Excerpt: "In Dreams" ¤Kamina, Simon ¤ R ¤ Mentions of blood
I was going somewhere with this, before Simon freaked and got all morbid. Not that he wasn't supposed to, mind you. But it shouldn't have happened this early in the narration. I'm a bit baffled as to how I'm supposed to steer this back towards the original direction - dreams in a loop, entwined with reality in such a way that they crush Simon as much as they comfort him - so I'm stuck.
But this is... interesting, and I haven't posted any written work in what feels like ages. And so... I share. :]
It’s probably a dream, because they’re running through snow, leaving winding tracks in their wake, and they’ve never seen the snow, not together.
The wind is cold against his cheeks, his laughter is wheezy and breathless. His hair is dripping, mud cakes the bottom of his pants and his boots. He feels flushed, for more reasons that just their game of tag, but he doesn’t stop running.
On a sudden whim, he swerves off the road and into the forest, grappling for purchase on the slippery ground. A couple more snowballs fizzle past him, splatter nosily against the trees ahead of him, spraying cold granules all over his face.
He wipes his cheeks, laughing, heart pounding, and dives under a snow-loaded branch. His elbow upsets the careful balance, and Simon laughs again, hard and loud, when he hears his brother yelp and mutter as he gets showered with white.
A dream. It has to be.
Simon slows down, caught between an heartbeat and the next - don’twakeupdon’twakeupdon’twakeupdon’twakeup - and the moment hesitation is all Kamina needs to reach him. He swoops, grin wide and bright as lightning. Red eyes, red glasses, red cape, sparks of colour against the black of his uniform - High Commander Uniform - the one that was tailored for him but he never wore, black silk, gold cuffs, blood-red tie, blood red, blood.
Arms wind themselves taut around Simon’s waist, pick him up. The sky tilts, hovers, turns upside down. A one-moment struggle, and then they’re falling backwards, limbs flailing, inhaling mouthfuls of snow.
He smells like thunder, Simon thinks, as he finds his face pressed against the hollow of Kamina’s neck. Thunder and rainwater and upturned soil, and Simon wants to recoil from the memory this evokes, and cling onto it with all he has, all at once.
He shakes - either with fear or exhilaration, or a mixture of both - and Kamina peers down at him, eyebrow cocked up in enquiry. Simon shakes his head - don’t ask, don’t wake up, don’t, don’t - and burrows closer, clutching so hard onto his Aniki that his knuckles turn white with the strain.
He’s breathing him in, he can’t help it. His mouth is pushing hot, moist puffs of breath against Kamina’s skin, and Simon resists the urge to flick out his tongue only because he thinksfearsknows he’ll taste blood, if he does - his blood, Kamina’s blood, and not just snow and salt and sweat.
On a side not, it's NOT incest. *crosses arms and pouts* They're not blood-brothers, after all. (how I always end up dealing with this kind of character-relationship in my fandoms is beyond me)
But this is... interesting, and I haven't posted any written work in what feels like ages. And so... I share. :]
It’s probably a dream, because they’re running through snow, leaving winding tracks in their wake, and they’ve never seen the snow, not together.
The wind is cold against his cheeks, his laughter is wheezy and breathless. His hair is dripping, mud cakes the bottom of his pants and his boots. He feels flushed, for more reasons that just their game of tag, but he doesn’t stop running.
On a sudden whim, he swerves off the road and into the forest, grappling for purchase on the slippery ground. A couple more snowballs fizzle past him, splatter nosily against the trees ahead of him, spraying cold granules all over his face.
He wipes his cheeks, laughing, heart pounding, and dives under a snow-loaded branch. His elbow upsets the careful balance, and Simon laughs again, hard and loud, when he hears his brother yelp and mutter as he gets showered with white.
A dream. It has to be.
Simon slows down, caught between an heartbeat and the next - don’twakeupdon’twakeupdon’twakeupdon’twakeup - and the moment hesitation is all Kamina needs to reach him. He swoops, grin wide and bright as lightning. Red eyes, red glasses, red cape, sparks of colour against the black of his uniform - High Commander Uniform - the one that was tailored for him but he never wore, black silk, gold cuffs, blood-red tie, blood red, blood.
Arms wind themselves taut around Simon’s waist, pick him up. The sky tilts, hovers, turns upside down. A one-moment struggle, and then they’re falling backwards, limbs flailing, inhaling mouthfuls of snow.
He smells like thunder, Simon thinks, as he finds his face pressed against the hollow of Kamina’s neck. Thunder and rainwater and upturned soil, and Simon wants to recoil from the memory this evokes, and cling onto it with all he has, all at once.
He shakes - either with fear or exhilaration, or a mixture of both - and Kamina peers down at him, eyebrow cocked up in enquiry. Simon shakes his head - don’t ask, don’t wake up, don’t, don’t - and burrows closer, clutching so hard onto his Aniki that his knuckles turn white with the strain.
He’s breathing him in, he can’t help it. His mouth is pushing hot, moist puffs of breath against Kamina’s skin, and Simon resists the urge to flick out his tongue only because he thinksfearsknows he’ll taste blood, if he does - his blood, Kamina’s blood, and not just snow and salt and sweat.
On a side not, it's NOT incest. *crosses arms and pouts* They're not blood-brothers, after all. (how I always end up dealing with this kind of character-relationship in my fandoms is beyond me)