strange as angels
yuugiou fanfiction
ryuujitsu & co.
Disclaimer: Saying Yuugiou belongs to us is like saying my stuffed pikachu is the lead singer of Malice Mizer. Cure lyrics do not belong to us either.
A/N: Ahem, ahem, yes. This is another drabble, featuring Out-of-Character!Kaiba and Out-of-Character!Kisara and irrelevant Cure lyrics from the best 80s song in the western hemisphere.
Oh my god, yes, it's a hetero fic.
Try to remain calm; the world is not coming to an end. Companion-fic to 'nodjmet.' Enjoy!
(s)(a)(a)
you—soft and only you—lost and lonely
you—strange as angels
dancing in the deepest oceans
twisting in the water, you're just like a dream
- 'Just Like Heaven,' The Cure
His eyes reminded her of the sea. It had been years, but she remembered it still—the endless expanse of blue, stretching to meet a similarly blue sky—the wind, the waves, the salty spray that would burn if it came in contact with broken skin and open wounds. The sea was fierce and dark and eternal, unlike the Nile that ebbed and rose and ebbed. When his life-giver flooded, it was nothing like the sea. The sea took those who ventured near—the life-giver became a life-taker, indiscriminate in who it swept away and who it saved.
When the dry land blossomed in rich sweltering heat, she would stand at the window and watch as the sun baked the mud until it cracked once more, watch as the river weakened and strengthened, day by day.
How she despised being chained there, unable to move about—literally a woman tied to his bedpost. Only his eyes sustained her. She remembered the sea when she saw them—his eyes were as real as the ocean of her memories, the only tangible reminder of her old home. When she saw his eyes, the world was hers. His life was of no importance—but his life kept those eyes like the sea, and she would protect his life for it protected his eyes.
She grew to love the life that kept his eyes like the sea.
She would sit at the foot of his bed patiently as he ran his hands through her coarse white hair, sit like stone as he took the tangles between his fingers and twisted each strand free one by one. Foreign, he said. Ugly, he said. But he was fascinated with her, and sometimes as he moved to touch her stony face she would catch his hands and kiss them, kiss his cheek, his temple, the lobes of his ears.
When she said "I love you," he would only look at her curiously and drag his hands through her disheveled hair again. She would see the six silver-white strands as they drifted to the ground and think of the sea and the snow.
She would watch him as he slept, curled on his side like the smallest of children, and marvel at how easy it would be to kill him then—take her chains, strangle him, and escape to the sea, but the sea was in his eyes and his eyes alone, and when he was dead there would be no more of it. And so she would wait until morning when his eyes opened against the sun and his hands found the heavy snarls in her rough shining hair. Powerful, he said. His fingers ghosted across the two sharp points that her shoulders made in her back.
And moving my lips to breathe her name
His eyes were like the sea in all its forms. They were smoky like a gathering Nordic storm, wretched like the waves that swallowed the fishermen, icy like the snow that gathered over water so cold that even the salt had frozen, thick with the turmoil of a raging sea. But there would be times when she would feel a soft lull in the combing of his fingers, and look up to see into the clear blue depths of an ocean at rest.
One day he returned to her awhirl with excitement, eyes glittering like the sea at sunrise. He spoke to her at last and his language was harsh and guttural. I want your power, he said, his hands fisting in her hair. I want you. And as he kissed her for the first time, the kiss of his ancestors: A quick, unfeeling brush of their noses. She snarled and seized him around the neck and forced their mouths together.
I opened up my eyes
The steel balanced below the swell of her breasts; the altar was hard against her angular back. It wasn't a large knife, but she was a small girl of small build. He was looking at her with fleeting uncertainty—vague doubt like wisps of smoke—his mouth set and firm as his muscles rippled, his body coiling. Only the corners of his eyes trembled—his eyes like the sea. She reached for him, and that was when the chanting crescendo-ed. The knife slammed between her ribs and into the stone floor beneath her.
When she groped feebly at his drooping lashes and whispered the sea, the sea, take me back with blood bubbling on her lips, she thought she felt a certain salty wetness about his eyelids.
The sea was in his eyes.
And found myself alone—alone
Alone above a raging sea
That stole the only girl I loved and
Drowned her deep inside of me
:::fin:::
A/N: Kisara is meant to be from a remote northern tribe. Like maybe Vikings, I'ono. Review?