Title: Shattered pieces taste so sweet
Author: nova_bright, of course. Who else writes in this community?
Rating: M 15+
Word count: 457
The blood he shed over and over again for Seimei seems wasted now. He had worshipped the ground the other boy had walked on, he had dreamt about receiving a kind word from that rose petal mouth. He had moaned and thrashed, imagining the love he held for Seimei being returned. Beloved was a pretty lie, he had always known that, but there was no one else that he could have bowed his head to, in submission, in love.
No one until a skinny, maltreated little creature, called Loveless. A child that bled as easily as him, a child who needed the love his name denied him.
There was no resisting the pull, the charm.
He wants to teach Ritsuka how to love without fear, without the mistrust that the poor boy's had instilled in him. He wants to kiss the pale, trembling neck, the pointed, wing like shoulder blades, the finely scarred back of Loveless.
Soubi wants to hold him whilst he cries, and laugh with him when he triumphs.
Ritsuka is a more powerful Sacrifice than Seimei, but that's a secret that Soubi will hold on for a while. Seimei was an untouchable doll, but Ritsuka knows what it means to sacrifice, to feel pain, to bleed and to be bled on. The knowledge makes him so much stronger than Beloved, it almost hurts Soubi.
There was no resisting the love that burns.
He tries not to love Ritsuka sometimes, because the emotion scares him with its intensity. But it comes as no surprise that he's as willing to kill as he is to die for this sulky, glorious boy. Ritsuka loves him despite himself, and that is beautiful to Soubi as well. Blue, lacy winged butterflies flicker past in the corner of his vision and Soubi laughs.
Love this strong was never meant to be his, but he is thankful for it. And if Loveless is not meant for him, he will kill the man intended, the man marked with the scrolling, cursive script down his spine. Soubi has seen the ghost of Ritsuka's true name there, and Soubi is fearing, waiting for that day to come. He will paint red, rusted butterflies that day, and it will be his sweetest victory. That man will die unnamed. And Ritsuka can never know.
There was no resisting the urge, the way the blood will pour.
He curls around the small vulnerable body in his bed and kisses the sensitive tip of Ritsuka's ear. He smiles slightly at the feel of the boy embracing him back, wrapping his long thin arms around Soubi's broader torso.
Their hearts are touching. Blood is not yet spilled.
Soubi won't ever resist this child.