Dream Today
A 'Weiss Kreuz' drabble
Sephy

They move, together and as one, slick and sticky, limbs intertwined until there is no end in sight until neither can remember what belongs to who or even why it matters. There are sounds here, wet sounds, thick and full of longing, sounds that have no articulation but could fill volumes, a poetry of breath and silence, each gasp and muffled groan meaning more to him than all the sonnets in the world. Time is passing, has past but it doesn't matter either. There's only this, alive and consuming, burning them down and rebuilding with each thrust. He can't remember how this started, only that it has, that it is a natural to him as his heart beat and when he thinks that perhaps his heart will stop when they do. He doesn't mind so much, only he does when he thinks that he won't be able to do this again, won't be able to stare into eyes of amethyst and twilight mingled, a façade of ice cracking and the other one, the true self underneath. Omi has worked hard to find him, has been through fire and cold and a path of corpses, thorns pricking his skin the closer he got, the enchantment heavy upon his lover. They don't speak of it, sometimes they say nothing at all, and fall, skin on skin, bodies moving in tandem and the words wouldn't matter anyway.

At other times, when the mood strikes, his lover will speak, fierce patrician features softened, made so young, so impossibly young and he remembers that Aya is only three years older than he is. Three years and so many lifetimes. He knows about lifetimes, he feels their weight on his old shoulders, the skeletons getting more numerous with each passing year, his cross a little heavier than the time before. But it's what they do and he can't stop, because stopping would mean he was giving up and it goes against every grain in him to surrender, to let the night take back its own. He lives to hunt, when he hunts no more he will be dead.

He wonders if it is the same with Aya, if he could truly give up their lives so easily were he to find his sister, were she to awaken sans kiss and with only a broken prince, would the spell end. Would time simply reverse itself and he can go back to the man he was before her fall, before the Weiss, before they were. Omi thinks not, but he can't banish the fear that Aya will /try/ regardless of all common sense to return to that oubliette of lost time, to try and recapture the boy he lost when his family was murdered.

Omi longs to tell him that the boy wasn't lost. That Fujimiya Ran has always been there, beneath a tangle of hurt and anger, cut deeply by invisible roses dripping with gore the color of his lover's scarlet hair, the price of his vengeance made manifest. Omi knows he's there because he's seen him -- in so many small things. In the way Aya touches him, gingerly and hesitantly as if he fears hurting him, the way Aya's eyes always find his whether at a mission briefing or just standing in the shop, surrounded by a gaggle of uncontrollable school girls. He's seen Ran and he's felt him, and he can hear him sometimes in the night, silent tears rolling down sleep-slackened cheeks, unaware but caught in the grip of a memory, of a nightmare that he can never share with Omi.

And Omi fears the parting. Fears but expects it. Life is made of such things and he wonders if he will turn back into a pumpkin when the ball ends. He wonders if anyone will even care.

For now though, such thoughts are the farthest thing from his mind, unable to project beyond this encounter, too tired and worn to try. He doesn't believe in fairy tales, you see, because all stories are lies. But in spite of that he can't help but think that maybe...just maybe--

When he kisses Aya, the story won't end because who ever said that ever after had to?

***End

 

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