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chineseinkChristmas Drabbles 2005
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darkeyedwolf
Pairing: Akito/Yuki [Fruits Basket]
Paradox
“Yuki,” Akito murmured, stroking the boy’s fine hair. “Do you love me?”
The silence was knife-edged and heavy, weighted in the dim light of the room. The shades had all been drawn as usual and the bright sunshine of the summer afternoon dared not venture here where it was unwelcome. Sunshine that Yuki longed, futilely, to see again after being caged for so long in the dark. He sucked in a sharp breath, head in Akito’s lap and tense but unmoving under Akito’s stroking hand, and replied softly but fiercely, “No. I hate you.”
The fingers tightened in his hair, digging into his skull and Yuki bit back a pained cry. “I know, Yuki,” Akito said, voice soft as it always was, lying and deceptive as it always was, “You mean you love me.” He jerked Yuki’s head back, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. His smile was gentle but his eyes were hard and dark. “Don’t you?”
Yuki swallowed hard and Akito’s nails dug into his scalp at his hesitation.
“I hate you,” Yuki whispered and his neck snapped back from the force of Akito’s slap. Sitting up and drawing back, he hunched his shoulders and let his hair hang over his eyes, making no move to massage away the sting from his cheek. It was quiet again. Quiet, sharpened with hate, and it made Yuki feel sick.
“You’re young,” Akito said at last, turning away from him and pulling up his blankets. He gazed toward the window where the edges of sunshine could be seen around the borders of the shade. His body was tense, movements not as languidly fluid as usual, and even the silk kimono draped artfully over his slender, too thin body couldn’t disguise it.
Yuki knew he was the only one who could unsettle Akito like this. Not even Hatori or Shigure in their frequent visits could make Akito uncomfortable. Even when he lost his poise, his slinky, graceful movements and his lidded, smirking gaze that bespoke of his utter disdain for the world—even when that was replaced by his screaming and raging, temper frayed—Akito was never ill at ease as he was now.
“I hate you,” Yuki repeated, looking at Akito’s back, tracing the awkward line in the dim light with his eyes wide and voice young.
He fisted his hands in his yukata and tugged it closed. “Hate you,” he whispered again, moving until he was standing over Akito and mouthing the words right into his ear.
Akito’s hand closed around his wrist and jerked him down abruptly. “Shut up,” he hissed, eyes so black Yuki saw every detail of himself reflected in them, and he hated himself then. There would be bruises on his wrist later, he knew, and felt Akito’s hand move to his throat. Yuki closed his eyes.
“You’re mine,” Akito told him venomously.
And then it was quiet.
--
Posted: 12.18.2005
For:
darkeyedwolfPairing: Akito/Yuki [Fruits Basket]
Paradox
“Yuki,” Akito murmured, stroking the boy’s fine hair. “Do you love me?”
The silence was knife-edged and heavy, weighted in the dim light of the room. The shades had all been drawn as usual and the bright sunshine of the summer afternoon dared not venture here where it was unwelcome. Sunshine that Yuki longed, futilely, to see again after being caged for so long in the dark. He sucked in a sharp breath, head in Akito’s lap and tense but unmoving under Akito’s stroking hand, and replied softly but fiercely, “No. I hate you.”
The fingers tightened in his hair, digging into his skull and Yuki bit back a pained cry. “I know, Yuki,” Akito said, voice soft as it always was, lying and deceptive as it always was, “You mean you love me.” He jerked Yuki’s head back, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. His smile was gentle but his eyes were hard and dark. “Don’t you?”
Yuki swallowed hard and Akito’s nails dug into his scalp at his hesitation.
“I hate you,” Yuki whispered and his neck snapped back from the force of Akito’s slap. Sitting up and drawing back, he hunched his shoulders and let his hair hang over his eyes, making no move to massage away the sting from his cheek. It was quiet again. Quiet, sharpened with hate, and it made Yuki feel sick.
“You’re young,” Akito said at last, turning away from him and pulling up his blankets. He gazed toward the window where the edges of sunshine could be seen around the borders of the shade. His body was tense, movements not as languidly fluid as usual, and even the silk kimono draped artfully over his slender, too thin body couldn’t disguise it.
Yuki knew he was the only one who could unsettle Akito like this. Not even Hatori or Shigure in their frequent visits could make Akito uncomfortable. Even when he lost his poise, his slinky, graceful movements and his lidded, smirking gaze that bespoke of his utter disdain for the world—even when that was replaced by his screaming and raging, temper frayed—Akito was never ill at ease as he was now.
“I hate you,” Yuki repeated, looking at Akito’s back, tracing the awkward line in the dim light with his eyes wide and voice young.
He fisted his hands in his yukata and tugged it closed. “Hate you,” he whispered again, moving until he was standing over Akito and mouthing the words right into his ear.
Akito’s hand closed around his wrist and jerked him down abruptly. “Shut up,” he hissed, eyes so black Yuki saw every detail of himself reflected in them, and he hated himself then. There would be bruises on his wrist later, he knew, and felt Akito’s hand move to his throat. Yuki closed his eyes.
“You’re mine,” Akito told him venomously.
And then it was quiet.
--
Posted: 12.18.2005
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