Galatea
Tenth Movement: His Playtime
"Within the intense rain, fingers outstretched,
Even in the dark night when I can't see, I will find you.
Someday I'll pull back my hand, then I'll embrace you so strongly
You won't be able to breathe."
Lyrics, Kodou by Sakai Mikio and Sugisaki Yukiru
Satoshi stared at the blank sprawling white canvas for the longest time, nearly giving up on the stupid whim after his mind remained bereft of inspiration for nearly fifteen minutes. He was, most likely, the only student left on the campus, his last tutoring session having ended nearly forty-five minutes ago. These days that seemed all he did anymore: attend school and tutor his fellow students, like a normal fourteen-year-old super-genius who'd already graduated college.
Well, perhaps not so normal then… Whatever the case, his life of late was far less hectic and—dare he even say—less exciting than it had been a little over a month prior, despite Krad's late-night jaunts now to terrorize Dark. Everything seemed…so much simpler now.
No longer were there the torn views of Niwa Daisuke: hate him, love him, what? It was a plain and unadorned reaction to the boy now: just another student, not his supposed blood enemy. Krad could take his vengeance out on Dark if that was what pleased him, Satoshi was through with it all. Nowadays his idea of a challenge extended only as far as explaining quadratic functions to one of the giggly moony-eyed girls in his homeroom for an hour after school—with adequate pay, of course.
Nor was there the dark presence of his adopted father anymore—though he supposed he had Krad to thank for that. It had been over three weeks now since Hiwatari Kei's body had been found mangled and mutilated, rent open on the Toki no Kusabi. Nearly three weeks since that murder, three weeks since he'd sworn he'd never allow Krad any sort of freedom again for that betrayal… And nearly two weeks since he'd taken back those words and let Krad out again to continue his squabbles with the phantom thief.
He sighed, still blanking on an idea, and simply decided to let the brush wander over the canvas in whatever fashion it decided—the art would arise from it regardless of his motions: he was, after all, a Hikari. It was all but impossible for him to make something that couldn't somehow be construed as art, however abstract it may have seemed.
Why, he wondered inanely, was he even sitting in this art room, alone in the school, in front of this canvas which taunted him silently? Did he somehow miss painting as he often had done as a child, his father hovering behind him offering awed praise of the scribbles and splotches…? Hiwatari Kei, though, had never been one to aptly appreciate Satoshi's work as his own; it was enough for the former head of police that the small Hikari boy he'd taken in was gracing him with his creativity. Satoshi conjectured he had been more a being to be worshipped from afar, to be envied, than an actual son to the man.
Curling a thumb through the hole on one of the dirty palettes, he squirted a rainbow of oils onto the wood and slowly dipped his brush in, letting it wander over the snowy canvas.
That was the problem with white: it was only considered pure until something came along and touched it, tainted it. Even the tiniest speck of dirt would mar its beauty and render it useless, no longer desirable to any because of its used nature.
He stippled the brush stiffly along one side, spreading the pattern over the bottom right and into the center, then re-dipped the utensil and watched as the colors marched like army lines over the remaining bottom half. Another dip, and shoots of red leapt up from the army lines at the bottom like spurts of blood, before another dip sent blues and greens raining down from heaven like life-giving water.
…Why was he painting, he wondered again, even as his hand unconsciously continued its trek over the canvas—to pass the time? Or to forget about the time passing? Spurt, spurt…
He knew, as he watched the painting unfold under his fingers, that he was not the only spectator in his mind—even though he may have temporarily forgotten this. Which may explain, then, why he jumped a little when an astral presence suddenly spoke up from beside him, arms crossed contently, head cocked slightly to the side so that the ghostly golden hair barely graced the floor.
'…I suppose it only follows, that from such beauty would spring such beauty… Your works, as always, Satoshi-sama, do not even need Hikari magic to come alive…'
Satoshi nearly dropped the brush, having to fumble a few times to keep it from dropping, and so he missed the amused chuckle that Krad quickly hid from his tamer. After the boy resituated himself before the painting, he turned an annoyed glare at the creature that had disturbed him.
Krad ignored the piercing blue eyes that silently cursed their owner for being caught offguard so easily, and he moved closer to examine the work thus far. Grunting, Satoshi stood quickly and moved to put away the unfinished work, not wishing to have its many faults critiqued. He himself could count some fifteen or twenty on it just with a passing glance—he didn't need an ancient family curse blabbering on about how he should have moved the focus of the viewer's eye more to the lower right than he had, nor how he used too many contrasting colors in one area. It was, as he'd already told himself, simply a stupid whim.
'Wait—you're not finishing it?' was the disappointed cry as he pulled the canvas to himself away from Krad's view, and he stopped a few feet from a cabinet and turned a suspicious eye to the blonde. 'All I was doing was watching—you're going to stop an activity so ingrained in you simply because I spoke?' He uncrossed his arms, 'You should never leave an artwork unfinished…it makes them quite unhappy, you know.'
Resting the canvas on the floor at his feet, he narrowed his eyes, "Really, I don't need any faint praise for something as mundane as a five minute spattering of paint—least of all from you." Mustering as much sarcasm as he could, he continued as he replaced the painting with a few others to dry, "Please don't force yourself on my part…"
Krad's gaze darkened slightly. 'You thought that faint praise, did you, Satoshi-sama?' No reply. 'Didn't I tell you that I never lie? Least of all to you—and wouldn't you think that I, more than anyone else, would know the true beauty of a Hikari work?' Slowly, the boy turned to him, doubt painted as clearly on his face as his images on the canvas, and Krad shook his head in mirth before taking a seat on the stool his host had just abandoned.
'All your works, I have seen them. And I would protect each and every one of them with as much fervor as I would my own life—your own life. For they are all as beautiful and unique as their creator, not without flaws, but only made more exquisite by those flaws.' He narrowed his eyes slightly and, for once, waxed serious, raising his head. 'Your works may not be perfect, but you, Satoshi-sama…are.'
Satoshi scoffed loudly and wandered back over to the easel to wash and put away his tools, carrying them over to a nearby faucet. "Perfect?" he laughed incredulously, "You say you know me better than anyone else, and yet you think me perfect?" He hastily shook the brush to air-dry it and returned it to a cup. Wiping his hands on his apron, he added, "I suppose I'd never realized you were blind—please forgive me." The final statement was added with enough acidic sarcasm to melt iron.
Krad's frown deepened. 'Deny it as much as you want, but I have already reminded you that I, more than any other, would know the true beauty of a Hikari work—or Hikari member—best.'
Tossing the palette into a box with others, Satoshi picked up a small broom and swept away the mess he'd made. "I think I liked you better when you were praising the painting rather than me."
Krad perked up a bit at this, head lifting in wonder, 'Oh? Liked me better, you say?' Satoshi didn't reply immediately, almost regretting even making the idle comment. 'Please explain.' It was not a request, that much was obvious.
Sighing, Satoshi returned the broom to its rack and glared at his curse. "All I meant was that it's a far easier chore to tolerate you when you're not…well, for lack of a better phrasing, when you're not being you." Krad blinked stupidly, obviously not following. "When—when you're just there, not taunting, not ordering, not being a general pain-in-the-ass that seems to only enjoy watching me squirm. No talk about murdering a Niwa, no plans to take over my body and kill him in his sleep, no…possessiveness…then…" He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed an arm as if delaying speaking his next thought.
"Then…the way you've become, you're not…that bad a person to be around…" His eyes almost immediately shot up to gauge Krad's reaction to the hesitant admission that had almost had to be forcibly drawn out, fully prepared for the onslaught that was sure to follow. Silently, he cursed himself for opening up even the slightest bit—had his past not taught him better than to take such a risk?
But to his grand surprise, Krad did not take advantage of the upper hand he held in their current situation, but pushed his image off the stool and looked at the boy before him, smiling and pondering a response. He reached a gloved hand forward and guided the boy's chin up so that he was staring fully at him.
'…Then you have found out about me what I have known about you all your life.' Satoshi blinked uncertainly, trying to keep his face blank. 'You only see me when you want to…and you never want to see me as I want to be seen. I too enjoy times such as this, without outside interference, when you are simply yourself, Hikari Satoshi, not focusing on resisting any advances I make, or on reminding me how hateful I am to you…when you are simply there, simply…reachable…then I am content.' As if he could feel the boy's instinctive urge to pull away slowly overpowering the captivating pull of Krad, he released Satoshi and turned back to the empty easel, which his host too now looked at. The next day the room would be filled with students preparing entries for the Summer Art Festival, Niwa Daisuke among them. Perhaps he would even be seated upon that same stool, pondering what he should dream up.
But for now, it was just the Tamer and the Tamed.
"I wish…" Satoshi hesitated to speak any further potentially damaging statements which Krad might be able to use against him in the future, but the desire to say what needed to be said eventually won out. "I wish…we could talk like this again…some other time…" He didn't even need to look up to see Krad's reaction; he could feel a gentle pulse of agreement reverberating in his mind like a plucked violin string. "It's really...right…"
And for once, he chose to voluntarily overlook the fact that the only reason their accord felt so right was most likely because that was how it was intended to be in the first place: the host and the family curse, working together as one—any conflict would naturally place a strain on both members.
Right now, he merely wanted to assure himself that it was possible to still be content, even without the elusive Niwa bird in his cage…
And for the moment, standing in the art room in the empty school building at 5:47 on a Tuesday evening…he was content…
They both were. And they both realized, then, that it could be good that way.
Another week passed in lazy idleness for both Tamer and Tamed, and a strange calm settled over them, bound to be broken with the announcement of Dark's next advance notice. Krad had used up one of his allowed three notices without much by way of a hitch, but if he wanted to truly earn his host's trust, he needed to find some way to show it, and sitting here waiting for the next notice wasn't helping him in this cause.
He'd silently noted that Satoshi seemed to be thrusting himself even more into his work of late, as if making a concerted effort to distract himself from both his curse and his former love interest. The boy barely made eye contact with the Niwa child lately (not that Krad had any problem with this in the least) and spoke to Krad himself even less (which the blonde did have a problem with).
He couldn't, however, bring himself to confront his host on this matter, as despite it being already one month after the murder, Satoshi no doubt still harbored dark feelings for his curse.
His host was currently fighting nodding off on the train ride back to his apartment after a long day of studying, lecturing, and tutoring. Krad faintly recalled Satoshi passing some excuse off to a teacher of his requesting exemption from being required to attend the next day's field trip. The blonde had perked up upon hearing the location—the Central Art Museum—and resigned himself to silently pouting. He would have liked to have actually gone to an art museum to appreciate the art rather than worry about Dark for once. But it couldn't be denied that his poor Satoshi-sama had been working himself to the bone of late and deserved a day to sleep in.
Whoever said that Krad of the Hikari didn't make an occasional sacrifice for his precious host?
Hiwatari Satoshi was tired—dead tired, dog tired, tired through and through, inside and out, tired in mind, tired in body, tired down to his very bones—and he wanted, more than anything else to fall asleep as quickly as possible, because, as stated, he was tired.
The whole past week had been one long game of catch-up, trying to put his life back into sorts. He'd been slacking off in his studies lately, growing lax under his freer schedule, and there was an important set of mid-year exams coming up soon—exams he hadn't even begun to study for. So every morning for the past week he'd set his alarm for 5 A.M., rising bleary-eyed and thumbing through notes on math equations and chemical laws and literary terms, yawning his way from one subject to the next before showering and hastily readying himself for the actual school day.
There was no time for afternoon naps anymore—tutoring saw to that. His monthly stipend from the bank in concordance with his biological parents' will (an amount to be doled out to him should Hiwatari Kei fail to provide adequately for him) was enough to keep him reasonably well fed and housed, but it was not enough to distract him—and the money wouldn't last forever. So, every afternoon, he would travel to homes across the city and tutor the children of the wealthy and middle-class for a fee, distracting himself from the emptiness in his heart by filling the emptiness in his wallet. So far, it seemed to be working—he had less time to worry about Niwa nowadays.
Today had been a particularly trying day, though. Up at five as usual, and a long day at school consisting of a stale presentation on cloning to the biology staff and a bit of smooth talking that freed him from a kickball game in gym. It was his turn to clean up after school—with, of all people, the annoying younger Harada who seemed to have taken a more pleasant view of him now that he was no longer trying to arrest her precious "Dark-san". That had kept him another hour and a half, and as the sun was setting he dashed off to the first of his three tutoring dates for the evening.
The last had just ended an hour ago, and by the time he'd taken the forty-five minute train ride from the distant suburb his clients had been located in, and walked home, it was nearing eleven-thirty.
So he was tired.
He fumbled blindly with his clinking set of keys, fishing around for them in his pocket before trying three different ones and finally pushing the right one into the keyhole, letting it swing open with a soft creak. He slipped his shoes off in the entryway and padded in sock feet into the living room. Slinging his pack off from his shoulders onto the couch, he didn't give it another thought and continued on towards his bedroom. Glaring at his clock, he made sure the alarm was turned off—tomorrow, oh yes, tomorrow he was free. He silently thanked the god of field trips for making the following day's one he didn't have to attend. After all, the Central Art Museum? Please, he'd seen enough museums to last him a lifetime, thank you very much.
Tomorrow was "sleep in as late as I want and possibly never get out of bed except to eat and use the bathroom" day. Yes, Satoshi liked the sound of that day a lot, and pondered wearily why he didn't have days like that more often.
The pondering didn't last long though, and after reaffirming that he would not be woken up at five by the annoying beeping of his alarm, he removed his glasses and began unbuttoning the stiff school uniform shirt, tossing it onto a basket with several others just like it. He retained the tank top he'd worn underneath it, and removed his pants in a similar fashion, stripping down to a pair of boxers.
Aaah…bedtime now. He hadn't even bothered to turn on any lights since his eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, so it made it all the easier for him to slip under the covers and swiftly slow his breathing, consciousness breaking away from its physical bonds like a ship from its mooring, lost in the fog of slumber…
The wonderful thing about dreaming, you see, is that you seldom know that it is one. To the dreamer, everything they experience is real, normal, acceptable. There are no masks, no tricks, no ploys—everyone is trustworthy and everything they do is trustworthy. So for all the time spent dreaming, humanity is blissfully unaware that there could exist beyond this realm anything to the contrary, outside of the norm—however abnormal that state may be to a conscious onlooker.
And it is much the same in one's deepest darkest fantasies, save that in fantasies, the creator knows full well the falsity of the actions and understands that it is not normal—but simply chooses to ignore the fact that it would never come true for the time being.
A dream is acceptance, a fantasy denial.
How fitting then, that Krad should fantasize rather than dream. No, not once in three centuries had he ever had anything of the sort which could be called a "dream." He could sleep, and did so frequently, slipping into a low energy state in his host's consciousness where he recouped his strength, forgetting for a while any worries he might have. But he never dreamed in these time periods—he was always conscious of the goings on around him, even when he forcibly tuned them out. No, he fantasized. Inserted himself into mental situations he could control, scenes he could play out to his own taste. And these fantasies nearly always included his Satoshi-sama.
Satoshi-sama's apartment, Satoshi-sama's room, Satoshi-sama's bed, Satoshi-sama's body…all of Satoshi-sama's things were there in his fantasies…and tonight was no different.
They were currently facing off at the foot of the bed, the dimly lit bedroom providing just enough light for the two to fully take in the other's appearance—what time it was Krad did not specify, for it didn't matter to him, the petty human timetables. What mattered was that he was standing here with Satoshi-sama. And a particularly delicious looking one at that.
The boy was not stocky, but nor was he what some would call contemptuously "weedy"—he was an elegant melding of power and potency, lean but not skinny, tall but not beanpole-ish, perfectly suited for sprinting like lightning after a kaitou or tackling him to the ground…or as Krad chose to view him, simply perfect.
Satoshi was a matchless member of a breed that itself was matchless in its species, with the tell-tale Hikari characteristics that captivated his fellow humans and drove his own curse mad with longing. The frozen blue eyes that could pierce with a glance, the wispy locks that fluttered in the slightest breeze, a sturdy frame to support the toned but not overly-muscled body plan that hadn't changed in centuries, perfectly adapted for the blood-inlaid purpose of chasing Niwas.
Krad himself, though, was nothing to sneer at—for if the Hikaris had to be adept at chasing and pinning little phantom thieves, then he himself was the ultimate Hikari, crafted in the image of his maker as a godly being among godly beings—the divinely gifted clan members who could not even foresee their own downfall and the rise of himself and Dark. Who could not prevent the ravages of the Cultural Revolution, who doomed their own progeny to years of feuding in recompense for the wrongs brought about by the Niwas' interference. And he was the supreme creation of these people.
Tonight he'd let his hair down—something he seldom did, for it so often became a hindrance in the physical realm, and in the astral realm it didn't matter in the least whether it was up or down, he couldn't feel it regardless. For whatever reason, though, he'd unbound his golden mane, freeing it from the ribbon which normally constrained it, and set it and the cross tied to it aside. Tonight let there be nothing between himself and Satoshi-sama.
"Good evening, Satoshi-sama," he crooned, staring down at the slightly shorter boy, and gave a polite bow of acknowledgement, "Are you well?". The teen returned his greeting and smiled contentedly—he was always so considerate in these fantasies, you know, it was arousing. Consumed with and radiating the same warm, hazy happiness, he was the epitome of innocence. His normally cold blue eyes were now bright and willing, face an excited canvas of wonder, prepared to give and receive whatever ideas Krad might suggest to him. And never let it be said that Krad did not come prepared to his fantasies.
He settled slowly onto the edge of the mattress, beckoning the boy to do the same, who willfully complied, caught up in the warm golden gaze that was locked onto him. "Satoshi-sama…would you like to play a game tonight?" the older man questioned innocently, and he had to wait but a moment before the boy's eyes smiled back at him, lit up with excitement.
"What…kind of game?" was the curious reply, and Krad laughed at the acceptance. This Satoshi-sama was eager, inquisitive, naïve—no, not naïve, innocent. Like a dreamer, he didn't dare suspect that there might be any ulterior motive to Krad's request. A game was a game, fun, enjoyable…and by extension pleasurable. He would passively accept most anything Krad suggested so long as it followed these lines, and the blonde had no intention of destroying the boy's image of what a game was.
"A very fun game…you'll like it quite a bit I wager…" Twisting his upper body to face the teen, he pushed back the sleeves on the thin astral robe he was clad in and turned his attentions to Satoshi's garments. He never specified what the boy appear in, it was a surprise he looked forward to—but tonight…oh, tonight it was a deviously simple ensemble.
Thin boxer shorts and a flimsy white button-up dress shirt were all the barriers that existed in this meeting to keep the Hikari curse from ravaging his astral host then and there. But wait…he could not take this lightly, or else risk spoiling the atmosphere and ending the game prematurely. No, this as with any other would be taken slowly, slowly.
In perfect synchronization his slender arms reached out and grasped the fabric of either shoulder, coaxing it down the arms to divest him of the garment at a horrifically slow pace, and he continued his explication.
"There are points on the body, Satoshi-sama, that when touched in just the right way, can render a person completely helpless in front of another…did you know that?" He spoke the revelation as if it were merely a lesson to be learned in a classroom, and after turning a curious eye to Krad's ministrations on his clothing, he looked up and shook his head. "Ah, I thought not…but it's true, you know, I've seen it before with my own eyes." Letting his appendages be guided, Satoshi finally slipped free of the top and let it flutter, no longer needed, to the floor.
"But how can you do that with just a touch? It doesn't seem possible, I think." Aah, the boy was making this too enjoyable. It was a challenge Krad had been hoping would be issued.
"Oh?" His voice rose a bit in pitch, as if surprised that he'd been doubted, "Not possible, you think?" Delicate shoulders rose with a childish shrug, and Krad smiled and shifted his weight across the bed until he was seated right behind his lovely host, faced with his now-bare back, "Then I suppose, Satoshi-sama…" His voice dropped to something akin to a whisper, laden with devious intent, "…that I shall have to prove it to you…"
Leaning forward, he swung his legs underneath his weight and propped himself up in a kneeling position, with his head peeping over Satoshi's left shoulder, and he uttered in the boy's ear, "Here is our game, Satoshi-sama. I will prove to you first that such a point exists, and then you will try and find mine…you see? A delightfully simple game." He paused, and the blue head turned awkwardly to look at him, obviously eager to start their diversion. "So right now it is my turn, you merely sit back and enjoy." A nod, and the head turned back around front, ready for whatever his partner was about to do.
Krad leaned back onto his knees and settled down, comfortably distributing his weight through his lower legs, well used to the notoriously uncomfortable position of seiza. He reached his hands forwards and laid them, palms flat, on the untainted canvas that was his precious Hikari child's back, splaying his fingers outwards. He rubbed and massaged the flesh as if kneading fresh bread-dough, and let his fingers playfully walk up and down the "ladder" that was Satoshi's slightly protruding backbone, sending a wave of goose bumps out to populate the arms and neck.
He halted his wandering hands and rested them at the base of the ribcage before sliding his own arms underneath Satoshi's reaching around to address the frontal pectoral area. This brought his still-covered (albeit very thinly) chest into contact with the smooth back, and he pressed forward, hugging him tightly. As if the boy could miss the unmistakable presence of his curse pushing into him from behind.
As he'd allowed them on the back, Krad released his fingers again to explore Satoshi's chest, bringing forth another wave of shivers when they skittered like insects across his pectorals, brushing with feather-light attention over the nipples.
But his hands were not the only parts of Krad paying special attention to the pliant and teasingly submissive body beneath him—not by far. A pair of trembling lips now began a trek across his neck from behind as he laid angel-kisses in a clear trail across his flushed throat, starting at his nape and working their way feverishly towards an eventual goal of the half-open pouting mouth waiting for him.
Once he'd paid sufficient attentions to the back of the now reddened neck, Krad found it necessary to adjust their positions to allow him better access to the boy's front, and leaned his golden head down just enough to drape the Satoshi's left arm over him, using his other to pull him further onto the bed. Classical mystique had to be dispensed with, and he broke seiza to lower his host onto the soft material of the mattress.
As he leaned over the now prone form, he took in once again the face, having to readjust his description of it. The emotions were still simply displayed, unashamed to reveal themselves fully to the man, but were no longer as innocent or naïve. In any other situation Krad might have described the face, with its half-lidded eyes no doubt pondering what pleasures might next be introduced and flushed cheeks attesting to the fever burning in the veins, as wanton, lustful—but not here. His fantasy Satoshi was none of those things, because his fantasy Satoshi did not know of those things.
What was lust? That was too complicated for the innocent to grasp—desire, yes, perhaps even longing, craving to be fulfilled in every way. But these were simple base emotions that anyone could feel, free of sexual attachment. And wanton? That implied immorality, and this boy, pure and untainted, was anything but that.
If he felt anything, it was because it was being thrust upon him, and not of his own doing. Were Krad not here with him, this Satoshi would live on in his consciousness, free from any kind of licentious thought or shameful desire. An angel in every way…until Krad would come and show him what wonders there were in Hell.
Delicate hands reached up to finger the tie on Krad's robe, and he smiled, pleased that the boy was finally starting to sharpen up to things now. Obliging the unspoken request, he stood up on his knees and let the tie loose, allowing the robe to fall away and reveal himself fully—unlike humans, he did not seem endowed with that pesky moral modesty. Why these strange mortals should be so ashamed of their own bodies was beyond him, unless they felt as he did before Satoshi many times: incomplete, unworthy, hardly fit to bask in his presence.
This Satoshi, though, was different in that respect as well. He would never judge, would never laugh contemptuously, would never sneer at any imperfections he might find. No, this Satoshi looked at him and drank in every corner and crevice, every dip and rise of the vision before him.
Clothes concealed the broad chiseled chest that stretched underneath Satoshi's fingers now, pushing up as if keeping the body from falling on top of him as he explored the fine particulars of the newly exposed flesh, golden locks dripping down onto Satoshi's body like molten lava. Underneath folds of fabric one could not fully appreciate the barely-perceptible curves defining the biceps and triceps, nor the abs or obliques—but the offending garment had been removed now, and half-open blue eyes squinted through the haze brought on by Krad's jugular kisses to drink in every detail and commit it to memory.
Krad watched in amusement as the hands brushed over his chest, eagerly investigating the new territory displayed before him, and his grin widened as the same hands began to trail lower and lower, headed down past his abdominal muscles. "Ah ah ah…" he chided softly, balancing himself on one hand above Satoshi while guiding the boy's own off to the side with his other, "For later, Satoshi-sama, for later—did you forget that it is still my turn in our game? I've not yet proven my point." The bright blue eyes looked up, much of the haze having lifted, and regarded the blonde curiously. "Let me continue, then…"
He wasted no more time and lowered his head back down to the boy's pulsing neck, a vision nearly likened to a vampiric encounter, and falling into the symbolism, he proceeded to "attack" the eagerly offered flesh underneath him, showering it with succulent nips and leaving tiny red welts in his wake as he marched onward over the snowy plain.
Like wearing brilliant flowers,
You're an angel, come down to me.
That voice, that smile...
It's beating faster, my heartbeat.
Each assault felt like a tiny pyre built on the surface of Satoshi's skin, quickly doused when exposed to the air, only to be reignited with the next nip and kiss, and another, and another, until it felt as if Krad was drawing a line in his flesh with a fire-brand, marking him as his own. The line stretched up his neck, up across his jawline, before erupting onto his lips in a bonfire of passion.
Gone and forgotten, now, were the chaste kisses along the back of his neck, or even the mild nips that had ensued up the front—the Hikari curse was transfigured into a ravenous demon who hungered for the lips so willingly offered up to him now, begging to be taken.
Eternally, inside deep passion,
I know gentleness and strength.
Let me heal your pain
And unfurl my wings for you.
So take them he did—and indeed, took more. He teased the bottom lip for only a moment before turning his attentions to the entrance so jealously guarded by those lips, bringing his hands up behind the boy to cradle his head closer, as if by doing to he could explore deeper.
There was no need to entice the lips open with a phantom flick of his tongue over their surface, there was not even the need to ask, for this was Krad's fantasy, and as such Satoshi complied completely with every subtle desire wished of him, yielding instantly to the advances of the so-often-silver tongue his curse possessed, greeting it like a long-awaited guest with his own. While Krad's tongue delved deeper, seeking to contact as much of the boy beneath him as possible, he maneuvered his hands down the arching back beneath him, pushing their chests together to cover Satoshi as completely as possible. The friction of flesh against flesh ignited flames anew, and excitement flared in the center of his being in anticipation.
The agonizingly delicious sensation—so warm, so unlike a Hikari to be so emotional, their ice barriers breaking and melting like a spring thaw, it was almost too much for Krad to continue for fear that not Satoshi but he would not be able to stand it. But this…was the only setting in which he could touch, could kiss, could consume, could be consumed, could submit to his desires and not be turned away from them. No, for this, he had to stand it.
Had to stand it—or else drag the Hikari boy down with him into the madness he himself brought about, and let them drown together. Letting his physical consciousness get the better of his astral mind for a moment, Krad reflexively ground his groin into the opposite one reflected below, still hungering to touch even more of the boy, to feel that fire spread further, and was greeted with the most beautiful sound in the world, a soft whine, mingled with the barely audible—
"…Kr—ad…"
Oh, his name in those lips. Never mind that the words and sounds disrupted his kissing session, this was far more important. His stomach churned violently in almost revolting elation, sending his heart flying up into his throat, and he swiftly moved his attentions away from the lips, off to the side to address the smooth cheeks, temples, and ears. He wanted to leave that mouth free from obstruction, free to moan and cry and verbalize all it wanted—why he hadn't thought of this earlier was beyond Krad at the moment.
Within the intense rain, fingers outstretched,
Even in the dark night when I can't see, I will find you.
Someday I'll pull back my hand, then I'll embrace you so strongly
You won't be able to breathe.
"Tell me, Satoshi-sama…" he huffed, voice as oxygen-deprived as if he'd just run a mile, continuing to bestow nips and kisses on the cheeks and temples, still famished, hungering for the carnal pleasure he derived from the encounter, "Tell me…does it feel good so far? Our game?"
Circling his arms behind the blonde head for support, Satoshi pulled the rest of his body even closer, virtually lost to coherent thought. But not so much, it appeared, that the most basic part of him could ignore the question, and he struggled to find his breath and reply, "Ye—" Krad thrust again, knowing the effect it brought about, and he smiled wickedly when the air caught sharply in Satoshi's throat, forcing him to swallow. "Yes…" he finally managed in a guttural voice after a moment, and it amused the blonde to no end to know how much his delicious host struggled to form the single syllable.
"And did you know…" he quested further, lowering his head to trace the thin cartilage of the ear with a deft tongue, taking his agonizing time to round each corner and observe the crevices, "that you are so beautiful right now…Satoshi-sama…?"
There was no verbal response this time, for none was expected; it was a simple statement of fact, that was all. He buried his face in the crook that existed at the junction of neck and shoulder and took in a final deep breath, giving it a preemptory lick, comfortable that not one inch of anything above Satoshi's collarbone had been left unattended.
Krad pulled up, untangling the hands from behind his head, and ran a palm over the flushed chest surface heaving beneath him. Yes, yes, he wanted that warmth—and he wanted it now. Launching a new assault on the left pectoral, he smiled, pleased, when he felt the body beneath him shudder in response to the new sensation on the as-of-yet untouched area of his chest. Pulling his lower half up into the air slightly, to allow the boy to breathe, he lingered for only a moment before crashing back anew, drinking in the delicious sounds elicited.
"Mmm…won't you…moan for me…Satoshi…sama…? Doesn't it…mmm…feel delicious to…just release all…all that you feel…? Moan for me…" The combined request and order from the dominant blonde who now easily straddled his partner was punctuated with kisses and sharp indrawings of breath as he himself struggled to fight back moans of his own. In abject compliance, he could sense the trembling deep within Satoshi's chest as it worked its way up through his throat and breezed over his barely-parted lips in a soft almost-whimper. He ran his fingers up and down the sides like flesh-colored spiders, enjoying the sensation as the lithe body squirmed and rose up to meet him, silently clamoring for him to continue—and who was he to disappoint his Tamer?
He was playing the child like a musical instrument, tuning him to his fancy; with each heated kiss or artistic nip he was greeted with a new sound, a new response, but always always begging for more, desperate not to be left alone, to have Krad all to himself… That was the true extent of his fantasy.
From a world plunged into grief,
I can hear a fluttering premonition and a sound which turns destiny.
If you open your eyes,
The stars, moon and sun will all surely be shining.
Krad sucked his way across the taut flesh from one pectoral muscle to the next, working his way up to the collarbones and feathering them with kisses, raising goosebumps as strands of gold tickled the tender exposed skin. "Sato…Satoshi-sama…" he hissed when this time the boy himself raised his lower half to the sky in an effort to satisfy the craving for touch burning in him.
"No…" came a surprisingly coherent statement from the quivering lips, and Krad, not expecting to hear such a word from his fantasy Satoshi, looked up over the chest at the half-shut blue eyes staring longingly at him. A trembling hand reached hesitantly forward and pulled Krad's face towards his own, running a tongue that was salivating in anticipation over his curse's lips. "Don't…" he breathed huskily, "…call me…Satoshi-sama…right now…" The boy tugged on the lower lip like a child at his mother's breast, "Call me…as an equal…call…my name…"
A new turn in the game now…Krad liked this Satoshi-sa—ah, correction, this Satoshi. There was some freeing element that thrilled him to the core by dropping the elevating honorific he normally bestowed upon his beloved. He saw himself as unworthy of addressing him by anything lower than "Satoshi-sama"…but what Satoshi-sama wanted, Satoshi-sama would not be refused.
It was somewhat strange though…none of his previous phantom fantasy Satoshi-samas had ever voiced any request beyond that which Krad asked them to request. If they begged for his kisses, it was because he said, "Beg me to kiss you…" If they moaned his name in mid-coitus, it was because he said, "Call my name…" Never, never had one taken such initiative…but he could not deny that he liked it. This Satoshi was more…real, more believable. With it staring at him that way he actually half-expected the vision to recover its senses any moment now and berate him for taking advantage of him… Well, he cocked a grin, it was at least thrilling to think he was doing something bad with Satoshi-sama…
"As you wish…" he spoke simply, and it was now he who was complying eagerly with his partner's requests. He pulled away from the lips that held him prisoner and worked his way around them, trailing back to the neck as he'd done before. Planting a kiss, and harvesting it, leaving a red welt as recompense.
Plant, plant, harvest, harvest, he sowed and reaped the boy's flesh, pressing into the pliant body and gasping when it pressed back—much more of this and Krad might have to forfeit for fear he'd lose himself too early in the game. "S…S'tosh…" He struggled between breaths to force the delectable syllables over his puffed lips, but failed miserably, running them together like smeared paints across a canvas.
"Say…my name… Say my name…Krad…" Delicate fingers entwined themselves in his mass of hair, massaging the scalp beneath.
Call my name,
And I'll take up all the sadness which downpours on you.
I'll offer up mybody and soul, even riskmy life,
Because I want to protect your smile to the end.
The lips paused, and he called upon all his astral powers endowed upon him to give him a steady voice, "Satoshi…" Gods, what good was it to be a demi-immortal with powers humans could only dream of if he could not even speak his host's name for all the desire clouding his mind, effected by said host?
There was no reply, but Krad felt that somehow it had pained his poor Satoshi for him to fail to be able to say even his name properly when he most desired to hear it—when even though he was more than likely blinded by lust, ignorant of anything beyond his own flesh and the flesh pressed tantalizingly against him, he could still register the taunting light voice that hissed his name, transfiguring the syllables into wisps of effervescent fire which flowed from his tongue.
Well then, if Krad had hurt his precious host…he would have to make up for it by compounding the pleasure…
Unconsciously he must have slowed his kisses, even stopped, because the sound that snapped him from his reverie was the needy moaning of his name from just above his head, "Kr…Krad…"
He reached up a hand to stop the Hikari boy from squirming to press himself nearer, trying to alert his curse to the need he'd aroused, the fire stoked in his loins. Smiling knowingly Krad brushed a few sweat-soaked strands of wispy blue hair from the flushed face staring down at him in need—need to be touched, need to be held, need to be stroked, need to be filled, his Satoshi needed.
After capturing the mouth in a final kiss, he began the trek down the boy's front which had been building for some time, saturating the feverish flesh with kisses and nips, tracing his tongue in fiery circles before sucking up like a vampire, eliciting harried gasps from his Tamer.
When he caressed the valley between the pectorals, he hissed, "Tell me to keep going…"
And true to form, the boy replied dutifully, though his voice was a bit more laden with a heavy air, "Keep…keep going…"
Krad continued with his braising of the flesh until he reached the top of the abdominals, lifting his face slightly from the surface when he was met with a particularly powerful thrust—the boy was getting anxious apparently, and that in turn was starting to prove more than the blonde could handle. He swallowed, though, and spoke again, "Tell me not to stop…"
"Don't stop…"
A few inches lower… "Again."
"Don't stop." The voice was more strained, the breathing came more quickly, and it was practically impossible to associate with the normally cool, calm, and collected Hiwatari Satoshi. Krad continued, brushing over his navel, but the heady rush of the kisses had heightened the boy's senses and he did not miss the gradual slowing down.
"Again."
Satoshi pulled his head up to glare dead-on at the blonde crown settled over his stomach, and gasped sharply when it turned a golden gaze upwards to him, smirking. "Don't…you dare stop…k—keep going! Stop your damn teasing!"
But Krad was not teasing—he knew exactly how best to pleasure his host, it was simple, seeing as the two were in fact one. He just wanted to hear the words, the pleas, the begging from those puffy lips, cursing him for his slow methods. Settling his palms on either side of the shuddering body, Krad pushed himself up and stood triumphant over the boy.
"Then that…is all I wanted to hear." Eyes darkened by desire, Satoshi narrowed his gaze in confusion. "I win," the blonde chortled predatorily, tongue flicking out over his lips in a flash of anticipation, and he leaned in to claim his rightfully-won prize.
Cold stormy eyes snapped open abruptly, stinging as they were assaulted by the glare of the bright morning sun streaming in through his bay windows. He blinked a few times in rapid succession and shot his gaze from side to side, searching the room, before they came to rest in front of him, focused on nothing, and widened in fear at a strange dampness pooling near his mid-section.
With celerity he hadn't shown even when pursuing Dark from rooftop to rooftop on nights when the thief sent out a new advance notice, he sprang up, landing both feet soundly on the hardwood floor, and snatched the sheets off of the mattress—both the coverlet and the under sheet—before dashing down the hall towards the laundry room. His heart was pounding a deep bass thrum in his chest—though no longer for the reason he'd dreamt it was pounding, what felt like a mere moment ago—and his breath came out in short gasps, thoughts skittering across his mind.
'Please don't let him see, please don't let him see, please don't let him see, please don't let him se—'
His thoughts, though, were cut short when he sensed the web-like stirrings in the depth of his mind that signaled another presence was rousing to the waking world with him, and he pursed his lips in a thin line, letting a hesitant sigh of relief escape him—apparently his curse hadn't been conscious for the all-too-embarrassing happenings of the night.
He closed his eyes and leaned forward onto the washer as it hummed to life after he'd filled it with detergent and turned it on, burying his face in his hands, positively humiliated. His face was still flushed a bright crimson, contrasting sharply with his pale crop of hair, but he now blushed for an entirely different reason than before.
'Was it a bad dream, Satoshi-sama?' a light voice tinkled from the threshold, and the boy jumped at the sound and whirled around, wide-eyed and still blushing furiously. Apparently his curse hadn't just been roused, for he appeared wide-awake and curious, leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb (and blessedly clothed now), with a knowing smile playing across his lips.
A silent moment passed between the two as Satoshi debated whether it was best to make a dash for it or if that would only fuel Krad's interest further, making it all the harder to avoid this highly embarrassing situation—well, embarrassing on his part at least. With any luck he could play on the supposition of a nightmare being the cause of Satoshi's sudden wakeful state and flushed features—
No such luck, for apparently while he considered his position mentally, the blonde caught a hint that something wasn't quite right with their interaction and the boy's lack of an immediate scathing response to his playful conversation-starter. 'No…no it wasn't…' He cocked his head and stared strangely, 'It…was something else, wasn't it?'
Taking a step forward, his grin widened when he was met with a mirrored step back, and he began to stroke his chin in thought regarding the odd high-strung actions of his host this morning. Satoshi levered himself with the washing machine, and blue eyes glared threateningly at Krad, as if daring him to take another step forward. After studying the reaction for a moment, the blonde continued, 'Not a bad dream, no…but perhaps…it was a good dream then…' He turned his devious gaze to the washer behind the boy, then back to the angry eyes. A spiteful air threading through his voice, he pondered aloud, 'Was it about your precious Niwa-kun I wonder?' Amused laughter he alone could hear echoed in Satoshi's skull, pinging his mind mercilessly and patronizing him to no end.
When the boy didn't reply, but rather turned around and busied himself with adjusting the dial on the washer, Krad narrowed his own eyes in annoyance, and pressed with false sympathy coloring his voice, 'Do tell me what the matter is, won't you?' His facial expression, though, betrayed him fully, with eyes flashing like a predator cornering some wounded animal, and Satoshi had nowhere left to back up.
"It really is none of your business as I see it," the Hikari boy snapped, having finally found his voice and kept it steady enough to produce a tone that seemed familiar to his curse, and his nervously palpitating heart calmed slightly. The last thing he wanted was for Krad to catch him hot and bothered over this questioning, and he prayed that this convinced him it was nothing serious, and that the matter would be dropped. After all, there was no way Krad could force him to tell something he didn't wish to.
…Was there?
He turned around and, aiming to keep his eyes on the ground, he began to walk back out into the hall, only to be blocked at the doorway by his curse, who was obviously not intending to move. 'Ah ah ah, not until you tell me what's going on—really, what has got you so worked up for? It usually takes me at least an hour before you're even coherent enough to think about getting angry with me.' Satoshi dared an upward flick of his eyes and glowered angrily, and without another word he simply breezed right through the image, continuing on his trek back to his room.
Krad regarded him for a moment, arms crossed, with an annoyed pout playing across his lips—then an ingenious thought struck him.
'If you won't tell me…' he called to the retreating figure at the opposite end of the hall, 'Then I'll simply find out for myself.'
Satoshi stopped dead in his tracks, feet refusing to move an inch further, and the blonde smiled triumphantly, slowly approaching his host from behind, shaking his head. 'It really is no trouble for me at all to break through whatever pathetic mental barriers you might try and erect to keep me out…Or would you rather tell me yourself—to be fair I'll give you the chance.'
The boy threw a poisonous scowl over his left shoulder, eyes narrowing to tiny slits. "…Bastard…can't you just leave me alone for once?" No reply. "And you wonder why I can't stand you…"
Shrugging, Krad trailed him as he retreated into his room and flopped down onto the now-coverless mattress. There really was nothing he could do against the threat of breaking into his deep thoughts—Satoshi had nothing to threaten Krad with in return, and anything he could possibly use to tempt him with would be just as bad as telling what he'd dreamt anyway.
"I had…a…a dream, like you guessed. That's all." Leaning forward, he settled his elbows onto his knees and rested his chin in his palms, with his legs dangling from the edge of the mattress. Mentally he fought looking up into the golden eyes he could feel patiently boring into the crown of his head as he tried to find some other point of focus in the floorboards—after a moment, though, he gave in and turned his eyes upwards slowly.
It was…that image—the same smirking stance Krad now held…he remembered it best of all scenes from the dream, because it was the same one which haunted him, teased him, stoked a fire of pent-up rage and lust combined. In the back of his mind he could still hear his own voice, hissing an urging command, crying out for fulfillment, "Don't…you dare stop…k—keep going! Stop your damn teasing!"
Something in his face must have betrayed him, because the smirk soon faded into one of mild worry and annoyance, and Krad uncrossed his arms. '…And what was it about, Satoshi-sama, that has made you rise so early on the one day you've been dreaming about sleeping through for the past week?'
Krad knew full well the hectic schedule his host had been entertaining for the previous five or so days, and knew just as well how much it had meant to the boy to finally have a day to himself after putting in all the long hours, with schoolwork and tutoring and occasionally letting his curse have a bit of fun chasing Dark. Whatever this "dream" had been—it had either been very frightening or very…shall we say, "entertaining". Krad hoped, with a devious twinkle, that it had been the latter.
As luck would have it for the poor boy, his simple confession that he'd been woken up by a dream had not deterred Krad from continuing to press him for details, and eventually he drew out his trump card of threatening to find out on his own again, and Satoshi gave in with an annoyed growl, pounding a fist into the mattress. "It was…about…about…it was about you, dammit…"
Had Krad physical lungs at the moment, they would have most likely had the air forced from them, and he might have slipped into a dead faint even there. As it was, though, the only evidence that he was shocked by the revelation was a noticeable widening of his eyes.
Surely…no, no that just wasn't possible. There were millions, billions, trillions—the number of astral threads in the universe was impossible to calculate, so the probability that two would by chance cross was even more impossible to determine. That his own and his host's had crossed somehow in the night…had met unknowingly on the astral plane was…it was ludicrous. But…if it had happened…however it may have been…then it would certainly explain many strange nuances he'd picked up on during their night together.
If it had happened…how? Could it have been, he conjectured, some glorious by-product of the astral training the two had engaged in just over a week before? Or perhaps—simply another perk of the host/curse relationship?
Satoshi was still mentally berating himself, regretting giving Krad some bit of information that could be used against him, revealing a weakness, so he missed the shiver of excitement that rippled through the image before him as it suddenly hit the blonde: It had really been Satoshi-sama…not just a fantasy, not a mere phantom image that he endowed with Satoshi-sama's body, but his own, his precious host.
But…he couldn't be sure—it might have been cruel coincidence (though it was still erotically flattering to think that somewhere in the boy's mind lurked images of himself and his host in…compromising "positions"). When Satoshi finally looked up to gauge Krad's reaction, he was a little surprised that he hadn't immediately begun exploiting the upperhand he held in the conversation right now. Too soon, though, did it seem he thought this.
'…Tell me about it…'
This about finished the conversation before it even started properly, and Satoshi blew up in his face, "Wha—have you completely lost your mind! There is absolutely no way on heaven or earth that I am going to tell you anything about tha—"
'Have you forgotten, Satoshi-sama?' He smiled down at him, leaning forward, 'Think of it merely as a polite request if you like—I do not need your consent really.'
A moment's mental debate passed again, and then, "…Fine…" The last thing he wanted was Krad rummaging around through his private thoughts until he ran over the previous night's dream (which brought to mind just why the hell he'd had a dream like that in the first place—with Krad of all people!). Knowing him, he'd enjoy it to no end and replay it countless times until the images burned into his consciousness. Oh yes, that was definitely not happening.
Satoshi waded slowly, like a swimmer testing unknown waters, into the retelling of the dream, concentrating all his energies into making the…encounter…seem as benign as possible—when he himself knew full well it had been anything but benign. Try as he might to prevent an embarrassed flush from betraying him, it seemed to have become a permanent addition to his skin tone by now and simply would not fade—particularly when he most wanted it to, as when explaining his phantom Krad's tortuously slow (of course, he didn't admit to it being "torturously" so) methods of foreplay, or when revealing how very innocent his own actions and emotions had seemed to his now-conscious mind.
"It wasn't…right. But…in a dream it always seems fine, like it's normal to do things, to submit to things your waking self would never think of engaging in—and I don't think I can stress enough that this was a perfect example of something I would never do, so don't even get any ideas about it."
'Oh, naturally—of course, of course…' the image agreed, obviously patronizing the poor child, and earned a harsh look. 'I'm sorry—I've interrupted you. Do continue.' It was amusing him to no end to see his normally unruffled host fidgeting madly with the pillowcase beside him, quite uneasy with the situation.
"…You…y—" He gulped nervously, struggling to dislodge the lump that had formed from his own nervousness in his throat, "You…st—started…kissing, down from my neck, and across my chest, going…so slow…and you said… 'Tell me to keep going,' and so I…I said it… Then you told me to say it again, so I did, and all the while you kept kissing, all over my chest, down across my stomach, but you—you slowed down, even when I kept telling you to go on, and you kept—kept torturing me with it, and then you stopped…and…and…"
He hadn't noticed it, but he'd plunged deeper into this part of the retelling than any other area thus far—perhaps because it had been this scene which had burned in his mind more than any other, the final tormenting few steps to an exhilarating climax—
Eyes widening when he snapped back to his senses, Satoshi fell over to his side and buried his head in the pillow, moaning in disgust with himself at letting his thoughts get carried away so easily—weak, weak, weak! No, he couldn't get caught up in those thoughts again—it was even more material for Krad to work with, to harass him with, another weak spot where the blonde could get a firm foothold.
'…And then what happened, Satoshi-sama?'
Lifting a weary head, he speared the still-smirking image with a harsh gaze. "…What do you think happened next? Damn perverted bastard…" He pushed his body back to an upright position with considerable effort, suddenly feeling more tired than he'd felt even the previous evening. Not meeting the blonde's gaze, he finished, annoyed, "Well? Does it make you happy? Have you bothered me enough for one morning?"
Krad smiled contentedly, suppressing the triumphant smirk he wanted to project—Satoshi, as far as he knew, didn't have even the slightest inkling that this encounter existed anywhere outside his own mind. The boy was under the full belief that he himself had willingly engaged in what was for all intents and purposes simple "dream sex." And this in turn had planted a tiny seed in his mind—a seed of doubt that perhaps…perhaps what he felt for Krad was no longer mere hatred or dislike…perhaps there was some deeper desire…that perhaps he wanted to feel more for his curse than what he felt now.
Yes, just as he had planted kiss after kiss on that lovely flesh the night before…now he would leave this seed in Satoshi's mind: If it wasn't broken, he wasn't going to repair the boy's faulty assumption by revealing that it was only half of him making the dream up.
For even if it had been a dream—or in Krad's case, a fantasy—as simple a physiological state as that, in it he could touch his Satoshi-sama, could taste him, could consume him, could be engulfed in flames of passion that burned brighter and fiercer than all the circles of heaven and hell combined…
Taking a measured step forward, Krad leaned down to peer into the same stormy blue eyes that had stared so longingly up at him the night before—and in them both he could detect that faint glimmer that pulsed "Satoshi". In a move that might have been considered bold even for him, he reached forward and cupped a phantom gloved hand underneath the chin, running his astral fingers softly along the smooth cheekbone which could not feel him anymore.
'Then tell me, Satoshi-sama…how could something that felt so good…be bad?'
While all thought and reason inside him clamored for the boy to pull away, to rebuff the audacious advances this curse of his was engaging in, something held him fast, barely able to breathe let alone move away, and he watched as if a prisoner in his own mind as the face moved in closer, off to the side, rubbing their cheeks together and nuzzling him.
'Isn't a dream…simply an unbound reflection of your deepest desires…?' A pause, and he moved to the other side, repeating the action with his other cheek. 'Isn't a dream…anything but a dream…?'
Still Satoshi was caught in the web that would not release him—but all the while his own internal efforts grew less and less trying, as if he were unconsciously beginning to give in and accept the advances made upon him. True enough—it was growing increasingly difficult to stop images from the dream from pounding into his mind with the force of a tidal wave, or to stop his own skin from shuddering under the phantom touch he could not even feel, as if remembering how those brilliant fingers really felt as they played across the sensitive skin of his neck.
'Never forget, Satoshi-sama…' He moved his attentions now to the forehead, and Satoshi sighed in mental relief that his curse was not taking full advantage of his current "shocked into silence" state. 'In the end, it was you…'
Phantom lips that he could almost swear he could feel were barely gracing his forehead. 'In the end, it was you…who urged…me on…'
Deep blue eyes widened, but just as he was about to cry out and demand an explanation, the image faded into the depths of his consciousness, leaving him with only a ghost of a laughing voice tinkling in his mind.
Author's Notes: Well, I hope those of you who were wondering if there was ever gonna be any real action in this fic or just lots of drawn-out melodramatics are satisfied :D Not to say that this is the end or anything, but it should keep you sated for a while. For those of you unfamiliar with Dark's song, Kodou, I highly recommend getting a copy; it's floating around the net, and everything about it, from the lyrics to the beat, completely fit this scene, so please pardon the 'song-fic' feeling to it all if that's not your cup of tea. Lyrics were translated by moi, and thus chances are there are a few errors in them, but I'm grateful for any help if you spot any!