Allure
By Kiley Sullivan (Flair)
For Cynthia's "Weird Couples" Contest
And then, suddenly, the curtains were gone, and he was standing in the middle of a field that stretched far beyond all capabilities of sight and imagination. It was white; snow, crystalline, glittering with the light of a thousand diamonds, like a field of icy knives, and he stood right in the middle; cold, alone, the only comfort radiating from the burning, fiery red sun glimmering in the pitch black sky above. He shivered, pulling his thin shirt closer around him, begging for the heat from the sun... and he was down on his knees, the ice cutting into the wispy fabric, biting into his pale flesh as he pressed his hands against the cold ground.
He leaned back, staring with dumb fascination at the cuts, the streaks of ruby red blood sliced across his pale palms, a burning red drop slipping to the ground where it lay there, blood on the snow; then, as he watched, the blood sprouted up into a tiny stem, tiny leaves, and then, a tiny flower, blooming there in the middle of the barren, cold world. It was blue, ice blue, like his eyes only distorted, colder, bluer, icier... a mocking parody of the colour of the Kaiser's eyes, so cold. And the flower blossomed open, revealing the centre to be dark, midnight, blue... swirling, enthralling, the darkness pulled at him, pulled...
He grabbed onto his own shoulders, hugging, squeezing, tried to regain some warmth from the fire far above, unreachable, wincing at the fiery pain of the cuts biting into the soft flesh of his hands. And then they were freezing, ice emanating from the open wounds, twining around his pale hands, streaks of icy numbness and pain climbing up his arms. He cried out in horror, glancing down at the flower, and felt himself being pulled in by the darkness...
He was running. Trees rushed past his face as his bare feet pounded the cold ground, and he realized that the trees had the faces of his former friends, all of whom he had lost... They were taunting him, crying out in agony, pain, loneliness, some laughing derisively and poking and prodding, all of them trying to seize him. He tried to cry out, swatting them away, but they grabbed a hold of him, pinning him down, and he felt a lurch of pain in his stomach, his heart, and he screamed...
He was on his back, the sky above was dark, and straight ahead of him he saw stars; two of them, the same ice blue as the flower. And then they were eyes, beautiful, alluring eyes, staring at him from so far above. He tried to reach out a hand, to turn away, to move nearer, but couldn't. He let out a strangled cry, and the eyes blinked, and then they weren't ice blue on a dark blue-black sky, they were blue-black on a sky of ice...
He sat up, focus still caught with those alluring eyes of darkness, so beautiful. He felt a wrench in his heart as he stood, trembling, and took at step forward, pausing. They were near the ocean, no, over the ocean, just standing there, waves crashing around their feet. He blinked, taking a step back as he stared at the boy that possessed those beautiful, dark eyes: hair the colour of ice, lying smoothly around a face that made his heart thud painfully in his chest. Dark, wispy silken clothing, a parody of his own pale blues, fluttered around a body that was muscular, but slender enough to rival his own. White teeth, glittering strangely in the unearthly light, the sharp and pointed canines peeking out even when the sensual mouth was closed...
Pale hands reached forward, catching his own in their grasp; he blinked, unsure, but could not pull away. Neither of them could, or wanted to... he leaned forward, the dark eyes coming increasingly closer, hypnotic, and then their lips pressed together, hard, passionately. Arms slid around backs, under clothing, and one of his hands slid up and buried itself in the icy hair. Tongues entwined in a spellbinding dance, each warring for possession of the others mouth as cold lips met cold lips, and the liquid fire of desire poured between them. His lips brushed across sharp teeth, fangs, and blood dripped between their lips, the warm coppery taste weaving them tighter together as they pulled each other closer. Need, desire... it was magnetic, irresistible...
The ice-flower disappeared. The ice-plains, gone... the trees... no, no, the trees were still pulling, still begging, and he tried to push them away, but his hands were in the hair of the dark-eyed enigma, and he could do nothing, did not want to anyway, because it was okay. The allure of darkness held him tightly, gently, and the magnetism of his vulnerability was too much to resist...
Caught, trapped... they couldn't pull away, hands sliding around each other's bodies, lips pressing closer, and he could barely breathe, didn't want to breathe, would rather die than stop and go back to the trees, the ice, the cold, and stop... this...
Ken Ichijouji woke from his dream with a start.
"Oh... shit," he whispered hoarsely, clutching tightly to the heavy blankets on top of him as he groped around the table by his dresser with his hand, searching for a light. "Not again... not again..." he flicked on the light switch, breathing heavily. Another dream; the same as all the others, yet... different. They all had the same theme, the same feelings of loneliness, fear, desperation; the same darkness, pulling at his very soul, the same heart-wrenching desire and need he felt when faced with the dazzling ice-haired boy with the darkness for eyes. "Come on, Ken, it was only a dream... another dream... you've been eating too much spicy food lately, that's all..." he trailed off, his voice giving away as he stared in horror down at the white hands on the bed in front of him, pale against the dark sheets.
Icy blue gashes streaked across the palms; scars of ice. The dream...
Ken leapt out of his bed with an anguished cry, fighting fervently with his sheets as they tangled together and clutched at his ankles as he stumbled away from the warmth of the bed and the hazy glow of the lamp. He slammed through his bedroom door and out into the rest of the empty, quiet apartment, heading for the bathroom.
He burst into the small room, bare feet slapping on the cold tiles, and flicked on the lights, turning to face the mirror with wide, frightened eyes of delicate violet-blue. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, his face sheet-white, and his mouth slightly agape. He leaned close to the mirror, examining his lower lip carefully, slowly, circumspectly...
A strangled, animal cry burst from his throat, and he hurled out of the bathroom once more, crashing pictures off the walls in his hurry to fly back to his bedroom. He had to escape this madness! How could ice scars from his dream appear on his hands when he awoke? And how could bite-marks from that kiss, that earth-spinning, world-shattering kiss, appear on his lower lip... now?
"It's not possible... it's just not possible... I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming..." he clutched onto his doorframe, panting, eyes wild with fear, then turned and ripped open his closet door. Pyjamas off, close-fitting black pants on; then a pale blue t-shirt, silky slipper-shoes, long blue scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, and he was out the door of his apartment, padding quickly down the dark, narrow stairways illuminated by the eerie red glow from the exit signs, shrugging on his long, black velveteen trenchcoat as he ran.
Out into the streets; he stumbled along the sidewalks, running, just running... anywhere, anywhere that his feet took him. I have to find somebody, somebody to help me... he thought, but that thought brought a cry to his throat and he stumbled to his knees, clutching onto a tree for support. Trees... friends... he pushed it away with a cry, wincing as his numb, ice-scarred hands scraped against the concrete and the edge of his trenchcoat caught and ripped. Those memories he didn't want brought up...
He had, friends, once. Great friends, lots of them, each special in their own way. But slowly, one by one, darkness, death, claimed them. And it was Ken's fault, all of it...
I should have known I could never have friends, he thought bitterly. I knew that they would get hurt... Because darkness sought him, and darkness would have him, no matter what the cost. And slowly, one by one, evil rooted out his friends and removed his one source of light and stability in the world. The day Daisuke died, his last and very best friend, was the day that the dreams began...
I still remember the first dream, he thought, cowering up against the cold stone wall of the building near him, trembling hands tracing the rough stone. I was crying, and I couldn't stop. All of my friends were before me, Daisuke in the front, and there were shadows, shadows everywhere. Everything was dark, except for them, and my clothes... my clothes, they were white. The shadows took them away from me, pulling, and I couldn't do anything except cry, and then I was looking in a mirror, and there were two of me, crying, except the other me started to change, and look different, until it became... him. His ice hair to my dark, his dark eyes to my violet, black clothes to my white... and then he looked up, and we touched fingers, and I felt a thrill of something that I couldn't describe, and I looked at him, and he was crying, and we were crying together...
"Ken..."
Ken gave a cry, jerking his head up, violet eyes searching wildly for the source of the breathy call, not much more than a whisper. "Who's there?" he cried, stumbling to his feet. There was no answer; he ran out into the street, standing there bathed in the blinking of the yellow and red and green traffic lights. "Who's... there?"
"Ken..." the whisper came again, trembling. Ken felt a sudden chill around his ankle; he looked down, then screamed, kicking out with all his might, which did nothing to dispel the shadowy dark mist that had begun to wind itself around his ankle. He stumbled back, tripped over the curb, and fell hard against a lamppost. Dizzy with pain and fear, he gave a cry and pushed away from the cement, the dark shadows misting across the ground, reaching...
He turned on his heel and ran, just ran. Ran so hard that the only sounds that he could hear and was conscious of were the slapping of his feet on the cold concrete and the harsh, panting breaths that he took, choked with sobs and fear. He didn't stop until he was about to collapse, breathing heavily, tears coursing a river down his pale cheeks as he clutched to a lamppost, faintly illuminated by the bright light far ahead. He was very far away from his home, in an area of the city he had never seen before, and he was all alone...
And then, a sound that send shivers up his spine just as if someone had dragged a sharp icicle up the middle of his back, the voice came again. "Ken..." it whispered, closer now, very close...
He gave a wild cry, pushing away from the lamppost and looking from side to side, terrified; he saw a flash of bright light and the far-off beginnings of sound a ways off – headlights. Trembling, he took a deep breath, and then stumbled inelegantly into the dark alleyway a few feet away, shadowed and wedged between two tall, faceless buildings.
He came abruptly to a halt as twin beads of ice flashed at him from the darkness, then tamed themselves to a dark, glittering fire; by the faint light of the streetlamp, he could dimly make out the contour of a slender, supple body and a beautiful, aesthetic face. Dark eyes glittered at him from beneath hair the colour of ice, and sensual lips did little to hide the sharp, glittering canines that sparkled so in his mouth. He wore clothes of pale white, wispy and ghostlike, clinging to his sinuous figure in the darkness.
A parodaic mirror image, Ken's longer, dark hair wisped out around his slender, pointed face, shadowing his wavering, dazzling violet eyes. His lips were parted slightly in surprise and heavy breathing, his pale cheeks slightly flushed, his lower lip with the two still-bloody marks trembling faintly. In contrast to the other boy's wispy white clothing, his long, dark coat ruffled in the breeze, and the faint light filtering from the streetlamp nearby cast an unearthly glow.
"You..." they breathed in unison.
They stood there facing each other, wide-eyed and dazed, for a long moment. Neither moved an inch, and the only sound that stirred the silent, anticipating air was the quiet breathing of them both, and the ceaseless pounding of their hearts. A paper bag blew noisily – or so it seemed – under the streetlamp, pattering on the concrete, and this small distraction seemed to break the spell of shock and impassiveness that had woven its way around the boys.
Ken felt a rush of desire tear through his bloodstream, making his eyes unfocus for a perilous moment, and then with a surge forward, they had their arms around each other, lips in a frenetic quest for contact.
It was like nothing Ken had ever felt before, or had ever hoped to feel; the press of cold lips on his that nevertheless sent a raging river of desire crashing through his mind send his world reeling. He whimpered quietly into the ice-haired boy's mouth, pale fingers clutching at the snowy fabric covering the slender back. Tongues entwined, and hands slid upwards and into each other's hair, gripping and pulling the object of their annihilation closer.
Ken's mind was whirling, and the only thing that kept him holding onto consciousness was a tiny thread. But then even that was blown utterly out of proportion as the dark-eyed enigma with his lips pressed up against Ken's pulled away for a fleeting moment, then leaned forward, tilted the dark-haired head gently back, and began to kiss in earnest.
Ken gave a subdued cry of pure pleasure and clutched tightly to the icy hair as sharp teeth nicked blood from the corner of his mouth, and the accompanying tongue pressed deeper and deeper. Ken's left hand remained clutching the icy hair while his other hand trailed slowly down the white-clothed back, sensuously, and then gripping when the kiss intensified. He was vaguely aware of the strong hand cradling his head and keeping it tilted back for the onslaught of lips and tongue, and the other hand kneading the soft flesh at his hips, which then slid down, caressing, and trailed up his back, doing all manner of incredible, nerve-tingling caresses.
With great effort, Ken managed to heave himself up from near-impassiveness; it was as that instant, while the others' tongue was buried to the hilt down his throat, that he realized exactly what he was doing it, when, and with whom. With commendable effort and no small amount of willpower, he braced himself against the other's chest and pulled away, breathing heavily.
The dark eyes that stared back at him so soulfully nearly destroyed him, but he abstained, pulling away a trifle more, the sudden chill in bodily absence sending a shiver up his spine. "Who..." Ken rasped, taking in a deep, shuddering breath, "are you?"
"My name is irrelevant. I am but... a prisoner of darkness... like you. Sought, destroyed, over and over again... and I can't run... because it still finds me..." the voice wasn't deep, just a warm, mild tenor, but the intensity in it trembled like a vibrating harp string and made Ken suck in his breath in a hiss through his teeth. Slender arms wrapped around him, and his own hands slid up to rest on cloth-covered shoulders.
"Your name..." Ken insisted, breathily. "Tell me your na—mmmmmmm..." protests were cut off as his lips became occupied once again. His hands clutched at the other's neck, tightly, his nails digging into the white flesh, until he had enough of his willpower left, derived from the pain of having to hurt another. He broke away, panting and nearly sobbing. "Who are you and what do you... what do you want with me?"
"Are you..." the voice was quiet and hesitant. "Are you sure you want to know?" One pale hand traced down Ken's jaw line, while the other gently slid across the base of his back. Ken nodded, not trusting his voice, meeting the dark-eyed gaze with his own violet one, bloody lower lip trembling.
He leaned forward until their faces were very close, his lips so close to Ken's that condensation began to bead on the dark-haired boy's bloodied lower lip. "My name..." he whispered, the warm air stirring across Ken's cold skin, "is... Myotismon..."
Ken's eyes widened in shock, but he had no time to take this revelation in; Myotismon's lips pressed up against his once more, holding him tightly. Feather-light kisses pattered over Ken's lips, tracing a trail down his chin and up to his ear. Myotismon's hands slid up to Ken's neck, sliding under the scarf that was woven there, pulling at it with impatient, eager fingers.
Ken cried out in protest, hands grabbing at Myotismon's wrists with all the strength he possessed, pulling himself away so quickly that he lost his balance, stumbling back towards the hard concrete, hair whooshing past his ears as he cried out and hit the ground, head smashing against the hard ground with a sickening crack.
The last thing he remembered was blinking slowly into worried, dark eyes shadowed by icy hair, and then... darkness.
He was floating, alone, far above the city, the twinkling lights glittering in the dark world around him. The cold wind beat at his skin, ignoring the thin fabric of his clothing as if it were not even there. He was cold, so cold, and he could see everything, but he was alone. He could see people far below, and started to drop towards them, flying closer. The closer he got, the colder he got, and now he could see the face of one of the people...
"Daisuke!" he cried, and the boy looked up, shocked. He dropped the match he was holding, and it fell towards the ground in slow motion. Warm... but dangerous. The match hit the ground with a "clink" that only Ken could hear, for it seemed that everything was silent and all of his attention was focused on that match. It bounced up, and then the flames were everywhere, licking at anything and everything that would burn. Ken screamed and backed away as quickly as he could, falling to the concrete. All around him there were flames, and he couldn't see Daisuke or his other friends anymore. They were gone and it was his fault...
Light. It was sunny, and he was sitting in the middle of a huge, endless field of grass. The air was warm and sweet, and he sat there, by himself, in his dark clothes, his dark hair rippling around his pale face. Children laughed all around, and bright pink and yellow flowers of iridescent colours bloomed everywhere, their sweet fragrance filling the air. He smiled, breathing in deeply, then gently picked up a flower. And then Wormmon was beside him, and he laughed happily, gathering the worm into his arms... but he disappeared as soon as he touched him.
Shocked, Ken backed away, dropping the flower to the ground as he scrambled to his feet. The flower was dead. He looked from side to side, not understanding... and then it was as if he was outside of himself, looking down, and he could see the darkness inside of himself, seeping out to contaminate the cheery world of light around him, and everything he touched died. He cried out and tried to stop it, but the darkness had him, always had, and always would. A child of light and kindness, owned by darkness...
And he was back in the ice again. All around him, ice, and he was so very cold, shivering there in the middle of nowhere. He was by himself, and he was going to die this way. But then slender arms wrapped around him, and he looked up, shocked, into eyes that alternated from dark blue to bright blue, and hair that alternated from icy to blond. And strangely enough, he felt totally at peace with him... this kindred soul who was also touched by darkness. For nobody was totally evil... it was the darkness, the darkness...
"It has me, Ken," Myotismon whispered. "The darkness..."
"It has me, Myotismon," Ken whispered. "The darkness..."
Two souls owned by evil lay trembling in each other's arms in the middle of the cold, barren world, their only comfort in each other, and the darkness could not touch them...
"Ken!"
Ken's eyes flickered wearily open, and he convulsed in a fit of coughing, his head pounding with pain. Where am I? And then his eyes opened, and he felt the soft hand cradling his neck, holding him comfortably away from the ground, and felt the body warmth against his. "Myotismon..." he croaked.
"Ken." Myotismon gently slid his hand over Ken's forehead; the dark-haired boy tried to pull away, but Myotismon shook his head. "No, don't. I just want to help you."
Ken shook his head, despite the pain it caused him, but then...
Two souls owned by evil lay trembling in each other's arms in the middle of the cold, barren world, their only comfort in each other, and the darkness could not touch them...
He stopped fighting, and let his guard down, leaning back into Myotismon's embrace, and to his chagrin, began to cry, diamond tears sliding one after another down his cheeks. But not only did Myotismon not mind, or mock him, he helped Ken sit up, cradling him closer to him, arms forming a protective barrier away from the rest of the world. "It's okay, Ken," he whispered. "Tell me what's wrong..."
"The d-darkness..." Ken's voice was hoarse and cracked from crying as he buried his face in Myotismon's shoulder. "It... it won't l-leave me alone. It held me f-for a while, when I was the Kaizer, but m-my f-friends, they h-helped me fight it... they saved me... but the darkness was still there and... and it s-still wanted me... s-so my f-friends, and t-they... and it..." he let out a strangled sob. "It's my f-fault. I should have never b-become their friend, I just g-got them killed..."
Myotismon said nothing, just held Ken close, arms wrapped around him in the dark, deserted alleyway, the light of the nearby streetlamp filtering over them. Ken's pale face was streaked with tears as he clutched to Myotismon's shirt. The vampire's dark eyes were full of worry, and actual emotion which surprised Ken... this couldn't be the same... the same monster that tried to kill the Digidestined so many times, that... that controlled him at one time...
"Y-you seem..." he said, quietly, after a few minutes of silence, "different this time around..." Myotismon made a noise of questioning, glancing down at the dark-haired boy in his arms, stroking Ken's silky head thoughtfully. "You're not... you seem..."
"Human?" Myotismon smiled, fangs glittering eerily in the lamplight. Ken blinked; how could Myotismon ever be human? But yes... that was as close as he was going to come to explaining, and he nodded, thoughtfully.
"Almost. Not fully human, you can never be that, I suppose, but... emotional. Caring. I mean... you're not a monster anymore. You... you remind me of... me..." Ken whispered.
"...how so?" The icy-eyed "boy's" voice was curious. Ken glanced up into Myotismon's dark eyes, searching for any sign of deception, but finding none. Courage and trust renewed, he took a shaky breath.
"I mean... you're not evil, but you've done some evil things," Ken said, slowly. "You're tainted, impure, but you're still..." he scrunched up his nose, deep in thought, searching for the proper word. "You're vulnerable. Open for hurt and pain, but at the same time, rendered for... for happiness." His hand moved slowly upwards until he could cup Myotismon's face in his palm, gazing fearlessly into the dark eyes as he shifted his position to face Myotismon squarely, balancing delicately on his knees, pretty much completely in the other's lap. "I don't know why I know this, or if I... should, or if it's even true, but... you're like me, and we're alone in the world except for each other..." he leaned forward a little closer.
"I've been reborn many, many times, Ken," Myotismon whispered hoarsely, "and all the time the... the chains of darkness that have held me held me... far too tight. I couldn't escape them. I wasn't even aware of myself, I was just... evil. And I don't know why it's different now, but it is, and I think it's because of you..."
Ken was hardly paying attention to the words anymore, now. Dizzy with a strange sense of elation and the tingling of desire across his skin, he leaned forward, arms gingerly sliding over Myotismon's shoulders to curve across his back, and pressed a soft, silk-petal kiss on Myotismon's lips. The vampire's dark eyes half-closed in pleasure, and for a perilous moment he seemed to flicker, and Ken received a tremulous double-image of a white face, blond hair, and cold blue eyes, but then it was gone, and Ken knew it was for good this time. That Myotismon was... no more.
"I think..." Ken mused, running his lips softly down Myotismon's cheekbone, "That this is what's meant to happen..."
"What do you... mean?" The vampire turned his head, silky hair brushing against Ken's neck, dark eyes searching the other boy's violet ones.
"All that's happened to us before... our lives, the darkness, the evil. All the pain and sorrow and loneliness, it was all devised to bring us to our ultimate destiny, no matter how strange it may seem, and no matter how difficult the path..." Ken said softly. "We were meant to be together, and although the evil that was in our lives before will never leave us, nor will the sadness ever truly disappear, although it will fade, it ultimately brought us together in the way that nothing else could. And if we don't embrace our destiny, then..." Ken looked up for the first time, glancing out of the dark alleyway and out into the street, where the dark mist still curled along the ground, waiting, but not approaching, "it's back to the embrace of evil we go... for good."
"The allure of darkness," Myotismon whispered.
Ken leaned forward once more, and the two of them joined lips, eyes closed in the certainty that this was meant to be, because it was so right, and then knew it right down to the last fibre of their souls. Ken's hands tightened on Myotismon's shoulders, and the dark-eyed vampire pulled away, pressing feather-light kisses across Ken's face, his jawbone, his ear, his neck. Kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling, a hundred caresses and feelings Ken couldn't name ran through his head, and his reeling mind. Turning his head to one side so he could face his love, he let out his breath. "Do it," he whispered.
The dark eyes that met his were hesitant, but Ken shook his head stubbornly. "You want to. I want you to. You need to. I need you to..." A small nod of Myotismon's head was all the consent and warning Ken got before the vampire turned away, and then a sharp pain jerked through Ken's neck as fangs pierced skin.
Ken's whole body was trembling, and he clutched to Myotismon's shoulders as the vampire drank; Ken felt himself going limp, his body feverish with a feeling he couldn't name, but then the pain was over, and an unimaginable pleasure remained. Myotismon placed one hand gently where he had just bit, supporting Ken with his other hand. Lips met in another kiss, this one tinged with the bittersweet flavor of blood, and Ken felt another shock course through his body. He clung to Myotismon with all his strength, pressing forward with lips and tongue, desperate for something he could not name and classify, not just yet...
Then suddenly, another flash of pain/pleasure stabbed through his core, and he pulled away with a feral cry. Myotismon caught the boy before he fell, and Ken slumped against him face buried in the white cloth of Myotismon's shoulder. "I... love you..." Ken gasped, then opened his own mouth on the side of Myotismon's neck, biting down, and a sense entirely new to him, that of fangs entering flesh and blood warming his mouth, filtered though his mind.
It was over all too soon, and the two vampires stood, dark in the alleyway, with dawn fast approaching, holding each other tight. "I love you..." Myotismon whispered, dropping a soft kiss on Ken's cheek. They stood in silence for a while, and at the corner of their vision, they could see the darkness receding, light filtering in to take its place. "We are creatures of darkness, with hearts of light and love..." Myotismon's voice was quiet. "What do we do now?"
Ken looked up at his dark-eyed lover and smiled, a heart-breakingly sweet smile that spoke of light and love and true promises, even with the incisors glinting and slightly stained with the blood of his lover. "I guess we'll see," he said, and squeezed Myotismon's hand. And things... they were okay.
A/N: Oh man, how old is this? Terribly so. Please don't judge my skill by this. I've grown since then. I'm still very sentimentally attached to this, though, which is why it's still here. My crowning achievement in the Digimon fandom. Oh, nostalgia.