Warnings: Slash/Shounen ai, AU, angst, dark themes, violence, character death, disturbing content, extravagant language.
Pairings: Riku/Sora, implied Kairi/Sora
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Owned by Squaresoft, Disney, et al.
Summary: "And all night long we have not stirr'd / And yet God has not said a word!"
A/N: Based on "Porphyria's Lover" by Robert Browning.
A/N2: Be forewarned—this is a peculiar child of a peculiar brain. Whether the reader may find anything worthy of approbation, the author cannot say—except that she hopes the reader will show enough human respect and dignity to refrain from sacrificing her upon the alter of the reader's indignation. Thank you most kindly for your time and for, if you may be so inclined, a memento of your visit in the form of a review. The author is, as always, the humble and pitiable servant of your entertainment.
:A Silent Altar of a Silent God:
Lips and cheeks flushed with the sacrament of life, eyes of pellucid lapis lazuli flashing with innocent mischief, he falls into my lap. Rain-slick limbs snake about my immobile body and he presses my warm cheek against his damp, cold shoulder. His breathless voice gives birth to words that I can no longer understand.
I should hold him, press him to my chest and cage him within my arms. He's so cold, shivery and sweet, but I cannot bring myself to touch him. He smells of her. Yes, that subtle, flowery musk cannot be washed away with all the water in the world. It clings to his skin, exhales from his pores. Has he touched her? Kissed her? Held her in his arms like he does now with me? Are the words the same? Does she give in?
The storm lashes rain against the windowpane, and the world beyond the glass is a distorted nightmare shot through by wild arcs of lightning. He complains of the chill of my room. Why isn't the heat on? Can he borrow some clothes? He kisses my cheek with those pink, traitorous lips. He giggles softly and coyly asks why I sit here, statue-like, and cold of feeling.
Sublimation. Subterfuge. Which is it? Which is the reason why he was with her on this tempestuous night? Why did he go to her first? I've watched him go to her door in the light of day. I've watched him come to me in the dark, in the dead, indifferent night. His vanity will not risk a visit to me otherwise. In the sun we are playmates, friends. When the lights go out, we are so much more. But what care I for the voices of others, their petty thoughts and shallow wit? He cares. Delicate bud bitten by the cancerous worm.
His cardamom-spiced locks brush against my face as he trails dainty kisses along the strained line of my throat. I love you, he tells me. I love you, Riku. These words I hear, my heart has no choice but to hear. It flutters, it aches, and it melts, filling my limbs with fervent wine, pulsing hot and strong at the back of my tongue. In those guileless eyes I see the truth of his devotion, of his idolatry. He wishes he could be mine, could remain at my side in daylight and in darkness, true and faithful and without her. I observe this sacred prayer within the dark pupils and I answer, pulling him close, his heart a winged-drum beneath his ribs. My little bird, my most precious treasure. I will free you of your responsibilities, of your vain duties, so that you can nest here with me forever.
My arm locks him tight to my breast as I tangle my trembling fingers within the silver chain of his necklace—and pull it tight. I bear witness to no struggle on his part. He knows this is how it must be if he is to stay with me, belong to me. Love cannot be resisted. Tighter and tighter I wind that glinting length about my pale fist and strangle him with my adoration. Painless and simple. Oh how we love!
From those lips I sip the fleeing gasps of his soul and hold him ever closer, now his flushed cheek to my shoulder, my arms about his body. Assured of his mortal sleep, I release the chain from his slender neck and kiss each translucent lid. He is mine now as he desired. Mine to hold and to touch. In the light of day. In the quiet of night.
His poor little body is so cold, though, and so I tug him out of his damp clothing, flinging the garments carelessly to the floor. The storm outside has abated and only the calming susurrus of the dying wind and rain mar the silence. To the bed we have never been allowed the luxury of sharing I carry him and settle my little bird upon the soft mattress, covering his pristine nudity with my green sheets. He looks so perfect, so peaceful; I almost dare not touch him for fear of finding him awake, but his cold calls to my warmth. I slide in beside him and take him in my arms once again.
Here we rest as the night passes into day, and none have come looking.
He is mine and I am his.
Forever.
End
"Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirr'd,
And yet God has not said a word!"
--Robert Browning. "Porphyria's Lover"--
After Notes:
The author must regretfully dash any and all hopes that Sora is still alive at the end of this, Furthermore, Riku is an untrustworthy narrator and it is highly unlikely that Sora went peacefully. Finally, this is a rather humorous piece, in the author's opinion, and she cannot help but giggle every time she rereads it. Of course, this can be excused as the author having an extremely bizarre sense of humor. She considers this a crack!fic, but, again, her ideas concerning these sorts of things are not normal.
Also a very kind individual IM'ed this author recently, but, unfortunately, this occurred moments before her power went out. If that kind person—the author is uncertain from which site the person came across her stories—would contact her again, she would be thrilled to continue their conversation.