Mmkay. Short (short) story dedicated to two very lovely characters: Zidane and Kuja. Now. Here's your warning. Shounen-ai! (That's boy x boy pairings - nothing too graphic.) Not only shounen-ai, but there's also...incest! For those of you that support ZxK, then you will like this. ^_^ (I hope...) There's angst too, by the way. Now, if you read this, freak out, and e-mail/IM/review that "ew, gross, incests/gays are icky and should be wiped off the face of the earth," I will laugh at you. Because this is your warning: read at your own risk. If you don't like yaoi or incest, then DON'T READ IT. *clears throat* If you complain, then I will laugh, reply to you, and laugh some more. Because you are an idiot. Now, if you flame me because I called you an idiot in advance, we can work that out. ^_^;; Also. This is my first shounen-ai fic, so don't be too harsh if you're a yaoi-addict and want nothing but the best. Sorry, you likely won't find that here. At any rate, here's the story. But remember: I warned you. Enjoy. ^_^!
Stained Hands
Chapter One
"Ung..."
The golden-haired boy wakes from a provoked, troubled sleep. As soon as his eyes crack open and focus on his surroundings, unrecognized, his startling-blue eyes snap completely open with alarm. His body tenses against the cold, textured wall, lithe hands fly to the twin holsters at his hips. The daggers jump out of their sheaths and to his hands so quickly, one might believe it only the work of super-real forces.
There is no one there.
Zidane Tribal is alone in a circular dungeon cell, decorated in intricate designs of almost mocking perfection and symmetry.
Okay, what's the story here? he thinks to himself as he relaxes a bit. The last thing he remembers was...sand. Lots of sand.
"Ah, so you've finally awoken, little thief?"
Zidane's body jumps to its feet, daggers ready to fight. He knows that voice.
"Silly boy, I won't hurt you."
"...Where are you?" Zidane replies with an almost easy-going air of puzzlement, as if talking in casual conversation to a friend.
"Where I can see you," comes the reply, over a loudspeaker system of sorts, Zidane decides. The voice was light and wispy. Feminine, in most respects.
"Well, come out so I can see you too, will ya?" The mysterious voice's words, and tone, specifically, creeped Zidane out. He can't fight an enemy he can't see.
"Is that your wish? ...Very well."
Uh oh. Now you've gone and done it, Zidane scolds himself. He glances around the small room. Not nearly big enough for a good, comfortable fight, but he can deal. There is, however, no visible door. Hmm. A slight inconvenience.
This problem is soon remedied when an invisible panel in the wall slides open, revealing a hallway decorated in much the same way as his current establishment, only much more pleasing to look at.
Lifting a skeptical eyebrow, the boy quietly and cautiously creeps forward to the door, eyes darting around the empty room, daggers at the ready. An escape route has just opened itself up to him. Why waste the chance?
As he gets closer to the door, he can more clearly see the fire-lit hallway - lit only from the opposite end. Along the right side is a sturdy-looking, metal banister. The area around the door is completely dark, consumed by shadows.
Swallowing, Zidane carefully sticks his head out the door, looking from side to - a figure. Zidane frowns. The form stands in the shadows to the right, about fifteen feet away, and appears taller than Zidane. And then it moves.
The most striking features, outlined by the background light, are definitely the hips. Secondary would be the mane of shining, silver, feathered hair. Zidane doesn't move. He stares. Then recognizes. Shit.
Only when the figure moves forward a step did Zidane snap back to reality and leap stealthily backwards, daggers on the rise.
The figure steps into the full light, completely illuminated.
"Kuja," Zidane growls, frowning.
The man smiles. "Pleased to see you too, Zidane."
The boy's voice becomes demanding in this new face of danger. "Where am I and you'd better not try any funny stuff, 'cause you know I'll beat your little-"
"Calm yourself, dear boy."
"..."
Kuja smiles again and begins walking into the room. Zidane cautiously backs up, not wanting to be any closer to the dangerous man than needed.
"I will repeat myself," Kuja says. "I will not hurt you. I won't even hurt your friends or-"
"You have the others locked up too!?" Zidane yells out, interrupting Kuja, midsentence. He discontinues backing up, standing straight up against Kuja.
The older man sighs a little, mildly rolling his eyes, as if wondering how Zidane could question his efficiency. He, too, comes to a stop and clasps his hands behind his back. In a patient voice, he explains to his prisoner, "Yes, Zidane, I have your comrades in my custody. They are unhurt, being well cared for, and currently resting."
"Hah! I'll bet you killed 'em all! You murderer!"
Kuja sighs heavier this time. "Yes, I am a murderer."
"..."
"But, I haven't killed your friends."
"...Good," Zidane grumbles, seeing that Kuja is rather irritated at the present moment and probably shouldn't be provoked any further.
"Now," Kuja says, bringing his hands back around and clasping them in front of him, "I have a question to ask of you." He begins to walk towards Zidane again.
"That is...?" Zidane resumes backing up.
A small smile drifts over Kuja's painted lips; he is amused by Zidane's over-cautious behavior. "Why do you insist on marring my plans?"
Zidane bumps into the far wall, eyes darting about for an exit, a way to escape. The door. It's gone. "Uhh..."
"Come now, I know you have my answer." Kuja corners Zidane close against the wall, cutting off the option of beginning a chase on foot. "Must I force it out of you?" Kuja leans close to the other boy's face, unnerving him even more. "You know I can..." His voice has taken a unique purring quality to it as he looks into Zidane's blue orbs.
"Yea- no! No, no, that's okay, I can think fine...by my...self..." Zidane just can't seem to tear his eyes away from Kuja's identical pair. They were just so...
"Frightening, aren't I?" Kuja asks, completing the unfinished thought in Zidane's mind.
"...Yeah..."
"Put your knives away..." Kuja instructs softly, his mouth so close, Zidane begins to feel thrills jumping up his spine. He even considers leaning forward to complete contact. He shivers and closes his eyes with a slight flinch of anticipated pain as Kuja's voice drifts into his ear, just as his daggers drift back to their holsters.
"Now," Kuja says slowly, "why are you involving yourself?"
Zidane swallows and doesn't offer an answer. He presses his eyes tighter shut, afraid of an attack for not answering, or a promise of the ill fates of Dagger, Vivi, and the others.
The breath slowly entering and exiting through his opened mouth suddenly stops with a sudden gasp. The action was accompanied by his eyes snapping open to see the faraway wall at the opposite side of the room, its image crossed with silver, stray strands of Kuja's hair. As the villain's wet tongue touches his earlobe again, the image of the wall blurred in and out.
Kuja's voice came to be heard in the most teasing of snails' paces. "Did you enjoy that?"
Zidane lets out a hot breath; his legs feel weak and he still can't think. This is not good. He shakes his head as best he can.
Kuja says nothing as his cool hand gently rests on the opposite side of Zidane's face. His lips begin to caress the skin near Zidane's ear, then, finally, they go back to the earlobe.
Fight this! Zidane's logic screams at him. But Zidane can't even feel his feet benieth him, much less can he fight.
He soon would reach the point, however, at which he couldn't even want to fight.
Kuja's mouth moves away slowly after a final, loving lick.
"Do you..." Zidane's choked voice manages to issue words between swallowing, "do this...for all your...'guests'?"
Kuja smiles. "Only for you," the older man whispers as his warm mouth presses onto Zidane's.
Zidane can only answer with a startled, soft grunt. He can't help but kiss back; the taste and feel of Kuja's lips overwhelm him and, to Zidane's surprise, seduce wants and needs he never knew an individual could have.
When Kuja pulls his mouth away, Zidane subconsciously leans forward after him, not wanting it to stop. He lets his eyes open to slits when he meets nothing. Zidane looks into the angel's deep, ocean-blue eyes. He swallows back saliva - Kuja's saliva. He wants more. Zidane sighs Kuja's name, a plea of continuance. His logic and common sense are gone, his past, present, future; even the future of the planet seems distant and easily forgettable.
Kuja is enjoying this more than he could have hoped he would. And Zidane seems to be feeling the same way. How splendid. However, he offers no reward to Zidane's cry.
Zidane tips his head up and pressed his mouth back onto Kuja's, surprising the both of them in the advance. Kuja mirthfully complies, his left hand sneaking to the back of Zidane's head, pressing him closer and forcing the kiss to continue, disregarding any possibility of Zidane disagreeing. As the lip-lock deepens, heavy breathing begins.
When finally Kuja releases his hold, he has a new destination in mind. "Come with me," he whispers to Zidane as he kisses the blonde boy's face. Zidane nods sharply, his eyes still closed.
The next thing Zidane knows, he is pushed, almost violently, onto a soft, circular bed decorated with a red-feather comforter and small, round, luxurious pillows. The narcissist climbs atop Zidane, strattling him, and begins kissing heatedly again, not waiting for a go-ahead.
Only after Kuja takes the liberty of pulling the white shirt free of Zidane's pants do Zidane's hands finally respond by gliding over Kuja's already exposed skin, exploring places where he'd never even dreamed of going or touching.
Zidane knows what he wants now.
And it sure as hell isn't Dagger.
Chapter One
"Ung..."
The golden-haired boy wakes from a provoked, troubled sleep. As soon as his eyes crack open and focus on his surroundings, unrecognized, his startling-blue eyes snap completely open with alarm. His body tenses against the cold, textured wall, lithe hands fly to the twin holsters at his hips. The daggers jump out of their sheaths and to his hands so quickly, one might believe it only the work of super-real forces.
There is no one there.
Zidane Tribal is alone in a circular dungeon cell, decorated in intricate designs of almost mocking perfection and symmetry.
Okay, what's the story here? he thinks to himself as he relaxes a bit. The last thing he remembers was...sand. Lots of sand.
"Ah, so you've finally awoken, little thief?"
Zidane's body jumps to its feet, daggers ready to fight. He knows that voice.
"Silly boy, I won't hurt you."
"...Where are you?" Zidane replies with an almost easy-going air of puzzlement, as if talking in casual conversation to a friend.
"Where I can see you," comes the reply, over a loudspeaker system of sorts, Zidane decides. The voice was light and wispy. Feminine, in most respects.
"Well, come out so I can see you too, will ya?" The mysterious voice's words, and tone, specifically, creeped Zidane out. He can't fight an enemy he can't see.
"Is that your wish? ...Very well."
Uh oh. Now you've gone and done it, Zidane scolds himself. He glances around the small room. Not nearly big enough for a good, comfortable fight, but he can deal. There is, however, no visible door. Hmm. A slight inconvenience.
This problem is soon remedied when an invisible panel in the wall slides open, revealing a hallway decorated in much the same way as his current establishment, only much more pleasing to look at.
Lifting a skeptical eyebrow, the boy quietly and cautiously creeps forward to the door, eyes darting around the empty room, daggers at the ready. An escape route has just opened itself up to him. Why waste the chance?
As he gets closer to the door, he can more clearly see the fire-lit hallway - lit only from the opposite end. Along the right side is a sturdy-looking, metal banister. The area around the door is completely dark, consumed by shadows.
Swallowing, Zidane carefully sticks his head out the door, looking from side to - a figure. Zidane frowns. The form stands in the shadows to the right, about fifteen feet away, and appears taller than Zidane. And then it moves.
The most striking features, outlined by the background light, are definitely the hips. Secondary would be the mane of shining, silver, feathered hair. Zidane doesn't move. He stares. Then recognizes. Shit.
Only when the figure moves forward a step did Zidane snap back to reality and leap stealthily backwards, daggers on the rise.
The figure steps into the full light, completely illuminated.
"Kuja," Zidane growls, frowning.
The man smiles. "Pleased to see you too, Zidane."
The boy's voice becomes demanding in this new face of danger. "Where am I and you'd better not try any funny stuff, 'cause you know I'll beat your little-"
"Calm yourself, dear boy."
"..."
Kuja smiles again and begins walking into the room. Zidane cautiously backs up, not wanting to be any closer to the dangerous man than needed.
"I will repeat myself," Kuja says. "I will not hurt you. I won't even hurt your friends or-"
"You have the others locked up too!?" Zidane yells out, interrupting Kuja, midsentence. He discontinues backing up, standing straight up against Kuja.
The older man sighs a little, mildly rolling his eyes, as if wondering how Zidane could question his efficiency. He, too, comes to a stop and clasps his hands behind his back. In a patient voice, he explains to his prisoner, "Yes, Zidane, I have your comrades in my custody. They are unhurt, being well cared for, and currently resting."
"Hah! I'll bet you killed 'em all! You murderer!"
Kuja sighs heavier this time. "Yes, I am a murderer."
"..."
"But, I haven't killed your friends."
"...Good," Zidane grumbles, seeing that Kuja is rather irritated at the present moment and probably shouldn't be provoked any further.
"Now," Kuja says, bringing his hands back around and clasping them in front of him, "I have a question to ask of you." He begins to walk towards Zidane again.
"That is...?" Zidane resumes backing up.
A small smile drifts over Kuja's painted lips; he is amused by Zidane's over-cautious behavior. "Why do you insist on marring my plans?"
Zidane bumps into the far wall, eyes darting about for an exit, a way to escape. The door. It's gone. "Uhh..."
"Come now, I know you have my answer." Kuja corners Zidane close against the wall, cutting off the option of beginning a chase on foot. "Must I force it out of you?" Kuja leans close to the other boy's face, unnerving him even more. "You know I can..." His voice has taken a unique purring quality to it as he looks into Zidane's blue orbs.
"Yea- no! No, no, that's okay, I can think fine...by my...self..." Zidane just can't seem to tear his eyes away from Kuja's identical pair. They were just so...
"Frightening, aren't I?" Kuja asks, completing the unfinished thought in Zidane's mind.
"...Yeah..."
"Put your knives away..." Kuja instructs softly, his mouth so close, Zidane begins to feel thrills jumping up his spine. He even considers leaning forward to complete contact. He shivers and closes his eyes with a slight flinch of anticipated pain as Kuja's voice drifts into his ear, just as his daggers drift back to their holsters.
"Now," Kuja says slowly, "why are you involving yourself?"
Zidane swallows and doesn't offer an answer. He presses his eyes tighter shut, afraid of an attack for not answering, or a promise of the ill fates of Dagger, Vivi, and the others.
The breath slowly entering and exiting through his opened mouth suddenly stops with a sudden gasp. The action was accompanied by his eyes snapping open to see the faraway wall at the opposite side of the room, its image crossed with silver, stray strands of Kuja's hair. As the villain's wet tongue touches his earlobe again, the image of the wall blurred in and out.
Kuja's voice came to be heard in the most teasing of snails' paces. "Did you enjoy that?"
Zidane lets out a hot breath; his legs feel weak and he still can't think. This is not good. He shakes his head as best he can.
Kuja says nothing as his cool hand gently rests on the opposite side of Zidane's face. His lips begin to caress the skin near Zidane's ear, then, finally, they go back to the earlobe.
Fight this! Zidane's logic screams at him. But Zidane can't even feel his feet benieth him, much less can he fight.
He soon would reach the point, however, at which he couldn't even want to fight.
Kuja's mouth moves away slowly after a final, loving lick.
"Do you..." Zidane's choked voice manages to issue words between swallowing, "do this...for all your...'guests'?"
Kuja smiles. "Only for you," the older man whispers as his warm mouth presses onto Zidane's.
Zidane can only answer with a startled, soft grunt. He can't help but kiss back; the taste and feel of Kuja's lips overwhelm him and, to Zidane's surprise, seduce wants and needs he never knew an individual could have.
When Kuja pulls his mouth away, Zidane subconsciously leans forward after him, not wanting it to stop. He lets his eyes open to slits when he meets nothing. Zidane looks into the angel's deep, ocean-blue eyes. He swallows back saliva - Kuja's saliva. He wants more. Zidane sighs Kuja's name, a plea of continuance. His logic and common sense are gone, his past, present, future; even the future of the planet seems distant and easily forgettable.
Kuja is enjoying this more than he could have hoped he would. And Zidane seems to be feeling the same way. How splendid. However, he offers no reward to Zidane's cry.
Zidane tips his head up and pressed his mouth back onto Kuja's, surprising the both of them in the advance. Kuja mirthfully complies, his left hand sneaking to the back of Zidane's head, pressing him closer and forcing the kiss to continue, disregarding any possibility of Zidane disagreeing. As the lip-lock deepens, heavy breathing begins.
When finally Kuja releases his hold, he has a new destination in mind. "Come with me," he whispers to Zidane as he kisses the blonde boy's face. Zidane nods sharply, his eyes still closed.
The next thing Zidane knows, he is pushed, almost violently, onto a soft, circular bed decorated with a red-feather comforter and small, round, luxurious pillows. The narcissist climbs atop Zidane, strattling him, and begins kissing heatedly again, not waiting for a go-ahead.
Only after Kuja takes the liberty of pulling the white shirt free of Zidane's pants do Zidane's hands finally respond by gliding over Kuja's already exposed skin, exploring places where he'd never even dreamed of going or touching.
Zidane knows what he wants now.
And it sure as hell isn't Dagger.