"It took so long to remember just what happened. I was so young and vestal then, You know it hurt me..."
It is dark when He comes in--it is always dark when He comes in. The darkness is eternal, and all consuming, but I never cared, I never will. No, the darkness is beautiful to me; it was always the most beautiful thing. More beautiful than the angels or my mother or God or even Him. And, oh, is He beautiful. Beautiful, and cold, and hating.
And when He comes in, He only cares about one thing. He only cares about holding my mind in His, and pressing Himself into me. He only cares about making us one. One ever-sinning one.
He is guilty, and so am I.
"But I'm breathing, so I guess I'm still alive, Even if signs seem to tell me otherwise..."
He is harsh. He is pain, pain I should feel, but never do.
He has me in my straitjacket, as He always does. He is naked; I only have enough clothes off to make it convenient for Him. Without warning, He shoves into me; He does that often, His erection brutal and hot like Him. Blood is the only lubricant. He doesn't truly like it that way. He only enjoys the pain He can feel in the remnants of Jei. He only enjoys the pain He can cause in me when he reflects Jei's tears at me. This time is different, though. He takes me as he always does, but, as He nears completion, He chokes me. Gasping, I smirk. I enjoy it. I love the lack of oxygen. I have always loved the prospect of death, and that strong, fine-boned hand pressing against my windpipe is like embracing death. I love it. When I start slipping into sweetest darkness, He lets go, and laughs.
"I would never let you die. You are the only one more of a whore than I am."
I smile.
"I've got my hands bound, My head down, my eyes closed, My throat's wide open."
He comes. I rest my head against the cushioning of the cell's floor, smirking as I feel the semen burning my insides. It did not hurt anyone but God and Jei. He pulls out with a wrench, and I fall to the floor. My erection is still neglected, but it will likely remain so. It usually does.
He doesn't care about my pleasure. I don't care about my pleasure. I don't care about His pleasure. I care about God's pain, and that is all I will ever care about. And God weeps tonight, as blood and semen leaks down between my thighs.
The Sinner comes up behind me, gripping me close to His body. My eye widens slightly. It is rare for Him to stay more than the time it takes to tuck Himself back into His pants. He strokes my face softly. I struggle--this touch is wrong. He just smiles, green eyes as malicious as ever. He brings up a knife, and quickly draws a line down my erection with the tip of it.
"You are important, whore. You bring me the sweetest release, so I can wait until Bradley gives in. I have to be gentle with him, you know. He's a real person. You, on the other hand, are my toy. Remember that."
With that, He cuts a jagged line across my thigh.
I just smile.
He dresses and leaves.
I know the truth--once He has Crawford, my hurting of God will stop, in this way. He has said it Himself. I am like a sex toy to Him. I am just something to keep the hormones down until Crawford really sees the Sinner.
It angers me. God needs pain forever, not just until the Sinner gets another whore.
I stand, the straitjacket rattling. God must hurt, God must hurt, God must hurt... Damn the Sinner. He said I was important, and lied. Liars are like God. Liars are disgusting.
It doesn't matter. I'll still let Him fuck me. For He desires the pleasure, and I, the pain.
God still needs to hurt, though. And, I realize what God always said...
"Do unto others, what has been done to you..."
And I laugh. God will hurt.
"I'm treading water..."
I fall to my knees. God will hurt as soon as this fever passed. I smirk. Sometimes, the Sinner will fuck me enough that I will be too weak to move.
Sometimes, I am thankful for Him.
"I need to sleep awhile..."
When I awake, I stand again. The straitjacket still rattles.
The Sinner had been lazy. He didn't pull my pants back up. He didn't replace the straitjacket's crotch strap.
I am thankful for Him.
I wiggle out of the restraints quite easily, and put my pants on. After I get out of the straitjacket, it's more than easy to get out of the cell. He had been sloppy the last few times. I know the internal combination. I know how to escape. And I do.
I step out of the darkness, and into the light.
And that is when I hear it: the steady tap of keys.
Laughing, I know what to do. I will make God hurt. I will make someone my whore, like the Sinner did to me. Their blood will be sweet to me, like mine is to Him, and that is enough to make God weep for a week.
I will become the Sinner. I will make another my whore. I will be above the Sinner's little release game. I will be ready for Crawford. I laugh. And I walk out of the light of the hall, and into the perpetual dark of the Midnight Room, and smile at the child.
And I know he will cry like God.
"My lamb and martyr, you look so precious."
As I watch him for a few minutes, I realize his beauty. His beauty is not like that of the Sinner. The Sinner's beauty is cold and wrathful, like the devil himself. This child's beauty is still warm. This child's beauty, despite the hells he has lived through, is still alive. At the same time, though, it is an unobtainable beauty in some ways, like the beauty of a sunset: truly beautiful, but something you can never contain or hold. The Sinner's beauty can be held, and it will, as soon as Crawford lifts his hands to take it.
I step forward. Even if it cannot be held, this child's beauty, I want to try to at least brush my fingers in it.
He turns, swiftly; the computer's shine now illuminating the dark hair from the back. I can see, from the light of the artificial stars, that his eyes--so dark like the room surrounding us--are widened, and afraid.
I smile softly, and I move a step closer.
"What are you doing out of your cell, Farfarello?" "Schuldich is getting sloppy in his ways. It doesn't matter much, though, does it, Nagi? I'm out now."
"I..." he swallows. He is so scared; I can feel it in waves.
"Why was he in your cell?"
I laugh. "You're too curious, boy. But that's all right. Still, I can't tell you. I promised him I would not tell anyone, and, unlike God, I keep my promises."
He nods slightly. I can tell what he is thinking. He is thinking the same thoughts so many people think as I moved closer to them. The old "just-do-what-he-wants-and-maybe-he-won't-shove-my-tounge-in-my-bladder" routine. It gets more amusing every time. I always take what I want, and kill them anyway. Except with the two Hims, who dominate me. And now, maybe, it would only be half-true.
I will take what I want. But I do not want to kill this little one, this precious lamb. Everyone is that great fucking Liar's lamb. I was His lamb. But this one, this little one, this almost innocent, but infinitely deadly one... he is mine. He is mine.
But he is running.
"Won't you come a bit closer? Close enough so I can smell you?"
He is retreating. He is backing up, running from me: both physically, as he takes one small backwards step after another, and mentally, as his eyes, though wide, grow more clouded; more frightened.
I have mixed feelings on this, which makes me nervous, too... I usually am very certain of my feelings. But right now, I am split between liking the way this little child is so afraid, and wishing that he wouldn't be; wishing that he would just step surely into my arms and /let/ me smell that dark hair and /let/ me touch that unmarred skin and /let/ me fuck him until those midnight eyes were shedding tears like God Himself. And that is the conflict. I want him to love me, but I want him to cry. I want his adoration and his pain, but nothing in between. This hiding from me, this life where he just sits before that glowing box, trying not to see me when he is in the room with me... this is not right. I want more. I want to smell him: his fear and love.
I step towards him. He steps back. This is getting old.
"Nagi... Stop running. I won't hurt you."
He nods indulgently. "Of course not. Farfarello... why don't you stay over there, and I'll... I'll go get Schuldich and we can figure..."
"No!" I interrupt. "No, little Nagi. What is between He and I is something else. Between me and you... that, that will be ours. Not his."
"What are you talking about?"
"Aren't you lonely, little one? Don't you want something else than that little keyboard of yours?"
"I..."
I move closer, and he does not step back. He looks up at me, curious and afraid.
"Have I ever hurt you, little one?" He looks down. I can see he is thinking it over... recalling each moment and moving over it in his mind, searching each one for a time when I ran at him with a knife or when I laid hands on him. I can tell that, parallel to those thoughts, are ones of what the others /did/ do to him: Schuldich dumping work on him with nothing more than a smug grin for thanks; Crawford's looking down on him and even slapping him. I almost laugh. Schuldich thinks He was so great for seeing thoughts, but with this one--this beautiful dark child--I can see thoughts as clear as a winter's morning. I have never hurt this little one, even though he is so young. God weeps when children are hurt, but this one... he is only a child visually. His soul is as dark as any of us, and God would not weep much for him. For that reason, I never hurt him, and now, as he looks down at those dress shoes of his, trying desperately to scrounge up a memory of me inflicting pain on him, I am glad. He will be mine. Although he is not an innocent to God, that Great fucking Liar, he is close enough for me. And I want to hold that innocence--however little there is--in my hands.
I step forth, and enfold him in my arms, and I smile when he doesn't struggle, but just leaves his arms at his sides.
Is it fear? Is it love?
Does it matter?
I lick along that thin neck, smiling. He shivers, and that is his only movement. I want him, I want him, I want him, and I want him to want me. I squeeze him tighter, and he lets out a shuttered breath. He is afraid.
It doesn't matter to me, I realize, if he is willing or not. All that matters is, like I am to Him, someday he will be. All that matters is that he won't kill me or struggle or tell the others. Because that is the code with Him. I want to be Nagi's "Him."
I want to be, for the times we are together, the only thing that matters to him.
"I need you to feel this, I can't stand to burn too long."
I unzip the front of his uniform, taking no care for if the fucking thing rips or not. I want him.
His eyes widen, the scent of fear something I love in him. Caressing him, it becomes obvious he's never known this touch. He is like I was with Him--the only touch I knew was that of harshness. So I rub circles across his back, I kiss his face, I whisper things neither of us can really understand and that I may or may not mean. I adore him, though, and that much is more than anyone has ever given him. He will be my salvation, somehow. He will be mine.
It is a short time before I realize I am kissing away tears. It is a short time after that when I realize that he is whispering back.
"Farfarello... I don't understand. I don't understand."
The words repeat themselves, and I do the one thing that I understand. I do what I remember from Him.
I pull his clothes off, and lay him on the floor, bowing over him. I have not bowed since God betrayed me, and to do so again seems natural to me. This boy is an angel, a true one, not one of the betrayers that have raped my soul for so long.
He is still crying. But he is smiling. It's not that "just-do-what-he-wants-and-maybe-he-won't-shove-my-tounge-in-my-bladder" anymore. It's a hesitant smile. But a beautiful one. Like he understands it finally; like he knows that this is his destiny. That he is mine.
I look over his body, running my hands over it in possession. I have never owned anything before him. I will own him with his consent, too. Right now... right now it is somewhere between consent and a paralyzing fear for this little one. And I want him to cross that line.
I want to own this eternally. God's eternity is a lie. This boy in my hands... he may just be the only true eternity. His body, so unlike that of Him: the skin lighter, not as harshly as mine, but still pale; the body slimmer and with only a small mark of some unknown origin glancing his thigh, unlike the multitude of scars that cover the Sinner's inner arms and back, showing a map of an entire life of hell on the streets, unlike the few years that were stolen from this little one in my arms. His hair was so much darker, too--not the hellfire of the Sinner, but rather a brown so intense it's almost black. So much like he--so immersed in darkness, yet his soul is not quite the black of ours. There will always be that slight light, that sense of innocence, even as he crushes the life from a man with his powers.
As I begin tracing my hand reverently down his chest, slowly mapping out the slight muscle down to his crotch--where, shocked, I feel his answering arousal--I ask him the generic question. That same question He asked me, the first time.
"Have you done this before?"
His blue eyes open.
"Not with kissing."
And that is enough for me. The Sinner would want to know who.
The Sinner wouldn't understand that this body between my arms is still innocent. But I do. I do, because I am like him--an innocent sinner.
What comes next, like that hardness between this gentle sinner's legs, surprises me. Nagi's arms come around me, and his lips brush my cheek. I can still feel the hesitance. But he's slowly crossing that line. Approaching the side I want. And I kiss him back, with fierceness and want, and something else even I don't understand.
I pull my clothes off, slowly, with Nagi watching, like the Sinner so often did to me.
His stunned gasp at my appearance doesn't slow me. I don't care. I know my body is horrible, but the scars are God's penance, and I must bear it. God... He will weep at this encounter. Not only am I fucking another man, I'm cheating on the Sinner. I would laugh, if it wouldn't make this little one retreat even further.
I grasp him into my arms with a restrained violence, and bite his lips. He makes a sound between a purr and a cry, and I smile.
His body is squirming like a trapped animal on my lap as I rub his narrow back. At first, I think he's trying to get free, but then I realize that he's rubbing himself against me. I kiss his cheek and hold him tighter. He feels my want, and shudders again.
I'm not sure if I truly want to cross the next boundary, for a moment. I am not sure if I want to do unto him what Schuldich does unto me. The line between pain and passion in that act seems too thin to use on Nagi. But I know the truth that this is the only way to make him mine. My hand trails from it's rubbing course over his slender back downwards to explore between his legs. I press a finger into him, and he just puts his head on my shoulder.
"Nagi?" I ask, not knowing where this stands between rape and love.
"As long as it's with kissing, I don't care."
And I understand.
"Released in sodomy. For one sweet moment I am whole."
Shoving into him without any other preamble, I bite his lips again, stifling his cry. I am still, just taking in this pure feeling. His body is so tight, it fits snuggly in my arms, and it writhes on that precipice between pain and passion. I smirk. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Was this how He felt? This sheer feeling of completion, of being one ever sinning whole? I can feel Nagi is in agony, but I can feel his want, too; I can feel my own want, simmering over. I can feel it all: me, the Sinner, the little one. It all comes together. The three of us become one. That old song from Catholic school about the Trinity enters my mind. "Three in one and one in three, rulers of the earth are thee..." I love it, I realize. This is the closest thing to bliss that I will ever have.
I start moving. He cries out loudly, fingers tearing at the carpeting, trying to grip onto it to give him something else to concentrate on. I remember tearing into the padded flooring of my cell in much the same way, the fabric there actually giving purchase. I remember the Sinner laughing, and bearing down into my body harder, claiming me. Owning me.
I bear down, and fuck him harder. He struggles, but it doesn't matter much to me. He cries, but it doesn't matter much to me. He screams and scratches at the carpet, at my back, but it doesn't matter at all. He is still hard.
"Do unto others, What has been done to me?"
As I fuck him, his body squirming but still betraying him, I can still see him in me, myself in Him. It almost terrifies me.
It feels too great to stop, though. I
could tell that I was hurting him. And I know it makes God weep, which makes me happy. But for some reason, I question it.
And I start to question what He has done to me.
Has it been so good? Those nights of God's tears? Has it been such a wonderful thing to make Him cry in pleasing Him? I continue pressing into the warm body. I love this tightness. I hate the confusion it brings.
Any form of pain unto God is good. I learned that so long ago--that God deserved any and every fucking anguish I could bring upon his hypocritical being. He deserves the worst of sins. He deserves the damned angels themselves being eaten alive by wild dogs while being fucked by Lucifer. He deserves it all for what he did to me and my family and everyone else in this world that He created and then pissed on. But maybe, in some way, I am going about it wrong. I don't know how--just, in some way what I do with the Sinner unsettles me now, as I do what He did to me to Nagi.
I realize what it was he had been doing all along with this act. And maybe that is enough to make me wonder if what I had allowed him to do was worth the pain I caused God.
I wonder if God's pain is worth this innocent's.
God has ignored the deaths of true innocents that I caused. God has ignored me slaughtering his priests and drowning infants in baptismal water after I had slaughtered everyone else in the ceremony of making an innocent "holy." Why would he suddenly pay attention? Why would he give a fuck about this one, this murdering innocent?
Does it matter anymore?
Driving into him is such sweet pleasure, and I don't want it to ever end, and I can never stop thinking that this is the only thing that should be eternal.
He is bleeding, I notice. The smell turns me on further as it mixes with the smell of sweat and little Nagi's fear. There are so few noises. The hum of the computer continues. But that is just white noise, trying to fight the dark noises of our joining; the sound of his occasional whimpers and cries, the sound of my grunts as I try to push completely into him, the sound of my skin slapping against his. I lick across his lips. They still taste of blood. I love this. I love his pain.
His blood is the only lubrication. His tightness is almost painful to me. And with that pain, and with that scent and taste of blood, and with those cries of denial and pain...
I come.
"You're breathing so I guess you're still alive Even if signs seem to tell me otherwise."
It is the first time I have really come. It is the first time I had the choice of if I was going to come or not. Usually I wait for painfully long stretches of time after He has found His completion, waiting for Him to say that I can come, and, inevitably, by then it's a bitter pleasure and all I have to show for it is God's pain, not my pleasure. This, this is different. This is true pleasure, wild and without having to fucking ask permission for it. This is my pleasure. Not His.
Nor is it Nagi's, I realize. I have already pulled out of his whimpering body, and the feeling of him sobbing at that pain of withdrawal wasn't lost to me. It shocks me. He's so still; those beautiful eyes closed tightly, tears streaming like blood from under those tight-closed eyelids. I lick them away. He doesn't notice. He just shivers, as if he's freezing to death, but how can he be, when it's so warm in here...
I wipe the blood from between his thighs with my fingers, and I taste it, just because I can, just because I want to reassure myself that this is real and true. He shivers, still.
He doesn't notice anything.
Is this how I was? I can't remember. Perhaps the fact that I can't remember is enough proof that this is how I was.
I can remember the first time, when I, like little Nagi, just lay shocked after the Sinner had pulled out. Because the sin had been so wild and pure, it had shocked me.
It isn't the purity that has frozen Nagi, though. It is the pain.
But he is alive. He is no longer hard, but he is alive, and that much is what matters.
"Won't you come just a bit closer? Close enough so I can smell you?"
I sit up, looking down at his body. I do not know what comes next. I had wanted him to be mine that was all. And has it worked? Has it?
I bow back down and hold him close.
This time, he reacts. Opening those midnight eyes, I see the fear. I see the absolute unadulterated terror. And he hits me, pushes me, tries to use his powers on me, anything, anything at all to get me away. None of it works. As I continue gripping him harshly, he starts to sob.
"What is it, Nagi? I kissed you, didn't I?"
"You bastard, Farfarello. Did it ever occur to you that I could feel pain?"
I kissed him, and held his body tighter.
"Of course."
"Then why..."
"Because that's how it is, little Nagi. Because the world is cruel. Because I am cruel. And because if I sheltered you from me, you could never be mine."
And he stills, allowing me, again, to kiss his neck, to understand him. He allows himself to understand me. And I no longer smell fear, but rather an acceptance of pain and lust.
"I need you to feel this. I need this to make me whole. Released in this sodomy."
Pressing a leg between his, I can feel he's getting hard again. I let him rub gently against my leg.
"Why?" he asks.
The question, the one word, is all encompassing. He means "why" to so many things. But I understand, and I kiss him again.
"Because I want you."
"Don't you have Schuldich?"
I shake my head. This is that innocence, coming to the surface.
"No," I answer, "He has me."
"Do you still want me?"
"I have you. You are a part of me, now. You complete me. I don't need to be owned anymore."
"Do I?"
"That is up to you."
He nods, and rests his head on the carpeting, bearing his throat to me like I did to the Sinner. But I will not choke him, because he isn't me.
He isn't a whore.
"For I am your witness that blood and flesh can be trusted And only this one holy medium brings me peace of mind"
"I want you, now."
It has been only a few moments since he bore his throat. And I am realizing that he wanted me to kiss it. I do, and he makes that demand.
"Haven't you had enough of me?"
"I don't want that you. I want the you underneath. Do you understand?"
I shrug, and press a hand between his thighs again.
"No," he says, pushing my hand away forcefully. "You don't understand. You have to understand first."
"Fuck you. You're mine, damn it. Not the other way around."
"If you understand, I'll always be yours. That is what you don't get."
I shrug. This is important, I admit. But how can I understand him? What the hell does he want from me? What the hell is this all? Is he going to be my salvation at all? He's approaching being my damnation here.
Grasping his cock, I pump him roughly. He cries out. This isn't what he wants. This isn't what I want. This is all I know how to do, though, and so it will come to pass.
It is in this rhythm--this rhythm that so often has been a part of those long dark nights with the sinner, this rhythm that is so perfect and like the soothing tick of a clock, that I realize that this isn't all there is to it. It's as if another door has opened, letting me see that hurting him like this isn't the only thing I can do. I stop. He moans in disbelief, body still wanting the abuse, but I can see in those eyes relief, and I hold him. Not like he was going to run away, as before, but like you'd hold a baby or a kitten that couldn't run away. He smiles at the gentleness.
"Show me, then, Nagi."
"You understand."
"I think so."
He holds onto me, and brings my fingers to his mouth, where he suckles on them. I cock my head in curiosity. This is new, this is different. It feels nice, though, the feeling of his tongue running over and encircling my fingers, almost as pleasant as when I was inside him.
And I smile, because I know I understand.
My fingers wetted, he guides them between his legs again, and this time he sighs at the feeling instead of wincing at it. Still guiding that hand, he shows me everything that Schuldich knew and never did to me. He shows me how to please. I don't question it. I only follow what he shows me and lay kisses across whatever skin is before me. I am astonished as he guides my fingers to somewhere in him where, when I press it, he arches his back and cries out like he's in pain again, but I know that he loves it.
After a time, he removes my fingers. I look at him, and I wonder what next. He answers with one word.
"Now."
"Got your hands bound, and your head down, And your eyes closed, you look so precious now."
I enter him for the second time this night. He feels looser, now. No longer is it that excruciating pleasure, but it's rather a gentle pleasure. I go to thrust, and his hands--I never noticed, but they're so delicate--stop me.
"Wait."
I wait for the one word, again, that one that gave me permission before. I don't question what I am waiting for. If I understand him, he will always be mine. God will always hurt as long as I own this little one.
He stretches, his erection pressing fully against my abdomen. The feeling of his body stretching before me, around me... it is wonderful. He feels better than before. Why? Is it because he wants it? Or because maybe, just maybe, he's mine?
"Now," he whispers again. I don't answer with a thrust right away. I'd been waiting for that word, and now that it's come, I can't help but pause and wonder over this beauty before me, his eyes half-open and begging for me to do to him something that hurt him such a short time ago, His hair is damp from sweat and some of it sticks to his forehead. I brush my hand through it, pushing those strands that stick to his face away and marveling at how silken it is. It is so soft, his hair. So unlike mine.
"Now. Please..." he moans, thrusting his hips upwards in a desperate attempt to get me to fuck him. I want him, but it makes me laugh, his desperate pleas. He groans at me, jolting his hips again. I smile, and take mercy on him.
My first thrust is an aimless one, just trying to feel his hot depths. He sighs at it, but I remember how he would cry like he was hurt when I had my fingers in him. So I thrust again, trying to find that spot. It takes me two tries.
He arches again, and his short fingernails rake down my back. I shiver; the feeling is a new one. I push into him again at the same spot, and he cries out so loudly it shocks me for a moment. I bite at his neck.
He smiles, eyes closed tightly like before, and murmurs, "Well, it isn't my fault it feels so nice."
"I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this Shit blood and cum on my hands."
He is so beautiful like this, his body joined to me fully, mind and spirit. I hold onto his hand, and looking down at those joined hands, I almost regret doing so. His hand was so pure and clean, and I spread that blood from our first joining on it.
His eyes are closed, but they're not crying anymore. He's still making noise, but now it's of pleasure. He's still scratching me, but now it's because he's realized that I fuck him harder when he does it.
I wish that I could turn back time, that this was how I did it to him when I first came in. That I never caused him such pain. That he'd only have this pleasure to remember.
I wish that I'd come into this room sooner. I wish that Schuldich had never become my master. In this act there's so much joy. I want him forever. I feel things I've never felt before, here.
And I realize it all. I realize, as he looks up at me suddenly, midnight eyes open and gleaming with something--adoration, love, want--I realize that none of it ever mattered. Nothing matters anymore. Schuldich isn't my fucking master. God's pain doesn't enter here. I'm not Nagi's master.
I don't need any of that shit about God or anything. Not as long as I have this adoration.
I realize what he meant, when he said that I would own him when I understood him, when I understood this feeling. I wouldn't own him. But he'd always be mine. And I would always be his. If I had just raped him and hurt him, like Schuldich did to me, he would have ran away. He would have found something better, like I have in him.
Schuldich can have his Crawford. He's lost me.
I don't just love this feeling. I don't just want Nagi's innocence. I don't just think he's beautiful. I don't just want to own something.
I love him.
I love him.
And for once, I'm not terrified of that feeling. I want it. I embrace it.
"I've come round full circle."
I come in him, for the second time. This time, it takes everything out of me. I feel like everything is leaving me--that hatred of God, that want to own Nagi. All that is left is my adoration of him. I understand, now.
Falling onto his body, I feel the wetness across my chest. I hadn't noticed it. But he, too, found his release in me. I realize I must be hurting him, just collapsing all my weight on him, but I can't find the energy to move. When I finally do, he pulls me back.
"I don't care. It reminds me this is real."
I understand. And I kiss him.
"My lamb and martyr, this will be over soon."
I don't want to leave. I love him. Eventually, I shift to hold him against me. But I know, I know I have to leave. I whisper it to him.
"I have to go soon. I don't know when we'll have this again..."
He nods, and nuzzles his face against my shoulder.
"I know. Crawford will have a royal fit if he sees your cell empty. But don't worry about it. I mean, it's not like I don't know the codes to all the locks in this entire facility."
Caressing his back like he had scratched mine, I nod. That much reassurance is good. But I still don't want to leave.
He stands, breaking our embrace, his body above mine so gloriously nude. And he reaches his hand down to mine.
I take it, and stand. He smiles up at me, and I think about how rare that smile is, and how wonderful it is to see it. He hugs me quickly, and then pushes me towards my clothes, bending over to pick up his own.
Looking at the tender arch of his backside, I contemplate fucking him again, but he's right; Crawford will have a fit.
I dress myself, and by the time I am done, he, too, is dressed. I almost regret not watching. It's horrible to see that body covered by so much cloth.
I stand a few more moments by the door.
I need to leave.
But I can't.
He smiles, understanding, and hugs me again. "Farf," he says--and the way he shortens my name doesn't at all annoy me, for once--looking up at me again, "It isn't like we're saying goodbye forever."
I bend to kiss him.
"But it feels... odd," I whisper.
"What?"
"What it is I feel for you."
All he can do is nod, because me feeling love is as crazy as a concept to him as it is to me.
"But I feel it, too."
And with that, I can leave.
As I walk out that door, back into the light-knowing, in some ways, that I'm walking back into the dark and that there, in the Midnight Room with Nagi, there is all light-I turn to say one more thing to him. To answer his question of why I originally did this, but now it's so much more.
"You look so precious."
He blushes, and turns back to the computer.
I go back to my cell. Crawford and Schuldich still have not noticed. It doesn't matter, though.
It'll never matter again. All that will ever matter is what I had there, in the Midnight Room, and that he will remember. My lamb and martyr. For he is, truly, the most precious thing I will ever touch.
I have caught the sunset.