DISCLAIMER: Here we go again, I don't own digimon. Yamato x Takeru - don't read if it offends you. What I do own, are the poems. I'd like to know your opinion on them (?) R&R, please.

Lots of non-English snips, translated in ... brackets because of the end-page non-scrollabillity lament.

Rain of Poems
chapter 1 / 3 - Takeru's Elegy (REPOSTED, hope it's more scrollable this time)

A stunning blonde, azure eyes, dressed to kill and with an attitude to mach, walking among the crowded streets of Tokyo is what could be called a white sheep among the black. Only, perhaps, this precise blonde, wore the title of wolf, and his brilliant rock songs made sure everybody knew that. Nobody was afraid of him, he knew, but still they were sheep for him, mindless sheep blindly following his lead to neverland, soaking up his preciously empty love songs with the fantasy-curled fluff of their wool. Albums sold out the moment they were put on the market, requests for appearances, if not for concerts, crowed his schedule, yearly tours were a must and there was no way he could escape the usual fan-hour that followed every performance, signing the most various types of twinkles he never knew his company produced for his fans to spend money on... Oh, how it was all so amusing at first! How much satisfaction it brought to see his high-school band in the local paper for the first time! How he had phoned chichi dad to work, ecstatic, as they were offered a very real dreamy music contract, how had he taken out 'kaasan mother and Takeru-chan for dinner to celebrate his first live concert at the Tokyo Zepp...

Golden locks glittered in the afternoon sun of that fatidic summer Saturday. Rehearsals were over, next-week appointments settled, and arguments taken care of. Before him stood a blissfully idyllic weekend, two whole days of wandering around as he pleased, and what he intended to please himself with doing was slacking off big time. Even his manager had suggested him to do just that. Youth had its benefits on keeping nasty eye-swells off the face, but he was told not to risk immunity dropping by any means, as Monday a long trip to Kyoto and an even longer, sold-out concert awaited him.

His long legs, fitted in tailored blue jeans, brought him pass countless vitrines of innumerous shops, one more colorful than the next, he noted with disinterest. His flaxen white shirt was barely hugging him, still he felt hot and stuffy in that sea of a crowd. He never was a particularly social spirit and heat was something he never did cope quite well with. He could have endured it, just like he had intended to at first - as he was to endure his emptiness inside, white-blank evident when he was alone. But he couldn't dig out a reason to do so. He simply stepped out of the flow of the human river, the stand-out that he already was, dropping to sit on the road-rimming beton fence, not bothered by the bleaching heat that the sizzling sunrays had ebbed there throughout the day, his jeans were thick enough. Pulling out of his pocket a small metal-blue cell-phone, he brushed through the numbers memorized. Who did he feel like calling, he wondered. Well, it depended on what he felt like doing. Which was a good question indeed.

Money and fame had spoiled him. He tried not to let it show, not even to himself, but he knew they did. He could feel himself growing numb for the world of fears and ambition and appreciation that surrounded him. How big were his plans as he was just an insignificant little rookie among his sempai musicians, how hard had he worked to push through the line of success... Only to feel tired of life at the present. Which was quite a disturbing thought, seeing as he had barely hit nineteen years of age. One of his hands dropped to his lap and the twinkle of the chains he wore on its wrist woke him up to a realization - the other hand was holding a softly beeping phone to his ear. He had called someone by impulse? How odd... He leant back lazily, azure eyes, shaded by dark sunglasses, carefully designed to mask his identity, lifted to blink at the sun, as if wanting to scold it for that unbearable afternoon heat...

A silent click told him whoever was on the other side had picked the phone up. Well-known tones poured from the cell-phone and he relaxed, smiling against the speaker.

"Moshi-moshi hello?"

"... otouto little bro... "

"Yamato! Yaa hey!"

The spring of joy from the other side of the line made him imagine the beaming smile crowning his brother's lips and, unconsciously, his own smile deepened. "Hey there. Who are you taking out tonight?" he joked, lifting his slender golden eyebrows as he waited for the answer.

"O- out?" there was a nervous, but somewhat thoughtful pause that caught Yamato's attention. Could it be that his otouto had actually gotten a date? Not that it was impossible, rather the opposite, but... Takeru had never had a girlfriend so far, not that the older blonde knew about anyway. It bothered him slightly, he fancied himself his younger brother's best friend...

"Yes, out. Do you have a date?"

"Why, as a matter of fact, I think I do," his brother laughed shortly, coquettishly, enticingly... just like he always did, just like he had learned to copy it from his 'niichan older brother. And, like a bolt right through the heart, a small feeling of hurt and betrayal poured through Yamato's veins. Again, it was Takeru's sweet voice what soothed the flow like a shot of morphine to the brain. "You're going to steal me away, ne?"

Now Yamato was the one to laugh out loud, making some girls turn to admire him longingly as they passed by. Yet eyes of unknown women lusting for him were something he was wont, not to say bored of. "Of course. Stay the night? I'll make dinner..." he purred invitingly, leaning back to make sure his shirt stuck to his chest for good, spread his long legs to tease, free hand brought up to toy with a stray lock of impossibly golden silk, and they walked on crestfallen, thinking, perhaps, he was talking with his lover.

"Ho- hontoni really, 'niichan!" chirped Takeru, enthusiastic, and Yamato had to smile again, sincerely.

"Honto no hontoni really really. Why wouldn't I? I'm on the station next to the Zepp, and if I'm not mistaking, that's n°84 heading this way..."

"Naa, Odaiba imasu... yokattare, ishoni ikimasenka Hey, I'm in Odaiba... should we go together? I could catch up with you at the subway..."

"Odaiba?" Yamato lifted his eyebrows, standing up to fish his monthly buss-ticket from his pocket with his free hand. By now he had forgotten all about showing off. Somehow, when Takeru was in sensory range, everything else was put into the background. "What are you doing in Odaiba?"

There was an unsuccessfully repressed sort of giggle at which Yamato only blinked. "Ex Goggle Boy commands you to show your fancy ass around sometime before he gets extinct like a dinosaur..."

"I better hurry then. There already is no greater asshole than him..." His joke held no ill feeling and the light sound of his voice confirmed it. Takeru was still laughing when he added; "I'll call 'kaasan you're sleeping at my place. You can borrow something of mine to sleep in."

"Doumo thanks, 'niichan. Ja ne bye!"

"Dou itashimashite no prob. Jaa bye!"

He was smiling now, grinning even, despite the bus he was about to load was crowded as if the whole block had decided to ride it at once. Ticket marked, he caught onto one of the handles, thoughtful. His mind skipped back and forth, from the past to the present, and to what could be the future, but all he could think about was Takeru. What would he ever do without him...

He never noticed he was humming a tune, one of his recent songs ebbed in his subconscious, never noticed people were staring at him, girls recognizing him... Because, to him, they weren't as important as those thoughts.

"'niichan!"

A hand groped his wrist, tugging him to run along. Familiar long blonde locks blurred by his line of sight, and that was all it took to kick him into motion. Jumping three stairs at the time to keep up with his brother, Takeru thought at first they were being followed by a hoard of rabid fangirls, not an impossible occurrence, but he had actually never experienced it. So as they hit the ground-stair, he enthusiastically whirled his head back to see.

Only there was no one that seemed interested in them. A few girls did throw a look in their direction, but nobody was chasing them. He turned forth to Yamato again, smiling at the bizarre pace they were advancing along the long hallway of the sub. "Why are we running!" he breathed, twisting his wrist out of the grasp, moving his hand quickly until it slid in his brother's. His black backpack was bumping against his back and his baggy gray pants were constantly in his way, riding low over his wine-red sneakers, still he didn't even think of protesting to pause.

His bother only flashed him a smile, and they were at the subway platforms already. Their rail, the third, was still empty, but the older blonde ran all the way to the yellow safety-line and Takeru, as on command, skipped to a halt next to him. Yamato was still gripping his hand, and he was gripping his back for dear life. His cerulean eyes stole around them as his free hand lifted to adjust his now trademark gray bell-cap. Expectantly, but no less shyly, he met the staring eyes of every single soon-to-be co-passenger. Two blond guys, very apparently brothers and both quite of age, running and holding hands like two elopers - what wasn't there to stare at? Shyly he stole a sideways glance at his brother. His chest was hovering and his cheeks were flushed from running, but he was grinning contently, proudly, and the smaller blonde could feel a wide grin creeping onto his face too. Yeah, he thought courageously, let them think what they want! Let them fool themselves! But his cheeks flushed red and his eyes dropped to gaze at his sneakers.

It would have felt awkward, but it didn't as this was Odaiba, and basically no-one knew them. It suddenly occurred to Takeru, that if they wanted, they could actually give a show, have fun at it - and get away with it. Role-play was one of his favorite games since he was little. When he felt like crying in the kindergarten, he would think himself Yamato and his tears wouldn't spill, or he would think himself Taichi when he played football and would always score a goal... he could think himself a lover too, couldn't he?

The sub came gliding over the rails, screeching as it stopped, and its doors slid open. Pouring in with the rest of the crowd, Yamato quickly grasped the metal tube near the exit, holding his brother close so the others could fill in pass them. Even when the doors closed and the sub started to move, he still held Takeru against him, eyes flashing over the crowd under dark shades. Delighted to be in the center of attention, he found the expressions regarding them were now various, from disgusted scowls to flushed wistful ogling.

Takeru's cheeks were devil-red, but his hands weren't shy at all. As his brother was pinning him against the metal tubes with his body, very eloquently invading his personal space, both of his hands were free. He thought for a moment and then daringly slid them in the but-pockets of his brother's jeans. Yamato's hips shifted closer, sure, but that was pretty much it. Takeru nearly felt as though he wasn't doing enough, that his brother had totally expected him to do just that. He wanted to shock him, tease him now that he actually got a chance, make the role-playing more fun. He leaned in despite the heat, and with a boldness he never knew he possessed, planted his lips on his brother's neck, gently licking, feeling his brother give a slight startled jerk. Pleased at the reaction he couldn't help it, he bit on teased flesh.

Surprised, Yamato, found himself having to stiff a moan in his throat. It was a dangerous game to play, yes, but one he wanted to. Having someone small and blonde and petite, but still very definitely male - and very very forbidden at it - pressed against him, sucking on his neck, was quite a kick. As he was straight-edge by principle, no drugs or booze for over five years, he didn't get many of those. Sometimes, if the vibe was right, his songs could get him high as hell. But not this high. Heat or not, he was inching closer, and he caught himself wondering what after-shave did his brother use... it had such a nice smell...

Cerulean eyes darted up to him, kicking sense back into place. "Ci stanno guardando tutti everybody's looking at us... !" The small blonde was grinning, flushed. His whisper was in fluent Italian, their father's mother-language 1. At school, they had originally studied only English besides the national Japanese, and most of the population was bad enough at that. But Takeru loved languages, Yamato knew as much. He especially loved Italian, the way it just poured out sweet as the finest of honeys, no matter if intoning a curse or a love song. And, needless to say, 'tousan father loved Takeru for it. He enjoyed teaching him, especially his Roman accent of it.

After Takeru, Yamato was the second most fluent in it, having lived with chichi since the divorce. "Lo so' I know," he grinned, "si stanno godendo la scienata, ti pare they're enjoying the show, don't you think?" He leaned in closer to those cerulean eyes, gone wide at his approach, as if aiming for his lips, and they both heard a woman, standing perhaps a couple of feet away, gasp in shock. Takeru's shoulders started shaking with repressed laughter. He tried to stop, he really did, but he was too nervous, excited and enthralled to succeed. He ended converting it into shaky coughing, and Yamato was hugging him close, laughing up into the collar of his indigo T-shirt.

"Se mi baciavi, sveniva had you kissed me, she would have passed out," Takeru whispered at last, coughing still, and his brother nodded. Some stations passed, people boarding, people descending, but everybody glaring at the blonde duo pressed together near the exit.

To see them waking home from where the bus they took from the subway had left them, people probably thought they ran across a couple of lunatics. That is, if they had a bad day - unlike them.

"Na, Yamato... sing me a song," pleaded Takeru, grinning again. This was the most fun afternoon of the week, if not the month. And to say there was still the evening to come, with Yamato's excellent cooking...! "'Garou no Kokolo' Wolf's Heart, Yamato, onegai shimasu please."

"Iie no... I'm sick of singing for today," the older blonde yawned, wrapping a hand around his otouto's shoulders. The sun was just beginning to set, coloring the sky with orange shades where it met the horizon, burning orange shades that smoothly transposed into the blue of the young evening sky and up into the heavens. "Mata kondo onegai shimasu do ask me some other time, please..."

"Saa, saa c'mon, c'mon...!" the younger wouldn't let it drop, turning big cerulean puppy eyes at his sibling.

"... Sing it yourself, you know the lyrics," the older suggested, smiling somewhat tiredly. Takeru was pouting still, so he begun to hum the vocal's melody, urging him to sing it as he knew this was his favorite song. He was reading him like an opened book it occurred to him then, as Takeru hooked an arm around his waist and let himself get lost in the lyrics...

"Night-time's young, let's reach out
Hear the song
Of lonesome wolves howling to the sky
The breeze is chill, let's fur up
Feel the thrill
Of small sharp paws sacring the ground-"

"... iidesune awesome!" muttered the older, amazed. The piece was rather difficult, yet his otouto hadn't missed a single note. Feeling bolder at the praise, Takeru raised his voice a bit, smiling as he sung.

"The wood's near, let's find it
Know the tears
Of brother souls passing by
The moon's full, a strength's crescendo
See the fools
With broken sculls by time's misguide"

The last bit too was sung without errors, Yamato mused. His brother must have heard it quite a lot of times to manage a clear tonality like that. And his voice was very stable and sure... perhaps he had been practicing it even... It filled him with a feeling of honor, that his otouto liked his song to such extends. So when Takeru gasped another lungsfull to continue, he decided to sing along. Nothing felt better than synchronizing with the one he felt closest to...

"Pale winter moon, bring me my breakdown
Mid-summer stars, sparkle up and fade
Morning Venus, shine me up a dawn
Sunshine, awake me from this haze...!"

The song ended there, in laughter. So natural, so simple, so warm was the feeling bonding them. Brotherly, Takeru tried to describe it, but it didn't quite fit somehow. Had they been like any other pair of brothers, the fact that they were so talented in the same fields of creativity would have erected a strong competition, if not hatred. Was there even a possible reason he could hate his 'niichan for...?

"Omedetou gozaimasu congratulations!" beamed Yamato, hugging him close. With a swift gesture he snatched the grey bell-cap off of those golden locks, hand placed flat against the outer cheek, and he urged that petite face near, planting a proud kiss on his otouto's temple. Surely he couldn't have gotten a little brother better than this.

'niichan was the greatest, the most beautiful, the most perfect person in the world. "Doumo arigatou gozaimashta thank you very much..." he muttered automatically, closing his eyes as soft lips touched his temple. And it wasn't about the praise, or the kiss... it was about the approval, the honor he could feel radiating from his dear 'niichan, honor of having a sibling like him.

"Goshi sousa yo deshita thank you for the delicious meal... You're still the best cook in the world, 'niichan!" Takeru was grinning as he helped his brother gather the plates and dishes, now empty, from the table. He carried them quickly to the sink, gently bumping Yamato, who was just tying his chess-patterned blue and white apron ready to start with the washing, away from it with his hip. If Yamato had been so nice to cook, he might as well try to compensate with washing up, he decided. Ever since his 'niichan had moved to a place on his own, having turned eighteen, their evenings together felt different somehow, more intense in a way. Every time he got to spend the evening with Yamato, it felt like a new adventure, they always got to do something fun - boredom was a term 'niichan didn't know about, it seemed. On more occasions, Takeru found himself wishing he could simply move in with him, and live like that for the rest of his life.

But Yamato was bored most of the time, apatic for pretty much everything and everybody that surrounded him. Except Takeru. His otouto, so sunny and warm and up to everything he could come up with, so active and cheerful there just was no way that he wouldn't kick him to life as well. He was so predictably unpredictable, yet always nice and caring, patient and calm when needed... so unlike an average sixteen. So unlike a brother. More like... like what?

"Na, Takeru... you don't need to do that..." he blinked, a small pang of guilt alerting his senses. He didn't just thought of defining his brother as 'lover', did he...? Surely it couldn't be. Watching him clean the dishes in his kitchen, remains of a dinner set for two, with the ease of someone feeling completely at home...

"Daijobu it's OK, I want to do it," beamed the boy and two cerulean eyes seemed as transfixing as never before, Yamato noticed with a start. "I want to help somehow, I can't let you do everything."

He laughed then, nervously, to forcefully shake himself out of that nondefinable revire. This was Takeru, his sweet Takeru... He untied the apron he had just slid on moments ago and quietly moved to put it on his otouto, arms moving up under his to hook it over his head. Before he knew it, his hands were sliding down that lightly toned torso, a bit too slowly so to be just smoothing the rumples. He wanted to do that, to feel him up, he really did, Yamato confessed himself reluctantly. He closed his eyes praying he was dreaming, hoping it would never end... He never noticed Takeru had stopped washing the dishes, leaning back onto him silently, until... Until his wandering hands hit the buckle of his brother's belt, the only thing holding up those baggy gray pants.

He jerked slightly, coming back to his senses in a bolt. One of his otouto's hands whipped in the apron and rose to tangle softly in his long blond locks. "No need to thank me 'niichan," he turned to look at him with a golden smile curving his lips, "I should be the one thanking you, constantly."

Yamato repressed the urge to swallow. He leaned in softly, posing his lips carefully against his brother's temple as he was wont to. Sure, what he felt for his brother was deep and sincere affection, just as Takeru had read it, but for a moment there, for a blissfully wonderful moment, his hands had been lead by something far more urgent and sleek. "Anou er ... What do you want to do?" he asked lightly, deciding worrying about it wouldn't help their evening together much. It was probably just a flash. It was probably just too long since he had had a regular lay...

"I'd like to ask you some questions," Takeru grinned, hands moving to continue washing the dishes, "same ones I asked Taichi-san and Hikari-kun earlier today..."

"Questions?" absently, Yamato moved his hands to tie the apron at Takeru's waist. "About what?"

"You'll see," cerulean eyes were flashing at him once more, only with a hint of silent determination this time. "Would you please get the green notebook from my backpack? Once I'm done we can get started..."

Nodding, the older blonde wandered into the larger, carefully decorated living room. It had, perhaps, twenty meters squared (eleven tatami), trademark white walls and a cream-colored carpet, rimmed with navy strands, covering the spotlessly white tiles. A traditional oak low-leg table, Yamato's personal pick, placed in the very middle, matched the glass-doored shelves, enticed further by innumerous room plants and flowers, taking residence in it, giving the occupant a pleasant relaxing feeling. It was the least he could do, with a job as stressful and draining as his, his home needed to feel like a sanctuary if he wanted to wake up in the morning ready to face the new day.

On the big navy couch, between the soft cream-white pillows, Takeru's black backpack was dropped. He sat next to it, remembering vaguely that he had been the one to buy it for him a year or two before - a little souvenir from London. He ran his hand over the fine, resistant material, marveling at how it still looked freshly store-bought, despite he couldn't remember ever meeting his otouto without it. His fingers caught it's zipper, the small handle decorated by a ribbon reassembling the English flag, and drew it down slowly, hearing the gentle rasping of carefully conjoined metal drawing apart.

He saw the green notebook immediately, as with a few pens and a wallet, it was the only thing inside the bag. He wondered why was his brother needing it to ask him questions - was he taking notes of something? He flipped it open in his hands idly, not really reading, just scrolling the neatly written text. Yes, it did seem a meeting report notedown at first glance, he could even make out Taichi and Hikari's name. There had been Koushiro mentioned somewhere at the beginning, he was sure... He had just settled between the pillows comftably, when pages slipped out underneath his suddenly loosened fingertips, skipping quickly until they opened all by themselves. The page was very different from the others, the scrolling was rather mixed and unorganized, with lots of arrows and circled text and underlines as well as crossings and big angry x-es. Bit of the text was blurred and faded, as if stained with teardrops, and Yamato found himself bringing the page closer to his eyes, focusing on the words...

It was a poem... Takeru's poem. He wasn't sure he could read it, as it seemed to be a personal thing, and he was about to put the notebook aside when the word 'brother' caught his attention. Brother...

'My brother, friend I hold so dear
I'm singing you a love song you'll never hear...'

Brother... was it just a figure of speech? Surely it couldn't be that his otouto had meant him... or could it? The title did read 'Elegy'... Before he knew it, Yamato was reading the poem.

'It's like a feeling of disapproval
It's like an old tear-stained novel
Wet with tears you didn't cry
As they were long locked up and dried

It's like a prize you never won
The one kept betting on
Like a loss you never felt
A slow death from frail health

It's like a maze without an exit
Like a sour birthday cake, taste it
The older you get, the less you know
Blow your candles, your shadows will grow

It's like a flower that doesn't bloom
It's like midnight that comes at noon
Like snow in June and heat in December
A beloved name you cannot remember

It's like life, though yours or mine
I know who we used to be through time
My brother, friend I hold so dear
I'm singing you a love song you'll never hear

It's like a wave of neglecting thoughts
Like an escape rope tied in knots
Like a call of death for another birth
We'll meet again, no matter the hurt'

He stared at the writing for several blank moments, awestruck. There was no solid proof, of course, as he knew poetry always had this multi-explanatory attribute, but the way he understood it...

Feeling of disapproval, it could mean the self-aware wrongness of love towards... him? A loss he never felt... a love he could never have? The love of his brother? A flower that doesn't bloom, a love without a future... An escape rope tied in knots, an unsolvable situation... And he was a brother and a friend, both at once...

"'niisan? Ready for the questions?" Takeru was crying from the kitchen, the rustling of cotton being removed and folded telling Yamato he had finished washing the dishes.

"I'm ready," he swallowed, trying to assure himself silently. Putting the opened notebook firmly by his side, he fore-saw their brotherhood crumbling into dust. "Are you, otouto?"

tbc


1 - Mr. Ishida is half-French, I know, but I am not and I can't spell it. I'm not Italian either but... please try to bear with my choice '

PG-13, I'm growing surprisingly soft, I've noticed. Must be because I really don't see forecefull approaches with this couple. To tell the truth, this is my first Yamakeru, second ever incest. It feels somehow... different from writing regular yaoi. I wonder why...