Backdated Dec 21, post-Yule Ball | A Taste Of His Own Medicine
Muses: Huang Zitao paintoverwhite & Kris Wu dragon_roll
Rating: PG-13 for...violence?
Location: Slytherin 7th year hall/Tao's Room
Summary: In which Kris discovers Tao's Achilles Heel and reveals his own, Pace get her carnage, and Kris delivers anything but an empty threat.
The night had simmered down, passed eventfully. Zitao had not left the event alone, though once he made his wayy down the hallway that lead to his room he kept no company. The night had been long, the food and drink well worth the trip. He had enjoyed himself, had been amused by the behaviors of his peers. It had not been as eventful of a night as the masquerade, but it had been eventful. He had kept better company this time. With hands in the pockets of his slacks, the dark haired Slytherin had walked slowly and had taken his time to get to his door. Once he'd reached it, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and worked slowly on removing the wards that kept his room safe. Normally, he would have glanced let and right to make sure he was alone but there had not been a moment throughout the evening when he had been without drink and laziness, and perhaps stupidity, won over the urge to be careful.
Slow and stupid or quick and alert, there were few matches for the hungered snake when it struck. Kris had retired before Zitao - keeping idle tabs from afar on the ill-fated pair. Though Kris had managed to feign a social mien for a while, Pace's fury rang in his ears, echoed words ghosted after him and quickened his blood. For the greater good of all, he'd tempered his own rage with sobriety. He dulled and dimmed and internalized the riot of emotion with a lifetime of discipline, so that he might carry on the facade of party spirit. There, deep within, it brewed, simmering and stewing, as gears turned and cogs clicked, even as mild smiles found his lips. He'd never felt more false, and in those moments it mattered only what the general population saw, what a photo might capture, what the press might glean. If some poor fool who crossed his path found him beatifically boring, he did not have it in him to care.
A well-placed Charm alerted Kris when anyone trespassed on the 7th year hall, a Homenum Revelio aided his effort. When Zitao came ambling down the hall heavy with drink, it was all to the blonde's benefit that his faculties were compromised. The unfair advantage had never been more favorable - it did not quite matter to Kris whether his opponent was enabled. A gamely dance of blades this was not, nor entertainment in the least; images verging on murder flit through his mind's eye.
While Zitao fiddled with safeties and locks, Kris cast from his invisible vantage a quick and soundless muffling charm that rendered him silent as death. As Zitao pushed open his door an unseen force leapt on him, pushed him inside. The door slammed shut, the younger's body slammed to the floor. Long fingers slotted around his slender throat like fangs through flesh, and there they locked and pressed like an iron vice, as the weight of Kris' fury bore down full force on Huang Zitao. The invisibility charm fell away - Kris had no intention of letting anyone else get the credit for this long-overdue holiday gift.
The last thing Zitao had expected to happen was being snuck on up and pushed into his own room with enough force that he ended up flat on the floor. His actions were impaired by the mulled wine in his system, the growl that left his throat followed too slowly by an attempt to push himself up and lash out at the body behind him. Panic rose, confusion bubbled to the surface. What the actual fuck?!
The familiar memory of hands around his neck flashed through his mind the second Kris' cologne hit his nose, he hadn't needed the invisibility charm to be removed to know that it was the blonde with a vice grip around his neck. Instinct took over a few moments too late, but took over none-the-less. One hand drew up, thumb dug into the column of his own neck as he forced it between Kris' fingers and heated skin. There was no way to force his weight directly up, not in this position, and succeed. He threw his elbow back against the frame on top of him, then his weight back to spin and roll them over until he was on his back with at least part of Kris under him. It wouldn't solve the problem of hands around his neck, but things would be dealt with one step at a time.
Kris was never quite so lethal as when he applied acute drive to motive, a little known fact that was best left that way. Rolling with Zitao, the pressure of his hands only increased as the younger ended up on his back and Kris leveraged his weight to bear down. Face to face his fury was revealed, grey eyes flashed with lightning as electric energy crackled from his person. Bracing a leg against the floor he prevented himself from going under completely by throwing his weight the opposite way - effectively trapping Tao, now on his back, beneath him. A single heartbeat of a moment, in which the image of the raven-haired boy, hair askew, hands wrapped tight round his throat, struggling, branded itself in Kris' head.
With every intent to crush his windpipe, Kris bore down on him, weight grounded as he pinned the body beneath him, grey eyes blazing as they bore into him. "What the fuck are you playing at with Pace?" he seethed, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. "Think you're gonna play her like everyone else?" He punctuated the irate inquiry with a rough shake by the neck that slammed the back of his head against the floor. "Stay away from her!"
Zitao's hand had remained at his neck, blunt nails attempted to dig into Kris' hand and pull him away from abused skin. He bucked under him, thrashed in an attempt to throw the other boy's weight off of his frame. He glared up at the other, hissed through clenched teeth as his mind reeled. The words that slipped from Kris' lips had at first earned a laugh, though it was a sound laced with shock and soon cut off by added pressure to his windpipe. There would be a bruise, ugly marks left behind.
His hand clutched more desperately at the others. "You're fucking nuts," he managed to rasp out before the back of his head hit the floor, stars danced in front of his eyes. He stilled for a moment, then thrashed again. He reached out, free hand gripped the junction between Kris' shoulder and neck as thumb dug in right between collar bone and tendon.
The problem with solving matters with violence was the irrelevance to the issue - and the fact that, with no tangle victory relative to the actual issue, the violence would perpetuate, escalate, and culminate only at a bloody end or at the hands of intervention or exhaustion. As Zitao's hands found the pressure point, a sound somewhere between a snarl and a gasp ricocheted from Kris' lungs and he recoiled, weakening the grip of the hand at that side as a sharp lancing pain drove into his skull and down one arm. Releasing the hold of one hand round his neck, he made a grab for the other's wrist and twisted it away from his neck - in a direction it was never meant to bend. "You've gone too far," he growled, grey eyes locked on black. If looks could kill...
The loosened grip on his neck had been a blessing, the ability to breathe easier desperately needed. Zitao's other hand went from the wrist of the hand still wrapped around the side of his neck, dug nails in between the bones there. His grip faltered as his own wrist was grabbed, bent backward until the bones ached and pain shot down his arm. "I'm not the one that's lost his fucking mind," he hissed, eyes narrowed. His actions were in self-defense, though at this point the reasoning scarcely mattered.
"I assure you," hissed the elder as a shot of pain stabbed his wrist, "I've never been righter of mind." With his weight settled and low, pressure of one hand still clenched round his throat, he reapplied force that had faltered by slamming Tao's head against the floor again. "You will stay away from her," he seethed, and drove his point home with a sudden crush of his vice-like grip - long, strong, beautiful hands snared round that delicate neck. Or else went entirely without saying.
Whatever insult Zitao had been about to snarl was lost as his head was slammed back against the stone floor, vision blurred. The sudden warmth at the back of his head contrasted the feeling of the cold floor beneath it, but he was too occupied for any connection to be made. His nails dug more desperately into Kris' wrist, the other rose to try to pull his hand away. His vision remained blurred, the pounding in his ears continued.
Panic welled up but it was anger that flashed in coal orbs when focus was finally regained. He bucked again, trying to throw the other off, and then drove his left knee up and into Kris' lower back. He lacked his usual strength, had little leverage or air, but some damage could be done.
As the prone boy weakened and faltered, some of the fight went out of Kris, realizing he could not accomplish anything more than damnable carnage here and now. Threats had been laid, terms set, damage done. When the younger's knee came around, it took him down, but rather than stay on the bucking bull, he fell away, sitting up, sharp eyes trained on the black serpent's every twitch and move. Blood rushed in his ears, air coursed through his lungs, adrenalin sang in his veins.
With the oppressing weight on his neck gone, Zitao gasped for air. His chest heaved, lungs struggled to pump oxygen through his veins now that he no longer struggled to draw it in. The world spun, the warmth behind his head grew warmer. "Fuck," he rasped, groaned as he tilted his head back and a shaking hand ran through dark locks, pushed strands apart and back along his scalp. He pulled it back, brows furrowed at the red that coated his fingertips. "Am I really the one she should be watching out for?" he asked, the bite gone from his tone gone and replaced by softness, confusion brought on by the concussion he more-than-likely had. Unfocused eyes glanced toward the blonde briefly before Zitao made the effort of pushing himself upward, hissed as he put too much weight on his injured wrist.
Arms resting on bent knees, Kris watched, detached, as the boy went through the motions of picking himself up. The smear of red on his fingertips inspired a strange feeling in his gut. Enjoy your carnage, Pei Ci, he remembered saying. "Yes," he said, and there was no flicker or falter in his tone - his practiced, steady calm reassembling rapidly. "You toy with people like it's all you were born to do. Never giving a damn about one soul on this earth besides yourself." And I hate you for it. The unspoken words surprised him, it had never bothered him before. It gave him pause. It was something to think about, later.
"Unlike you," Kris carefully lifted himself up to stand, and tugged Zitao up by the arm as his compromised wrist failed him, "I care about at least one person besides myself, for whom I will kill you if you so much as look at her the wrong way." His hand fell heavy to the side of Zitao's neck, palm warm against livid pink and white. It was a promise.
Zitao groaned as the other tugged him up, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. His vision swam, yet shoulders straightened even as pain shot down his spine. Anger flared in coal orbs, reflected that which was in front of him. He'd never been confronted about his disregard for others, the consequences of his actions had never been brought to the forefront. It unnerved him, drew forth rage that he kept locked inside. Later he would realize how similar they were in that regard, when he took a moment to think, but in the moment rational thought escaped him. "What the fuck," he hissed, found no proper response to what he felt. The hand on his neck caused a shiver to run through his frame. He swallowed, watched the other for a moment and held his gaze.
Kris had always been a thorn in his side, an annoyance. Now it was clear that he'd always been more, that Zitao should have been more careful. The fact that he was watched, stalked, was worse than the facts brought to light. And yet.. "You've watched this whole time and not cared." Everything had shifted though, someone close was involved. The younger Slytherin wondered if Kris realized that an attempt to keep him away only made the urge to get closer to Pace grow; now for the wrong reasons.
Kris' eyes narrowed slightly, but despite the expression he felt a centered, solid stillness within. "I've watched this whole time," he repeated, confirming the younger man's assumptions. However, he did not affirm the latter, instead filing the assumption away for later consideration. "This is different. If you treat her well, I won't believe you; if you treat her poorly, I'll kill you." Grey eyes bore into Zitao's skull. "If you think your life is worth something, steer clear of her." Locked eyes sharpened, silver daggers burned into coal black. Kris' thumb moved slightly along the line of Zitao's jaw; he'd felt the tremor beneath his palm, the nervous swallow and bob of his Adam's apple. For all the brave, bold front Zitao displayed, flashing eyes and callous disregard, there was something underneath. It was this that Kris found most intriguing, much like the flash of fire in long, slanted eyes that had drawn him in so many years ago.
The thought struck him, belatedly, that it didn't have to be like this. How had things come to this? The thought came from nowhere, and felt displaced - some shadow of unrest flitting visibly across the grey skies of his gaze.
"You've...." the affirmation had not sat well with Zitao, even if it was what he'd wanted. "Why," his tone was demanding, the anger slipped further through the cracks. Since when had he been a specimen to observe, what had given the other the right? He growled, the sound low in his throat as Kris' thumb traced the line of his jaw. His hand rose, calloused fingers wrapped and tightened around Kris' wrist without yanking his hand away. Moving too quickly would bring forth more dizziness, Zitao was aware of his limits now.
"This sounds like an excuse to get your hands dirty," he tugged his wrist then, jaw clenched.
There were two distinct answers Kris could give him, and for a moment he vacillated. His hand did not resist Tao's grasp, he found the length of time for which he'd let it rest there most interesting. "Why?" Kris echoed. "Why not?" It was neither of the responses he'd considered before, instead a question. "Shouldn't I have watched?" He lifted his brows, questioning, mild and almost teasing. Before Zitao pulled his hand away, he took the opportunity to catch his jaw between forefinger and thumb, tipping his head up and back just so. "You put on a good show."
I wasn't putting on a show, Zitao felted tempted to snap. But the words were far too familiar, the words now mocking. He pulled Kris' hand away, broke contact one point of contact between them and then another as he dropped the others wrist. The skin of his neck tingled as blood rushed from from broken capillaries. "And no one else held your attention?" he snapped, the words childish but the anger at having been studied so closely was still growing. "There was no reason to watch closely."
It was a pity; Kris rather liked feeling the dull pulse surge beneath his palm. He let his hand fall away, mocking in the way it gracefully arced back to his side, as though he was most graciously retreating and hadn't been thrown off. Ground held, however, he lifted one brow, and a corner of his lips tugged upwards despite the situation. How interesting it must have felt to have a taste of his own medicine - to be a plaything, a time-pass, observed like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Til now, the spider had been sleeping and sated with other blood, but when hungered, he came near with his long spindle fingers to draw blood and make merry. It was a pity that embrace could only ever be deadly.
"Why are you so defensive about it?" Kris asked with a musing quirk of lips, not bothering to hide his intrigue or amusement at the particular questions Zitao hurled at him - each after the next more interesting than the last. One hand settled in the pocket of low-slung knit pants as he rested his weight into one hip. The other, thrown off, hung at his side, still. "Are you off limits?" Cool mirth was evident in his tone, low and deep.
Zitao had taken a step back, then held his ground as he realized the situation suddenly turned further against him. He hated that expression, the sudden feeling of being a few steps behind. His head throbbed, vision still swam, and the dull throbbing of his wrist continued as his arm hung at his side. "Yes," he said firmly, the word nearly hissed as he took a half-step forward.
The sojourn into uncharted territory had Kris' pulse up, his attention triggered and locked. Slate eyes bore into coal black, watching for every falter, flicker, and flash of ire. He almost wanted to laugh at how easy it was, how little bite there was behind all the bark, how easy the buttons were to find and push. Almost. Part of him watched, detached and cataloging - and it was that part he would contend with later.
"What makes you special?" Kris asked with lazy lick of humor in his voice, that which suggested Zitao was anything but. There'd been many times over the years when he'd slotted the younger boy in as one of many, perhaps to take him down a notch, though less for justice and more to inflame. He was so very easy to aggravate, and for the same reason Kris had been drawn to him a decade and a half prior, he continued to needle him. "Or is it just me you're off limits to?" He lifted a brow, and the hand which wasn't hooked in his pocket rose to rub at his nape.
A low growl escaped the younger, even though he tried to hold himself back. The ability to put up his walls escaped him. Coal eyes narrowed and remained locked with Kris', fire burned fiercely. If he had held the others attention so long, wasn't he special? The thought flickered through his mind and did nothing but unnerve him; it scared him. "Something," sanity had gone out the window when Kris had tried to strangle him, "or else you're just that bored... If I'm nothing special and you've watched all along."
Kris snorted softly under his breath, something half derisive, half humored. "Something," he repeated vaguely, affirming only that much. The fire blazing in Tao's eyes held him in thrall - it had never burned quite so brightly as it did now. A small, enigmatic smile curved Kris' lips, cool eyes dancing. "The way you look at me."
"The way I look at you?" the words spilled from Zitao's lips even though he'd wanted to remain quiet. His hands clenched at his sides, the throbbing in his wrist spread and synched with the pounding in his chest.
Kris took a step forward, eyes trained on the younger, studying just the way Tao looked at him. "Naked hatred," he assessed, then added slowly, "...among other things." The small smile on his lips became more of a smirk, somewhat dispassionate.
"It's something of a...rare commodity." Kris added lightly.
I do hate you. Zitao kept the first thought that came to mind quiet at this time, eyes narrowed as he watched Kris' expression turn into a smirk. The corners of his tugged downward and then lips set into a thin line. The distance between them had become too small for comfort, yet he made no effort to move back and show how hunted he felt. "There's nothing more than that," his voice came more steadily than before, less strained even though his voice remained low and tinged with anger.
His fists still clenched at his sides, nails dug into his palms as his jaw clenched.
"That's plenty," Kris accepted easily. Huang Zitao's hatred was certainly an entertaining gift, all on its own. "It's enough to keep you interesting." Grey eyes narrowed slightly as they took in the fury and flame before him. Tao was still captive, and Kris wondered idly if those patterns were engrained for life - and if not, how and when would they break apart? How much pressure did it take to snap?
Kris chuckled softly under his breath. "I can't believe you take offense to this, Taozi~" His brows lifted with inquisitive mirth. "I can leave, and you can go right back to hating me," he offered genially - while suggesting hatred wasn't all that Tao was feeling at this moment. The faults and flickers in his facade - a twitch of lips, a flare in coal eyes - were mesmerizing. Hatred might've been the mask, but beneath it lay a maelstrom of more.
"Why is it so hard to believe?" Dark brow rose under dark fringe, his curiosity piqued now that Kris had started to share. Zitao felt somewhere between angry, shocked, and oddly a bit proud. The last of the three added to the second, fueled the first.
Kris' brows inched up. "Is that an invitation to stay?" he asked instead. After all, he'd offered the option to leave, and Tao had chosen to ask questions...
Kris sauntered the few steps to the side of Tao's bed - transfigured to be wider than average he noticed as he sat himself down and curled long fingers around the blanketed edge. Looking up at Tao - an interesting perspective shift - his lips pulled with a slow smile. "That you think you're above becoming a plaything, a means for entertainment." Grey eyes were fixed on Tao's, unyielding as they pierced through, cold. "How many times have I told you over the years you're nothing different."
"It's not," Zitao growled, spun around to face the bed as Kris sat down on it. It was his and only those invited were allowed to touch, as with everything else in the room. His blood boiled. "Get off," he reached out, fingers gripped Kris' shoulders and tugged. He'd reached out with his injured arm, regretted the sudden waves of pain. "Fuck."
The next words earned another glare, fiery gaze level with Kris' before it simmered down just a bit. He'd heard it plenty of times, had been clumped with the group and pushed aside. It had angered him then, angered him now. Yet it happened over and over again. "Clearly not enough times to convince yourself." Why else had he kept watching, why else was Kris still here and taunting him.
Tao's slackened hold was enough for Kris to take what momentum he'd used and tugged him down to sit next to him. Eyes the color of storm waters slid sideways, regarding the boy with unbridled interest - the look burned, as though he'd cranked his attentive regard up a notch further. As though there was suddenly no point hiding that he was, in fact, watching.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I'd never bothered you in that sandbox years ago," Kris asked him instead. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his chin atop loosely knit fingers. "If all those years our parents threw us together, if I'd just ignored you?" Then, he thought, then you truly would've been no different. "Acted like you didn't exist." -- like he'd done for the past month.
Zitao stumbled forward, ended up seated on his bed with a grunt. The attentive gaze burned, yet he found that it felt slightly more natural than the disinterest that had been directed at him moments ago. Zitao filed this information away, decided he would think on it when he could think clearly. He swallowed, glared.
Had he considered it? Yes. But it was hard to picture anything else; of them developing into anything else other than this even if it hadn't started then. Then again, they'd shaped each other so much in those few moments. "We would have clashed elsewhere."
Humor twisted the line of Kris' mouth, but it was vague and mismatched to his eyes - a far cry from the face he put forth for the masses. He found himself pleased at Tao's response however, and the intent grey of his gaze seemed alight. "Mm," he hummed, somewhere between pleased and amused. "You would have ensured it." Just as he'd done now - a month of complete ignorance of his existence had resulted in Zitao taking a step over a line that was not to be crossed, and in response, Kris had leapt clear over the same line into Zitao's domain - both literally and figuratively - to reset their equilibrium. Fascinating.
"I wonder where, and when," he continued idly after a brief silence. He tilted his head to scrutinize the youth beside him. Lifting his chin from his hands, he reached one hand towards Tao, draping long fingers with surprising gentleness around the bruised column of his neck, palm to pulse. "First rule of politics," he murmured. "Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer." Which of those categories Tao fell under was up to him to decide - even Kris couldn't quite say, and preferred not to think about it. Kris' thumb flicked once over his Adam's apple. He leveled his gaze with Zitao's. "Stay away from her," he warned again, sincerity writ deep in the low rumble of his voice, "it's your neck on the line."
"I wouldn't have gone out of my way," Zitao's voice regained some of its sharp edge, clarity returned as he'd stopped moving. The bleeding had stopped, though his awareness of his injuries remained. The thing to do would have been to go to the infirmary, to let them tend to his wounds and give him something for his concussion. Yet, the bruising around his neck would cause questions even if he blamed the concussion on a fall. It was strange, he realized, that there was an instinct to keep this private and protect.
The lightness of the touch around his neck drew a shudder, another involuntary reaction he had not learned to control. Brows furrowed slightly as he watched the older boy through narrowed eyes. The light flick of his adam's apple caused him to swallow, a reaction forced and slightly uncomfortable. "Does it matter?" he asked, referring to Kris' own first question but, between them, it could have applied to anything Kris had said. He doubted that staying away from Pace would really keep Kris' hand from around his neck for long.
"Mm," Kris hummed affirmatively, yet there was room aplenty for reinterpretation. Most intriguing was the fact that Tao had not lifted a finger to throw off his hand. The shiver and bob beneath his fingers was tangible; a flicker of interest in Kris' gaze revealed that he'd felt both. A brow rose. Their last encounter came to mind, fresh and vivid and smarting of deja vu. With long fingers cupping the side of the youth's neck, he lifted just his index finger and without warning stroked once, slow and light, from just beneath Tao's ear down the side of his neck.
This time Zitao bit into his lip and pushed all sound that threatened to bubble forward back down. He trembled, felt like he'd failed to even muffle the sound. His good hand shot up, then, and covered the offending digits around his neck and tugged them away. "Don't."
Kris' hands offered no resistance - buttons pushed, hypotheses proven, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Reflective grey eyes revealed some and concealed more; the steady beam of his gaze remained unflagging. "Fine," he consented, a lone articulate syllable. His fingers curled in towards his palm, briefly closing over Tao's before he pulled it back. Eyes narrowing slightly in thought, he idly ran the pad of his thumb over his fingertips as if a film of residual warmth lingered there, a subconscious move.
"Like I said," the low pitch of Kris' voice finally broke the silence, "it's your neck on the line." He wasn't precisely sure what the threat entailed, anymore - but his voice delivered it, nonetheless, steady and deep.
Zitao thought again of the last time Kris' hands had wrapped around his neck, the moments where they'd stood with hands connected. Kris' palm was softer than his own, he hated that he would remember. His hand dropped to his lap, body turned to face Kris as the elder spoke again. "Why my neck?" Tonight had been the night of pushed boundaries, of questions asked before he had a moment to rationalize or stop them. He wondered why it was his neck that Kris was after, if killing him was the intent. There were faster means, one that would not involve getting ones hands so dirty -- Zitao thought of those first, of magic or of cold steel piercing flesh
Kris' brows rose, grey eyes revealed traces of amusement. "It's a turn of phrase," he said in the deep, articulate manner that was his signature. His head tilted slightly to one side as he scrutinized Tao openly - his next words suggested that Tao had given away some telling morsel, one which Kris had no choice but to latch onto. "Why take it so literally?" He asked with a hint of a smirk, knowingly suspicious. The upper hand had clearly been restored.
"You touch nothing else," Zitao's gaze sharpened, coal eyes filled with anger that had his head swimming again. Jaw clenched, the tendon of his neck flexed under tan - and now faintly bruised - skin.
"I don't hear you complaining," Kris mused with a chuckle. Hands splayed on the covers just behind him, long fingers noted the soft texture beneath them. "In fact," a slight look of mock confusion riddled his brow, "if I'm not mistaken, I heard the opposite..." Piercing steel grey goaded Tao, dancing.
"Fuck you," Zitao hissed, voice low and finally filled with the anger he'd felt. Embarrassment was second, though this he pushed aside. He rose then, reached out until he held fistfuls of Kris' shirt to drag the other up and off of his bed. Off, away, and out. "Don't touch me."
Kris offered no resistance - rather, he delighted in the reaction. So this was how far one had to push. He didn't quite stumble, for Tao was still the shorter between them, but braced himself with a hand on Tao's shoulder. The look on Kris' face smacked of humor and satisfaction. Squeezing Tao's shoulder hard, as he was unceremoniously moved to the doorway, he slid his hand over the muscle there and in parting let long digits graze bruised skin. "You've been dying to do that for years, haven't you, Taozi," he mused. "That's just the beginning, isn't it." Cool grey locked into coal black. "I'll just go back to ignoring you, then, since you like that better..." Yet his tone - paired with the look in his eyes - suggested it was a question, awaiting Zitao's confirmation.
Hatred was something Zitao knew well, felt often in the others presence. In the doorway, he continued to glare as hands fisted the fabric of Kris' shirt. He had been about to shove the other away when long fingers grazed his neck, his body trembled at the lightest touch. The nickname earned another growl after he swallowed back a groan, abused skin sensitive. "Don't call me that!" the ability to form a witty comeback, something spiteful, had long been lost. As their gaze locked, the anger in his own faltered. I don't know what I like better. The thought terrified him, as had missing the other's attention. "Don't touch me," he repeated, this time strained to keep his tone firm. Perhaps, to someone did not know him well, he would have succeeded.
I know you don't know. The faults and cracks in the facade seemed to sate Kris for the time being, his hand slid from Tao's neck and wrapped instead around Zitao's fists, prying fingers loose from his shirt unhurriedly. When his hands were removed, Kris took a step back. "Don't tempt me," he offered equivocally in return, and with a faint, knowing smile, took his leave.
The urge to scream remained even after Kris had pried his hands away, had slipped from the room and Zitao had slammed the door shut. His heart pounded against his ribs, his head swam with thoughts he wanted to cast aside. "Fuck," he chanted, a soft mantra as he stood in the center of the room. He was still in his suit, hair mussed and spots soaked in blood. He should have gone to the nurse but instead the dark-haired snaked moved to his bed, pulled off the covers and threw them off to the floor before he dropped, face first, into the sheets.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. His throat burned, the blood rushing to his bruised neck reminded him that the marks would last.
Rating: PG-13 for...violence?
Location: Slytherin 7th year hall/Tao's Room
Summary: In which Kris discovers Tao's Achilles Heel and reveals his own, Pace get her carnage, and Kris delivers anything but an empty threat.
The night had simmered down, passed eventfully. Zitao had not left the event alone, though once he made his wayy down the hallway that lead to his room he kept no company. The night had been long, the food and drink well worth the trip. He had enjoyed himself, had been amused by the behaviors of his peers. It had not been as eventful of a night as the masquerade, but it had been eventful. He had kept better company this time. With hands in the pockets of his slacks, the dark haired Slytherin had walked slowly and had taken his time to get to his door. Once he'd reached it, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and worked slowly on removing the wards that kept his room safe. Normally, he would have glanced let and right to make sure he was alone but there had not been a moment throughout the evening when he had been without drink and laziness, and perhaps stupidity, won over the urge to be careful.
Slow and stupid or quick and alert, there were few matches for the hungered snake when it struck. Kris had retired before Zitao - keeping idle tabs from afar on the ill-fated pair. Though Kris had managed to feign a social mien for a while, Pace's fury rang in his ears, echoed words ghosted after him and quickened his blood. For the greater good of all, he'd tempered his own rage with sobriety. He dulled and dimmed and internalized the riot of emotion with a lifetime of discipline, so that he might carry on the facade of party spirit. There, deep within, it brewed, simmering and stewing, as gears turned and cogs clicked, even as mild smiles found his lips. He'd never felt more false, and in those moments it mattered only what the general population saw, what a photo might capture, what the press might glean. If some poor fool who crossed his path found him beatifically boring, he did not have it in him to care.
A well-placed Charm alerted Kris when anyone trespassed on the 7th year hall, a Homenum Revelio aided his effort. When Zitao came ambling down the hall heavy with drink, it was all to the blonde's benefit that his faculties were compromised. The unfair advantage had never been more favorable - it did not quite matter to Kris whether his opponent was enabled. A gamely dance of blades this was not, nor entertainment in the least; images verging on murder flit through his mind's eye.
While Zitao fiddled with safeties and locks, Kris cast from his invisible vantage a quick and soundless muffling charm that rendered him silent as death. As Zitao pushed open his door an unseen force leapt on him, pushed him inside. The door slammed shut, the younger's body slammed to the floor. Long fingers slotted around his slender throat like fangs through flesh, and there they locked and pressed like an iron vice, as the weight of Kris' fury bore down full force on Huang Zitao. The invisibility charm fell away - Kris had no intention of letting anyone else get the credit for this long-overdue holiday gift.
The last thing Zitao had expected to happen was being snuck on up and pushed into his own room with enough force that he ended up flat on the floor. His actions were impaired by the mulled wine in his system, the growl that left his throat followed too slowly by an attempt to push himself up and lash out at the body behind him. Panic rose, confusion bubbled to the surface. What the actual fuck?!
The familiar memory of hands around his neck flashed through his mind the second Kris' cologne hit his nose, he hadn't needed the invisibility charm to be removed to know that it was the blonde with a vice grip around his neck. Instinct took over a few moments too late, but took over none-the-less. One hand drew up, thumb dug into the column of his own neck as he forced it between Kris' fingers and heated skin. There was no way to force his weight directly up, not in this position, and succeed. He threw his elbow back against the frame on top of him, then his weight back to spin and roll them over until he was on his back with at least part of Kris under him. It wouldn't solve the problem of hands around his neck, but things would be dealt with one step at a time.
Kris was never quite so lethal as when he applied acute drive to motive, a little known fact that was best left that way. Rolling with Zitao, the pressure of his hands only increased as the younger ended up on his back and Kris leveraged his weight to bear down. Face to face his fury was revealed, grey eyes flashed with lightning as electric energy crackled from his person. Bracing a leg against the floor he prevented himself from going under completely by throwing his weight the opposite way - effectively trapping Tao, now on his back, beneath him. A single heartbeat of a moment, in which the image of the raven-haired boy, hair askew, hands wrapped tight round his throat, struggling, branded itself in Kris' head.
With every intent to crush his windpipe, Kris bore down on him, weight grounded as he pinned the body beneath him, grey eyes blazing as they bore into him. "What the fuck are you playing at with Pace?" he seethed, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. "Think you're gonna play her like everyone else?" He punctuated the irate inquiry with a rough shake by the neck that slammed the back of his head against the floor. "Stay away from her!"
Zitao's hand had remained at his neck, blunt nails attempted to dig into Kris' hand and pull him away from abused skin. He bucked under him, thrashed in an attempt to throw the other boy's weight off of his frame. He glared up at the other, hissed through clenched teeth as his mind reeled. The words that slipped from Kris' lips had at first earned a laugh, though it was a sound laced with shock and soon cut off by added pressure to his windpipe. There would be a bruise, ugly marks left behind.
His hand clutched more desperately at the others. "You're fucking nuts," he managed to rasp out before the back of his head hit the floor, stars danced in front of his eyes. He stilled for a moment, then thrashed again. He reached out, free hand gripped the junction between Kris' shoulder and neck as thumb dug in right between collar bone and tendon.
The problem with solving matters with violence was the irrelevance to the issue - and the fact that, with no tangle victory relative to the actual issue, the violence would perpetuate, escalate, and culminate only at a bloody end or at the hands of intervention or exhaustion. As Zitao's hands found the pressure point, a sound somewhere between a snarl and a gasp ricocheted from Kris' lungs and he recoiled, weakening the grip of the hand at that side as a sharp lancing pain drove into his skull and down one arm. Releasing the hold of one hand round his neck, he made a grab for the other's wrist and twisted it away from his neck - in a direction it was never meant to bend. "You've gone too far," he growled, grey eyes locked on black. If looks could kill...
The loosened grip on his neck had been a blessing, the ability to breathe easier desperately needed. Zitao's other hand went from the wrist of the hand still wrapped around the side of his neck, dug nails in between the bones there. His grip faltered as his own wrist was grabbed, bent backward until the bones ached and pain shot down his arm. "I'm not the one that's lost his fucking mind," he hissed, eyes narrowed. His actions were in self-defense, though at this point the reasoning scarcely mattered.
"I assure you," hissed the elder as a shot of pain stabbed his wrist, "I've never been righter of mind." With his weight settled and low, pressure of one hand still clenched round his throat, he reapplied force that had faltered by slamming Tao's head against the floor again. "You will stay away from her," he seethed, and drove his point home with a sudden crush of his vice-like grip - long, strong, beautiful hands snared round that delicate neck. Or else went entirely without saying.
Whatever insult Zitao had been about to snarl was lost as his head was slammed back against the stone floor, vision blurred. The sudden warmth at the back of his head contrasted the feeling of the cold floor beneath it, but he was too occupied for any connection to be made. His nails dug more desperately into Kris' wrist, the other rose to try to pull his hand away. His vision remained blurred, the pounding in his ears continued.
Panic welled up but it was anger that flashed in coal orbs when focus was finally regained. He bucked again, trying to throw the other off, and then drove his left knee up and into Kris' lower back. He lacked his usual strength, had little leverage or air, but some damage could be done.
As the prone boy weakened and faltered, some of the fight went out of Kris, realizing he could not accomplish anything more than damnable carnage here and now. Threats had been laid, terms set, damage done. When the younger's knee came around, it took him down, but rather than stay on the bucking bull, he fell away, sitting up, sharp eyes trained on the black serpent's every twitch and move. Blood rushed in his ears, air coursed through his lungs, adrenalin sang in his veins.
With the oppressing weight on his neck gone, Zitao gasped for air. His chest heaved, lungs struggled to pump oxygen through his veins now that he no longer struggled to draw it in. The world spun, the warmth behind his head grew warmer. "Fuck," he rasped, groaned as he tilted his head back and a shaking hand ran through dark locks, pushed strands apart and back along his scalp. He pulled it back, brows furrowed at the red that coated his fingertips. "Am I really the one she should be watching out for?" he asked, the bite gone from his tone gone and replaced by softness, confusion brought on by the concussion he more-than-likely had. Unfocused eyes glanced toward the blonde briefly before Zitao made the effort of pushing himself upward, hissed as he put too much weight on his injured wrist.
Arms resting on bent knees, Kris watched, detached, as the boy went through the motions of picking himself up. The smear of red on his fingertips inspired a strange feeling in his gut. Enjoy your carnage, Pei Ci, he remembered saying. "Yes," he said, and there was no flicker or falter in his tone - his practiced, steady calm reassembling rapidly. "You toy with people like it's all you were born to do. Never giving a damn about one soul on this earth besides yourself." And I hate you for it. The unspoken words surprised him, it had never bothered him before. It gave him pause. It was something to think about, later.
"Unlike you," Kris carefully lifted himself up to stand, and tugged Zitao up by the arm as his compromised wrist failed him, "I care about at least one person besides myself, for whom I will kill you if you so much as look at her the wrong way." His hand fell heavy to the side of Zitao's neck, palm warm against livid pink and white. It was a promise.
Zitao groaned as the other tugged him up, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. His vision swam, yet shoulders straightened even as pain shot down his spine. Anger flared in coal orbs, reflected that which was in front of him. He'd never been confronted about his disregard for others, the consequences of his actions had never been brought to the forefront. It unnerved him, drew forth rage that he kept locked inside. Later he would realize how similar they were in that regard, when he took a moment to think, but in the moment rational thought escaped him. "What the fuck," he hissed, found no proper response to what he felt. The hand on his neck caused a shiver to run through his frame. He swallowed, watched the other for a moment and held his gaze.
Kris had always been a thorn in his side, an annoyance. Now it was clear that he'd always been more, that Zitao should have been more careful. The fact that he was watched, stalked, was worse than the facts brought to light. And yet.. "You've watched this whole time and not cared." Everything had shifted though, someone close was involved. The younger Slytherin wondered if Kris realized that an attempt to keep him away only made the urge to get closer to Pace grow; now for the wrong reasons.
Kris' eyes narrowed slightly, but despite the expression he felt a centered, solid stillness within. "I've watched this whole time," he repeated, confirming the younger man's assumptions. However, he did not affirm the latter, instead filing the assumption away for later consideration. "This is different. If you treat her well, I won't believe you; if you treat her poorly, I'll kill you." Grey eyes bore into Zitao's skull. "If you think your life is worth something, steer clear of her." Locked eyes sharpened, silver daggers burned into coal black. Kris' thumb moved slightly along the line of Zitao's jaw; he'd felt the tremor beneath his palm, the nervous swallow and bob of his Adam's apple. For all the brave, bold front Zitao displayed, flashing eyes and callous disregard, there was something underneath. It was this that Kris found most intriguing, much like the flash of fire in long, slanted eyes that had drawn him in so many years ago.
The thought struck him, belatedly, that it didn't have to be like this. How had things come to this? The thought came from nowhere, and felt displaced - some shadow of unrest flitting visibly across the grey skies of his gaze.
"You've...." the affirmation had not sat well with Zitao, even if it was what he'd wanted. "Why," his tone was demanding, the anger slipped further through the cracks. Since when had he been a specimen to observe, what had given the other the right? He growled, the sound low in his throat as Kris' thumb traced the line of his jaw. His hand rose, calloused fingers wrapped and tightened around Kris' wrist without yanking his hand away. Moving too quickly would bring forth more dizziness, Zitao was aware of his limits now.
"This sounds like an excuse to get your hands dirty," he tugged his wrist then, jaw clenched.
There were two distinct answers Kris could give him, and for a moment he vacillated. His hand did not resist Tao's grasp, he found the length of time for which he'd let it rest there most interesting. "Why?" Kris echoed. "Why not?" It was neither of the responses he'd considered before, instead a question. "Shouldn't I have watched?" He lifted his brows, questioning, mild and almost teasing. Before Zitao pulled his hand away, he took the opportunity to catch his jaw between forefinger and thumb, tipping his head up and back just so. "You put on a good show."
I wasn't putting on a show, Zitao felted tempted to snap. But the words were far too familiar, the words now mocking. He pulled Kris' hand away, broke contact one point of contact between them and then another as he dropped the others wrist. The skin of his neck tingled as blood rushed from from broken capillaries. "And no one else held your attention?" he snapped, the words childish but the anger at having been studied so closely was still growing. "There was no reason to watch closely."
It was a pity; Kris rather liked feeling the dull pulse surge beneath his palm. He let his hand fall away, mocking in the way it gracefully arced back to his side, as though he was most graciously retreating and hadn't been thrown off. Ground held, however, he lifted one brow, and a corner of his lips tugged upwards despite the situation. How interesting it must have felt to have a taste of his own medicine - to be a plaything, a time-pass, observed like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Til now, the spider had been sleeping and sated with other blood, but when hungered, he came near with his long spindle fingers to draw blood and make merry. It was a pity that embrace could only ever be deadly.
"Why are you so defensive about it?" Kris asked with a musing quirk of lips, not bothering to hide his intrigue or amusement at the particular questions Zitao hurled at him - each after the next more interesting than the last. One hand settled in the pocket of low-slung knit pants as he rested his weight into one hip. The other, thrown off, hung at his side, still. "Are you off limits?" Cool mirth was evident in his tone, low and deep.
Zitao had taken a step back, then held his ground as he realized the situation suddenly turned further against him. He hated that expression, the sudden feeling of being a few steps behind. His head throbbed, vision still swam, and the dull throbbing of his wrist continued as his arm hung at his side. "Yes," he said firmly, the word nearly hissed as he took a half-step forward.
The sojourn into uncharted territory had Kris' pulse up, his attention triggered and locked. Slate eyes bore into coal black, watching for every falter, flicker, and flash of ire. He almost wanted to laugh at how easy it was, how little bite there was behind all the bark, how easy the buttons were to find and push. Almost. Part of him watched, detached and cataloging - and it was that part he would contend with later.
"What makes you special?" Kris asked with lazy lick of humor in his voice, that which suggested Zitao was anything but. There'd been many times over the years when he'd slotted the younger boy in as one of many, perhaps to take him down a notch, though less for justice and more to inflame. He was so very easy to aggravate, and for the same reason Kris had been drawn to him a decade and a half prior, he continued to needle him. "Or is it just me you're off limits to?" He lifted a brow, and the hand which wasn't hooked in his pocket rose to rub at his nape.
A low growl escaped the younger, even though he tried to hold himself back. The ability to put up his walls escaped him. Coal eyes narrowed and remained locked with Kris', fire burned fiercely. If he had held the others attention so long, wasn't he special? The thought flickered through his mind and did nothing but unnerve him; it scared him. "Something," sanity had gone out the window when Kris had tried to strangle him, "or else you're just that bored... If I'm nothing special and you've watched all along."
Kris snorted softly under his breath, something half derisive, half humored. "Something," he repeated vaguely, affirming only that much. The fire blazing in Tao's eyes held him in thrall - it had never burned quite so brightly as it did now. A small, enigmatic smile curved Kris' lips, cool eyes dancing. "The way you look at me."
"The way I look at you?" the words spilled from Zitao's lips even though he'd wanted to remain quiet. His hands clenched at his sides, the throbbing in his wrist spread and synched with the pounding in his chest.
Kris took a step forward, eyes trained on the younger, studying just the way Tao looked at him. "Naked hatred," he assessed, then added slowly, "...among other things." The small smile on his lips became more of a smirk, somewhat dispassionate.
"It's something of a...rare commodity." Kris added lightly.
I do hate you. Zitao kept the first thought that came to mind quiet at this time, eyes narrowed as he watched Kris' expression turn into a smirk. The corners of his tugged downward and then lips set into a thin line. The distance between them had become too small for comfort, yet he made no effort to move back and show how hunted he felt. "There's nothing more than that," his voice came more steadily than before, less strained even though his voice remained low and tinged with anger.
His fists still clenched at his sides, nails dug into his palms as his jaw clenched.
"That's plenty," Kris accepted easily. Huang Zitao's hatred was certainly an entertaining gift, all on its own. "It's enough to keep you interesting." Grey eyes narrowed slightly as they took in the fury and flame before him. Tao was still captive, and Kris wondered idly if those patterns were engrained for life - and if not, how and when would they break apart? How much pressure did it take to snap?
Kris chuckled softly under his breath. "I can't believe you take offense to this, Taozi~" His brows lifted with inquisitive mirth. "I can leave, and you can go right back to hating me," he offered genially - while suggesting hatred wasn't all that Tao was feeling at this moment. The faults and flickers in his facade - a twitch of lips, a flare in coal eyes - were mesmerizing. Hatred might've been the mask, but beneath it lay a maelstrom of more.
"Why is it so hard to believe?" Dark brow rose under dark fringe, his curiosity piqued now that Kris had started to share. Zitao felt somewhere between angry, shocked, and oddly a bit proud. The last of the three added to the second, fueled the first.
Kris' brows inched up. "Is that an invitation to stay?" he asked instead. After all, he'd offered the option to leave, and Tao had chosen to ask questions...
Kris sauntered the few steps to the side of Tao's bed - transfigured to be wider than average he noticed as he sat himself down and curled long fingers around the blanketed edge. Looking up at Tao - an interesting perspective shift - his lips pulled with a slow smile. "That you think you're above becoming a plaything, a means for entertainment." Grey eyes were fixed on Tao's, unyielding as they pierced through, cold. "How many times have I told you over the years you're nothing different."
"It's not," Zitao growled, spun around to face the bed as Kris sat down on it. It was his and only those invited were allowed to touch, as with everything else in the room. His blood boiled. "Get off," he reached out, fingers gripped Kris' shoulders and tugged. He'd reached out with his injured arm, regretted the sudden waves of pain. "Fuck."
The next words earned another glare, fiery gaze level with Kris' before it simmered down just a bit. He'd heard it plenty of times, had been clumped with the group and pushed aside. It had angered him then, angered him now. Yet it happened over and over again. "Clearly not enough times to convince yourself." Why else had he kept watching, why else was Kris still here and taunting him.
Tao's slackened hold was enough for Kris to take what momentum he'd used and tugged him down to sit next to him. Eyes the color of storm waters slid sideways, regarding the boy with unbridled interest - the look burned, as though he'd cranked his attentive regard up a notch further. As though there was suddenly no point hiding that he was, in fact, watching.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I'd never bothered you in that sandbox years ago," Kris asked him instead. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his chin atop loosely knit fingers. "If all those years our parents threw us together, if I'd just ignored you?" Then, he thought, then you truly would've been no different. "Acted like you didn't exist." -- like he'd done for the past month.
Zitao stumbled forward, ended up seated on his bed with a grunt. The attentive gaze burned, yet he found that it felt slightly more natural than the disinterest that had been directed at him moments ago. Zitao filed this information away, decided he would think on it when he could think clearly. He swallowed, glared.
Had he considered it? Yes. But it was hard to picture anything else; of them developing into anything else other than this even if it hadn't started then. Then again, they'd shaped each other so much in those few moments. "We would have clashed elsewhere."
Humor twisted the line of Kris' mouth, but it was vague and mismatched to his eyes - a far cry from the face he put forth for the masses. He found himself pleased at Tao's response however, and the intent grey of his gaze seemed alight. "Mm," he hummed, somewhere between pleased and amused. "You would have ensured it." Just as he'd done now - a month of complete ignorance of his existence had resulted in Zitao taking a step over a line that was not to be crossed, and in response, Kris had leapt clear over the same line into Zitao's domain - both literally and figuratively - to reset their equilibrium. Fascinating.
"I wonder where, and when," he continued idly after a brief silence. He tilted his head to scrutinize the youth beside him. Lifting his chin from his hands, he reached one hand towards Tao, draping long fingers with surprising gentleness around the bruised column of his neck, palm to pulse. "First rule of politics," he murmured. "Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer." Which of those categories Tao fell under was up to him to decide - even Kris couldn't quite say, and preferred not to think about it. Kris' thumb flicked once over his Adam's apple. He leveled his gaze with Zitao's. "Stay away from her," he warned again, sincerity writ deep in the low rumble of his voice, "it's your neck on the line."
"I wouldn't have gone out of my way," Zitao's voice regained some of its sharp edge, clarity returned as he'd stopped moving. The bleeding had stopped, though his awareness of his injuries remained. The thing to do would have been to go to the infirmary, to let them tend to his wounds and give him something for his concussion. Yet, the bruising around his neck would cause questions even if he blamed the concussion on a fall. It was strange, he realized, that there was an instinct to keep this private and protect.
The lightness of the touch around his neck drew a shudder, another involuntary reaction he had not learned to control. Brows furrowed slightly as he watched the older boy through narrowed eyes. The light flick of his adam's apple caused him to swallow, a reaction forced and slightly uncomfortable. "Does it matter?" he asked, referring to Kris' own first question but, between them, it could have applied to anything Kris had said. He doubted that staying away from Pace would really keep Kris' hand from around his neck for long.
"Mm," Kris hummed affirmatively, yet there was room aplenty for reinterpretation. Most intriguing was the fact that Tao had not lifted a finger to throw off his hand. The shiver and bob beneath his fingers was tangible; a flicker of interest in Kris' gaze revealed that he'd felt both. A brow rose. Their last encounter came to mind, fresh and vivid and smarting of deja vu. With long fingers cupping the side of the youth's neck, he lifted just his index finger and without warning stroked once, slow and light, from just beneath Tao's ear down the side of his neck.
This time Zitao bit into his lip and pushed all sound that threatened to bubble forward back down. He trembled, felt like he'd failed to even muffle the sound. His good hand shot up, then, and covered the offending digits around his neck and tugged them away. "Don't."
Kris' hands offered no resistance - buttons pushed, hypotheses proven, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Reflective grey eyes revealed some and concealed more; the steady beam of his gaze remained unflagging. "Fine," he consented, a lone articulate syllable. His fingers curled in towards his palm, briefly closing over Tao's before he pulled it back. Eyes narrowing slightly in thought, he idly ran the pad of his thumb over his fingertips as if a film of residual warmth lingered there, a subconscious move.
"Like I said," the low pitch of Kris' voice finally broke the silence, "it's your neck on the line." He wasn't precisely sure what the threat entailed, anymore - but his voice delivered it, nonetheless, steady and deep.
Zitao thought again of the last time Kris' hands had wrapped around his neck, the moments where they'd stood with hands connected. Kris' palm was softer than his own, he hated that he would remember. His hand dropped to his lap, body turned to face Kris as the elder spoke again. "Why my neck?" Tonight had been the night of pushed boundaries, of questions asked before he had a moment to rationalize or stop them. He wondered why it was his neck that Kris was after, if killing him was the intent. There were faster means, one that would not involve getting ones hands so dirty -- Zitao thought of those first, of magic or of cold steel piercing flesh
Kris' brows rose, grey eyes revealed traces of amusement. "It's a turn of phrase," he said in the deep, articulate manner that was his signature. His head tilted slightly to one side as he scrutinized Tao openly - his next words suggested that Tao had given away some telling morsel, one which Kris had no choice but to latch onto. "Why take it so literally?" He asked with a hint of a smirk, knowingly suspicious. The upper hand had clearly been restored.
"You touch nothing else," Zitao's gaze sharpened, coal eyes filled with anger that had his head swimming again. Jaw clenched, the tendon of his neck flexed under tan - and now faintly bruised - skin.
"I don't hear you complaining," Kris mused with a chuckle. Hands splayed on the covers just behind him, long fingers noted the soft texture beneath them. "In fact," a slight look of mock confusion riddled his brow, "if I'm not mistaken, I heard the opposite..." Piercing steel grey goaded Tao, dancing.
"Fuck you," Zitao hissed, voice low and finally filled with the anger he'd felt. Embarrassment was second, though this he pushed aside. He rose then, reached out until he held fistfuls of Kris' shirt to drag the other up and off of his bed. Off, away, and out. "Don't touch me."
Kris offered no resistance - rather, he delighted in the reaction. So this was how far one had to push. He didn't quite stumble, for Tao was still the shorter between them, but braced himself with a hand on Tao's shoulder. The look on Kris' face smacked of humor and satisfaction. Squeezing Tao's shoulder hard, as he was unceremoniously moved to the doorway, he slid his hand over the muscle there and in parting let long digits graze bruised skin. "You've been dying to do that for years, haven't you, Taozi," he mused. "That's just the beginning, isn't it." Cool grey locked into coal black. "I'll just go back to ignoring you, then, since you like that better..." Yet his tone - paired with the look in his eyes - suggested it was a question, awaiting Zitao's confirmation.
Hatred was something Zitao knew well, felt often in the others presence. In the doorway, he continued to glare as hands fisted the fabric of Kris' shirt. He had been about to shove the other away when long fingers grazed his neck, his body trembled at the lightest touch. The nickname earned another growl after he swallowed back a groan, abused skin sensitive. "Don't call me that!" the ability to form a witty comeback, something spiteful, had long been lost. As their gaze locked, the anger in his own faltered. I don't know what I like better. The thought terrified him, as had missing the other's attention. "Don't touch me," he repeated, this time strained to keep his tone firm. Perhaps, to someone did not know him well, he would have succeeded.
I know you don't know. The faults and cracks in the facade seemed to sate Kris for the time being, his hand slid from Tao's neck and wrapped instead around Zitao's fists, prying fingers loose from his shirt unhurriedly. When his hands were removed, Kris took a step back. "Don't tempt me," he offered equivocally in return, and with a faint, knowing smile, took his leave.
The urge to scream remained even after Kris had pried his hands away, had slipped from the room and Zitao had slammed the door shut. His heart pounded against his ribs, his head swam with thoughts he wanted to cast aside. "Fuck," he chanted, a soft mantra as he stood in the center of the room. He was still in his suit, hair mussed and spots soaked in blood. He should have gone to the nurse but instead the dark-haired snaked moved to his bed, pulled off the covers and threw them off to the floor before he dropped, face first, into the sheets.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. His throat burned, the blood rushing to his bruised neck reminded him that the marks would last.