By: Chaos and Raven
There's a stabbing sort of pain that comes with knowing the one person in your life that knows you better than anyone else, the one person that could be your true soul-mate, the one person that you'd ever even consider in that light, well, knowing that person is your mortal enemy.
For me, it wasn't exactly a set moment. It was a gradual acknowledgment of my fate. I am destined to suffer this way. And it hurts. Because he has people all around him, he has people that love and respect him. And me, I have nothing. I have my bass and I have my cursed blood and I have this stupid fucking thing, whatever you want to call it, that keeps us apart.
True, it isn't him that I have to hate -- have to kill. But how do you approach someone after you've killed one of their closest friends? "Hi, I'm a murderous bastard. Wanna go fuck?" It doesn't work like that. Real life isn't like that. Granted there have been quite a few times in my own life where I've wondered what was real and what wasn't.
Even now. I'm sitting on the couch watching the sun set. I don't think that anything could be more beautiful. Except maybe seeing him, naked and sprawled out on my bed. In this light, it would be poetic.
My apartment isn't big, by any standards. In fact, the few times I've had people over they've said it's disgustingly small for someone my size. It has these windows though, and a view that makes my heart beat a little faster just to see it. There is always light in my apartment. The windows are long and wide; they face the sunset. My bedroom alone has two. They're nearly as tall as I am. There is a deck outside. If I wanted, I could climb out my windows onto the deck. There are curtains, too. Thin, filmy, white curtains that blow with the breeze when I leave the windows open. I do that a lot, I like the air to circulate.
I wonder when I started looking at the world like this. Once, after a tournament, he asked me, "Yagami-san, why do your eyes burn with fire in the ring, and freeze like winter out of it?" I think it was then that I saw the sunset as more than the world turning. Now it is a moment, a long moment where I sit and stare and reflect.
The light is nearly gone now, at least that light is. Now a new light begins to flood my cramped living room. The lights of the city. Streetlights, neon lights. I see a few stars, but the lights are drowning them out. That is the one thing that has made me regret living in the city. I like the stars. When I was a child, I used to lie outside at night to watch meteor showers. That was before, when I was allowed to live. Now my life is barely my own.
I stand carefully and notice a forgotten beer bottle on the coffee table. I'm sure I meant to drink it as I watched the sunset. It was obviously overlooked as I wandered through my haze of self-depreciation. Sad, I think, but I can never be too sure. Rage is the only emotion I recognize with ease.
I ponder leaving the safety of my room tonight. I could go out to a bar, a club. Anything to get a little human contact. I think I need that before I go insane. Some people have been calling me insane for years. He never seems to think so and I wonder about that. How does he see what others don't? I wonder if I'm projecting again. I seem to do that a lot too, make my emotions, his emotions. I think I'm getting desperate. I grab my coat as I rush out the door.
I don't go to a bar or a club as I'd previously considered. I would only get drunk and more depressed. It's odd that I think of that. Normally, I don't bother to associate names with my feelings. I just feel them. The restaurant I go to is quiet. I suppose it is early for dinner. Or maybe it's just a quiet restaurant. The waitress is pretty and she smiles a lot. I like her smile; it reminds me of him.
I order a drink. Raspberry iced tea because they don't have any plain. I would get hot tea, but the night is still too warm. I sip my tea and silently consider the menu. It's Thai, I think, I wasn't really thinking about it when I walked in. I like Thai food though. It also reminds me of him. Not because he is Thai. I think he is Japanese, but I'm not sure because he doesn't look it. No, his style is Muay Thai -- Thai kickboxing. I smile at that thought. He has such long, slender legs. And just as quickly, I extinguish it. I came here to eat, not to reminisce.
I like the restaurant, it reminds me of old, fancy Chinese restaurants that my Grandfather used to take me to. When I was younger, he would take me out to dinner the first Monday of every month. Usually we would go simple places, little local restaurants that knew my family well. But sometimes, when there was a special event coming up, like my birthday, he would take me to bigger, fancier places. They are always darker inside. The dim lights are placed close to the tables so that you can see the person sitting across from you. Gentle music playing so faintly in the background, I was never sure it was actually there.
My smiling waitress comes and I order. Butchering the pronunciation horribly, I'm sure. Gai yahng and som tum. Grilled chicken and green papaya salad. It reminds me of traveling through Bangkok and getting caught in a small restaurant during a downpour. I was there on business and wanted to leave. The locals laughed at my rush and shoved a bowl of squishy green something at me. It was som tum and it has remained a favorite of mine ever since.
A bell chimes behind me. I resist the urge to look up for a moment but give in as I'm too curious for my own good. Our eyes meet as I look up. He has just noticed me as well. It is him. I regain my composure as quickly as possible and give him a brief nod before returning my gaze to the table. I suddenly wish I'd brought a book or something to occupy my time.
I play with my napkin absentmindedly, wondering if it's too late to ask for my food to go. My smiling waitress comes out to find him a place to sit. I stare at my iced tea, watching the condensation run down the glass. He has no idea what he does to me. Here, we are civil at least but my thoughts are never far from the times we are not civil, the times we abuse each other.
I love his style, his flair. Many people call him whorish and gay even. I have never seen that in him. Flamboyant perhaps, but never whorish. And it is strange that I have never considered my advances would be rejected for any reason other than our rivalry. I don't know why, he isn't fey or foppish or whatever else they call overly effeminate men. He's beautiful.
I hazard a glance and see he hasn't moved from his spot, though he is flirting with the waitress. He begins to walk towards the tables, waving to her as he goes. She blushes and practically skips to the kitchen. I notice my hand has clenched and the knuckles are white. I feel my fingernails digging into my skin and wonder vaguely if I'll draw blood.
"Gonna ignore me all night, or can I sit here?"
His voice startles me and I unconsciously release my fingers. I look up carefully, peering through my tangled red bangs. He has taken the chair opposite me and turned it around backwards. He's tipped it forward so the back is leaning against the table. In the faint light it is hard to see his face. His hair is up in its usual style. I always wonder how much time he must spend to make it look just so.
From what I see of his clothes now, and what I remember when he walked in the door, he is hardly dressed for this restaurant. His jeans are ripped up the front in several places; some of which I'm sure are deliberate. He is wearing a white T-shirt and over that, a denim jacket with half length sleeves. Not appropriate at all. But he is so beautiful I don't think his clothes matter at all.
I answer him hesitantly. "I already ordered my food."
He smiles and I try not to melt. It makes me think of the sunset. And how beautiful it would be if he had shared it with me. And how beautiful it would be to wake up next to him, to see that smile every morning before I get out of bed. I sigh softly so it seems nothing more than a casual exhale.
He smiles more and I want to weep. If I died in this instant, I would die happy. And he would be in shock. I smile a little at that thought. It would be very silly if I died in this instant. I see his eyes widen and I assume it's because he caught the smile. I wonder, for the first time, why he has chosen to sit with me tonight
"You are silent, Yagami-san. More so than usual."
I nod my head at him, if only to assure him I'm listening. I don't trust my voice. I fear the things I might say. This once, he sought me out and I'm afraid to ruin what is, in my mind, the perfect evening. He smiles again, this time softly, as if understanding my plight.
The waitress comes and I notice she is giggling a little. Giddy perhaps from their talk earlier. If he spent the time to flirt with me, I would be nothing more than an incoherent mess. She sets down my plates and one empty one for him. I raise an eyebrow but do not comment. When she leaves, he grins and holds the plate out for me to fill. How does he know where his limits are? When did he have the time to learn the things I would tolerate?
Strangely, we do not talk at all during the meal. I want to, there are so many things I could say, so many things I need to say. But talking would ruin whatever it is we have at the moment and I wouldn't be able to bear that. In all truth, there is nothing to say. Questions perhaps, nothing that can't be asked later, when I am done being selfish with him.
We get the bill and inexplicably, he grabs it from my fingers. He reaches into his pants and pulls out a wad of bills. He counts out, in my estimation, enough to leave an excessively large tip and tosses them all on the table. His next move startles me even more. He moves over to my side of the table and holds out his hand to me. I stare at it cautiously for a moment before deciding that at this point, I'm willing to take a few risks.
He nearly drags me from my place. His enthusiasm startles me. I follow, trying to slow the pace. If he's going to latch on to me, I'm going to make it last. Outside, he grins at me and pulls my arm towards him so that he's hugging it. I want to cry again. I don't understand what he's doing, why he's doing it and I can't find the words to ask. I look at him, and hope that the expression on my face will ask him, that he will understand. He sees my face and pulls back a little. I nearly protest.
"I thought that's what you wanted. I'm sorry."
There is no real regret in his voice. He is not weeping in the fear that I have rejected him, only calmly accepting what he thinks is my disapproval. I find it peculiar that he is so impersonal about this. What ever this is. I am used to the idea that after such an approach and brush off that he should be crying and trying assure me he meant nothing by it. I realize that I've been watching too much Shoujo anime. He did mean it, and he doesn't regret letting me know. I take his hand again and pull him next to me.
"I was startled," I whisper. "Try again."
Disappointment that I hadn't noticed before washes out of his face and it splits with his most beatific smile yet. He clutches my arm again, this time with a little less desperation and begins to drag me down the sidewalk. The streets are busy but the crowds have dwindled a lot. We walk for a while before I notice that people are staring. I realize what I picture we must make.
We are both tall, though when I stand straight, I am a few inches taller. My hair is the brightest crimson red and his, blond and tall. That isn't even considering how unorthodox it is for two men to be walking arm in arm. I blush faintly, but if he is willing to ignore the stares, I can as well.
The sky is black now, though I can see very little of it through the neon haze of the city. I wonder about his hair in the light of sunset. It is colder now and I am infinitely grateful that I brought my jacket, though he is a good source of warmth. I disentangle my arm and he makes to protest until I settle it about his shoulders. He sighs happily and clasps his arms around my waist. I wonder where we are going tonight.
He takes me to the beach of all places. It is quiet there, the gentle splashing of the surf to our front and the bustle of city noise behind us. Really, the road is less than one hundred yards away and yet it's so peaceful. There is a moon, barely visible through the city air and it still manages to make a long reflection on the black water.
We sit in the sand, saying nothing. I am beginning to think that this is a dream. It is a beautiful dream that I have no desire to wake from. I listen to the waves break along the shore and the back and forth flux of traffic. I find it strange how well they blend together. I hear him breathing gently. It is another sound that soothes me. It assures me that he is real. That our time together has been real, not just some fragile hope of mine. I feel him shift against me so that he is nearly cradled in my arms. Is it odd that I shouldn't question it?
"Yagami-san?" His voice is quiet, though not quite a whisper.
"Will you take me home with you tonight?"
I stifle a groan. His voice is so innocent. He sounded twelve years old. I know better in my mind but it isn't listening right now. In my mind, I know he is not innocent. He would not have seduced me so effectively if he were. He knows which buttons to push, knows that I know what he's doing. He does it anyway. Perhaps it is thrilling to him that I let him do these things.
I want to kiss him, I've decided, but I don't want to do it here. If I kiss him here, we won't ever leave. I push him away gently and stand up. Reaching down, I pull him up to stand next to me. His face is full of questions but I won't tell him what I'm doing. Not just yet. Giving into my desires a little, I brush my lips across his cheek. I'm rewarded with a slight shiver. I take his hand and pull him along with me.
My building is only a few blocks away and I am hurrying. We get there and I fumble with my keys for a minute. Fortunately, the key to let us into the building is the same key that will get us into my apartment. I won't have to hunt for it again. He is smiling a little. A sort of sly grin that spreads across his face. He understands now, and is happy for that.
The ride in the elevator is slow and uneventful, though I consider hitting the emergency stop quite a few times. I restrain myself. I will not accept this to be anything less than perfect and the elevator is a far from perfect place. My apartment is at the very end of the hall and now I am almost forcibly dragging him. He is not unwilling and his long legs keep pace with mine. I console myself with the fact that I do not run.
Inside, my apartment is chilly. I left the windows open when I went out. I turn the light on and make the rounds. It doesn't take long to close all the windows but the residual chill will last a while longer. He has made himself comfortable on my sofa, his jacket thrown over one end. He sits on the middle cushion, my place for watching sunsets, and watches me as I watch him. I smile and he giggles, delighted to see it.
"Are you thirsty?" I ask softly.
I'd rather make sure he is comfortable here before starting anything. He shakes his head and gestures me towards him. I sit on the edge of the couch gingerly. Now that we are here and together, I'm nervous.
"Yagami-san," his voice is husky and warm, "are you going to make me beg you?"
He has shocked me again. And just like on the beach, I hold back the lustful groan that wants to rip its way out of my throat. I reach out my hand and trace a line down his cheek, moving carefully forward until we are almost nose to nose. I kiss his cheek. His skin is pliant and silky beneath my lips. He groans the way he has been making me want to, long and lustful.
I kiss my way across his jaw. I know this seduction is not necessary, that he would lie down and spread his legs if that were what I wanted, but I want him to realize how much more this means to me. I am kneeling on the floor now. It is more comfortable than trying to lean over him on the couch. He has thrown his head back and I nibble on his neck, trailing kisses down to his collar bones and then back up. When I get to his chin, he dips his head so that I meet his mouth with mine.
I clutch at him desperately as he sucks on my tongue. There is so much more lust, so much more passion than I had imagined. He gentles the kiss now and lets me take over again. I continue to kiss his mouth. Our breathing is ragged and our kisses sloppy.
"Yagami-san," he breathes out, "I want you to fuck me."
I smile into our next kiss. He is grabbing my hair, pulling me closer. This is almost perfect. Almost because I know it is too rushed for me to remember details. Almost because I want to go slowly and he's pushing me on. Almost because I want him to stay with me and I'm afraid it will chase him away if I ask.
I stand and pick him up between kisses. His height makes it very awkward to carry him from the living room to my bedroom, especially since he won't stop kissing me. He relinquished control of my mouth as soon as I stood up but has since found a fondness for my neck. I am trying not to drop him. His tongue is moist and warm on my skin and when he pulls away to suck on a different place, I get the chills.
I lower him gently into bed and take a step back. The light in my room is faint and it throws dark shadows across his face. His eyes are half open and he is still panting. I have never seen anything more erotic in all my life. I don't want to ruin the moment but his eyes are begging me to touch him.
Hesitantly, I run my fingers along the edge of his shirt. He moans a little and I push the fabric up his stomach. He is there to help me in an instant, grabbing the hem and throwing it over his head. I kiss his stomach gently, laving my tongue across his abdomen. He squirms. Gently, I work my way up his body, kissing and nibbling his skin as I go. When I reach his nipples, I stop to worry them in my fingers, watching them stiffen impossibly more as I do.
He grabs me and hauls me up next to him. He rolls me onto my back and I happily relinquish control. I want him to touch me. His touch assures me that he too wants this. Certainly, his behavior has proven that but I am still afraid this is only a game to him. He kisses me fiercely and runs his hands up and down my sides. They find their way between us and he goes straight for the button on my pants, ignoring my shirt for now. When my pants and underwear are off and disposed of to somewhere on my floor, he begins with my shirt.
He starts at the bottom, where it lies against my crotch. He rests his hands against my arousal as he pops the first three buttons free. Without lifting his hands, he moves up to the button, near my belly button. He presses a little harder as he draws his hands up my length. I have to remind myself to breathe. The next few buttons are undone and he moves a little farther up my chest. He is no longer touching my penis but I feel him hovering just above it. His legs are straddling my hips as he continues to unbutton my shirt. He kisses me, long and slow when the last of the buttons has been undone and sighs happily into my mouth. Now I am undressed but he is still wearing his confining jeans.
I use my arms to knock him over and onto his back again. I kneel between his knees and think of a way to pay him back for unbuttoning my shirt the way he did. I fiddle with the holes in his jeans, running my fingers through the gaps in the denim. He fidgets as my hands brush the insides of his thighs.
I continue to stroke his skin gently and look up to see him writhing under my touch. His head is thrown back and his hands are clutching uselessly on the sheets. I want to devour him, to make us one. I run my hands up his legs to the buttons on his jeans and undo them carefully. His pants are tight and he snickers as I try to tug them off. Now he is naked before me and the groan that I have been warring with escapes. He is too beautiful.
I lie on top of him, trying not to crush him. I am much broader than he is and so I try to distribute most of my weight to my arms. I kiss him tenderly. I want this to last. I want to be with him forever though I know that is a hopeless dream. Who we are prevents us from being who we want to be.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me down on him, wanting to be weighted down for whatever reason. I kiss him again. We fit well together, though I am taller and broader. I like the feel of encompassing him with my body. We kiss, hot, wet, openmouthed kisses. He writhes beneath me. I think that I have had enough of this foreplay, as enjoyable as it has been. I move off him and reach over to fumble in my night stand. I must have lubricant somewhere.
"Yagami-san," he singsongs, "I have some in my pants."
Pants that are fortunately still on the bed because I was too lazy to throw them to the floor. More likely, I was too distracted by his long legs and naked body to bother. I fish through the pockets until I find the crinkled up tube. He has turned onto his side, head propped on his arm, to see what I am doing. I turn and he smiles, then rolls onto his back again. I push his knees apart and settle between them.
"If you call me 'Yagami-san' when you come," I threaten, "I will be very angry."
He smiles at me and clasps his hands together above his head. He looks positively sinful spread out in front of me like this. I spread a small quantity of the viscous goo into my palm and let it sit there as I rub it between my fingers. There is no need to shock him with the sudden chill.
Almost timidly, I reach out my hand, the one that isn't coated, and touch his thighs. I trace patterns along the insides. I'm still trying in vain to hold onto this moment. I reach out my other hand and gently rub my index finger along his rim. He trembles a little. I retract my hand and rub a little more lubricant on it. I think I'm becoming more comfortable with this now. It has been so unreal.
Carefully, I press my index finger up inside him. He grunts a little and wiggles to adjust himself. I move my finger in a circular motion to stretch him. I pull out, apply more lube and this time I approach with two fingers. I'm watching his face as I do this and I see him grimace now. I slow my entrance until my fingers are barely moving. When I do finally get them in, I stop and wait, still watching his face. He makes a vague gesture with his head and I take it as a sign to continue. Even more carefully than before, I move my fingers apart and rotate them. Keeping them apart, I withdraw slowly and then push back in.
We continue like this for some time, the only noises I hear are his ragged breathing and the waning flow of traffic below us. He is beginning to get restless. I can feel him moving beneath me, trying to force me along. I remove my hand and coat my penis this time. I kiss him softly as I enter. His eyebrows knit together in an uncomfortable frown. I keep our lips together and whisper soothing nonsense to him. I don't think it does anything for the pain, but it does distract him a little.
When I am fully sheathed within him, and he is jackknifed into one of the most uncomfortable positions I can imagine, we smile. The time for slow, seductive arousal is over. Now is the time for lust and fierce pleasure. I pull away and he whimpers, I thrust forward and he sighs. We establish a gentle rhythm, breathing into each other's mouths. I want to kiss him again but I know it would throw off our rhythm. I can feel it building within me, the inevitability of climax. It's too early, in my mind.
Perhaps there will be a time later for slow, soothing love making. This is carnal. Our bodies rush together in a frenzy of lust. And all too soon, he is spilling his seed between us. I follow suit a few moments later and we tumble together, sated and exhausted. I gently remove myself from him and stand. I refuse to sleep coated in semen and sweat. He rolls off the bed gracelessly and kisses the side of my mouth sloppily.
"Thank you, Yagami-san." He grins and presses himself against me. "That was wonderful."
I frown at him. "Is it so hard for you to call me by my first name?"
He doesn't answer, opting instead to drag me into my bathroom. The shower is cramped with the two of us in it together but it is fun exchanging slippery wet kisses. We dry off together and I feel my eyes grow weary. I need to sleep, and I want him next to me.
I wake in the morning with a comfortable ache in my muscles and a leggy blond in my arms. As I stir, he rolls over so that he is facing me. He smiles and it is perfect. I wonder if he feels as perfect as I do. I cup his face in one hand and kiss him. No tongue because I don't want to assault him with my morning breath. He sighs happily.
"Good morning, Iori-san."
I trace a finger down his cheek. "How long will you stay?"
He shrugs and hoists himself off the bed and into the bathroom to pee. I stand and just look around my room while he is gone. Our clothes are scattered around the bed, most of my comforter in hanging on the floor. I look at the bed where I can still see the faint outline of our bodies in the sheets. I hope he will stay.
He opens the door to the bathroom and asks me which toothbrush he can use. I take that opportunity to join him. It is strangely domestic to stand beside him and brush my teeth. I wonder what it would be like to do this every morning. I wonder if he leaves his towels on the floor. I wonder what it would be like to take him in my tiny, cramped shower. I stop wondering when I notice he's looking at me strangely. I have toothpaste leaking out of the corner of my mouth.
I make him breakfast. It's nothing fancy, just coffee and toast. We sit on my deck to eat it and look out over the bay. Everything is peaceful in this moment. I take a minute to look at him. His hair is tangled and it's falling loosely around his shoulders. He's even more beautiful like this. He's wearing a pair of flannel boxer shorts I lent him and his legs are propped on the railing. He notices my stare and smiles. I love his smile.
"I'll stay until you ask me to leave," he says quietly.
I'm too unsure of my voice to reply. I'm afraid I'll start crying and he'll be repulsed. I nod instead and lean over the table to kiss him. He responds fiercely and when he finally lets go of my mouth, I'm panting slightly. It will be nice to see him in the sunset.