(no subject)
Title: The Irony
Author: Greko
Pairing: Soubi/Ritsuka
Rating: I’m going to change this to R just to play it safe.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I don’t know the person who does own them. I gain no profit from this. I just like to play with them sometimes. I'm just a deranged girl with too much time on my hands.
Summary: Soubi finds Ritsuka’s real name.
Warnings: Abuse
A/N: sorry summary sucks this is my first lovless fic so…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 1/2
Chapter 3 2/2
Misaki felt comforted by the simple and repetitive task of chopping fish for the sashimi she was preparing for dinner. The sharp blade sliding easily through the fish calmed her in a way nothing else could. Coming in through the kitchen window behind her, the soft sunlight warmed her. A small smile flitted on her face as she waited for her son to come home today, the hope that today he would be the day he finally reverted back to being her son drove her to happiness. So relaxed was she that she nearly dropped the entire cutting board when she heard the sound of footsteps on the floor above. In Ritsuka’s room. With her gaze fixed on the ceiling, she backed into the alcove between the refrigerator and the pantry. She gripped the knife tightly in a white-knuckled fist.
It was him, the one for whom Ritsuka always lied. She felt her face flush. There was no doubt that it was the blond man, the one she’d seen with Ritsuka. Her stormy expression hardened as her thoughts progressed. He was always so close to Ritsuka, talking to him, holding him, bringing Ritsuka to lie to spend time with him to sneak into her home. Her Ritsuka never had any need for friends; she and Seimei had been enough. There had never been a need for others.
Why was that man here now? What could Ritsuka possibly want him for? What did he offer Ritsuka that she did not? Seimei may be gone, but she was still here. Why hadn’t Ritsuka come to her? Why didn’t he want her (his own mother!), who loved and understood him best? These questions circled in her mind, agitating her. Misaki’s hand tightened on the knife as her anger mounted. Making her way purposely toward the stairs, she stopped as she heard the front door open.
Cautiously, Ritsuka opened the front door to his house to a narrow crack, just wide enough to push his slim body through. Pasting himself against the wall, he looked over to the living room to find it empty. He glanced down the hall and found it to be clear, as was what he could see of the second floor. He let his breath out in a quick rush. The tension flowed out of his slight body and his heart beat slowing as he walked to the kitchen to get a drink. Humming quietly to himself, he opened the refrigerator door and bent down to examine its contents.
“I’m not stupid.” He jumped despite the quite tone in which the voice had spoken, and turned so quickly that he almost pitched himself off balance. “What?” he asked, eyeing his mother warily.
“I’m not stupid. I’ve heard you talking to him.” The last word was practically spat as Misaki stared coldly into her son’s now guarded eyes. “All hours of day and night you talk, staying out to see him coming home at indecent hours, and yet you cannot even have dinner with me.”
Ritsuka resisted the urge to apologize - he knew it wouldn’t do him any good - so he simply held her gaze.
“My Ritsuka would never sneak people into the house. My Ritsuka was never so sneaky, not like you - a little snake.” It unnerved Ritsuka how calmly his mother was speaking; her tone was utterly flat, and her face so blank, devoid of all emotion. It frightened him. “No matter how hard I try to scrub it from you.” Ritsuka flinched at the painful memory of almost scalding water. “I cannot clean you, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Why can’t I clean you?” Ritsuka hugged himself to keep his arms from reaching out to hold his mother. The ache inside him was almost unbearable; just looking at the saddened and confused expression on her face tore at his heart.
“I try so hard.” At the desperation in her voice, Ritsuka ignored the one in his own head that warned him against action and pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed. Her face flushed at her filthy son’s gesture. She pushed him back, still armed with the knife. “You are not my Ritsuka,” she cried, her resentment climbing, “You are not good enough.” As her rage peaked, she slashed at his skin with the knife, and clawed at him with the other hand. Unrelentingly she pushed, continuing even as he fell hard to the ground. Sitting on top of him, she persisted to slash at his skin, the blood of her now only son splashing her once pristine dress and the white walls of the kitchen.
Ritsuka lifted up an arm to cover his face and tried to grab her arm with his free hand; finally succeeding and getting a hold on her forearm, he pushed her away. The sound of the knife as it skidded across the floor and her back slamming against the counter top resounded in the small kitchen.
Ritsuka stood; he could already feel the blood beginning to run down his face and arms. The act of breathing stung and the coppery air made him swoon slightly. She stared at him with an expression of disbelief and betrayal on her face. Ritsuka looked up, trying not to let his shame show. He had never fought his mother off, or retaliated in any way; he had always just taken the pain or run away. Her face flushed red in anger; she lifted her hand to slap him. Ritsuka didn’t even try to protect himself. His body tensed in anticipation.
The blow never landed; it had stopped by a strong hand.
Ritsuka glanced up at his mother’s gasp. He saw Soubi, whose wrathful gaze was fixed on Misaki. The ferocity of his expression was both beautiful and frightening, like liquid mercury. Wordlessly, Soubi released her wrist from his tight grasp with a violent jerk that nearly made her lose her balance again, and he gently took Ritsuka’s hand, and walked out of the kitchen. The blond silently fumed as he softly urged his sacrifice upstairs. There was so much he yearned to say, to do, and yet he couldn’t. It would only upset Ritsuka, because after all, she was his mother.
Never had he wished to disobey an order more than he did at that moment, but Ritsuka was more important, Soubi reasoned as he carefully maneuvered the boy to sit on his bed.
Author: Greko
Pairing: Soubi/Ritsuka
Rating: I’m going to change this to R just to play it safe.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I don’t know the person who does own them. I gain no profit from this. I just like to play with them sometimes. I'm just a deranged girl with too much time on my hands.
Summary: Soubi finds Ritsuka’s real name.
Warnings: Abuse
A/N: sorry summary sucks this is my first lovless fic so…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3 1/2
Chapter 3 2/2
Misaki felt comforted by the simple and repetitive task of chopping fish for the sashimi she was preparing for dinner. The sharp blade sliding easily through the fish calmed her in a way nothing else could. Coming in through the kitchen window behind her, the soft sunlight warmed her. A small smile flitted on her face as she waited for her son to come home today, the hope that today he would be the day he finally reverted back to being her son drove her to happiness. So relaxed was she that she nearly dropped the entire cutting board when she heard the sound of footsteps on the floor above. In Ritsuka’s room. With her gaze fixed on the ceiling, she backed into the alcove between the refrigerator and the pantry. She gripped the knife tightly in a white-knuckled fist.
It was him, the one for whom Ritsuka always lied. She felt her face flush. There was no doubt that it was the blond man, the one she’d seen with Ritsuka. Her stormy expression hardened as her thoughts progressed. He was always so close to Ritsuka, talking to him, holding him, bringing Ritsuka to lie to spend time with him to sneak into her home. Her Ritsuka never had any need for friends; she and Seimei had been enough. There had never been a need for others.
Why was that man here now? What could Ritsuka possibly want him for? What did he offer Ritsuka that she did not? Seimei may be gone, but she was still here. Why hadn’t Ritsuka come to her? Why didn’t he want her (his own mother!), who loved and understood him best? These questions circled in her mind, agitating her. Misaki’s hand tightened on the knife as her anger mounted. Making her way purposely toward the stairs, she stopped as she heard the front door open.
Cautiously, Ritsuka opened the front door to his house to a narrow crack, just wide enough to push his slim body through. Pasting himself against the wall, he looked over to the living room to find it empty. He glanced down the hall and found it to be clear, as was what he could see of the second floor. He let his breath out in a quick rush. The tension flowed out of his slight body and his heart beat slowing as he walked to the kitchen to get a drink. Humming quietly to himself, he opened the refrigerator door and bent down to examine its contents.
“I’m not stupid.” He jumped despite the quite tone in which the voice had spoken, and turned so quickly that he almost pitched himself off balance. “What?” he asked, eyeing his mother warily.
“I’m not stupid. I’ve heard you talking to him.” The last word was practically spat as Misaki stared coldly into her son’s now guarded eyes. “All hours of day and night you talk, staying out to see him coming home at indecent hours, and yet you cannot even have dinner with me.”
Ritsuka resisted the urge to apologize - he knew it wouldn’t do him any good - so he simply held her gaze.
“My Ritsuka would never sneak people into the house. My Ritsuka was never so sneaky, not like you - a little snake.” It unnerved Ritsuka how calmly his mother was speaking; her tone was utterly flat, and her face so blank, devoid of all emotion. It frightened him. “No matter how hard I try to scrub it from you.” Ritsuka flinched at the painful memory of almost scalding water. “I cannot clean you, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Why can’t I clean you?” Ritsuka hugged himself to keep his arms from reaching out to hold his mother. The ache inside him was almost unbearable; just looking at the saddened and confused expression on her face tore at his heart.
“I try so hard.” At the desperation in her voice, Ritsuka ignored the one in his own head that warned him against action and pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed. Her face flushed at her filthy son’s gesture. She pushed him back, still armed with the knife. “You are not my Ritsuka,” she cried, her resentment climbing, “You are not good enough.” As her rage peaked, she slashed at his skin with the knife, and clawed at him with the other hand. Unrelentingly she pushed, continuing even as he fell hard to the ground. Sitting on top of him, she persisted to slash at his skin, the blood of her now only son splashing her once pristine dress and the white walls of the kitchen.
Ritsuka lifted up an arm to cover his face and tried to grab her arm with his free hand; finally succeeding and getting a hold on her forearm, he pushed her away. The sound of the knife as it skidded across the floor and her back slamming against the counter top resounded in the small kitchen.
Ritsuka stood; he could already feel the blood beginning to run down his face and arms. The act of breathing stung and the coppery air made him swoon slightly. She stared at him with an expression of disbelief and betrayal on her face. Ritsuka looked up, trying not to let his shame show. He had never fought his mother off, or retaliated in any way; he had always just taken the pain or run away. Her face flushed red in anger; she lifted her hand to slap him. Ritsuka didn’t even try to protect himself. His body tensed in anticipation.
The blow never landed; it had stopped by a strong hand.
Ritsuka glanced up at his mother’s gasp. He saw Soubi, whose wrathful gaze was fixed on Misaki. The ferocity of his expression was both beautiful and frightening, like liquid mercury. Wordlessly, Soubi released her wrist from his tight grasp with a violent jerk that nearly made her lose her balance again, and he gently took Ritsuka’s hand, and walked out of the kitchen. The blond silently fumed as he softly urged his sacrifice upstairs. There was so much he yearned to say, to do, and yet he couldn’t. It would only upset Ritsuka, because after all, she was his mother.
Never had he wished to disobey an order more than he did at that moment, but Ritsuka was more important, Soubi reasoned as he carefully maneuvered the boy to sit on his bed.