JE fic: Oblivious [Ryo/Ueda; G]
Title: Oblivious
Author: nami
Genre: Angst
Rating: G
Pairing: Ryo/Ueda
Notes: So. While Momo holds down the fort with her Kame crack generator, I bring you… Ryoda angst! Crack never comes so easily right after a grueling final exam, so it'll probably take me a couple of days to recover =_=
You don’t know when it started-all you can recall is the pain you felt after he let loose yet another of his insults, malicious words effortlessly articulated by a rapier-sharp tongue. You remember the tears of anger that welled up in your eyes, the mind-numbing shock that ripped through you when he suddenly, roughly pressed his lips against yours. That was the first time, weeks ago, and ever since he has done the same thing more times than you ever cared to count. It’s almost a routine, now-the stealthy cornering, the intentional acerbic comment, the kiss. And that infuriating smirk, ever-present when he pulls away, dark eyes dancing with derision and vindictive amusement, daring you to lose your temper or your wits or your sense of control.
You don’t know why he does it-what even made him think of doing it-but there is one thing you are certain of. It is a mockery, no different from the tactless jibes he has shot at you in the past and the sardonic remarks he always utters before violating your personal space. It means nothing to him, and you hate him for it, for not contenting himself with his verbal assaults and throwing this vicious mind game into the mix. You hate yourself for never standing up to him, for allowing him to do as he pleases because you never could gauge exactly what he wants from you. Even now you do nothing as his hand slides through your hair and down the slope of your neck, smooth fingers burning pleasant sensations into your skin. You don’t contest the surprisingly gentle push against your nape and the way his mouth hovers just a hair’s breadth away from yours before ravaging your lips shamelessly. You keep perfectly still when he breaks away and surveys you with eyes full of a twisted malice that you will never fully understand.
And you hate yourself even more, because somewhere along the line your anger melted into tolerance, abhorrence into attraction, hatred into desire. You found yourself longing for his condescending touch, for those brief moments of physical contact that mean no more than a sick joke. It increasingly takes more effort for you to keep your face blank, devoid of any emotion that he could possibly use against you. You start to wonder if this was his intention all along, to coerce you into falling in love with him so that he can throw it back in your face, another weapon in his arsenal of things that can reduce your dignity and self-worth into nonexistence.
You gaze at his retreating back, feeling torn and miserable and unsatisfied. For one fleeting second you are tempted to call him back, to tell him that he has won, to let him mock you, insult you, look at you with ruthless disdain, just so long as he continues to give you that unfathomable piece of him that caused you to fall. But the moment passes and once again you are left behind, consumed by self-loathing and a suffocating sense of loss.
You resolve never to give in to your traitorous emotions, because though he may own your heart and your soul, you refuse to let him possess the knowledge that there is nothing much more of you that he can claim. He has unknowingly ripped your pride to shreds but these shreds are the only things you have left to cling to and urge you to put on an unaffected mask that never fails. You get used to it, putting up a charade of indifference whenever he backs you into the wall of a dimly-lit corridor, feigning boredom and apathy as you force every fiber of your being to ignore the insatiable lust gnawing at you inside.
It is all a game to him, you remind yourself time and time again-a game that always cuts a knife through your heart and makes you die a little each day; a game that-no matter how much it pains you-you cannot afford to lose.
----------
It was just a passing whim that you acted upon for no apparent reason. You wanted to test his patience just a little more, to see him flare up with rage and embarrassment. You threw a thoughtless insult at him-such things come so easily to the tip of your tongue-but there is no one else around to appreciate your wit. No one but him, impossibly large eyes brimming with unshed tears, full lips trembling so slightly only a trained eye would notice.
So you kissed him .It was just for a laugh-you were curious as to how he would react, if he would cry or scream or attempt to punch you in the face. He did none of those, staring at you with a stunned expression when you pulled away with a satisfied smirk. His eyes reeled in your attention, the jumble of raw emotion in them that you couldn’t decipher even if you were given a full hour to gaze into them.
It was the intrigue that made you do it again. His lips are soft and pliant beneath yours, his pale skin easy to flush with a bit of teasing. But you find yourself disappointed as soon as you pulled back-his eyes are dull and lifeless, face blankly impassive. It is not the reaction you wished to see. You brush off your anxiety with another patented sneer, but it no longer has an effect on him, and he holds your gaze, unwavering, defiant.
For some inexplicable reason it incensed you, this unmistakable indifference that replaced the myriad of feelings that were reflected in his eyes not so long ago. His face is an unyielding mask, akin to the coldly painted features of a porcelain doll. The game you started gets out of hand as you continue to assail him, waiting for that ever-elusive piece of emotion that you can never coax out of him even as your advances grow more and more demanding. It is not an accident when your fingertips brush lightly against his thigh, when your tongue darts from between your teeth to tempt him to grant you entry past his lips. He never responds, never yields, and day by day your patience dwindles as you wonder what you are doing wrong.
You tell yourself again and again that this is all for the sake of amusement, and for a while it was. But it grew on you, this addictive rush as you crush your mouth against his, breathing in his distinct scent and touching every exposed bit of smooth, creamy skin. It grew on you just as surely as his unresponsive silence picked at your mind until you found yourself feverishly pursuing this obsession of wanting to see him crumble in surrender.
You realize with dismay that your plan-whatever it had been, it seems so inconsequential now-has backfired on you because it is you who are affected by your little escapades, you who struggle to appear as if touching him means nothing at all. You loathe him for his indifference, his utter lack of emotion as he lets you ravish him as much as you will, lets you take everything from him except the one thing you really want. Not a sigh escapes from his lips, not a single flutter of eyelashes. It makes you furious because never in your whole life have you taken so much effort to get what you want, and it maddens you because you unwittingly allowed him to have this power over you, to make you feel so helpless when it should have been the other way around.
It goes on, this dysfunctional relationship that neither of you would be able to explain quite properly if there ever came a time when you got caught. You don’t consider stopping because you long for the moment when that perfect mask will break, when those contemptuously unmoving lips will finally utter your name with as much desire as that which consumes you. And though it is futile, you continue to cling to your tragic hopes, waiting for a day that will never come.
Author: nami
Genre: Angst
Rating: G
Pairing: Ryo/Ueda
Notes: So. While Momo holds down the fort with her Kame crack generator, I bring you… Ryoda angst! Crack never comes so easily right after a grueling final exam, so it'll probably take me a couple of days to recover =_=
You don’t know when it started-all you can recall is the pain you felt after he let loose yet another of his insults, malicious words effortlessly articulated by a rapier-sharp tongue. You remember the tears of anger that welled up in your eyes, the mind-numbing shock that ripped through you when he suddenly, roughly pressed his lips against yours. That was the first time, weeks ago, and ever since he has done the same thing more times than you ever cared to count. It’s almost a routine, now-the stealthy cornering, the intentional acerbic comment, the kiss. And that infuriating smirk, ever-present when he pulls away, dark eyes dancing with derision and vindictive amusement, daring you to lose your temper or your wits or your sense of control.
You don’t know why he does it-what even made him think of doing it-but there is one thing you are certain of. It is a mockery, no different from the tactless jibes he has shot at you in the past and the sardonic remarks he always utters before violating your personal space. It means nothing to him, and you hate him for it, for not contenting himself with his verbal assaults and throwing this vicious mind game into the mix. You hate yourself for never standing up to him, for allowing him to do as he pleases because you never could gauge exactly what he wants from you. Even now you do nothing as his hand slides through your hair and down the slope of your neck, smooth fingers burning pleasant sensations into your skin. You don’t contest the surprisingly gentle push against your nape and the way his mouth hovers just a hair’s breadth away from yours before ravaging your lips shamelessly. You keep perfectly still when he breaks away and surveys you with eyes full of a twisted malice that you will never fully understand.
And you hate yourself even more, because somewhere along the line your anger melted into tolerance, abhorrence into attraction, hatred into desire. You found yourself longing for his condescending touch, for those brief moments of physical contact that mean no more than a sick joke. It increasingly takes more effort for you to keep your face blank, devoid of any emotion that he could possibly use against you. You start to wonder if this was his intention all along, to coerce you into falling in love with him so that he can throw it back in your face, another weapon in his arsenal of things that can reduce your dignity and self-worth into nonexistence.
You gaze at his retreating back, feeling torn and miserable and unsatisfied. For one fleeting second you are tempted to call him back, to tell him that he has won, to let him mock you, insult you, look at you with ruthless disdain, just so long as he continues to give you that unfathomable piece of him that caused you to fall. But the moment passes and once again you are left behind, consumed by self-loathing and a suffocating sense of loss.
You resolve never to give in to your traitorous emotions, because though he may own your heart and your soul, you refuse to let him possess the knowledge that there is nothing much more of you that he can claim. He has unknowingly ripped your pride to shreds but these shreds are the only things you have left to cling to and urge you to put on an unaffected mask that never fails. You get used to it, putting up a charade of indifference whenever he backs you into the wall of a dimly-lit corridor, feigning boredom and apathy as you force every fiber of your being to ignore the insatiable lust gnawing at you inside.
It is all a game to him, you remind yourself time and time again-a game that always cuts a knife through your heart and makes you die a little each day; a game that-no matter how much it pains you-you cannot afford to lose.
----------
It was just a passing whim that you acted upon for no apparent reason. You wanted to test his patience just a little more, to see him flare up with rage and embarrassment. You threw a thoughtless insult at him-such things come so easily to the tip of your tongue-but there is no one else around to appreciate your wit. No one but him, impossibly large eyes brimming with unshed tears, full lips trembling so slightly only a trained eye would notice.
So you kissed him .It was just for a laugh-you were curious as to how he would react, if he would cry or scream or attempt to punch you in the face. He did none of those, staring at you with a stunned expression when you pulled away with a satisfied smirk. His eyes reeled in your attention, the jumble of raw emotion in them that you couldn’t decipher even if you were given a full hour to gaze into them.
It was the intrigue that made you do it again. His lips are soft and pliant beneath yours, his pale skin easy to flush with a bit of teasing. But you find yourself disappointed as soon as you pulled back-his eyes are dull and lifeless, face blankly impassive. It is not the reaction you wished to see. You brush off your anxiety with another patented sneer, but it no longer has an effect on him, and he holds your gaze, unwavering, defiant.
For some inexplicable reason it incensed you, this unmistakable indifference that replaced the myriad of feelings that were reflected in his eyes not so long ago. His face is an unyielding mask, akin to the coldly painted features of a porcelain doll. The game you started gets out of hand as you continue to assail him, waiting for that ever-elusive piece of emotion that you can never coax out of him even as your advances grow more and more demanding. It is not an accident when your fingertips brush lightly against his thigh, when your tongue darts from between your teeth to tempt him to grant you entry past his lips. He never responds, never yields, and day by day your patience dwindles as you wonder what you are doing wrong.
You tell yourself again and again that this is all for the sake of amusement, and for a while it was. But it grew on you, this addictive rush as you crush your mouth against his, breathing in his distinct scent and touching every exposed bit of smooth, creamy skin. It grew on you just as surely as his unresponsive silence picked at your mind until you found yourself feverishly pursuing this obsession of wanting to see him crumble in surrender.
You realize with dismay that your plan-whatever it had been, it seems so inconsequential now-has backfired on you because it is you who are affected by your little escapades, you who struggle to appear as if touching him means nothing at all. You loathe him for his indifference, his utter lack of emotion as he lets you ravish him as much as you will, lets you take everything from him except the one thing you really want. Not a sigh escapes from his lips, not a single flutter of eyelashes. It makes you furious because never in your whole life have you taken so much effort to get what you want, and it maddens you because you unwittingly allowed him to have this power over you, to make you feel so helpless when it should have been the other way around.
It goes on, this dysfunctional relationship that neither of you would be able to explain quite properly if there ever came a time when you got caught. You don’t consider stopping because you long for the moment when that perfect mask will break, when those contemptuously unmoving lips will finally utter your name with as much desire as that which consumes you. And though it is futile, you continue to cling to your tragic hopes, waiting for a day that will never come.