#flawedrite

                             ❛ kiss me . ❜                      ❛ touch me . ❜                ❛ make me feel loved . ❜

          the commands come more easily now ; once , he stuttered and stumbled over them in his discomfort . he didn’t   ( doesn’t )   want to treat his boyfriend like a tool , yet , seeing the content expressions on a normally unhappy man pushed him to continue . now as the younger man stands in the doorway to the fuuma’s makeshift studio to watch him paint , a different kind of demand comes to mind .

           but does he dare say it out loud ? that desire of his will surely scare the man away . does he want to ruin the little bit of happiness they’ve found together ? his lips twist as his blunt teeth come to bite at the acrylic stud in his tongue .  resignation clings to his expression despite the confidence in his voice .

   “You don’t mind if I take a smoke, do you?” It was merely a formality, since he was lighting the cigarette already. The Slytherin common room may be in the dungeons, but they did have enchanted windows, so he figured the smoke would disappear somewhere outside, although, he couldn’t bring himself to care much for that either. 

                             SMOKE  SHROUDS  THE  WAREHOUSE  IN  ITS  PUNGENT  STENCH ;        it  burns  in  his  lungs ,   his  nose ,   his  eyes .   His  pulse  drums  a  heavy  beat  in  his  ears ,   and  his  breath  comes  in  short  pants .       DANGER !!     The  primal  instincts  that  humans  share  with  beasts  plead  with  him  to  flee !

          FEARLESS  NATURE ,   SUNSHINE  INCARNATE      ( so  much  like  his  brother )  ---        he  presses  forward .   He’ll  die  before  leaving  the  one  he  gave  half  his  heart  to  behind .   A  canvas  shoe  kicks  something .   It  skitters  dully  against  the  concrete .   Metal .   A  thought  makes  him  kneel .   A  gun  ---     no ,   not  just  any  gun :     KOTAROU’S  GUN .

          Soramaru  picks  it  up .          HURRY !!   He’s  drawn  towards  the  sound  of  a  gunshot ,   and  comes  across  a  scene  that  makes  him  pause .         Is  this  what  FEAR  feels  like ,   tastes  like ,   smells  like    ?

                                    HOW   ?         YOU’RE  SO  STRONG !

          And  then  he’s  at  the  Fuuma’s  side .   The  Shrine  Head  drops  the  gun  to  put  PRESSURE  on  an  OOZING  WOUND  with  a  bare  hand ,   wincing  and  apologizing  fervently    ( he  needs  something  else ,   something  that  will  help  with  clotting ) .     The  warehouse  flickers  in  the  orange  glow  of  the  fire ,   creating  monsters  where  there  are  none ,   and  hiding  the  true  beasts  from  his  sight .

          His  subconscious  detects  what  his  consciousness  is  too  distracted  to  notice ,   and  his  gaze  catches  hold  of  the  approaching  figure  in  the  smoke .   HELP ??     Soramaru  sees  the  gun .   An  enemy  of  the  Fuuma .   An  enemy  of  his ,   too !   Sirens  wail  in  the  distance .   THEY  NEED  TO  GO !   He  pulls  his  hand  from  the  wound  to  pick  up  Kotarou’s  weapon .

                    “ excuse me ! ” he says to the nearest stranger, a sheepish                       smile gracing his face. it was cliff’s idea to come to the human                       world and, while he was still fairly new to some things, he knew                       he needed to find a store for food. “ do you think you could help                       me ? ”

          he  sleeps  lightly ,   with  his  face  buried  into  kotarou’s  shoulder ,   and  his  fingers  twisted  helplessly  into  his  shirt .   once ,   sleep  came  easily  in  the  presence  of  his  lover ;   now ,   now  he  struggles  even  with  the  man  so  near .   the  bruises ,   and  needle  marks  mend  steadily  ---      the  emotional  scarring  doesn’t .

          so ,   when  the  fuuma  shifts ,   soramaru  starts  to  awaken .   thick  eyelashes  flutter  open  to  stare  blearily  into  the  darkness .   it  feels  early ,   but  he  can’t  be  sure  without  checking  his  phone .   he  starts  to  roll  away  with  the  assumption  that  kotarou  wants  space  to  breathe .   bewilderment  makes  him  sluggish  when  the  hands  curl  around  his  slender  neck .

          soramaru  feels  the  weight  of  the  man  against  his  abdomen ,   and  the  deadly  force  against  his  throat .   there’s  a  moment  as  he  wonders  if  he’s  dreaming  still .   in  the  darkness ,   the  shape  of  kotarou  matches  the  shape  of  the  boy  in  his  memories .   in  the  surreal  terror ,   he  misinterprets  the  words  of  the  man  hovering  overhead  with  the  ones  spoken  in  his  dreams .

           ❝  you’re full of shit !   he’d never ask for help from someone like you !  ❞          the accusation comes in the form of an angry snarl .   his lips are twisted into a furious scowl ,   and his eyes give away his refusal to even listen to what the head has to say .

          no way ,   not a chance  ---     his brother isn’t that desperate to ask for a criminal organization’s support !   it’s another lie !   no ,   worse ,   it’s another game for the man to manipulate him with .   once upon a time ,   they could share the same space without the second son losing his temper .   once upon a time ,   they could have almost been friends .

          everything changed after the younger male asked for a kiss .

          his eyes drift unconsciously to the other’s lips for just a moment   ( less than a moment ,   even ) ,   before he forces himself to turn on his heel .   no ,   no ,   he’s not playing this game again .   his chest knots uncomfortably as the desire for rough hands ,   and rough kisses prickles across his skin .

          he  wakes  first     ( like  always )     with  a  quiet  gasp ,   and  a  sluggish  flutter  of  thick  eyelashes .   cocooned  in  an  unbearable  warmth ,   it  takes  all  his  willpower  not  to  immediately  throw  off  the  heavy  covers .   sleepy  fingers  come  to  brush  wild  bangs  from  his  eyes .   he  resigns  himself  to  staying  in  bed  all  afternoon ,   even  with  his  steady  discomfort  at  the  stifling  heat  of  the  bed  ---     until  the  fuuma  shifts  in  his  sleep ,   and  he  makes  his  escape .

          the  shrine  head  wanders  the  room  restlessly .   he’s  a  child  of  the  sun .   the  kumo  family  line  isn’t  made  for  a  life  like  his .   still ,   he  makes  no  attempt  to  leave  as  he  instead  makes  a  meandering  path  to  one  of  the  windows .   soramaru’s  fingers  brush  curtains  open ,   and  start  to  lift  a  blind  when  he  hears  a  noise  from  the  bed .