Dream 1 - Masterpiece
Fatigue and excitement had eroded his self-control, so that when he wearily put his tools aside and stared down at him, it was perhaps unsurprising that he caught his breath upon sight of the nude, nearly completed masterwork that lay before him on a long metal worktable.
His body was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; all of the imperfections had been cut away and replaced over the course of several sleepless days and nights. The shuriken scar by his left shoulder from his chuunin exams was gone, the surface now smooth and unbroken. That discolored patch of skin from when he'd skinned his knee as a small child had been carefully recolored to match the rest of him. The tiny mole that had blemished his cheek underneath his right eye for as long as he could remember? Painstakingly excised.
His artist's eyes devoured the sublime perfection before him. Long, delicate, and nimble fingers that would soon move with a splendid, unnatural grace; a youthful abdomen that narrowed down into boyish, slender hips; and the most captivating feature of all was that gloriously angelic face with a refined nose and thin, pink-tinged lips. The only imperfection in his entire body was the gaping hole in his chest, and it was one that would be remedied soon enough.
Quivering hands slipped around the cylinder emblazoned with his name, the cylinder that contained his living essence, and he carried it with the type of awestruck reverence normally reserved for the transport of sacred relics.
Palms sweating, he swallowed and then began to gently, gingerly ease the cylinder down into the chest cavity that had been designed to accommodate it so snugly that he had to proceed with the utmost patience and care. Inch by inch it slid deeper and deeper until, at long last, the cylinder was buried completely in place, and he let out a shuddering sigh.
At last, he was complete; after one last admiring glance, he broke the seal that had kept him unconscious throughout the entire process.
His eyes snapped open immediately, and after a few moments of experimental flexing of fingers and rotating of various joints, he sat up and faced him.
“Everything appears to be in order,” he said, and his voice sounded...different. Somehow it sounded fuller and richer than he sounded to his own ears.
The sight of such breathtakingly beautiful perfection eradicated what little self-restraint he had left.
He met his eyes, and his fingers slipped over his lips, and over cheeks that would never flush again. He didn't move, only watched him intently from beneath those hooded eyelids and long, delicate lashes (it had taken hours to implant them to replace those that had fallen out due to the preservatives) in a way that made his face feel hot.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and for the first time in years he completely succumbed to impulse and leaned forwards. He merely continued to watch him, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Those thin pink lips that still looked perfectly lifelike were all he could focus on, and he brushed his lips against his.
They were firm, unresponsive, and so very cold, and he felt a shiver go down his spine at the contact. He cracked his eyelids open, and met his gaze, for he had never stopped observing, utterly unreadable.
He pulled away at length, his heart fluttering in his chest from excitement.
“That was pointless,” he said.
“How did that feel?” he said, trembling, the words spilling out of his mouth like the blood he had drained from his body days before. “How does everything feel? Does it hurt? Does it still hurt?”
“Feel?” He blinked. “I feel nothing at all.”
Triumphant euphoria washed over him.
“Perfect,” he whispered, “absolutely perfect.”
He smiled before he faded from existence, his memories of the sublime feeling of accomplishment at creating a true masterpiece merging into his. They would endure, along with the rest of him, forever.
[His eyes snap open in shock. He hadn't meant to sleep at all, yet when he'd sat down to continue to turn the mystery of his arrival here over in his mind while waiting to meet with Leader, it was as though his eyes had slid shut of their own accord.
He still isn't sure why he'd lied to himself, that time...it had, after all, only been a clone. But the desperation he'd seen in the other's eyes...well, that is all in the past.
Dread washes over him when he shifts and his hand brushes against the Hitomi. Other people will see this. Everyone will see this, and will feel this. And will see him naked, for that matter...although he is proud of his work, so that doesn't bother him as much as it might someone else. His body is a perfect expression of the male form, after all.]
His body was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; all of the imperfections had been cut away and replaced over the course of several sleepless days and nights. The shuriken scar by his left shoulder from his chuunin exams was gone, the surface now smooth and unbroken. That discolored patch of skin from when he'd skinned his knee as a small child had been carefully recolored to match the rest of him. The tiny mole that had blemished his cheek underneath his right eye for as long as he could remember? Painstakingly excised.
His artist's eyes devoured the sublime perfection before him. Long, delicate, and nimble fingers that would soon move with a splendid, unnatural grace; a youthful abdomen that narrowed down into boyish, slender hips; and the most captivating feature of all was that gloriously angelic face with a refined nose and thin, pink-tinged lips. The only imperfection in his entire body was the gaping hole in his chest, and it was one that would be remedied soon enough.
Quivering hands slipped around the cylinder emblazoned with his name, the cylinder that contained his living essence, and he carried it with the type of awestruck reverence normally reserved for the transport of sacred relics.
Palms sweating, he swallowed and then began to gently, gingerly ease the cylinder down into the chest cavity that had been designed to accommodate it so snugly that he had to proceed with the utmost patience and care. Inch by inch it slid deeper and deeper until, at long last, the cylinder was buried completely in place, and he let out a shuddering sigh.
At last, he was complete; after one last admiring glance, he broke the seal that had kept him unconscious throughout the entire process.
His eyes snapped open immediately, and after a few moments of experimental flexing of fingers and rotating of various joints, he sat up and faced him.
“Everything appears to be in order,” he said, and his voice sounded...different. Somehow it sounded fuller and richer than he sounded to his own ears.
The sight of such breathtakingly beautiful perfection eradicated what little self-restraint he had left.
He met his eyes, and his fingers slipped over his lips, and over cheeks that would never flush again. He didn't move, only watched him intently from beneath those hooded eyelids and long, delicate lashes (it had taken hours to implant them to replace those that had fallen out due to the preservatives) in a way that made his face feel hot.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and for the first time in years he completely succumbed to impulse and leaned forwards. He merely continued to watch him, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Those thin pink lips that still looked perfectly lifelike were all he could focus on, and he brushed his lips against his.
They were firm, unresponsive, and so very cold, and he felt a shiver go down his spine at the contact. He cracked his eyelids open, and met his gaze, for he had never stopped observing, utterly unreadable.
He pulled away at length, his heart fluttering in his chest from excitement.
“That was pointless,” he said.
“How did that feel?” he said, trembling, the words spilling out of his mouth like the blood he had drained from his body days before. “How does everything feel? Does it hurt? Does it still hurt?”
“Feel?” He blinked. “I feel nothing at all.”
Triumphant euphoria washed over him.
“Perfect,” he whispered, “absolutely perfect.”
He smiled before he faded from existence, his memories of the sublime feeling of accomplishment at creating a true masterpiece merging into his. They would endure, along with the rest of him, forever.
[His eyes snap open in shock. He hadn't meant to sleep at all, yet when he'd sat down to continue to turn the mystery of his arrival here over in his mind while waiting to meet with Leader, it was as though his eyes had slid shut of their own accord.
He still isn't sure why he'd lied to himself, that time...it had, after all, only been a clone. But the desperation he'd seen in the other's eyes...well, that is all in the past.
Dread washes over him when he shifts and his hand brushes against the Hitomi. Other people will see this. Everyone will see this, and will feel this. And will see him naked, for that matter...although he is proud of his work, so that doesn't bother him as much as it might someone else. His body is a perfect expression of the male form, after all.]