostly hands of the sheet caressing my skin as it slips to the floor, and I am naked before him.
He seems not to notice.
He always takes me lazily, fiercely, too uncontrollably fast.
I scream at him suddenly, his green eyes blazing questionably in the dark.
I like his eyes.
I could drown in them, die blissfully in them.
His mouth moves, but I don't hear the words, and the pain is scalding my skin, the tears are streaking my face. I fall to my knees, asking him everything.
What's wrong with me?
Why?
His lips are on my cheek, kissing away my grief, and his fingers are digging into my shoulders. He is forcing me backwards, onto the translucent carpet, and I do not fight against him.
I always succumb.
He moves roughly, assuring me I am perfect, there is no answer, and I submit to him without hesitation, greedy to live with his touch.
I fly into the dirty light, liberating my soul with each plunge we take, and I tumble into oblivion as he shivers harshly against me.
I close my eyes and do nothing but hold him, temporarily at peace with myself. He is lush against my sweaty forehead.
"I love you."
His voice is soft, still, and saccharine.
My heart stops.
I can't breathe anymore.
The agony is too great.
I cling to him and sob unabashedly, knowing that this isn't a dream.
And, it is then that I truly want to keep him.
I finally know what I am.
I am yours, Ryouji Otogi.
Forever.
I love you, too.
A/N: Please Review!
A/N: One-shot, uke Seto, first person POV. I originally wrote this as a gift fic for my best friend. It has no point other than just to exist, hehe, and I hope you like it just as much as she did ^_^
Can you guess who is who? ^_~
R&R!
I watch the sky fall, and it is beautiful. The crimson melting into the pale putrid clouds bleeds into my soul, liquid fire burning my essence. I sound sadistic, but I'm not.
I am far more than nothing.
I am innocent, corrupt by my own musings.
I am naïve, tortured by my own intelligence.
I am bound to a prison I cannot free myself from.
It is a self-created prison, one that was there before my presence, and one that I have no choice over. I only choose to bury myself beneath pages and letters regarding nothing of importance, thinking to live.
But I do not.
I am dying because of my fear. My own cowardice strangles my will.
And, I hate the dark.
It scares me.
I laugh at the thought, but it's true, and I shudder away from it.
The feeling starts in my chest, a slow tumultuous churning that makes my thighs tremble and shoulders shiver, but my heart does not beat out of place. It's peaceful, a rhythmic sound that lulls my terrified body to sleep. A cry in the shadows affects my fingers, unknowing that it is my own, and they shake without consent, but I do not move.
My non-existent blanket is my security, wound tightly against my hands.
That, and my secret, wound tightly about my heart.
It's the one that waits in the night; the thing that frightens me. It isn't the dark that makes my breath hitch or my muscles knot or any of those other unpleasant, yet oh, so gratifying emotions I crave. He remains there in the silhouetted door, watching, smirking, satisfied that I have not said anything to anyone (the lies I could conceive with but a flickering of my tongue) about our ploy. He is the thing that I hate but cannot live without.
I touch strands of my hair in the most caring caress of tenderness, loving it and disliking the look I receive. I am handsome but cruel to him. I exist as a heart without conviction, a meandering spirit without a reason to behave in the art of masochism I indulge in.
Why do I think of this?
The entrapment of power he wields over me is never-ending.
I am his forever and beyond eternity.
I sigh into his ear when he touches my shoulder, arms instantly entangle as the hard surface beneath me welcomes us, and I feel wanted. His alien embrace washes away the blue pretense of loneliness I feel. I am new to this tryst, to these feelings, but he is not, and I blindly follow where he leads.
But, I'm afraid again. Afraid of the dark that surrounds us (a solitary candle hisses faintly in the emptiness), afraid of the hold he locks me in with or without my consent.
I always succumb.
His eyes are too enchanting, warm and bottomless. I could get lost in them, drown in them, die blissfully in them.
He senses the hesitation and welds our lips together, so tightly I can't breathe.
But he is my air. I need nothing else.
I moan his name, fingers trembling against invisible tresses as ebony as the growing blackness in my brain.
I'm going numb. I want to scream.
It's all that I remember.
* * *
Light burns into my closed eyes, waking my senses, and I feel dead warmth leaving my body, evidence of our time together and his ghostly presence. He never stays with me, but I am always alone.
I sit up for the first time since our game began, it had been nothing more to him than that, and I blink, unable to recognize where I am.
Oh.
The realization hits me, and it hurts. I cannot lie to myself and say that it does not. I'm in my office, in my house, and I'm lying in my empty chair, half dressed. My desk is vacant of papers, their whiteness is scattered on the floor, and books are de-shelved, pages ripped and torn in rushed carelessness.
And, the thoughts of last night come flooding back to me.
I cringe, whimpering as the tears burn my face. I can taste them, as I still taste him, and I curl into my own embrace at the feel of him touching me, at the vibration of his words in my ear.
I hate this; there is nothing but the love I feel for him.
I don't know why I survive. The pain is too much to bear.
I can't see anymore. I've lost my inspiration to live, but he pulls me back to the world he has created.
He becomes my eyes, but he lacks vision.
I cry.
There is nothing else to do.
I gave up fighting some time ago, and he likes that I do not resist him. I could not, even if I wanted to.
Why dispute the inevitable?
* * *
I sit numbly behind my desk, book shaking visibly between my fingers. He's staring at me. I can feel it through the defenses I have elected to die in.
He unnerves me.
It makes me feel weak, my knees are already buckling, and I am an exposed child once again.
I never used to be like this.
I was resilient.
I was strong.
I was proud like the mighty Blue Eyes White Dragon, but I lost my flame, my bite, my vigor.
I am his prisoner, happy to be captive in his jail, misplaced without his direction. He is the zealous one, and I am less than he.
But I am more than nothing.
Aren't I?
* * *
I curl into my own embrace, in the corner, in the shadows. He is watching me again, my ever-constant judge, and I cannot take it anymore. I cry out his name, accusing him, slaying him with my tongue, but he does nothing. I rise to my feet, the ghostly hands of the sheet caressing my skin as it slips to the floor, and I am naked before him.
He seems not to notice.
He always takes me lazily, fiercely, too uncontrollably fast.
I scream at him suddenly, his green eyes blazing questionably in the dark.
I like his eyes.
I could drown in them, die blissfully in them.
His mouth moves, but I don't hear the words, and the pain is scalding my skin, the tears are streaking my face. I fall to my knees, asking him everything.
What's wrong with me?
Why?
His lips are on my cheek, kissing away my grief, and his fingers are digging into my shoulders. He is forcing me backwards, onto the translucent carpet, and I do not fight against him.
I always succumb.
He moves roughly, assuring me I am perfect, there is no answer, and I submit to him without hesitation, greedy to live with his touch.
I fly into the dirty light, liberating my soul with each plunge we take, and I tumble into oblivion as he shivers harshly against me.
I close my eyes and do nothing but hold him, temporarily at peace with myself. He is lush against my sweaty forehead.
"I love you."
His voice is soft, still, and saccharine.
My heart stops.
I can't breathe anymore.
The agony is too great.
I cling to him and sob unabashedly, knowing that this isn't a dream.
And, it is then that I truly want to keep him.
I finally know what I am.
I am yours, Ryouji Otogi.
Forever.
I love you, too.
A/N: Please Review!