hold a lover close
Pretty When You Cry, pt 2
Rawr.
II: Pretty When You’re Mine
If you knew how much I loved you
You would run away
When I treat you bad
It always makes you want to stay
He doesn't. Go to school, that is; not at first. Sits trembling until noon, moving in varying degrees across the sheets and cuddling against the overpriced silk, Krad lilting insanity in his head, pressing at the skin and reaching, reaching reaching incessantly.
Satoshi-sama, please. That was just a tease. A taste of what he wants to do. He hurts you and now I have to still kill him.
Just shut up shut up. You're not. No. I-- Satoshi trails off, headvoice slipping into something that he couldn't bring himself to put into words. He needs Niwa. He needs his little Niwa Daisuke, needs the crimson rush and amber smile. He needs something, and he knows that Krad will take this for everything that it's worth.
You want him.
Does it matter?
You're mine, Satoshi-sama. You're mine.
Satoshi shoves himself unceremoniously from his nest, swearing and dodging glances at the shattered glass spreading sharply from the window, a brush of purple waving on the windowsill. Trying not to pay attention to the slick dark spatters of blood, one slash across that cheek, Dark flinching and Satoshi, a shadow in the back of an icy cold mind, knowing that Niwa would feel it.
(sleek warmth, skin under skin under hands, lips pressing, i hate kissing, niwa, but i need this)
A striking juxtaposition to hours before, purple rush black feathers in the hands, and the mocking lilt of dark niwa niwa dark which is which? who am i?
"No," Satoshi sighs, pulling himself from the bed slowly, carefully. "No." His joints popping sharply, he stands, goes to eat, goes to decide, and carefully rearranges the walls that Krad had ripped apart earlier. Carefully reforms the buffers between the Tamer and the Tamed.
Because that is how it had to be.
Otherwise, he would be consumed.
There's just enough buffer that when Krad stretches to irritate, Satoshi can lose himself for a moment in the fresh expanse of white and ice between his mind and Krad's, and can taste the bubbled barrier that holds them apart. He wants to touch it and see how far the rest of the world can fall apart, some days.
But there's always that thing.
That one simple damn thing.
---
Silly boy. Daisuke, Daisuke, what have you done?
What do you mean, what have I done?
School. Basic, a simple shining thing, and Satoshi isn’t here. Dark had stayed silent, kept quiet since the early morning meetings and kept his comments to disparaging sarcasm against Daisuke’s lack of confidence, against his teachers. Dryly reminding Daisuke that no, he couldn’t take that flying leap, couldn’t break back into the art room, couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t do that.
Your control’s worse than normal.
Daisuke swears softly, ripping up the piece of paper that he has been scribbling on fervently for the past half-hour, doodles and scribbles of Hiwatari-kun in pen and ink, in pencil. In marker. His notebook looks like a war zone of Hiwatari Satoshi.
I should go eat.
You’ve been in the art room for the past ten minutes. There’s only so much time for food.
Daisuke ignores this; reaches for the pastels and begins coloring in Hiwatari-kun’s eyes. Blues, all blues, the shade of the overcast sky. This is blue when he’s angry, when he’s sad, when he’s watching me…
With curls up against his leg, purring out a kyuuuu and falling asleep as Daisuke begins to feel the carefully constructed walls fall into confusion. His fist clenches reflexively around the pastel. Breaks it, two pieces of soft blue.
What have I done?
That’s the question, Daisuke.
Daisuke. When he doesn’t respond, Dark pushes, nudges, toying with the black-on-black feathers in his mind; Daisuke feels flooded by the soft rush and warm. You have to find that one out. Do you want the Hikari?
Do I?
For once, he sounds so small and scared, so very young, and Dark tries his best to prevent the falling rush, but Daisuke slides back into their shared mindspace, the blank white canvas, the warmth and feather comfort of Dark brushing Daisuke into sleep, of Dark slipping into the reality and Daisuke quietly-
Dark sighs, softly, readjusting the collar and sleeves of Daisuke’s shirt. “Don’t you know?”
Then Hiwatari-kun walks past the door, pausing to stare, blinking glassy blue eyes, and Daisuke sharply goes back in, takes over, whispering, tiredly, "But I do."
Softly, to himself, Dark wants to lilt-whisper: You’re mine. Wants to whisper: No, the Hikari can’t take you. Wants to do a lot of things, but he loves Daisuke, and this is what Daisuke wants.
Rawr.
II: Pretty When You’re Mine
If you knew how much I loved you
You would run away
When I treat you bad
It always makes you want to stay
He doesn't. Go to school, that is; not at first. Sits trembling until noon, moving in varying degrees across the sheets and cuddling against the overpriced silk, Krad lilting insanity in his head, pressing at the skin and reaching, reaching reaching incessantly.
Satoshi-sama, please. That was just a tease. A taste of what he wants to do. He hurts you and now I have to still kill him.
Just shut up shut up. You're not. No. I-- Satoshi trails off, headvoice slipping into something that he couldn't bring himself to put into words. He needs Niwa. He needs his little Niwa Daisuke, needs the crimson rush and amber smile. He needs something, and he knows that Krad will take this for everything that it's worth.
You want him.
Does it matter?
You're mine, Satoshi-sama. You're mine.
Satoshi shoves himself unceremoniously from his nest, swearing and dodging glances at the shattered glass spreading sharply from the window, a brush of purple waving on the windowsill. Trying not to pay attention to the slick dark spatters of blood, one slash across that cheek, Dark flinching and Satoshi, a shadow in the back of an icy cold mind, knowing that Niwa would feel it.
(sleek warmth, skin under skin under hands, lips pressing, i hate kissing, niwa, but i need this)
A striking juxtaposition to hours before, purple rush black feathers in the hands, and the mocking lilt of dark niwa niwa dark which is which? who am i?
"No," Satoshi sighs, pulling himself from the bed slowly, carefully. "No." His joints popping sharply, he stands, goes to eat, goes to decide, and carefully rearranges the walls that Krad had ripped apart earlier. Carefully reforms the buffers between the Tamer and the Tamed.
Because that is how it had to be.
Otherwise, he would be consumed.
There's just enough buffer that when Krad stretches to irritate, Satoshi can lose himself for a moment in the fresh expanse of white and ice between his mind and Krad's, and can taste the bubbled barrier that holds them apart. He wants to touch it and see how far the rest of the world can fall apart, some days.
But there's always that thing.
That one simple damn thing.
---
Silly boy. Daisuke, Daisuke, what have you done?
What do you mean, what have I done?
School. Basic, a simple shining thing, and Satoshi isn’t here. Dark had stayed silent, kept quiet since the early morning meetings and kept his comments to disparaging sarcasm against Daisuke’s lack of confidence, against his teachers. Dryly reminding Daisuke that no, he couldn’t take that flying leap, couldn’t break back into the art room, couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t do that.
Your control’s worse than normal.
Daisuke swears softly, ripping up the piece of paper that he has been scribbling on fervently for the past half-hour, doodles and scribbles of Hiwatari-kun in pen and ink, in pencil. In marker. His notebook looks like a war zone of Hiwatari Satoshi.
I should go eat.
You’ve been in the art room for the past ten minutes. There’s only so much time for food.
Daisuke ignores this; reaches for the pastels and begins coloring in Hiwatari-kun’s eyes. Blues, all blues, the shade of the overcast sky. This is blue when he’s angry, when he’s sad, when he’s watching me…
With curls up against his leg, purring out a kyuuuu and falling asleep as Daisuke begins to feel the carefully constructed walls fall into confusion. His fist clenches reflexively around the pastel. Breaks it, two pieces of soft blue.
What have I done?
That’s the question, Daisuke.
Daisuke. When he doesn’t respond, Dark pushes, nudges, toying with the black-on-black feathers in his mind; Daisuke feels flooded by the soft rush and warm. You have to find that one out. Do you want the Hikari?
Do I?
For once, he sounds so small and scared, so very young, and Dark tries his best to prevent the falling rush, but Daisuke slides back into their shared mindspace, the blank white canvas, the warmth and feather comfort of Dark brushing Daisuke into sleep, of Dark slipping into the reality and Daisuke quietly-
Dark sighs, softly, readjusting the collar and sleeves of Daisuke’s shirt. “Don’t you know?”
Then Hiwatari-kun walks past the door, pausing to stare, blinking glassy blue eyes, and Daisuke sharply goes back in, takes over, whispering, tiredly, "But I do."
Softly, to himself, Dark wants to lilt-whisper: You’re mine. Wants to whisper: No, the Hikari can’t take you. Wants to do a lot of things, but he loves Daisuke, and this is what Daisuke wants.