Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ 16 Scenes From a Short Life ❯ 16 Scenes from a Short Life ( One-Shot )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

I'm so incredibly not sure about this.

It's supposed to be 16, non-chronological scenes from the life of...well...that should be obvious. I also described it to Jane/Thornn as "A swirling vortex of love, sex, pain and death." In other words, the NC-17 is VERY appropriate. For you kiddies...I got a silly mystery story up. Go read that. Other than that...well, Yaoi...sex, love, pain and death. You know.

Just a little thing for those of you who thought me writing a silly story was proof that I'd turned over a new leaf...

**************

~1~

The funeral's a dry affair, dry and cold like them all, neither about life or death, really.

His friends stand in a knot to one side, his family stands to the other, small tribes staring uneasily at each other, each, perhaps, silently blaming the other.

The day is grey and silent. Over both tribes alike a light, cold rain falls, chill and utterly cliche.

~2~

Daisuke leans back, fingers knotted into Ken's hair, trying not to think about how the HELL Ken could know how to do this, trying not to...not to...

It's not hard for him to stop thinking. Ken can do fucking AMAZING things with his mouth.

Daisuke thinks he might be groaning, or saying something...anything...but he can't really tell...and then it feels like something inside of him is breaking...breaking or tearing away...and he bites his lip to keep from screaming as he comes.

~3~

Ken's been screaming for almost ten minutes now, a long, undulating keen. He's screaming as though his voice could bring Osamu back, screaming as though he could turn back time, as if he could stop the car...and also just screaming in the most primordial mourning ever.

Osamu's blood is still red on the pavement, red on dusty grey-black, and Ken can't tear his eyes from it, can only stand there, hands clenched at his side, and wail.

He's been forgotten in the bustle. Forgotten except as a constant noise. Forgotten except for the fact that he won't move and he won't shut up. He might be screaming words, he might just be wailing, he might be doing both...no one, least of all Ken himself, has any clue.

The ambulance has left.

Osamu is almost definitely dead.

Twenty minutes now. Ken's still screaming.

~4~

He might have been dead for hours by the time they found him. At least, the water was ice-cold.

Ice-cold, and a vague rusty pink, and in the middle he floats, one too-long leg thrown over the edge of the tub, sliced wrists crossed over his chest, skin pale, hair floating like a halo.

He is almost painfully beautiful. And unmistakably dead.

Hand still on the bathroom door, his mother begins to scream.

~5~

Ken is utterly silent as he studies his adversary from across the chasm.

The other boy is unconsious, chained so he can't leave, but also, partially, so he doesn't fall (though the Kaizer will never admit that, even to himself.) In his pocket, Ken has the boy's D-3 and D-terminal...interesting things, those.

The boy, though...

The boy's skin is the color of caramel. Those rediculous goggles of his reflect the sun. Without going across to look, Ken is almost completely certain that he knows the exact shape of the shadows the boy's eyelashes must be casting on his cheeks.

Ken is slightly frightened by this thought.

It's been 25 minutes now. The boy should wake up soon.

~6~

Ken knows he's too pretty, knows he wears it too strongly. He also knows he's too smart, but not nearly smart enough where it matters.

He walks to school every day feeling a little more dead inside. The taunts...the taunts the other boys yell at him...he's heard them all often enough that they've lost all meaning.

He also seems to have become an easy target.

Ken knows that his worst tormentors wait at a certain turn in the road, every day. He also knows that he could wipe the floor with them all, if he chose.

But he always takes the same path. And when it...when...there's a part of him that won't let him fight back. Makes him just stand and take it.

Ken looks up. The shadows have closed around him, just like that.

And the boys move out and surround him.

~7~

He's been utterly defeated. He knows this.

His own most loyal servant betrayed him, threw in with the enemy.

He watched as Kimeramon, his most beautiful, most inspired creation, was taken down by that damnable brat's golden beast.

And then...then...

Wormmon...

It wasn't...wasn't a...

Ken's legs can't hold him any more.

He's been defeated.

He beat himself.

He hits the ground crying.

~8~

Ken falls to his knees almost silently, leaning over.

He only has to look up at Daisuke for a second, only has to catch sight of that "deer in the headlights" stare...only has to see that he really HAS surprised the other boy...and he finds his course.

He runs a hand down Daisuke's thigh.

He runs a hand up to take hold of Daisuke's own, for a second, and presses a kiss to the palm.

Then, carefully, he starts to undo Daisuke's pants.

~9~

11:50 is a dead time.

11:50 is a lost time.

11:50 has the distinction of being the time when Ken can, literally, feel the dreams die inside of him.

11:50 is when that slow itching starts below Ken's skin. 11:50 is when Ken's joints start to ache, and 11:50 is when there's only one thing that helps.

The knife was a gift. Ken's father gave it to him on his 9th birthday. Ken is also half-convinced that his father had kept it back from a planned gift for Osamu, so many years ago, but he's never brought it up. Ken always keeps it clean. He always keeps it sharp. And he almost always keeps it in his pocket.

And...at 11:50...

Ken rolls up the sleeve on his left arm and draws the blade over the skin on his arm, almost gently. For a few seconds, fascinated, he watches the blood bead inside of the cut.

Then, silently, he puts a bandage over it, washes his knife carefully, and returns to bed.

~10~

Ken raises a hand to his cheek.

Raises a hand to his stinging cheek and gapes.

He'd expected pain, yes.

Pain from Daisuke, certainly.

But pain coupled with an exhortion to live? Pain coupled with that look...that look in Daisuke's eyes?

Ken touches his cheek and watches Daisuke.

And his heart begins to take on a slightly different rhythm.


~11~

The stolen rum is half gone.

The CD has been past the same song at least three times.

Ken doesn't know how he looks right now, but Daisuke is like nothing else. Sprawled back in his chair...his lips look moist and sticky, his eyes...his eyes look like holes...deep and...and his skin is burnished like copper in the light of the candle.

Ken stands, feeling the fire of the rum in his veins. Ken touches Daisuke's cheek and watches those eyes turn towards him.

And Ken asks if Daisuke's ever kissed a boy before...or wanted to.

~12~

The whip feels good in the boy's hand. It's molded to his palm, almost, and it's comfortable to the touch, even without getting into the issues of power involved.

It was formed from the stuff of his dreams. The clothes were, too. The game is quite good about things like that.

His hair is spiked. His glasses are gold, and his cape falls behind him just SO.

He feels like a god.

A king.

A Kaizer.

Or so he tells himself.

It's better than admitting how empty he feels.

~13~

It's probably the only really good thing he's ever done, probably the only really brave one.

Ryou is on the ground and a strange pain is filling Ken, a pain in his neck, yes, but also a pain somewhere in his insides. Cold, dark...LONELY...it's trying to suck him in.

Ken rubs his neck. Ryou is standing up now, making sure that he's alright, then telling him that he was brave and that he's really proud of him.

And, as good as Ryou's praise feels, Ken can't really help wishing he'd been born a coward.

~14~

Daisuke's lips are sweet and taste only a little bit like the rum...more like something...something Ken can't name. Something right, though. Very right.

Warmth, centered on Ken's heart, but also in the pit of his stomach, starts to fill him. He's never felt like this before. He feels...feels...full. And warm. And RIGHT. And whole.

For the first time in years, he feels whole.

Slowly he runs a hand down Daisuke's front. Slowly, over his chest, down to the front of his pants.

And he pulls back and meets Daisuke's eyes silently.

~15~

Ken can name almost as many types of pain as he can elements. There's the slow burn of overworked muscles, the slice of a blade over skin, the different ways a fist feels as it hits his face or his gut, the same for a foot.

He's trained himself quite well like that.

He also knows and can count off different shades of another kind of pain. There's the stab of grief, the cold ache of self-loathing, the quiet grind of depression...

These are all easy.

It's the other things he can't define.

~16~

Daisuke has left by now, stumbling out the door, mind half lost to rum and endorphins. Ken had to make him go, practically start threatening him before he got up and moved for the door.

He didn't...didn't like...

He...

Daisuke loves him.

Ken has never been more sure of anything in his life than he is of this...he saw it in Daisuke's eyes.

Daisuke REALLY loves him...more than anything else.

And Ken...Ken knows he could fall into that easily. Ken knows...Ken doesn't know...Ken...Ken likes Daisuke, at least.

Daisuke is, save only Wormmon, the most important thing in Ken's life.

And Ken knows that if he could love anyone in the world, it would be Daisuke.

And Ken...

Ken...

Ken slowly stands. Thoughtlessly, working on autopilot, he brushes the dirt off his knees. Then he blows out the candle.

Then, without even looking back, Ken goes into the bathroom and starts to fill the tub with water.