Hidoi Yume
Disclaimer: None of the characters here belong to me, I make no claim to any of them and get nothing for doing this.
Summary: Sometimes dreams are everything we have wished for, sometimes they are the fulfilment of all we have ever wanted. Sometimes they destroy us.
Feedback: Anything at all constructive is very welcome, flames just amuse me, and if you are reading this then I take it you're old enough to read the warnings and simply click the back button on your browser.
Author's Notes: What I had in mind was a simple, short, semi-twisted Nagi/Omi fic. Unfortunately it doesn't look like this is going to happen... Instead, this is longer, more messed up, and more complicated than anything that I had anticipated. So, sorry, but I hope you like it nonetheless.
Warnings: SLASH/YAOI, however you like to say it. In further parts this will feature blood, mental torture, issues of consent, angst, disturbing imagery, and sex. So, if you read this it makes you just as sick as me for writing it, and I do not think that you have ANY right to flame me if you read it. To those of you who honestly want to read this - thank you, and I hope you enjoy my slightly insane spell.
***
The world was on fire
No one could save me but you
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
What a wicked game to play
To make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do
To let me dream of you
Chris Isaak - Wicked Game
***
Omi had suffered from the dream again, from the torment that plagued him when night time arrived. Not the traditional nightmares of brimstone and the souls of all that he had killed exacting their revenge, but, instead, it was *the* dream. Of the boy, eyes wide and haunting, face thin and pale, body exposed wantonly, sensuous smile curving thin lips as he beckoned to Omi, begging him to come join him. The dream had been occurring with great regularity now, almost every night, until he woke up screaming and cursing everything he knew to make the boy just *go away*. Of course, that would make the others enter the room, concerned questions on the lips of Ken, annoyance from Aya, and Yohji would just tell him to 'go back to sleep'. Which was easier said than done, when everything that happened in his dreams would cause every fibre in his body to stand up and scream that it was 'wrong, wrong, wrong, shouldn't happen, unnatural...' But of course, as the young boy knew from his reading of all books on psychology, obviously he had some issues with the subject, or more specifically, with the boy. The *boy*. To give him his name would personalize him, make him real, and to Omi in the acute stages of denial, this was not what he needed. So the boy, he remained, tormenting Omi whenever his eyes closed, bringing up deep-seated dreams and fantasies, tempting him until even *Yohji* had noticed that something was drastically wrong and had suggested a visit to the doctors.
He had no way of stopping the dreams, he had attempted pills, staying awake for as long as possible until he thought that the sheer need to sleep would prevent him from dreaming. In both accounts, he was wrong. So, the pretty happy young boy soon became tired, withdrawn and pale, with dark violet rings under his normally bright eyes. What was so wrong with the dreams? What made them so very different to the ones he had used to have, when he had woken up sticky and embarrassed and quickly bundled his bedding into the washing machine so no one would *ever* know. Oh, poor little Omi, hiding from the fact that he quite probably lusted after his enemy. No, not 'quite probably', he *did* lust after his enemy, to such an extent that the dreams called to him and called to him and when he wasn't suffering from them he was remembering them and thinking of them until his head was so painfully filled with thoughts of the other boy that he could not remember where Omi ended, and Nagi began.
There, he had said his name, let it slip. Nagi. Yes, Nagi. Surprised? No, didn't think so, the boys were very similar underneath. Both fighting to gain what they wanted, both the youngest, both the 'innocents', both never fitting in to anything. So it was hardly surprising when he first dreamt of the boy. But the second, the third, fourth, fifth, sixth... Oh, that was when the sweet surprise of the first dream had faded and all that he was left with was fear. He felt somehow, *stripped*, which was highly illogical of course, how could *Nagi* have had anything to do with the dreams? Oh, dear sweet naive little Omi, he would learn, and the lesson might be a painful one, but in the end he would be wiser and remember after all that there is no one you can trust, even if they don't appear to hurting you, they will be... But Omi did not know this, so embarrassed and shamed that he had attempted to blame Nagi... when how could it be his fault? When he had never been close enough to touch him, and why on earth would anyone wish to plague him with such dreams? The idea that it was 'fun' had not occurred to him, and never would, Omi was sweet like that... and that just made the battle the more amusing.
Yes, Omi *had* wanted Nagi from the beginning, *had* had daydreams which culminated in nothing more than a chaste brush of the lips. And yes, he wanted, and dreamt, but never to such an extent that he was plagued eternally...
Never of course to the extent that *I* wanted *him*. I. Schuldich, traditional slut and corruptor of innocents. Although this time, it would not be *me* corrupting. It would be him. Them.
Omi.
Nagi.
All twisted up in a terrible, haunting dream.
***
Disclaimer: None of the characters here belong to me, I make no claim to any of them and get nothing for doing this.
Summary: Sometimes dreams are everything we have wished for, sometimes they are the fulfilment of all we have ever wanted. Sometimes they destroy us.
Feedback: Anything at all constructive is very welcome, flames just amuse me, and if you are reading this then I take it you're old enough to read the warnings and simply click the back button on your browser.
Author's Notes: What I had in mind was a simple, short, semi-twisted Nagi/Omi fic. Unfortunately it doesn't look like this is going to happen... Instead, this is longer, more messed up, and more complicated than anything that I had anticipated. So, sorry, but I hope you like it nonetheless.
Warnings: SLASH/YAOI, however you like to say it. In further parts this will feature blood, mental torture, issues of consent, angst, disturbing imagery, and sex. So, if you read this it makes you just as sick as me for writing it, and I do not think that you have ANY right to flame me if you read it. To those of you who honestly want to read this - thank you, and I hope you enjoy my slightly insane spell.
***
The world was on fire
No one could save me but you
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
What a wicked game to play
To make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do
To let me dream of you
Chris Isaak - Wicked Game
***
Omi had suffered from the dream again, from the torment that plagued him when night time arrived. Not the traditional nightmares of brimstone and the souls of all that he had killed exacting their revenge, but, instead, it was *the* dream. Of the boy, eyes wide and haunting, face thin and pale, body exposed wantonly, sensuous smile curving thin lips as he beckoned to Omi, begging him to come join him. The dream had been occurring with great regularity now, almost every night, until he woke up screaming and cursing everything he knew to make the boy just *go away*. Of course, that would make the others enter the room, concerned questions on the lips of Ken, annoyance from Aya, and Yohji would just tell him to 'go back to sleep'. Which was easier said than done, when everything that happened in his dreams would cause every fibre in his body to stand up and scream that it was 'wrong, wrong, wrong, shouldn't happen, unnatural...' But of course, as the young boy knew from his reading of all books on psychology, obviously he had some issues with the subject, or more specifically, with the boy. The *boy*. To give him his name would personalize him, make him real, and to Omi in the acute stages of denial, this was not what he needed. So the boy, he remained, tormenting Omi whenever his eyes closed, bringing up deep-seated dreams and fantasies, tempting him until even *Yohji* had noticed that something was drastically wrong and had suggested a visit to the doctors.
He had no way of stopping the dreams, he had attempted pills, staying awake for as long as possible until he thought that the sheer need to sleep would prevent him from dreaming. In both accounts, he was wrong. So, the pretty happy young boy soon became tired, withdrawn and pale, with dark violet rings under his normally bright eyes. What was so wrong with the dreams? What made them so very different to the ones he had used to have, when he had woken up sticky and embarrassed and quickly bundled his bedding into the washing machine so no one would *ever* know. Oh, poor little Omi, hiding from the fact that he quite probably lusted after his enemy. No, not 'quite probably', he *did* lust after his enemy, to such an extent that the dreams called to him and called to him and when he wasn't suffering from them he was remembering them and thinking of them until his head was so painfully filled with thoughts of the other boy that he could not remember where Omi ended, and Nagi began.
There, he had said his name, let it slip. Nagi. Yes, Nagi. Surprised? No, didn't think so, the boys were very similar underneath. Both fighting to gain what they wanted, both the youngest, both the 'innocents', both never fitting in to anything. So it was hardly surprising when he first dreamt of the boy. But the second, the third, fourth, fifth, sixth... Oh, that was when the sweet surprise of the first dream had faded and all that he was left with was fear. He felt somehow, *stripped*, which was highly illogical of course, how could *Nagi* have had anything to do with the dreams? Oh, dear sweet naive little Omi, he would learn, and the lesson might be a painful one, but in the end he would be wiser and remember after all that there is no one you can trust, even if they don't appear to hurting you, they will be... But Omi did not know this, so embarrassed and shamed that he had attempted to blame Nagi... when how could it be his fault? When he had never been close enough to touch him, and why on earth would anyone wish to plague him with such dreams? The idea that it was 'fun' had not occurred to him, and never would, Omi was sweet like that... and that just made the battle the more amusing.
Yes, Omi *had* wanted Nagi from the beginning, *had* had daydreams which culminated in nothing more than a chaste brush of the lips. And yes, he wanted, and dreamt, but never to such an extent that he was plagued eternally...
Never of course to the extent that *I* wanted *him*. I. Schuldich, traditional slut and corruptor of innocents. Although this time, it would not be *me* corrupting. It would be him. Them.
Omi.
Nagi.
All twisted up in a terrible, haunting dream.
***