AN Well! Finally a sequel to seen. I had been walking around with story for a long time, but never got around to writing it. I drew most of my inspiration from songs by Björk. It's not a song fic though.

Before you read: This story is different from the ones before it. It is all thought, a bit scattered, and everything can come from both Kai and Tyson. It doesn't matter who the thoughts stem from. This is more an accumulation of their thoughts and ideas on it. It is not finished. Well, this story is, but it begs for another sequel that may be the final one in this 'saga'. I'm not sure. I do have some faint ideas, but when I start writing them, I may find that they don't fit together in one story. Anyway, don't try and figure this out too much, just let it flow. I did, and I mut admit, I'm quite proud of it. First thing I've published for Beyblade in three months.

A review would be so kind.

Perfection
That movement. The way your body flows. It doesn't move, it flows. I drink in the sight of it every times my eyes are allowed to see it. That arch of your back. The look on your face. It all comes together in one perfect vision. And I'm the only one allowed certain privileges.

Close, so close. I've never been quite so close to anyone. We all wear masks of different shapes and sizes to keep one part of ourselves safe from the outside. Only a very select few actually get to view deeper than anyone else. I have never let anyone see so much. And so little at the same time.

You see so much more that anyone else. And I don't let you see it, it simply happens. Every time the music drums and dictates our movements. Every time all is silent and the sky spans above us alone. Every time our bodies clash and move in a rhythm no-one can here, not even we. Every time something falls away, is revealed. And you see. And you just take it in.

You don't have to understand. It just is. I don't pretend to understand you either. I don't think anyone can truly understand how another person is, what he or she is like. That only happens in stories, where people can look into each other's head, read emotions and thoughts. We don't have that. We don't need that.

This illusion we keep up. I wonder what it is. Is it even an illusion? Or is it all there is? I am there for you. I'll catch you if you need catching. Let you go if you need to be alone. I know you are the same to me. Perhaps that is all there needs to be.

It frightens me. The thought that this may be all there is. That is won't be anything more. We are not normal. Shouldn't we be normal? I don't even know what that is. There is no book that dictates how we should behave. Humans cling to their idea of normalcy to give their life structure. Some are lenient, some only consider their idea to be true. We have the music. We have each other. But it isn't normal.

We have our own hidden place. Hidden in plain sight. We are seen by others but only we know what it means, what it is. And sometimes I even doubt that. There is so much I don't understand. But I don't have to, do I? All I do is take it in. Am I selfish in that? Do I use you? Maybe you use me too. Then all would be right again.

It started out so simple. And it has grown so much bigger. So much more. I know some people are questioning us, our actions, where we go. I don't know if I could ever give it up. I want this, I know that. I think I need it too. An addiction, we called it. And that's what it is. We seduced each other into it. Movement passing from one to the other and back again, whether we are on the dance floor or the streets or the single bed.

I wouldn't know what I need more either. The dancing? Which dancing? Even our battles at the beydish have become a mirror of the night. I'm sure the others have seen it. The perfection of the movements. They have asked, you know? I'm sure they asked you too. What should we say? What can we say? They wouldn't understand. I know I can barely, so how would I be able to explain?

To explain how you hands feel. How you lips feel. That is too intimate. I let you play me, like I let the music. You have become my music. Or maybe you always have been. I hardly understand myself anymore. And I cling to you for reassurance. Like you cling to me.

Like you press against me. I press back. A subtle dance of balance and dominance. We never know how it ends. Sometimes one of us is too impatient and it ends on a street corner. Sometimes we wait it out, prolong it, until there is barely night left to sleep.

It is that, that slow, strong gentleness, that fogs my mind. When we spend nearly as much time in bed as on the dance floor. Our own dance. Our fingers, our mouths, elevating the tension only to let it subside again, before bringing each other higher again, repeating the process, until finally the pinnacle is reached and all that is left as sated fatigue.

Worship. We are each others altar and sacrifice. We take and give and disappear into each other. That one moment, when there is nothing left but the single being me merge into, just before reality crashes and draws gasps and shudders and semen from us. There are times I wish we could remain suspended in that one moment for all eternity, never reaching that release. We balance on the edge, teetering, until our bodies betray us and the most minute shift of a muscle sends us both tumbling over.

I adore you. You must know that. The way you surrender yourself into my arms. I trust you. I know I can. Past is past and we should leave it that way. I know you now. Like I know no other. I think you know me too. How can you not, considering I completely surrender to you. You have all of me. There's nothing left to give.

I need you. You must know that. Your hair. Your eyes. You lips. The way you move. I can never het enough of you. Your voice, whispered into my ear. I never know what you're saying. I don't think you know either. I doesn't matter. It's the feeling of your breath against my skin, your lips to my ear.

Don't make me say it. It's unspoken, this thing between us. I don't think it can be put into words. No-one's ever asked what's going on. They probably don't know how to phrase the question. And I wouldn't know how to answer.

It would burst the bubble, enclosing us. To loose myself. Not having to be anyone but me. It's a liberating sensation to be able to withdraw in our on little world. I never knew I could, just like that. We pull each other into it, away from everything else, every pressure.

A charm. You amaze me. You captivate me. You make me want to captivate you. It's an endless cycle I don't want broken. It may not be perfect, but I need it.

I need it so much. To disappear in the spell we both weaved, a spell I never want broken. It feels as if it began so long ago, yet it has barely been one season. Would the summer nights be long enough to sustain us? Or will the sun's early rising betray to the world that which we want kept for ourselves?

I want to keep this to ourselves. I don't want people to look, to ask, to wonder. We know this is what we want, what we need. It pulsates through me every time I see you. I know I've become addicted. And not to what we have. But to you. I need you. In any way possible. I couldn't bare not having you anymore.

When you touch me, something inside me awakes. A beast, perhaps. A human monster that wants to wrap you up and take you away. You are mine, as I am yours. But we also belong to the world and I have to bridle the beast and satisfy it with a mere moment of surrender. It grows inside me. Demanding I keep you to myself.

But I cannot lock myself away. I cannot lock you away. We dance and dream in that small part of the world we have managed to capture for ourselves. And the longer it goes on, the more natural is becomes to us, until that small world has become all our world and is opened for everyone to see.

That thought frightens me now. I feel the bubble growing, expanding, and thereby thinning. But perhaps, as the bubble grows, my indifference to it will as well. And when it fades I may even want the world to know who belongs to me, and who I belong to.

I cradle you in my arms. I seek reassurance with you. Everything has become balanced, stable, and it shows. I know it does. I cannot hide the way I've changed. Nor would I want to. It's a tribute to you. You have made this, made me. And I look at you and I'm proud of what I see. I've smoothed the lines and softened the edges.

And I sink into you. Your arms coming up to hold me, anchoring me, guiding me. We share the parts of dominance and I submit to you. Goosebumps rise along my spine as I think of you touch. You fingers tracing my ribs, my jaw, my thighs.

Your touch is as soft and heated as your movements. The moment we meet on the dance floor and we surrender, to the music, to each other, I feel how the night will end. The moment I rise from my blankets I crave you touch at the end of the night, the ultimate joining of two human bodies. Yet I wait it out, allowing the music to fill us, for hours on end.

It is all one prolonged session of foreplay. Yet nothing so crude. It is delicate, unique, for us and us only. Even though it starts in a crowded place. Even though it may end on a public street corner. And even that is beautiful.

A saintly beauty. When you lie down. When things are fogged and slow. You look heaven. And I am afraid to touch you. But when you reach out, craving my touch as much as I do yours, I can only give in. I cannot refuse you. I can only hold you. Entwining and moving and dancing until the moment of balance us reached, where time stretches and leaves us alone, for a heartbeat, a breath, and we fall in bliss.

We lay together, in that silent moment when we try and gather the shards in which we shattered. And I want to whisper, for that single moment, a fleeting second, that fades quickly and leaves only horror and dread for what those words could mean, could change.

I dare not speak them. I don't know what they mean. It is only in that second of aftermath that I fully realise their meaning and know I can speak them. But the moment fades and doubt rises and I don't think I should tell you I love you. It would change everything. Make things real, or unreal. The bubble is still there. And as long as it is, I don't want to break this perfection.

And so I hold you, and breath, and let the moment pass.