Quietus
Title: Quietus
Chapter: Oneshot
Author: chinesetakeout
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha
Summary: “What do you think it feels like to die?” Aoi whispered to Uruha, tracing Uruha’s cold lips with his pointer finger, his breath clearly visible in the darkness of the morning.
Rating: PG13
Genre: Romance
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: No.
Comments: For mushiroonya -- thank you for that comment, it really made my day, so many months ago. ♥
Quietus: n. death or something that causes death, regarded as a release from life.
“What do you think it feels like to die?” Aoi whispered to Uruha, tracing Uruha’s cold lips with his pointer finger, his breath clearly visible in the darkness of the morning. Surrounded in nothing but black and faint light from a waning streetlamp, they were clearly able to see the stars up above; something neither Aoi nor Uruha had done together in a good long while. The sun wasn’t set to rise for a few more hours but the two were already up and about, their bodies warm from moving. Uruha, a young seventeen, was much more naïve than Aoi, who was nearing nineteen more and more each day.
“I bet…” Uruha started and then paused, his mind reeling for the proper words. “I bet it feels like coming home. Like you were missing something you didn’t know was gone till you found it again.”
As Aoi contemplated this, his hand began to shiver from being exposed too long, but either he didn’t notice it or chose to ignore it, for his eyes never drifted from Uruha’s soft countenance. He touched their lips together, murmuring, “You mean like finding an old childhood stuffed animal you forgot was important till you found it again?”
“Something like that,” Uruha replied, lips warmer now, their pinkish glow returning, as though they had absorbed the warmth straight out of Aoi’s finger. He unzipped his jacket and then Aoi’s slowly, careful not to let too much cold air drift in between them. He connected their zippers to each other’s ends, joining them as one large jacket. It wasn’t often the timing was so perfect they could become one without really becoming one. Uruha was a virgin, something Aoi found adorable but nonetheless loved to tease Uruha about. Perhaps if Uruha didn’t act so impure, he would have been more offended.
Uruha pressed his back against the light post behind him and because of the way his and Aoi’s jackets were conjoined, Aoi took a few steps closer too, their chests almost touching but not quite. Although Aoi was older, Uruha’s body was bigger just slightly. He never used this against Aoi but instead for him, such as now, when he pulled Aoi completely to him. He felt Aoi’s arms wrapped around him, felt Aoi’s chilled fingers press into his lower back, his fingers so cold that Uruha could feel it through his shirt. “But anyway, we have a long way before we go anywhere near deaths door,” Uruha added, as though Aoi had said something.
Aoi remained silent, instead deciding upon pressing his lips to Uruha’s neck, not really kissing, not really doing anything but warming his own lips by taking back the heat Uruha had stolen. It wasn’t death that scared Aoi, it was the process that led to death that frightened him. There were, in the end, only two ways life could go for either of them. Aoi could outlive Uruha and be forced to spend years without him, or, worse yet, die before Uruha and leave Uruha alone. The selfish part of him wanted Uruha to never love again; the selfless part of him begged for Uruha to find happiness, even if it was at his expense of falling in love with another. In what could only be described as a fearful reflex, he bit down on Uruha’s neck sharply, drawing blood before Uruha had a chance to fully acknowledge he’d been bit and before Aoi could pull away to stop himself.
“Ow! Aoi, that really kind of hurt, you know. How am I going to explain bloody teeth prints on my neck to people?” Uruha raised a gloved hand to his neck, touching the tender spot. When he pulled his hand away, he couldn’t see the bloodstain against the dark leather, but both of them knew it was there; the slightly damp spot on the soft leather gave it away. “Is there a reason you bit me?”
“No,” Aoi lied, gently kissing the mark, a contrast to his brutality a moment earlier. He wouldn’t tell Uruha his fears, his worries. They were young and hopefully had many years to live together, to grow together, to learn and change and develop. It was all in theory that they would make it so far as to grow old and die together, but Aoi found life to be more positive when he hoped than to never hope at all.
Uruha wasn’t his first love but Aoi certainly hoped he’d be the last. Love, Aoi had discovered, was finicky and frivolous; he would never admit to Uruha how easily he could be wooed with sweet words and expensive gifts. Uruha had given him neither, had given him nothing but pure adoration and whole-hearted love. Aoi didn’t deserve Uruha, not in the least, but he wasn’t going to ever admit to it.
With their jackets together, they’d built almost a jacket igloo, one that was keeping them warm by the way their chests were now pressed together, by the way their breathing kept in sync with one another. There was the physical closeness but the emotional was closer; the thought of losing Uruha, whether it be to death or another untimely cause, seemed almost literally too much for Aoi to bear. He buried himself into Uruha’s chest, aching for a closeness that wasn’t possible in public, that wasn’t ever possible because they were never alone for longer than an hour or two at most, a few minutes at least.
Uruha couldn’t give Aoi a true answer as to what death was like, but he could kiss him to death, could tell him he loved him till Aoi was sick of hearing it. He could prove to him that although dying was a part of life, so was living, if not solely to learn to love another being. People died for their country, for treaties, for religion and other beliefs; if there was ever a better cause to die for than love, Uruha couldn’t possibly name it. He lowered his lips those few inches difference to Aoi’s, let their lips linger just touching, before pulling Aoi just a little bit closer, just a tiny bit more, to show to him that living was more worthwhile than calling it quits.
------
I typed 'death' in the thesaurus, and this was one of the words. I was amazed at how perfectly it seemed to fit this story & that's the reason I picked it.
I miss writing. ♥
If there's any (major/annoying) typos in here, point them out. I edited this at four in the morning, so I was exhausted.
Chapter: Oneshot
Author: chinesetakeout
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha
Summary: “What do you think it feels like to die?” Aoi whispered to Uruha, tracing Uruha’s cold lips with his pointer finger, his breath clearly visible in the darkness of the morning.
Rating: PG13
Genre: Romance
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: No.
Comments: For mushiroonya -- thank you for that comment, it really made my day, so many months ago. ♥
Quietus: n. death or something that causes death, regarded as a release from life.
“What do you think it feels like to die?” Aoi whispered to Uruha, tracing Uruha’s cold lips with his pointer finger, his breath clearly visible in the darkness of the morning. Surrounded in nothing but black and faint light from a waning streetlamp, they were clearly able to see the stars up above; something neither Aoi nor Uruha had done together in a good long while. The sun wasn’t set to rise for a few more hours but the two were already up and about, their bodies warm from moving. Uruha, a young seventeen, was much more naïve than Aoi, who was nearing nineteen more and more each day.
“I bet…” Uruha started and then paused, his mind reeling for the proper words. “I bet it feels like coming home. Like you were missing something you didn’t know was gone till you found it again.”
As Aoi contemplated this, his hand began to shiver from being exposed too long, but either he didn’t notice it or chose to ignore it, for his eyes never drifted from Uruha’s soft countenance. He touched their lips together, murmuring, “You mean like finding an old childhood stuffed animal you forgot was important till you found it again?”
“Something like that,” Uruha replied, lips warmer now, their pinkish glow returning, as though they had absorbed the warmth straight out of Aoi’s finger. He unzipped his jacket and then Aoi’s slowly, careful not to let too much cold air drift in between them. He connected their zippers to each other’s ends, joining them as one large jacket. It wasn’t often the timing was so perfect they could become one without really becoming one. Uruha was a virgin, something Aoi found adorable but nonetheless loved to tease Uruha about. Perhaps if Uruha didn’t act so impure, he would have been more offended.
Uruha pressed his back against the light post behind him and because of the way his and Aoi’s jackets were conjoined, Aoi took a few steps closer too, their chests almost touching but not quite. Although Aoi was older, Uruha’s body was bigger just slightly. He never used this against Aoi but instead for him, such as now, when he pulled Aoi completely to him. He felt Aoi’s arms wrapped around him, felt Aoi’s chilled fingers press into his lower back, his fingers so cold that Uruha could feel it through his shirt. “But anyway, we have a long way before we go anywhere near deaths door,” Uruha added, as though Aoi had said something.
Aoi remained silent, instead deciding upon pressing his lips to Uruha’s neck, not really kissing, not really doing anything but warming his own lips by taking back the heat Uruha had stolen. It wasn’t death that scared Aoi, it was the process that led to death that frightened him. There were, in the end, only two ways life could go for either of them. Aoi could outlive Uruha and be forced to spend years without him, or, worse yet, die before Uruha and leave Uruha alone. The selfish part of him wanted Uruha to never love again; the selfless part of him begged for Uruha to find happiness, even if it was at his expense of falling in love with another. In what could only be described as a fearful reflex, he bit down on Uruha’s neck sharply, drawing blood before Uruha had a chance to fully acknowledge he’d been bit and before Aoi could pull away to stop himself.
“Ow! Aoi, that really kind of hurt, you know. How am I going to explain bloody teeth prints on my neck to people?” Uruha raised a gloved hand to his neck, touching the tender spot. When he pulled his hand away, he couldn’t see the bloodstain against the dark leather, but both of them knew it was there; the slightly damp spot on the soft leather gave it away. “Is there a reason you bit me?”
“No,” Aoi lied, gently kissing the mark, a contrast to his brutality a moment earlier. He wouldn’t tell Uruha his fears, his worries. They were young and hopefully had many years to live together, to grow together, to learn and change and develop. It was all in theory that they would make it so far as to grow old and die together, but Aoi found life to be more positive when he hoped than to never hope at all.
Uruha wasn’t his first love but Aoi certainly hoped he’d be the last. Love, Aoi had discovered, was finicky and frivolous; he would never admit to Uruha how easily he could be wooed with sweet words and expensive gifts. Uruha had given him neither, had given him nothing but pure adoration and whole-hearted love. Aoi didn’t deserve Uruha, not in the least, but he wasn’t going to ever admit to it.
With their jackets together, they’d built almost a jacket igloo, one that was keeping them warm by the way their chests were now pressed together, by the way their breathing kept in sync with one another. There was the physical closeness but the emotional was closer; the thought of losing Uruha, whether it be to death or another untimely cause, seemed almost literally too much for Aoi to bear. He buried himself into Uruha’s chest, aching for a closeness that wasn’t possible in public, that wasn’t ever possible because they were never alone for longer than an hour or two at most, a few minutes at least.
Uruha couldn’t give Aoi a true answer as to what death was like, but he could kiss him to death, could tell him he loved him till Aoi was sick of hearing it. He could prove to him that although dying was a part of life, so was living, if not solely to learn to love another being. People died for their country, for treaties, for religion and other beliefs; if there was ever a better cause to die for than love, Uruha couldn’t possibly name it. He lowered his lips those few inches difference to Aoi’s, let their lips linger just touching, before pulling Aoi just a little bit closer, just a tiny bit more, to show to him that living was more worthwhile than calling it quits.
------
I typed 'death' in the thesaurus, and this was one of the words. I was amazed at how perfectly it seemed to fit this story & that's the reason I picked it.
I miss writing. ♥
If there's any (major/annoying) typos in here, point them out. I edited this at four in the morning, so I was exhausted.