Tsubasa ficlet.
A Fai ficlet. Vague Fai/Ashura, vague Fai/Sakura, vague Fai/Syaoran, vague Fai/Kurogane, vague Fai/Chii. Basically, vague Fai/Everyone. Otherwise known as the dreaded Fai-centric gen piece!
Altar Boy
If you want to kiss the sky
You better learn how to kneel
(on your knees boy)
--U2
Fai kneels for forgiveness, but he never prays. He never learned to pray, not as a child, and now, as an adult, he’s far too old to learn something that never made much sense to begin with.
Fai’s world is a world of magic, where no one’s right, but no one’s wrong, either. It’s a world where the kings fuck the scullery maids, and the magicians bring back the dead. It’s a world where everything piles up, as slow and heavy as sin, and it’s a place where, eventually, the weight of all the world crashes down on his shoulders, until Fai is kneeling again.
Fai used to kneel at Ashura’s feet, used to curl his arms over Ashura’s legs, used to rest his head against Ashura’s thigh. Fai used to kneel for Ashura, used to slink as close as Ashura would let him, and whisper his apologies. Ashura would touch him, run fingers through his hair, and Fai would wait for his forgiveness to drip like jewels from a cold mouth.
Now, Fai kneels for others. He kneels for Sakura, because she is his only princess. He kneels for her, and leans against her left leg, because her right leg is fitted with braces and straps, all because Fai hadn’t been fast enough. He curls up at her feet, his fingers fitting around her wrist, and she combs her fingers through his hair, cold little hands that touch like God’s own Love, only Fai isn’t sure that God, or any god, can love him anymore. But somehow, Sakura still loves him, and so Fai worships her, resting his head on her lap, murmuring his apologies against the smooth silk and soft cotton of her skirts.
He kneels for Syaoran, too, because this Syaoran is like that Syaoran, and Fai has failed both Syaorans. He couldn’t protect one heart, and so he broke the other heart, and now both Syaorans are pieces of a puzzle where there are more holes than not. So he sprawls at Syaoran’s feet, and thinks of the other Syaoran, and he makes the boy, both boys, smile, whimsical stories and thoughtful musings, explaining cultures and languages and beliefs, all the things that this Syaoran, and that Syaoran, drink up like the thirsty ground. And in the middle of his words, when this Syaoran is listening, and that Syaoran is screaming, he says his apologies.
Fai loves the children, all three of them, but more than he loves the children, he loves Kurogane, in the same way that he hates Kurogane more than he hates Ashura. Kurogane has become thick blood on Fai’s tongue, warm skin against Fai’s mouth, and Fai kneels at his feet while he drinks, clutching Kurogane’s arm, because he doesn’t want to pull Kurogane closer, but he doesn’t want to push him away, either. Kurogane has single-handedly destroyed Fai’s life, and then rebuilt it, piece by piece, held together by blood and magic and prayers that Fai will never say, because Fai isn’t a praying man.
But then, Fai isn’t a man anymore, either. He’s something different, something darker and older and infinitely more, and the thought of prayers are like ashes in his mouth. He is power in human-form, and he’s held by Kurogane, caught by Kurogane’s blood and Kurogane’s promise and Kurogane’s eyes.
Fai kneels at Kurogane’s feet, and he sucks Kurogane’s blood, and he feels the world give out beneath his knees when Kurogane looks down at him, because somehow, in the midst of magic and blood, little boys who cry wolf and little girls who prick their fingers, Kurogane became a god, and Fai can’t help by kneel to him.
And when Fai kneels at Kurogane’s feet, and Syaorans’ feet, and Sakura’s feet, he dreams of Chii, and he wonders if someday he’ll be able to kneel at someone’s feet and be kissed his own forgiveness.
Altar Boy
If you want to kiss the sky
You better learn how to kneel
(on your knees boy)
--U2
Fai kneels for forgiveness, but he never prays. He never learned to pray, not as a child, and now, as an adult, he’s far too old to learn something that never made much sense to begin with.
Fai’s world is a world of magic, where no one’s right, but no one’s wrong, either. It’s a world where the kings fuck the scullery maids, and the magicians bring back the dead. It’s a world where everything piles up, as slow and heavy as sin, and it’s a place where, eventually, the weight of all the world crashes down on his shoulders, until Fai is kneeling again.
Fai used to kneel at Ashura’s feet, used to curl his arms over Ashura’s legs, used to rest his head against Ashura’s thigh. Fai used to kneel for Ashura, used to slink as close as Ashura would let him, and whisper his apologies. Ashura would touch him, run fingers through his hair, and Fai would wait for his forgiveness to drip like jewels from a cold mouth.
Now, Fai kneels for others. He kneels for Sakura, because she is his only princess. He kneels for her, and leans against her left leg, because her right leg is fitted with braces and straps, all because Fai hadn’t been fast enough. He curls up at her feet, his fingers fitting around her wrist, and she combs her fingers through his hair, cold little hands that touch like God’s own Love, only Fai isn’t sure that God, or any god, can love him anymore. But somehow, Sakura still loves him, and so Fai worships her, resting his head on her lap, murmuring his apologies against the smooth silk and soft cotton of her skirts.
He kneels for Syaoran, too, because this Syaoran is like that Syaoran, and Fai has failed both Syaorans. He couldn’t protect one heart, and so he broke the other heart, and now both Syaorans are pieces of a puzzle where there are more holes than not. So he sprawls at Syaoran’s feet, and thinks of the other Syaoran, and he makes the boy, both boys, smile, whimsical stories and thoughtful musings, explaining cultures and languages and beliefs, all the things that this Syaoran, and that Syaoran, drink up like the thirsty ground. And in the middle of his words, when this Syaoran is listening, and that Syaoran is screaming, he says his apologies.
Fai loves the children, all three of them, but more than he loves the children, he loves Kurogane, in the same way that he hates Kurogane more than he hates Ashura. Kurogane has become thick blood on Fai’s tongue, warm skin against Fai’s mouth, and Fai kneels at his feet while he drinks, clutching Kurogane’s arm, because he doesn’t want to pull Kurogane closer, but he doesn’t want to push him away, either. Kurogane has single-handedly destroyed Fai’s life, and then rebuilt it, piece by piece, held together by blood and magic and prayers that Fai will never say, because Fai isn’t a praying man.
But then, Fai isn’t a man anymore, either. He’s something different, something darker and older and infinitely more, and the thought of prayers are like ashes in his mouth. He is power in human-form, and he’s held by Kurogane, caught by Kurogane’s blood and Kurogane’s promise and Kurogane’s eyes.
Fai kneels at Kurogane’s feet, and he sucks Kurogane’s blood, and he feels the world give out beneath his knees when Kurogane looks down at him, because somehow, in the midst of magic and blood, little boys who cry wolf and little girls who prick their fingers, Kurogane became a god, and Fai can’t help by kneel to him.
And when Fai kneels at Kurogane’s feet, and Syaorans’ feet, and Sakura’s feet, he dreams of Chii, and he wonders if someday he’ll be able to kneel at someone’s feet and be kissed his own forgiveness.