Abandon

a·ban·don

1. vt: leave somebody behind

2. vt: leave a place because of danger

3. vt: halt something in progress

4. vt: give in to emotion

n: lack of restraint: complete lack of inhibition or self-restraint

A/N: This one took quite a while. I wrote it to two songs, both of which I highly recommend listening to. Bloc Party - Compliments, and Feist - The Water. The latter fits the story slightly better, so I advise all of you to listen to the song while reading. It puts everything in perspective, at least for me.

Warnings: Lime. But strong lime. Short lemon almost. Again not the usual pairing.

Disclaimer: I own none of it.

Faults

My fingers are trailing the writing. I never normally do this, but this time I feel like the text is slipping past my eyes and it's almost as if I need to hold on to it. I thought I would skip the next few pages. But I'm not skipping anything. I'm reading. Hungrily eating up every word scrawled in her diary in an awkward, girly cursive. The text is swimming. I can't concentrate. However, the general idea manages to penetrate my raging denial. I don't feel a surge of protectiveness towards my sister. I realize she didn't have to let him. I back out of having to act the older brother too fast. It's a little bit of a problem. She knew something was wrong and she let him just… take advantage. I don't want to think about it. I can't. It's my sister. And it's him.

I didn't stop to realize that it mattered. I never thought that maybe, it meant something to me that he never got with her. It's never been something obvious. I didn't think that I felt a strange gratification at the fact that I was giving him something she wasn't. As wrong as it was, I wanted to be the person that he worshipped for that. I felt completely confident that she wouldn't give him any, and thought that if I played with him a little he would come to me. And he did. And then I proceeded to neatly get him into this mess.

At that moment I feel as juvenile as he should probably be. I feel like a teenage boy who was fucked with and didn't realize it until a little while later and just feels so dumb for it. It was a ridiculous thing to overlook really. It's embarrassing. It is. Because it's so much harder for adults to accept stupid mistakes. Silly little errors that any decentadult wouldn't make. But what adult am I. I'm stuck in a limbo between the two great epic parts of life. The youth and the adulthood. I want to still be that amazing age of 18 when you think you'll take on the whole world. Just wait 'til you get out of university with a degree in something or other and you'll be set for a life that no one else will have. Because you won't make your parents mistakes and of course you'll live it to the fullest. And now I think I'm doing something okay with myself, going off to finally get that degree after two years of thinking and trying to find myself and all the odd jobs and all the soul searching that eventually ended up in a bar with a drink. And as a finishing touch, a grand exit of sorts, I do this to my sister and her stupid little boyfriend who I happened to think was too pretty to leave the fuck alone.

Snapping the book closed, I get up. I'm annoyed. That it had to get this overwhelmingly far so quickly and so carefully that I didn't notice, that she got hurt because of it, that he actually succumbed. As little intelligence as I credited my sister with, I had always figured that she was an uncannily good judge of character. When she began dating him it only seemed natural that she was with someone in whom she could invest at least a fraction of her boundless trust. But there is of course something more overpowering than the irritation and vague guilt, and that's the awesome juvenile sense of jealousy. The mistake that I made, the feeling I didn't see because it wasn't there until they actually had a sexual encounter. And I feel every bit the arrogant little fucker that I was in high school, with too much pride and too little motive for anything I did. I screwed up and never admitted it, never apologized, never let myself lose face. Doing any of these things would mean actually allowing the idea of a fault of mine It was all juvenile back then. Admitting fault wasn't cool. Everyone seemed to grow up out of that stupid kid stage but I lingered. I've been lingering for years. Not admitting fault. Especially as of late. And lingering in general. Not being able to decide. Afraid of making the wrong decision because that would mean screwing up and absolutely havingto admit it.

And so I constructed a fragile balance for myself to exist in my little limbo before I take the plunge. But calling it 'the plunge' makes it sound so dramatic. I needed some kind of step, a movement forward from the place that didn't seem to be changing in the last two years. I didn't really change after high school. I changed but I didn't. In high school I didn't have to deal with consequence. Once I got out, it bit me in the ass almost immediately. Demanding attention, maturity, acceptance. I'm not used to paying for my mistakes. I ran from it as much as I possibly could, while I was still considered a kid. And now I'm not a kid anymore, and I need to fucking own up, and accept, but I hate it. I'm not used to responsibility and it's killing me. And I fucked up this time too, driving my sister's boyfriend to basically violate her, and what I love most about this whole ridiculous mess is that I don't care. That I'm still the ego-centric, narcissistic bastard that graduated two years ago, and that all that's currently bothering me is that the attention isn't accentuated on me. That he just had her instead and that I'm jealous, instead of feeling protective of my younger sister. But she mentioned in her diary that there was something wrong with him. And I know it's me because I just withdrew and panicked and fucked everything over. But the last call is his and he isn't making it. As it turns out, I made him every bit the coward that I am, so he's running from consequence, lying to her, using her, and it's my fault.

Of course I withdrew. Left him to deal with the shit that I started and of which I later conveniently washed my hands clean. At the moment it suited me. He's now ear-deep in shit, too scared to end his relationship with Sakura, and swimming in guilt. I didn't mean for this to happen. I meant to just fuck with everything a little bit and then let it go. Have my fun and leave. But moderation never really stuck with me as a conscious choice. I'm no expert (though I might have fancied myself one in the past) at stopping myself before it gets too far, but neither is he. The beauty is that he can get away with it, he's still a kid. I'm the one having to face the consequences this time.

I'm putting on clothes. Buttons aren't staying in the grasp of my fingers because I'm too antsy. In my irritation I throw the button-down in the general direction of my closet and reach for a regular t-shirt. Something easier to deal with than buttons. Then jeans, a belt, some cologne. I glimpse at myself in the mirror and don't like what I see. I've never seemed uglier to myself in my entire life. My cologne smells clean. I never liked pungent scents. It always felt as if men wore especially manly cologne to prove something. I never needed to prove my masculinity to anyone and didn't feel as if I was any more feminine wearing something that smelled clean. Chicks always loved it. Guys didn't notice enough to care. But women are more sensitive towards… everything. Emotion, sound, scent. I'm still staring in the mirror and I think of Li, in all of his gentle teenage androgyny. How he's thin and has disconcertingly narrow shoulders for a boy his age, and how his hip-bones jut out just so. And he has large, expressive eyes that only seem to ever express when I'm touching him. And a weak, womanly mouth, and… I wonder absently about how I even managed to get to Li from women. And then realize that thinking of a certain sensitivity, I remember, too well, perhaps, how he responds to sensory contact in specific places. He is probably most feminine in that respect.

Everyone is out. Sakura is at the movies with her friends, dad - at work. I'm not working today. The book store didn't immediately require my presence tonight. I fall on my bed and dial Yuki's number. Much too lazy to hold the phone to my head, I press the speaker button and lay the receiver beside me.

"Hello?"

"I'm free today." I say, absently letting my fingers play with the hemp bracelet hanging off my wrist. I always had such skinny fucking wrists.

"Oh hey. Yeah. Come over. I'm rolling." he's as serene as always.

"Alright I'll be there in a bit." we hang up sans goodbyes.

It's raining loudly. The sound is muted, because I'm standing in the middle of his living room, all windows closed. And watching my best friend, confidant and partner in crime, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor, rolling what will surely be a reasonably thick joint. He looks up at me and smiles his smile, hands halting their careful movement of arranging weed on the paper for the few moments that it takes. Yuki had always deemed smiling so important. So purposeful. His smile had a certain power. He mastered it so completely that it's many purposes ranged from just making someone's day a little better, to convincing, and finally to manipulation if it suited him. Today it's a form of greeting. The corners of my lips creep upwards, needless to say - involuntarily, in what I'm assuming is a soft grimace if compared to what he's got on his face.

He resumes his rolling, as slowly and carefully as before, as I plop down on the floor beside him, leaning back on my hands. Music is playing in the background. Jazz. He's so refined, the fucker.

"So what did you do this time?" he asks conversationally, a smile in his voice, a tone that implies nothing more than something about the weather.

"What are you talking about?" I'm not a very good liar. It's easier to be brutally honest.

"Oh don't be ridiculous." Yuki gives a small chuckle. I'd always felt younger compared to him. He continues just as conversationally as he started, "You don't call me up, telling me you've got nothing planned and that you want to hang out, just for the sole purpose of hanging out."

"I fucked up." the resignation can't be more obvious.

"Surprise, surprise." he's probably the only person that can ever get away with that kind of sarcasm around me.

"Oh no. This is serious. I'm really screwed." Eloquent, more like.

"Oh?" vague disbelief.

"Yeah. You know Sakura's boyfriend?"

"You didn't…" this causes him to cease his rolling and turn to me, with a look of utter astonishment on his face.

"I unfortunately did. And the kid's got quite a mouth on him…" I sigh because I remember exactly how he looks with his lips wrapped around my… I think no further of it.

"Touya…" he's smiling again, but it's an incredulous smile this time.

"Believe me I know. I know very well what I did. Now everything is fucked up. 'Cause she let him eat her out and she didn't want to but she thought it would make him feel better and he's fucking guilty and not dumping her. This whole fucking thing is insane." I blurt out. He's just staring at me.

"You need to stop reading her diary, for one thing. Secondly, I think out of all the stupid, heartless, mean things that you've ever done, this one probably takes the cake." he states matter-of-factly, once again calmly resuming, lifting the paper to his lips to lick the edge.

"Thanks." I roll my eyes.

"You just fucked up a perfectly good thing for your sister. Granted she's not the brightest bulb in the box, that shouldn't reduce her chances of getting a boyfriend she can be happy with. And it's certainly not up to you to decide whether it does or it doesn't." he admonishes, serenely as ever, sticking the pokey that he'd just produced from his pocket into the half-rolled joint.

"You're just full of useful information today aren't you." I mutter, not particularly interested in hearing what I did wrong.

"That's always the case." His gaze flickers to me and back to the task at hand as he smiles. "But really. I'm curious as to how you're going to fix this, seeing as there isn't much you can change without exposing yourself. And if anything it'll scar her to find out that her brother actually stole her boyfriend from her." his tone is once again gently admonishing. "For fuck's sake, Touya. Aren't you a little bit too old for this shit? And though it may have escaped you, you are, in fact, too old for him."

"It'd be great if you could, oh I don't know, say, fuck off with the reprimands?" biting irritation. "I didn't come here to hear this bullshit."

"You're right, of course. You came here to smoke a gram and a half, and tell me all about your problems, shortly after which you will decide to get drunk, because with you one usually follows the other, and then we'll fuck, you on top, as always, and you'll want to go out, because the high and the buzz will simultaneously wear off and the fun can't end just yet." he said, with all of his knowing insouciance that should have been infuriating, but never really was.

"In that case, finish rolling so we can be on our way." I smirk.

He's taller than Li. It's a thought that can't leave my intoxicated mind alone for a minute as I push in and pull out of him. Everything is slick with sweat, and in some cases lube, and the inside of my brain feels sort of slippery as well, because no thoughts stick but the ones about my sister's boyfriend.

I'm fucking him slowly. My temporarily depleted coordination only allows a slow, steady rhythm that makes him whisper dirty things, while staring straight into my eyes. Yuki's never been a top. He doesn't bother. It suits him so much better to have his legs on my shoulders, shuddering under my weight and moaning my name. And sometimes swearwords. He likes it this way. And I like to be in control.

I think of how I would love it so much more if it was Li writhing under me, because that's what he'd be doing. Writhing. He's less used to it. His legs wouldn't be on my shoulders, and he wouldn't be leaning back as comfortably as Yuki is. He'd be clinging to me, legs wrapped tightly around my waist, face buried in my neck and whining. Pleading. Perhaps a light smattering of swearwords, to accentuate quite how badly he wants me to fuck him deeper. He'd be pleading and praising, being the little bitch that he is. Offering, as usual. Allowing. All that. And he's so good at it. At being weak and powerless. At playing the perfect whore. It's in a way, powerful. But only in a way.

I dimly realize that Li involuntarily plays on one of my greatest desires. Being put on a pedestal. Worshipped. But I suppose all humans would like nothing but to be worshipped. It feeds the ego. And deep inside, we're all self-centered ego-maniacs. For people like me it may not even be that deep inside.

My movement quickens, and he moans louder, and I honestly didn't think my coordination would allow it, but at this stage of intoxication I still want an orgasm more than just to fall asleep. And in about five minutes it's over, I come inside him, suck him off until he's fisting his hands into my hair and moaning God's name very much in vain, and we slump against each other breathing heavily. His hands had relinquished their death grip on my hair and are now softly running through it. The motion is incredibly soothing.

All at once, the lack of sleep and fatigue and emotional strain and blame gang up on me, and I'm really tired, because both the high and the buzz are wearing off, and his skin smells so good. It's still raining outside. I don't want to move. I'm being weighed down by everything I did to Li up to this point, and accepting fault is never easy. But I'm really in no hurry to accept.

A/N: And that would be all for this one. It took me a while to pluck up the inspiration, but here it is. I'm proud of this one.