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veiledallegory2010-05-18 01:07 am
eternity_dreams) wrote in veiledallegory2010-05-18 01:07 am
Entry tags:
Xenosaga: Pull.
Title: Pull.
Fandom: Xenosaga.
Warnings: Brother liking. Non-graphic.
Word Count: 379.
Characters: Albedo, Unit 623; brief Rubedo cameo.
Notes: Maybe possible series. And violence is love, obviously. -shot-
Summary: Mirror what I can not have.
There was a significance in this, and he would deny it. It was something necessary and wanted but he not realize. It was an action taken, a path chosen, and Albedo saw nothing in the task at hand but teaching another. Training another. Telling another in actions. You do not look. You do not touch. You do not speak. A puppet with steady strings. This was all this sibling would be. 623. A living doll.
In appearance this one was nothing alike; blond haired and blue eyed like the rest, like that man, and the defiant gaze given only served to irritate further. The Standards were a hive mind, were they not? And in that, was it all of them glaring out at Albedo through the eyes of unit 623? In colors different, in form alike, and the sight of familiar narrowed eyes had moved his fist before thought, roughly striking skin he knew.
Soft. Like everything else, the skin was soft. Like he assumed a girl would be.
To explore one pinned down gave way to more similarities. If Albedo closed his eyes, the contours would prove exact. The length of a thigh, a slight swell of a hip, the skin stretched across a stomach--jerking when fingers trailed across it. The shoulders' breadth, the curve of a taut neck so delicate to crush; the bone of a jaw, the pout of lips. And here, hair soft to the touch, familiar under fingers. If he didn't open his eyes, this could be Rubedo beneath him. Tense and quivering under his thighs.
It was a thought too tempting and so Albedo pulled away, opened his eyes in anger and moved back. The Standard sighed, a touch of fear leaving his expression, and Albedo hardened in response, rage pulling movements too clear for words.
The blows echoed in a space without existence, each rhyme and reason clear. For speaking to Rubedo. For risking Rubedo. The lines blurred with blood, yellow to red, staining strands. The rhythm didn't change. For avoidance. For that girl. For the risk of being left behind.
When a hand touched his shoulder, he paused, unknowing in that second which was the one hated most. His vision kept red, mirrored similarities. Saw differences in the back walking away.
Fandom: Xenosaga.
Warnings: Brother liking. Non-graphic.
Word Count: 379.
Characters: Albedo, Unit 623; brief Rubedo cameo.
Notes: Maybe possible series. And violence is love, obviously. -shot-
Summary: Mirror what I can not have.
There was a significance in this, and he would deny it. It was something necessary and wanted but he not realize. It was an action taken, a path chosen, and Albedo saw nothing in the task at hand but teaching another. Training another. Telling another in actions. You do not look. You do not touch. You do not speak. A puppet with steady strings. This was all this sibling would be. 623. A living doll.
In appearance this one was nothing alike; blond haired and blue eyed like the rest, like that man, and the defiant gaze given only served to irritate further. The Standards were a hive mind, were they not? And in that, was it all of them glaring out at Albedo through the eyes of unit 623? In colors different, in form alike, and the sight of familiar narrowed eyes had moved his fist before thought, roughly striking skin he knew.
Soft. Like everything else, the skin was soft. Like he assumed a girl would be.
To explore one pinned down gave way to more similarities. If Albedo closed his eyes, the contours would prove exact. The length of a thigh, a slight swell of a hip, the skin stretched across a stomach--jerking when fingers trailed across it. The shoulders' breadth, the curve of a taut neck so delicate to crush; the bone of a jaw, the pout of lips. And here, hair soft to the touch, familiar under fingers. If he didn't open his eyes, this could be Rubedo beneath him. Tense and quivering under his thighs.
It was a thought too tempting and so Albedo pulled away, opened his eyes in anger and moved back. The Standard sighed, a touch of fear leaving his expression, and Albedo hardened in response, rage pulling movements too clear for words.
The blows echoed in a space without existence, each rhyme and reason clear. For speaking to Rubedo. For risking Rubedo. The lines blurred with blood, yellow to red, staining strands. The rhythm didn't change. For avoidance. For that girl. For the risk of being left behind.
When a hand touched his shoulder, he paused, unknowing in that second which was the one hated most. His vision kept red, mirrored similarities. Saw differences in the back walking away.