Footsteps (Part Two)
Title: Footsteps
Characters: Kurogane, Fye
Notes: The idea for this came from claudaine but I gave writing it a shot. It was originally written as a one-shot but, seeing as it was a little lengthy (~ 5000 words), I split it into two parts.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They lead separate lives in different worlds but the souls are the same and although they would never meet, the Celes magician was once watched over by an assassin following his footsteps...
Disclaimer: Not even the idea's mine this time, just the writing xD
He slumbered while they dined, tucking up in some unknown crevice within the palace, basements and secret doors, sliding beneath his heavy touch. Both the king and his magician would be surrounded by so many eyes that there was no need for Kurogane’s expertise, his sharp eyes and his silent movements. Once the dinner was over, Fye was led to his room for the next few nights, decked meticulously in swathes of material, light and airy, rich and wonderful, draping in graceful sweeps and climbs. He’d smiled politely and slid closed the panel door.
Kurogane spied the seal for a moment, waiting for a trick he was only too used to and beheld the warm blue glow emitted between the crack, allowing the gap to dwindle into nothing in a firm lock. He followed a trail, a cramped and dusty staircase, hidden within the walls, tucked away secretively, leading towards a shallow gap between the floors, a tiny space in the boards acting as an eye-hole. Peering through it he could see the magician already fast asleep within his bed, bathed in silks and textures running smoothly and peacefully against his slumbering skin.
And it was usually at this point that Kurogane would tire of his job, of watching every movement, treating every gaze or step with blood-thirsty suspicion. They would do nothing in their sleep, make no movements or remarks, not laugh nor craft their skills. But slowly, ever so gradually, Kurogane became absorbed in this single man’s sleep, the way his lips and eyes with twitch as though in pain, opening his mouth gently as if in a half-formed scream, soft and silent.
_ _ _
The cycle continued for another two days. Kurogane slept mostly while the magician ate, followed him every other waking moment, remarking each step, followed through his own silent paces, watching attentively each graceful smile, each kind and distracted gaze, sorrow still gleaming in his eyes, furiously bugging Kurogane, winding his mind and forcing thought until he became infuriated with himself, thrown off by a pair of wonderfully intense blue eyes. Still he stalked him, through the town and in the gardens, in the palace walls and in the forest outskirts, sheltering him in luxurious shade, leaves a luscious green absorbing the sun with succulent growth, something clearly foreign to this man, something strikingly precious as he gazed upon the leaves, felt their waxy texture, thin and smooth lips parted in a tiny and awed gap, glittering eyes half-lidded, the breeze shifting each golden flicker of hair, brushing it against pristine skin, a gentle and tentative dance about his features, a beautiful lie and mystery.
In all the time Kurogane followed him about he showed to malice, he used no unnecessary magic, sometimes forcing Kurogane to wonder if he was even a magician at all. The majority of the time he seemed as fragile as a painted vase, elegant and stationary, left untouched lest it shatter into thousands of infinitesimal pieces against the floor. And yet it was clear that he was dangerous, that he was more powerful than he appeared in his blatant calm when he was solitary, in his patient and knowing gazes, his sharp and cautious analysis of each shadow, feeling Kurogane’s footsteps pressing against his mind, his instincts, against his back…
When he was with the king he formed a hard outer coating, a severity not to be dealt with, harsh and clipped words, a steady, even pace and deliverance. Kurogane always felt a strange and selfish joy stirring within him when he met with the king, knowing that when they parted their own ways he would be the sole person in the world to view a change more wonderful than his magic itself - without pausing, without thought or fear, he would remove an invisible mask, shed an invisible skin, throwing it to the wind, crumbling majestically beneath his white and certain fingertips, a sigh and a melancholy breath, suddenly human, suddenly something entirely different, pain returning to his eyes, fate returning to his movements. With a wonderful openness to his movements, a gorgeous fragility and solid confidence to his expression, he would carry on. And sometimes, when the sun shone golden upon his hair, a gleaming crown in its own light, untamed in wonderful curls and flicks, adorning his head with a glorious feather touch, when the light reflected reverence in his eyes, dreaming waves and tides of emotion swirling beneath a steady and firm gaze, when his skin shone a rich and pure pallor, body held elegantly and breath spilling evenly, floating through the thick and moist air like ice rising and spiralling in freshwater, knowing with acute certainty and regret that his breath would continue to flow this way, that his life was longer than his stalker knew, Kurogane wondered if they met for just one moment would he ever reach that marble skin or would he be destroyed with a single inevitable motion.
_ _ _
His interest in the magician was unusual and he therefore saw it as a blessing that he had only to follow his footsteps, noting any suspicious acts or words. He was allowed to tread carefully behind the magician’s path without having to take any pressing action. But still, on the final day of the royal visit he found the parchment pressed into his palm, read firmly and fatefully - the request of the assassination of Fye D. Fluorite of Celes country.
He read it, his jaw tightening reluctantly, sweat forming anxiously at the base of his neck but bowed to the official nonetheless, without question, reason or thought of consequence, accepting the removal of life without considering his role in the matter, though it seemed that his was also in tremendous danger.
And so he sat perched above his bed chamber for the final time, blade gripped unsheathed in his hand, waiting for his sleep to enter its deepest reaches before he entered, patiently observing until Fye was as close to unconscious as possible. His fingers twitched uneasily every time he shifted in his sleep, he took a sharp breath each time he frowned, feeling something destructive within his dreams. Finally, when he had garnered the courage and certainty, Kurogane moved silently along the gap, shifting his body cautiously down a shaft then feeling for a gap in the wall with his fingers, blunt and steady. The panel scraped in a hushed and humbled screech and grit of wood upon wood, the assassin stalking carefully through, apprehensively checking the magician’s expression… He lay as he had done before, trapped delicately within dreams, swathed and wrapped in thin and yielding covers betraying the graceful line of his body. Kurogane gulped. He could hear his breath, pulsating softly in the warm night air, watch the gentle and gracious rise and fall of his chest, see his fingers opened softly against his bed sheets.
Kurogane stood staring at him for a tense and wonderful moment, beholding him more intimately than usual as he drew his blade, holding it before him, a cold and sickening reflection in the dull moonlight. Slowly, thoughtfully, he reached the side of the bed, just about ground level, a comfortable futon layered in luxurious sheets and pillows and steadily, cautiously, so gradual in pained him, it caused the blood to rush through each inch of him, he lowered himself down beside the man, reaching the dagger out to his neck, coated in delicate beads of sweat in the heat. Suddenly, disgusted, he realised he was trembling, the blade shaking slightly in his hand, hovering close to the magician’s body. He couldn’t bring himself to swipe the blade along his neck, couldn’t fathom how such a smooth and perfected structure could ever bleed let alone tragically spew blood about his body. Kurogane couldn’t understand himself, couldn’t reason with his own instinct.
But then Fye’s breath deepened, his body stirred, shoulders shifting beneath the sheets and Kurogane retreated so quickly back behind the hidden panel he barely registered the slam, hearing only his juddering breath, feeling sick with himself. He took one deep breath then stepped forward, peering through a gap in the panel back into the room. He watched the magician wake, blinking firmly, gradually opening precious eyes, a frustrated sigh and murmur. He threw off the sheets agitatedly, allowing himself to sit against the edge of the futon, bare feet pressed into the tatami on the opposite side of the bed from Kurogane so that he couldn’t view his expression, only watch as he absorbed the silent night air for an uncertainly lingering moment, eventually drawing a hand over his brow, feeling the thick and heavy sweat pressed upon it. He lifted his hands beneath his shirt, drawing it up over his back, over his head, shifting strands of precious locks, discarding it to the side and suddenly Kurogane was frozen, eyes widening, mouth sitting slightly open, drawing in the image with greedy and selfish admiration. He could only stare as the tattoo was revealed, firm and solid in shape, arching and encompassing the man’s full back, a pure and smooth canvas stretching from nimble waist to firm and wide shoulders, strong and bold against his lithe frame. The tattoo reached around him as though wrapping his frame in tender licks, flicking and sweeping across in bold and grasping arms, the silhouette of a bird traced elegantly, mightily, stretching over him with fierce and overbearing triumph. It pressed, wonderful and noble against the magician’s back, hewn into him like a second soul watching over him, the wings stretching and spilling over on to his forearms, curling against firm and slender muscles, draping protectively about him. The head of the bird nestled into the arc of his back, glaring towards Kurogane with strange intimidation, its tail sweeping down his spine, trailing and dripping down the band of his trousers, settled warmly and comfortably against his skin. And gazing upon it, taking in its shape and size, its unsettling glory, it became the incarnation of dedication, hanging there like the result of time and effort, drawn with care and attention into the immaculacy of his back.
But then, unbeknownst to Kurogane it was merely another wonderfully crafted lie.
Still, he gulped, his muscles loosened, absorbed fully in the spectacle of the man’s bare back, heart pounding heavily, breath tightening, quickening, sweat treading and dripping awkwardly against the back of his neck, saliva pooling in the base of his mouth. The magician turned about his half-covered form and Kurogane’s hand pressed against the wooden interior of the shaft, a slight creak echoing morbidly through the room. Suddenly, Kurogane’s heart ceasing all together, Fye flicked his head about glanced sharply over to the panel, to the tiny and tell-tale crack in the wall.
His eyes settled suspiciously, lips shifted over themselves in uncertainty, forcing Kurogane away for the gap, feeling for foot-holds in the worn and rotting wood surrounding him, propelling himself silently, as quickly as his body could manage upwards, throwing himself thankfully into the safety of the gap between floors at the ceiling. A stab of blue light flashed behind him and in the black of the night and the walls, he turned to see a final pulse of light, whispering trickles of ancient text, illuminate the shaft, revealing with a foreboding flash the charred and curled wood inside.
Edging over to the spy-hole, his heart caught in his throat, Kurogane watched as the magician frowned, his finger still raised, a fearful and unimposing weapon, then slowly settled, jaw set tight, calming himself, believing the danger had now been removed and gradually setting himself back down into bed, laying himself to rest once more.
Kurogane sat watching him for another half hour, breathing deeply, almost panting in gratitude, learning respect for the magician’s strength and art, its dominance over his own brutal and rather simplistic tactics. He watched him fall asleep, his enemy delving once more into sleep’s soft reaches, thinking over his next actions, attempting to identify and label each emotion flying furiously through his chest.
And in all this time lying in the dark, he could only summon two conclusions. One was that this was the first time he’d felt such awe and respect for a magician before, an inhabitant of the cruel and overbearing North. This man was different, there was no doubt within him on that matter… the second was that never before had he felt lust flowing as strongly through him as he had gazing upon his bare back and the tattoo embedded within it. At this moment in time he desired nothing as strongly, wanted nothing so selfishly and painfully as he did now, willing to take the magician’s flesh to his own, breathing in every trace of him, pressing his lips with due appreciation to his skin. He felt the temptation writhing beneath his skin, pulsing and dancing sickly as he watched him sleep and eventually came to a decision.
He shed his weapon belt, dropping every dangerous tool and poisonous powder against the rafters, he discarded his blades, setting them carefully against the wooden boards, with reverence and abandonment, peeling off his head covering, revealing his face to the stuffy air, dust hovering wearily and returned to the spy-hole, breath shivering from his body in unexpected treachery. For once he placed himself before his occupation and his masters, eyes narrowing, judging how best to save the magician from his own assassination order - even though he doubted any others would be able to conjure the craft and cunning to take his life - and steal him for his own, capture his precious heart. He would do it… and they could become lovers; he felt the thought running through his head with base and powerful glee, slipping decisively into his mind, throwing each muscle into action.
And there was a forceful stab, a dreadful physical presence in his guts and a hand covering his mouth as he spat blood, bringing him soundlessly to his knees as he gagged and shuddered on the floor, hands shaking as he felt his own blood sliding and curling amiably against his fingers, dripping from his back.
“I know what you are thinking. Right then you were wondering, you were asking yourself if you would ever reach him, if you would ever touch those lips or if you would die in the process…” The voice slithered into his ear, chilling him, pressed right against him as he realised, as he accepted the hole within him bitterly, counting his final moments.
“I don’t blame you for falling in love with him,” the king whispered calmly into his ear, movements more silent than his own drawing the blood from his body. “However Fye is the type to abandon everything in favour of his emotions. He would set aside that path which I have carved for him for love. I have seen it… and I can’t allow it.”
Kurogane’s fists curled furiously against the rafters, breath fading and ceasing, eyes dimming rapidly as intense pain and anger swept through him, blood oozing sickeningly over the king’s fingers, pressed tightly against his mouth. He snatched at the arm furiously only to find his limbs flimsy, his strength deteriorating meekly beneath his skin as he panted his final breaths, his blood pooling about his body with ease. He collapsed to the floor, drowning in that deep and warm liquid, sick and comforting, watching it spill towards the eyehole as though reaching for it, dribbling achingly towards the edge as the world swept away from Kurogane’s fingers.
He saw it in slow motion though, watched his blood trickle over the tiny crack, spilling a single drop over the edge with a tremor of his heart, spying weakly the spot landing silently, beautifully and perfectly against his cheek, slipping graciously, trickling kindly to his delicately shaped and stilled lips.
“Don’t worry, you’ll see him again,” the voice finally assured him, sliding and dripping through his consciousness as it slipped away, his eyes heavily closing, “through another set of eyes…”
<< Part 1
- - -
a/n: Well, I hope you enjoyed that overly romantic and presumptuous ending ^^ I'm actually really nervous about posting this part mostly for the copious quantities of cheese but also due to the fact I wrote most of this all in one go in the same evening so it's probably incredibly rushed. I was concentrating so hard, I was nearly shaking XD
Also you just weren't getting away with reading a Tsubasa fanfiction of mine without some desperately romantic line and an appearance from Ashura =)
I hope that you enjoyed it! Thanks again to claudaine for the idea! Please let me hear any of your comments and thoughts, they're much appreciated! ^^
Characters: Kurogane, Fye
Notes: The idea for this came from claudaine but I gave writing it a shot. It was originally written as a one-shot but, seeing as it was a little lengthy (~ 5000 words), I split it into two parts.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: They lead separate lives in different worlds but the souls are the same and although they would never meet, the Celes magician was once watched over by an assassin following his footsteps...
Disclaimer: Not even the idea's mine this time, just the writing xD
He slumbered while they dined, tucking up in some unknown crevice within the palace, basements and secret doors, sliding beneath his heavy touch. Both the king and his magician would be surrounded by so many eyes that there was no need for Kurogane’s expertise, his sharp eyes and his silent movements. Once the dinner was over, Fye was led to his room for the next few nights, decked meticulously in swathes of material, light and airy, rich and wonderful, draping in graceful sweeps and climbs. He’d smiled politely and slid closed the panel door.
Kurogane spied the seal for a moment, waiting for a trick he was only too used to and beheld the warm blue glow emitted between the crack, allowing the gap to dwindle into nothing in a firm lock. He followed a trail, a cramped and dusty staircase, hidden within the walls, tucked away secretively, leading towards a shallow gap between the floors, a tiny space in the boards acting as an eye-hole. Peering through it he could see the magician already fast asleep within his bed, bathed in silks and textures running smoothly and peacefully against his slumbering skin.
And it was usually at this point that Kurogane would tire of his job, of watching every movement, treating every gaze or step with blood-thirsty suspicion. They would do nothing in their sleep, make no movements or remarks, not laugh nor craft their skills. But slowly, ever so gradually, Kurogane became absorbed in this single man’s sleep, the way his lips and eyes with twitch as though in pain, opening his mouth gently as if in a half-formed scream, soft and silent.
_ _ _
The cycle continued for another two days. Kurogane slept mostly while the magician ate, followed him every other waking moment, remarking each step, followed through his own silent paces, watching attentively each graceful smile, each kind and distracted gaze, sorrow still gleaming in his eyes, furiously bugging Kurogane, winding his mind and forcing thought until he became infuriated with himself, thrown off by a pair of wonderfully intense blue eyes. Still he stalked him, through the town and in the gardens, in the palace walls and in the forest outskirts, sheltering him in luxurious shade, leaves a luscious green absorbing the sun with succulent growth, something clearly foreign to this man, something strikingly precious as he gazed upon the leaves, felt their waxy texture, thin and smooth lips parted in a tiny and awed gap, glittering eyes half-lidded, the breeze shifting each golden flicker of hair, brushing it against pristine skin, a gentle and tentative dance about his features, a beautiful lie and mystery.
In all the time Kurogane followed him about he showed to malice, he used no unnecessary magic, sometimes forcing Kurogane to wonder if he was even a magician at all. The majority of the time he seemed as fragile as a painted vase, elegant and stationary, left untouched lest it shatter into thousands of infinitesimal pieces against the floor. And yet it was clear that he was dangerous, that he was more powerful than he appeared in his blatant calm when he was solitary, in his patient and knowing gazes, his sharp and cautious analysis of each shadow, feeling Kurogane’s footsteps pressing against his mind, his instincts, against his back…
When he was with the king he formed a hard outer coating, a severity not to be dealt with, harsh and clipped words, a steady, even pace and deliverance. Kurogane always felt a strange and selfish joy stirring within him when he met with the king, knowing that when they parted their own ways he would be the sole person in the world to view a change more wonderful than his magic itself - without pausing, without thought or fear, he would remove an invisible mask, shed an invisible skin, throwing it to the wind, crumbling majestically beneath his white and certain fingertips, a sigh and a melancholy breath, suddenly human, suddenly something entirely different, pain returning to his eyes, fate returning to his movements. With a wonderful openness to his movements, a gorgeous fragility and solid confidence to his expression, he would carry on. And sometimes, when the sun shone golden upon his hair, a gleaming crown in its own light, untamed in wonderful curls and flicks, adorning his head with a glorious feather touch, when the light reflected reverence in his eyes, dreaming waves and tides of emotion swirling beneath a steady and firm gaze, when his skin shone a rich and pure pallor, body held elegantly and breath spilling evenly, floating through the thick and moist air like ice rising and spiralling in freshwater, knowing with acute certainty and regret that his breath would continue to flow this way, that his life was longer than his stalker knew, Kurogane wondered if they met for just one moment would he ever reach that marble skin or would he be destroyed with a single inevitable motion.
_ _ _
His interest in the magician was unusual and he therefore saw it as a blessing that he had only to follow his footsteps, noting any suspicious acts or words. He was allowed to tread carefully behind the magician’s path without having to take any pressing action. But still, on the final day of the royal visit he found the parchment pressed into his palm, read firmly and fatefully - the request of the assassination of Fye D. Fluorite of Celes country.
He read it, his jaw tightening reluctantly, sweat forming anxiously at the base of his neck but bowed to the official nonetheless, without question, reason or thought of consequence, accepting the removal of life without considering his role in the matter, though it seemed that his was also in tremendous danger.
And so he sat perched above his bed chamber for the final time, blade gripped unsheathed in his hand, waiting for his sleep to enter its deepest reaches before he entered, patiently observing until Fye was as close to unconscious as possible. His fingers twitched uneasily every time he shifted in his sleep, he took a sharp breath each time he frowned, feeling something destructive within his dreams. Finally, when he had garnered the courage and certainty, Kurogane moved silently along the gap, shifting his body cautiously down a shaft then feeling for a gap in the wall with his fingers, blunt and steady. The panel scraped in a hushed and humbled screech and grit of wood upon wood, the assassin stalking carefully through, apprehensively checking the magician’s expression… He lay as he had done before, trapped delicately within dreams, swathed and wrapped in thin and yielding covers betraying the graceful line of his body. Kurogane gulped. He could hear his breath, pulsating softly in the warm night air, watch the gentle and gracious rise and fall of his chest, see his fingers opened softly against his bed sheets.
Kurogane stood staring at him for a tense and wonderful moment, beholding him more intimately than usual as he drew his blade, holding it before him, a cold and sickening reflection in the dull moonlight. Slowly, thoughtfully, he reached the side of the bed, just about ground level, a comfortable futon layered in luxurious sheets and pillows and steadily, cautiously, so gradual in pained him, it caused the blood to rush through each inch of him, he lowered himself down beside the man, reaching the dagger out to his neck, coated in delicate beads of sweat in the heat. Suddenly, disgusted, he realised he was trembling, the blade shaking slightly in his hand, hovering close to the magician’s body. He couldn’t bring himself to swipe the blade along his neck, couldn’t fathom how such a smooth and perfected structure could ever bleed let alone tragically spew blood about his body. Kurogane couldn’t understand himself, couldn’t reason with his own instinct.
But then Fye’s breath deepened, his body stirred, shoulders shifting beneath the sheets and Kurogane retreated so quickly back behind the hidden panel he barely registered the slam, hearing only his juddering breath, feeling sick with himself. He took one deep breath then stepped forward, peering through a gap in the panel back into the room. He watched the magician wake, blinking firmly, gradually opening precious eyes, a frustrated sigh and murmur. He threw off the sheets agitatedly, allowing himself to sit against the edge of the futon, bare feet pressed into the tatami on the opposite side of the bed from Kurogane so that he couldn’t view his expression, only watch as he absorbed the silent night air for an uncertainly lingering moment, eventually drawing a hand over his brow, feeling the thick and heavy sweat pressed upon it. He lifted his hands beneath his shirt, drawing it up over his back, over his head, shifting strands of precious locks, discarding it to the side and suddenly Kurogane was frozen, eyes widening, mouth sitting slightly open, drawing in the image with greedy and selfish admiration. He could only stare as the tattoo was revealed, firm and solid in shape, arching and encompassing the man’s full back, a pure and smooth canvas stretching from nimble waist to firm and wide shoulders, strong and bold against his lithe frame. The tattoo reached around him as though wrapping his frame in tender licks, flicking and sweeping across in bold and grasping arms, the silhouette of a bird traced elegantly, mightily, stretching over him with fierce and overbearing triumph. It pressed, wonderful and noble against the magician’s back, hewn into him like a second soul watching over him, the wings stretching and spilling over on to his forearms, curling against firm and slender muscles, draping protectively about him. The head of the bird nestled into the arc of his back, glaring towards Kurogane with strange intimidation, its tail sweeping down his spine, trailing and dripping down the band of his trousers, settled warmly and comfortably against his skin. And gazing upon it, taking in its shape and size, its unsettling glory, it became the incarnation of dedication, hanging there like the result of time and effort, drawn with care and attention into the immaculacy of his back.
But then, unbeknownst to Kurogane it was merely another wonderfully crafted lie.
Still, he gulped, his muscles loosened, absorbed fully in the spectacle of the man’s bare back, heart pounding heavily, breath tightening, quickening, sweat treading and dripping awkwardly against the back of his neck, saliva pooling in the base of his mouth. The magician turned about his half-covered form and Kurogane’s hand pressed against the wooden interior of the shaft, a slight creak echoing morbidly through the room. Suddenly, Kurogane’s heart ceasing all together, Fye flicked his head about glanced sharply over to the panel, to the tiny and tell-tale crack in the wall.
His eyes settled suspiciously, lips shifted over themselves in uncertainty, forcing Kurogane away for the gap, feeling for foot-holds in the worn and rotting wood surrounding him, propelling himself silently, as quickly as his body could manage upwards, throwing himself thankfully into the safety of the gap between floors at the ceiling. A stab of blue light flashed behind him and in the black of the night and the walls, he turned to see a final pulse of light, whispering trickles of ancient text, illuminate the shaft, revealing with a foreboding flash the charred and curled wood inside.
Edging over to the spy-hole, his heart caught in his throat, Kurogane watched as the magician frowned, his finger still raised, a fearful and unimposing weapon, then slowly settled, jaw set tight, calming himself, believing the danger had now been removed and gradually setting himself back down into bed, laying himself to rest once more.
Kurogane sat watching him for another half hour, breathing deeply, almost panting in gratitude, learning respect for the magician’s strength and art, its dominance over his own brutal and rather simplistic tactics. He watched him fall asleep, his enemy delving once more into sleep’s soft reaches, thinking over his next actions, attempting to identify and label each emotion flying furiously through his chest.
And in all this time lying in the dark, he could only summon two conclusions. One was that this was the first time he’d felt such awe and respect for a magician before, an inhabitant of the cruel and overbearing North. This man was different, there was no doubt within him on that matter… the second was that never before had he felt lust flowing as strongly through him as he had gazing upon his bare back and the tattoo embedded within it. At this moment in time he desired nothing as strongly, wanted nothing so selfishly and painfully as he did now, willing to take the magician’s flesh to his own, breathing in every trace of him, pressing his lips with due appreciation to his skin. He felt the temptation writhing beneath his skin, pulsing and dancing sickly as he watched him sleep and eventually came to a decision.
He shed his weapon belt, dropping every dangerous tool and poisonous powder against the rafters, he discarded his blades, setting them carefully against the wooden boards, with reverence and abandonment, peeling off his head covering, revealing his face to the stuffy air, dust hovering wearily and returned to the spy-hole, breath shivering from his body in unexpected treachery. For once he placed himself before his occupation and his masters, eyes narrowing, judging how best to save the magician from his own assassination order - even though he doubted any others would be able to conjure the craft and cunning to take his life - and steal him for his own, capture his precious heart. He would do it… and they could become lovers; he felt the thought running through his head with base and powerful glee, slipping decisively into his mind, throwing each muscle into action.
And there was a forceful stab, a dreadful physical presence in his guts and a hand covering his mouth as he spat blood, bringing him soundlessly to his knees as he gagged and shuddered on the floor, hands shaking as he felt his own blood sliding and curling amiably against his fingers, dripping from his back.
“I know what you are thinking. Right then you were wondering, you were asking yourself if you would ever reach him, if you would ever touch those lips or if you would die in the process…” The voice slithered into his ear, chilling him, pressed right against him as he realised, as he accepted the hole within him bitterly, counting his final moments.
“I don’t blame you for falling in love with him,” the king whispered calmly into his ear, movements more silent than his own drawing the blood from his body. “However Fye is the type to abandon everything in favour of his emotions. He would set aside that path which I have carved for him for love. I have seen it… and I can’t allow it.”
Kurogane’s fists curled furiously against the rafters, breath fading and ceasing, eyes dimming rapidly as intense pain and anger swept through him, blood oozing sickeningly over the king’s fingers, pressed tightly against his mouth. He snatched at the arm furiously only to find his limbs flimsy, his strength deteriorating meekly beneath his skin as he panted his final breaths, his blood pooling about his body with ease. He collapsed to the floor, drowning in that deep and warm liquid, sick and comforting, watching it spill towards the eyehole as though reaching for it, dribbling achingly towards the edge as the world swept away from Kurogane’s fingers.
He saw it in slow motion though, watched his blood trickle over the tiny crack, spilling a single drop over the edge with a tremor of his heart, spying weakly the spot landing silently, beautifully and perfectly against his cheek, slipping graciously, trickling kindly to his delicately shaped and stilled lips.
“Don’t worry, you’ll see him again,” the voice finally assured him, sliding and dripping through his consciousness as it slipped away, his eyes heavily closing, “through another set of eyes…”
<< Part 1
- - -
a/n: Well, I hope you enjoyed that overly romantic and presumptuous ending ^^ I'm actually really nervous about posting this part mostly for the copious quantities of cheese but also due to the fact I wrote most of this all in one go in the same evening so it's probably incredibly rushed. I was concentrating so hard, I was nearly shaking XD
Also you just weren't getting away with reading a Tsubasa fanfiction of mine without some desperately romantic line and an appearance from Ashura =)
I hope that you enjoyed it! Thanks again to claudaine for the idea! Please let me hear any of your comments and thoughts, they're much appreciated! ^^