[FIC] Happily Ever After (Tokaido Hisame, Shion and Yakumo0
Title: Happily Ever After
Fandoms: Tokaido Hisame/Sleeping Beauty fusion.
Rating and warnings: PG-13, implied abuse.
Trope Bingo Square: Fusion. A Tokaido Hisame/Sleeping Beauty fusion.
Summary: Shion is Sleeping Beauty. Unfortunately, Yakumo has never been mistaken for a prince.
Notes: I’ve always found Sleeping Beauty to be a bit of a creepy fairy-tale. Since Shion and Yakumo’s relationship is hardly normal, I think it sort of suits them ^_^.
Word count: 757.
The castle stands tall and proud, spun in bleached white bricks and boarded by blood-red roses. The courtyard Yakumo enters still holds the ghosts of bustle and life, although only hints of anything other than clean streets and empty corridors remain.
A boy of blond and ivory lies in the tallest turret, entombed in an elaborate bed with silver-thin blankets. He’s a pretty boy, peaceful and sweet. A small smile finds a place on pouty lips and pale skin blossoms with youth and exotic genes. The light that freckles the room makes even the dust shimmer something magical.
Yakumo leans in, idle fingers moving through the golden strands that have locked this boy here more than any curse. The boy really is perfectly formed.
Pity.
Shadows and sin slip around Yakumo’s ankles and into the room as he leaves, creeping towards the bed and spilling up across the blankets.
Wildness takes the castle, and wildness takes the men who visit. Rumours and myth of a magical kiss enrapture those already loose with their souls, and princesses are always that more enticing when they are bound into compliancy.
The pout has thinned into a hard, tight frown when Yakumo returns, and the blond hair has curled down past his ears to his shoulders. There is none of the easy stillness that Yakumo remembers, as the boy - now surely a teen - tosses and turns violently in his sleep. Shadows pool in the hollow of his eyes, casting them dark and sinister.
Almost, perhaps.
Yet another prince, strong and brave, fights through the thistles and the thorns to taste his prize.
Almost.
There is barely any castle anymore, just thorns and twisted, knotted branches that hold decaying bricks in place. Wind howls through the spaces left by the crumbling mortar, wailing and twisting up the brittle steps and threatening to suck Yakumo out the once-windows. The roses, wild and untamed, spindle down the corridor and undulate lazily over slowly rotting corpses. The decomposition surely feeds into their beauty, and they hungrily devour the blood and bone offerings in exchange for their eternal beauty.
Heavy silk duvets are the only protection the bed has from the light scatter of snow that whistles through the empty window. All natural light has bowed out, leaving an insipid thread of second-hand sun that dulls the room more than it illuminates it.
Yakumo hears the click of a gun, and a smile ghosts across his lips. Slowly, he turns.
Deep in the recess of the room stands Sleeping Beauty, as cold as the shadows and tension holding his form taut and still. There is no virginal white, just a dark black suit that skims across his hips and tugs tight high around his neck.
“What do you want?” his princess demands, green eyes sparked through with hate. The gun is heavy and ornate, and the metal of the barrel is sprinkled with silver roses that twist down the handle. An uncaring smirk crawls like a vine across his mouth. “I would suggest choosing your answer wisely. Many haven’t.”
The blood of the last person to answer incorrectly still stains the dust-streaked tiles.
“I have come to take you away.”
The blond starts at that, eyes briefly widening before hardening again into their thin line. A princess is only as desirable as his castle, and this has always been the prettiest of cages.
The grip on the gun tightens.
“And if I do not want to go?”
Yakumo shrugs. He has no wager in this game, just a passing curiosity. “You may stay here, if you prefer.”
Hollow eyes sweep across the room. It is dominated by the bed and snow, the first of which has slowly sunk into the floor beneath the weight of a thousands sins. The snow whisks through the air, colouring it white.
“Shion,” the man says reluctantly when those eyes come back to rest on Yakumo. They are no less hollow, but they are edged now with an elegant coldness. “My name is Shion.” Shion’s forehead wrinkles and his eyes narrow uncertainly. “You ... seem familiar.”
“I have no idea why,” Yakumo lies easily. The distrust lingers, but it is hypnotic in its toxicity. It certainly does not stop Shion from following him out of the room when Yakumo turns to leave. When one of the not-quite corpses groans from beneath a litter of leaves, Shion pauses just long enough to upload one, last bullet into the chamber of his gun.
Yakumo smiles serenely as the bang echoes through the crumbling corridor, shaking loose dust and demons.
Princesses are always that much more beautiful when they wake themselves.
Fandoms: Tokaido Hisame/Sleeping Beauty fusion.
Rating and warnings: PG-13, implied abuse.
Trope Bingo Square: Fusion. A Tokaido Hisame/Sleeping Beauty fusion.
Summary: Shion is Sleeping Beauty. Unfortunately, Yakumo has never been mistaken for a prince.
Notes: I’ve always found Sleeping Beauty to be a bit of a creepy fairy-tale. Since Shion and Yakumo’s relationship is hardly normal, I think it sort of suits them ^_^.
Word count: 757.
The castle stands tall and proud, spun in bleached white bricks and boarded by blood-red roses. The courtyard Yakumo enters still holds the ghosts of bustle and life, although only hints of anything other than clean streets and empty corridors remain.
A boy of blond and ivory lies in the tallest turret, entombed in an elaborate bed with silver-thin blankets. He’s a pretty boy, peaceful and sweet. A small smile finds a place on pouty lips and pale skin blossoms with youth and exotic genes. The light that freckles the room makes even the dust shimmer something magical.
Yakumo leans in, idle fingers moving through the golden strands that have locked this boy here more than any curse. The boy really is perfectly formed.
Pity.
Shadows and sin slip around Yakumo’s ankles and into the room as he leaves, creeping towards the bed and spilling up across the blankets.
Wildness takes the castle, and wildness takes the men who visit. Rumours and myth of a magical kiss enrapture those already loose with their souls, and princesses are always that more enticing when they are bound into compliancy.
The pout has thinned into a hard, tight frown when Yakumo returns, and the blond hair has curled down past his ears to his shoulders. There is none of the easy stillness that Yakumo remembers, as the boy - now surely a teen - tosses and turns violently in his sleep. Shadows pool in the hollow of his eyes, casting them dark and sinister.
Almost, perhaps.
Yet another prince, strong and brave, fights through the thistles and the thorns to taste his prize.
Almost.
There is barely any castle anymore, just thorns and twisted, knotted branches that hold decaying bricks in place. Wind howls through the spaces left by the crumbling mortar, wailing and twisting up the brittle steps and threatening to suck Yakumo out the once-windows. The roses, wild and untamed, spindle down the corridor and undulate lazily over slowly rotting corpses. The decomposition surely feeds into their beauty, and they hungrily devour the blood and bone offerings in exchange for their eternal beauty.
Heavy silk duvets are the only protection the bed has from the light scatter of snow that whistles through the empty window. All natural light has bowed out, leaving an insipid thread of second-hand sun that dulls the room more than it illuminates it.
Yakumo hears the click of a gun, and a smile ghosts across his lips. Slowly, he turns.
Deep in the recess of the room stands Sleeping Beauty, as cold as the shadows and tension holding his form taut and still. There is no virginal white, just a dark black suit that skims across his hips and tugs tight high around his neck.
“What do you want?” his princess demands, green eyes sparked through with hate. The gun is heavy and ornate, and the metal of the barrel is sprinkled with silver roses that twist down the handle. An uncaring smirk crawls like a vine across his mouth. “I would suggest choosing your answer wisely. Many haven’t.”
The blood of the last person to answer incorrectly still stains the dust-streaked tiles.
“I have come to take you away.”
The blond starts at that, eyes briefly widening before hardening again into their thin line. A princess is only as desirable as his castle, and this has always been the prettiest of cages.
The grip on the gun tightens.
“And if I do not want to go?”
Yakumo shrugs. He has no wager in this game, just a passing curiosity. “You may stay here, if you prefer.”
Hollow eyes sweep across the room. It is dominated by the bed and snow, the first of which has slowly sunk into the floor beneath the weight of a thousands sins. The snow whisks through the air, colouring it white.
“Shion,” the man says reluctantly when those eyes come back to rest on Yakumo. They are no less hollow, but they are edged now with an elegant coldness. “My name is Shion.” Shion’s forehead wrinkles and his eyes narrow uncertainly. “You ... seem familiar.”
“I have no idea why,” Yakumo lies easily. The distrust lingers, but it is hypnotic in its toxicity. It certainly does not stop Shion from following him out of the room when Yakumo turns to leave. When one of the not-quite corpses groans from beneath a litter of leaves, Shion pauses just long enough to upload one, last bullet into the chamber of his gun.
Yakumo smiles serenely as the bang echoes through the crumbling corridor, shaking loose dust and demons.
Princesses are always that much more beautiful when they wake themselves.