[fic] ashes to ashes;
this is my first khr fic in a long time, so i'm quite rusty on...everything.
title: ashes to ashes
rating: PG-13 (for language and sexuality, to use MPAA terms)
word count: 752
characters: TYL!80/59
summary: the war is long and fruitless. soldiers, adrift at sea. (how everything falls apart, in the end.)
notes: wow long time no see i know i know. several things that aren't so readily apparent in the fic i guess: that's it's a slightly-altered version of the future arc where TYL yamamoto stays, where everyone is affected by the radiation not only the arcobaleno, and that the body-switching with TYL's is more or less permanent. despite all the...weirdness, hope it's still marginally enjoyable.
he’s very close to throwing up.
“just keep it in,” you remind him, stroking his back like a mother, “keep it in, kid.”
he doesn’t, and the concrete eats up all the yellow-green bits he didn’t.
he’s shuddering, like he’s scared (which you know is, on most counts, impossible) (but he does have a track record for defying your expectations). “i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine. it’s okay.” you give him a reassuring smile. “it’s not your fault.”
oh, but it is, it is. he got us all into this fine mess in the first place.
your lips keep stretching, keep going as far as they can go. “it’s not your fault.”
-
you spend several weeks in the hideout with him, which gives you ample time to glance over at him and occasionally, inspect his every feature.
the first thing you do notice are the lines on his face -- rather, the absence of them. how the grey hair, somehow, looks less grey. how his fingers are thinner and sleeker and tapered like a stalk of grass.
“why are you staring?” but same gruff voice.
“no reason. just spaced out.”
you can’t stop comparing him to his older self. you can’t stop marveling at just how much he will grow and twist and mold to fit the chunk the world has cut out for him.
-
you have --
a dream where the gokudera of your time and place comes to kiss you. “don’t worry about me,” he says, lips unmoving. you cry out -- “wait -- come back -- he’s not you i miss you i need you i need YOU” but --
“dammit.”
you sit up and press the heel of your palm to your eyes, to stem the tears.
-
you’ve almost forgotten --
that gokudera at fifteen years old kisses much slower, softer. you’re hungry for it, teeth against teeth, tongue to tongue -- but you pull back. “wait,” you say, “wait, this isn’t right, you’re -- and i’m --”
he pushes you back on the bed. “you’re you, and i’m me. i want to fuck you, and you should know i always get what i want.”
the words send a shiver down your spine, and you’re almost dumbfounded when his (delicate) (white) (lovely) fingers (fingers you could suck on all day) reach down to undo your pants.
you’ve also forgotten that gokudera is not quite as innocent as he may seem.
-
the cigarette smoke fills your lungs.
he’s sitting back against the headboard, still naked, and you’re trying to keep your dirty old man thoughts desperately at bay -- god, i want to fuck you, i want you --
"tell me," he says, "how it happens."
you're taken aback. "what do you mean?"
"tell me how we ended up here."
you smile at him. "it doesn't matter," you say, "you'll find out soon."
"or will i?" he flicks ash onto your newly-carpeted floors; it sizzles. "what if i end up here forever?" he leans in close, hair tickling your nose, cigarette smoke coating your skin with secondhand cancer -- "what if i've developed a taste for you, and only you?"
fuck.
"you're joking." the laugh you choke out is disingenuous. "don't say stuff like that."
the look he gives you is cold, piercing. "all i'm saying is, the time-space continuum isn't something to be trifled with. all i'm saying is, we might be the only thing the other has left in this world."
-
the tri ni sette radiation is affecting him badly.
“i told you you shouldn’t haven’t spent so much time outside -- i told you --”
“just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.” he coughs. “i’m finally dying of lung cancer --”
“no you’re not --”
“point is, i’m dying.” there’s an tangible gravity in the room, a force pulling on your very soles. “tell me.”
“tell you what?”
“tell me.” his eyes widen, pupils pinpricks of intensity. “tell me everything.”
“tell me how it happens.”
how you meet. how you fall in love. how i fall in love. how they took everything away and then they took me too. how much you still miss me and wish i were here.
(“tomorrow,” you say. “tomorrow,” you promise,
and you kiss him on the forehead.)
title: ashes to ashes
rating: PG-13 (for language and sexuality, to use MPAA terms)
word count: 752
characters: TYL!80/59
summary: the war is long and fruitless. soldiers, adrift at sea. (how everything falls apart, in the end.)
notes: wow long time no see i know i know. several things that aren't so readily apparent in the fic i guess: that's it's a slightly-altered version of the future arc where TYL yamamoto stays, where everyone is affected by the radiation not only the arcobaleno, and that the body-switching with TYL's is more or less permanent. despite all the...weirdness, hope it's still marginally enjoyable.
he’s very close to throwing up.
“just keep it in,” you remind him, stroking his back like a mother, “keep it in, kid.”
he doesn’t, and the concrete eats up all the yellow-green bits he didn’t.
he’s shuddering, like he’s scared (which you know is, on most counts, impossible) (but he does have a track record for defying your expectations). “i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine. it’s okay.” you give him a reassuring smile. “it’s not your fault.”
oh, but it is, it is. he got us all into this fine mess in the first place.
your lips keep stretching, keep going as far as they can go. “it’s not your fault.”
-
you spend several weeks in the hideout with him, which gives you ample time to glance over at him and occasionally, inspect his every feature.
the first thing you do notice are the lines on his face -- rather, the absence of them. how the grey hair, somehow, looks less grey. how his fingers are thinner and sleeker and tapered like a stalk of grass.
“why are you staring?” but same gruff voice.
“no reason. just spaced out.”
you can’t stop comparing him to his older self. you can’t stop marveling at just how much he will grow and twist and mold to fit the chunk the world has cut out for him.
-
you have --
a dream where the gokudera of your time and place comes to kiss you. “don’t worry about me,” he says, lips unmoving. you cry out -- “wait -- come back -- he’s not you i miss you i need you i need YOU” but --
“dammit.”
you sit up and press the heel of your palm to your eyes, to stem the tears.
-
you’ve almost forgotten --
that gokudera at fifteen years old kisses much slower, softer. you’re hungry for it, teeth against teeth, tongue to tongue -- but you pull back. “wait,” you say, “wait, this isn’t right, you’re -- and i’m --”
he pushes you back on the bed. “you’re you, and i’m me. i want to fuck you, and you should know i always get what i want.”
the words send a shiver down your spine, and you’re almost dumbfounded when his (delicate) (white) (lovely) fingers (fingers you could suck on all day) reach down to undo your pants.
you’ve also forgotten that gokudera is not quite as innocent as he may seem.
-
the cigarette smoke fills your lungs.
he’s sitting back against the headboard, still naked, and you’re trying to keep your dirty old man thoughts desperately at bay -- god, i want to fuck you, i want you --
"tell me," he says, "how it happens."
you're taken aback. "what do you mean?"
"tell me how we ended up here."
you smile at him. "it doesn't matter," you say, "you'll find out soon."
"or will i?" he flicks ash onto your newly-carpeted floors; it sizzles. "what if i end up here forever?" he leans in close, hair tickling your nose, cigarette smoke coating your skin with secondhand cancer -- "what if i've developed a taste for you, and only you?"
fuck.
"you're joking." the laugh you choke out is disingenuous. "don't say stuff like that."
the look he gives you is cold, piercing. "all i'm saying is, the time-space continuum isn't something to be trifled with. all i'm saying is, we might be the only thing the other has left in this world."
-
the tri ni sette radiation is affecting him badly.
“i told you you shouldn’t haven’t spent so much time outside -- i told you --”
“just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.” he coughs. “i’m finally dying of lung cancer --”
“no you’re not --”
“point is, i’m dying.” there’s an tangible gravity in the room, a force pulling on your very soles. “tell me.”
“tell you what?”
“tell me.” his eyes widen, pupils pinpricks of intensity. “tell me everything.”
“tell me how it happens.”
how you meet. how you fall in love. how i fall in love. how they took everything away and then they took me too. how much you still miss me and wish i were here.
(“tomorrow,” you say. “tomorrow,” you promise,
and you kiss him on the forehead.)