Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit, don't sue.
ooooooooo
I always considered Yazoo to be the most gentle out of the three of us. He was kind, sensitive, beautiful, talented…and the descriptions go on and on. He played with Loz, because after all, Loz was just a big, loveable kid. He talked with me when I needed help with something, and he always saw that I got exactly the help I needed. He was very understanding and he always knew how to cheer me up.
Yazoo, where are you to help me now?
I am a mess without you.
I remember him vividly. He was a little taller than me, and built very delicately. He was shy, and showed it in the way he zipped his ankle-length coat up to his chin to keep any flesh from being exposed. He was modest, I guess. Or maybe insecure. I never dwelled too much on that. I rather liked his body.
His hair was beautiful, long, and exceptionally silky. I know because every night he'd let me brush it, and I'd take the time to run my fingers through it before pushing it over one slight, narrow shoulder and lightly kissing the back of his milky-colored neck.
His complexion is another thing completely; pale and even. He was like a painting, if you ever notice that in portraits, the subjects have no imperfections unless that is what the painting is meant to show. Yazoo was a work of art indeed.
His eyes were green, like mine, but his were more jade-colored. Teal, I suppose. I don't know, the color is so hard to describe. They glistened and glittered in the light, or when he would merely turn his head or look at someone in a certain way. They had a sense of mischief to them. Yazoo was definitely a little impish. He was an elf, a faerie, a pixie, a Puck, a sprite, whatever you want to call it. And his eyes showed it even when his actions didn't.
His lips were one of my favorite parts of him. They were full, pink, pouty, and glossy. They were so very soft, and I know this because they usually ended up all over me, kissing every part of me they could get to. It made me shiver every time he kissed me and I'm sure it wasn't dissimilar for him.
He had long, graceful fingers that stroked my hair and caressed my face. They intertwined with mine and made them feel inferior. Everything about him made me feel that way, though I know I wasn't and he would never have considered me to be, and perhaps that's why he was normally dominant. I let him be. But his hands were always soft and they always gave me something to hold on to when I was scared or alone.
Yazoo had a gentle, resonant voice. He had a wonderful singing voice, but he didn't sing much because there wasn't much to sing about. I loved to talk to him, just to have a taste of true perfection. He would whisper in my ear and cause me to shudder again. It gave me the chills when he would say my name, whatever the instance.
I was the only one who ever knew him any deeper than his exterior. I was the only one to get underneath his protective barrier of black leather. And I did it as often as I could.
That was when I would stop noticing the particular things about Yazoo and notice what he was as a whole. This was when I realized that his eyes didn't lie; he really was wicked. He would always start by kissing me tenderly, running those elegant fingers along the slight curves of my body. My body to me wasn't special, but he disagreed passionately. I never quite figured out why he preferred me over anyone else, but I felt so lucky because he did.
Then his fingers would find their way to the zipper of my leather coat and slide it down easily so that it showed my light tan chest, and he would peel the coat away from my body and my arms. Then velvet lips would kiss and nip at my neck and upper body, and I would tug at his hair because I wanted him so badly that it hurt. He would look at me and give me an elfin smirk and he'd let me pull his coat from him. I used to pull him in, my eyes meeting his sea-green eyes for a few seconds, and then I would give him a kiss that reminded him just how much I loved him. I would tangle my fingers in his long, thick silver hair as he would tell me I was beautiful or that he loved me, and he'd make me blush and say something like, "Stop playing, Yazoo."
He'd just nod and dexterous fingers would work at the button and zipper of my pants, pulling them and my boots off. He would set them aside and caress my thighs, because he knew it drove me completely crazy. I loved it. His fingers would brush the inside, causing me to moan his name, and he would answer with mine. I'd try to place his hand where I wanted it, and he would please me for a few seconds and then pull his hand away. His black shirt would come over his head and then we'd work on his boots. Then I would free him of leather pants and kiss his full lips. "Yazoo," I'd say. "Please, Yazoo. I need you now." Pulling him down to lie on top of me, I'd wrap my leg around his waist.
"Someone's impatient," he would tease, letting me tug at his hair again. He'd finally give in and enter, staying still inside me because he knew it hurt for the first few seconds. I'd get used to it and tell him to go on, and he would, adding speed and force at my commands. I'd cry out his name, "Yazoo, Yazoo I love you, my Yazoo…" and he'd let out soft sighs, deep moans, passionate cries. Mine would echo when he'd find that spot that felt so good and he'd hit that spot again and again, making me all but scream in rapture. It always felt so good. His hand would go between our heated bodies to stroke me and after a while it would be over, ending with final cries out to each other and he'd lie next to me, covering my face in his sweet, gentle kisses as we'd try to catch our breaths.
Sometimes I wonder what Loz would think if he knew how Yazoo and I used to play.
Sometimes I wonder if Yazoo were still here, would we still play like that?
The bitter end did come, however. It came sooner I would have liked.
The Geostigma that we all were afflicted with hit him the hardest. It spread all over his body like a cancer, weakening him until one night in his sleep, just before the sun rose, he became part of the Lifestream. I'm just glad he went somewhat peacefully.
But where are you now that I need you?
I lie here, staring at the ceiling in a small church, thinking of you. That hair, those eyes...a voice I miss more than anything I've ever lost.
My own sickness closes in on me, and I just don't try to fight it anymore. I feel the seconds tick by slowly, painfully. Each picture of you grates into my brain, still leaving its mark, as it will until the end.
I'm coming home to you. Soon.