Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Quondam Fool ❯ Quondam Fool ( One-Shot )

Quondam Fool

By: Vain ~ 6.1 - 4.2002

~ ~~~~~~~~ O ~~~~~~~~ ~

An odd tale of love and hunger in which Ichijouji Ken spends a night at the house of Motomiya Daisuke and takes a moment to evaluate his life and his relationship with Daisuke and listen to the wolves at the door.

~ ~~~~~~~~ O ~~~~~~~~ ~

I do not own Ken, Daisuke, or Digimon in general. The story is MINE. Ken's madness is everyone's madness and I am not making any money off of this, nor distributing this in for financial gain. This is a somewhat off-kilter love story-Vain-style and without apology.

This is RATED R for language and mildly disturbing imagery / themes.

"Quondam Fool" was written in my attempt to defeat a rather persistent case of writer's block. Please read and review.

~ ~~~~~~~~ O ~~~~~~~~ ~

It's three am now. 03:00. I can see the red light of the digital clock above my head. I can hear snoring, three separate rumbles, each with its own tone and time. Leafmon shifts and the broad leaf on the edge of his tail trembles. The light has been off for hours, but sleep has been elusive for me these past few weeks. I have lived in such terrible confusion since that last battle. I don't understand how all this could have been allowed to happen to me. I think I begrudge Oikawa of the peace he found in death. It's all over now, but I am the one left to try to piece my life, my soul, back together. I should feel relaxed, hopeful; I should feel closure.

I do not.

I push down the covers of the sleeping bag and sigh, only vaguely aware that I'm drifting towards your bed. My mind wanders.

They'd like to say that it was because I loved him. Loved him too much. That the pain was unbearable . . . They're all wrong.

By they, of course, I mean you, my dear. You with your chestnut locks standing at attention in their typical choreographed chaos; the slices in your copper skin (fire where the streetlight hits it) where your eyes are closed in that gentle peaceful way that's sleep on anyone else; your tiny, tiny body, so thick and dark and not like mine-angled where I have planes and satin curved over steel muscle in contrast to my velvet over stone. You and your damaged, off-center perfection that's somehow closer to disaster. You and your idiot, self-absorbed friends-my friends now because of you-for whom I bear a singular kind of hatred that's close to passion. Hatred that makes me smile and want to plunge into them and their comedy and their loves and hates and lives. That's your fault, by the way.

But as I was saying, you think it was because I loved him. I did love him in my own peculiar way. He was my all. My only. I loved them all. I loved Wormmon so much that I had to hurt him. Beat him until his hard little green body cracked with a wet popping sound where my whip fell and the tender, pale pink meat beneath bulged out of the wound, running with reddish-purple fluid that didn't taste quite the same as human blood . . . Sweeter, perhaps . . .

I loved him, though. And he loved me. He loved me so much that we were one thing. I didn't understand this until I was older, perhaps until now even. When he died it was like half of me was gone. My best, my worst, my core. When he died it was like I was free. Like a vise had been removed from my jaws and the whole world rushed into my mouth and it tasted like heaven and hell and my head was a kind of purgatory that I still haven't escaped.

And I was him. I was him in an intimate personal way that was like sex, but without the core physical-ness of the whole sordid affair. Don't misconstrue me, my little love, my ignorant man-childe . . . It was not a sexual thing. It was not a physical thing. It was distilled lust, soul lust, the kind of lust that consumes you and becomes you with such force that you're left barren and violated in its wake.

Does this make sense to you? No. Probably not. You are the most alive person I have ever known, sweetness, but you have never lived this much. I don't think you could do it. You would tremble and shatter; explode; all that's inside of you would leap out and you would suddenly be exposed as the me-the monster-that you can't see inside you.

I can see him. He smiles at me sometimes and the flicker of fire that dances in the back of your eyes mushrooms into an inferno that envelopes me and leaves me shaken and out of breath. That, my "friend," is sexual. And I'm beginning to crave it.

Why am I telling you this?

Did you know you snore? It's terribly irritating. Yet I still have this unshakable desire to get up, pad over to your bed, and fuck you through the proverbial floor. An interesting conundrum, don't you think, Daisuke-san?

Daisuke. Dai-suki . . . Suki-dai . . . Suki dai. Kimi o suki dai . . . Dai suki o kimi . . Imik o ikus iad . . Iad ikus o imik . . Iad ikus . . . Ikusiad . . .

Your name tastes like I imagine lotus leaves to taste. Do you?

I want to lean over and bite the soft inviting flesh of your cheek, sink my teeth into that firm honeyed dish and taste your hot blood run into my mouth and feel it trickle down my cheek and stain the white of the night shirt I've borrowed from you. I imagine that you do not wake up. I imagine myself devouring you, getting drunk off your blood and aroused by the sweet salt tingle of you moving through my body in such a personal way. I would not bathe until I got home.

What a sight that would be to see! The cannibalistic and adored Ichijouji Ken staggering down the streets of Tokyo drunk and horny from devouring his gay lover. His beloved. It would make all the papers. Image the headlines.

I'm giggling now and I can't seem to stop. I hate that. The inherent wrongness of giggling disturbs me to no end. You have no idea how often I've imagined bathing in Miyako's blood just to make that broken glass sound she periodically emits stop. She's a nice enough girl, though. I must confess that her hair fascinates me. If things were a bit different, I could probably love her on that merit alone.

So yes: I did love him. But the loss of him is not why I did it. I did it for love. I did it because I love so much that I have to destroy things. Burn them. Break them. Kill them. I have to see them bleed. You have no idea what I'm capable of.

Do you love me enough to do that to me?

. . . No. I don't think you do. I will do it for you. This is how much I love you.

Wormmon understands this. He will not be so bitter about it. But you, my suki dai, will never forgive me.

I want to kill you. But the streetlight falling on your skin stays my hand.

Don't you understand how much I fucking hate you, Motomiya! You broke me! You did this to me! Fix this! Fix me!!

Your eyes flutter. Am I talking aloud?

I can see my hands trembling near your throat, harsh bone-white claws in the darkness. I don't wonder how they got there. I do not question myself anymore. So close. My skin looks blue and bloated in comparison to you. I am a drowned corpse close to rotting. I am falling into you. I can't help it. The trembling in my hands makes them lose their definition so that where my fingers should be I can only see white swirls in the air. I am mesmerized by the sight.

Daisuki?

Daisuke?

Do you hear me whispering to you like winter? Like a storm? Storms shriek and wail and whisper. I speak only in one quiet tone of voice now. The Kaiser's force behind my words is lacking. He does not come to me anymore and I am alone in these worlds.

So my hands tremble uselessly in the air and I stare at them, dumbfounded, stupefied by an optical illusion as some part of my soul cringes and quails inside me at the thought of wrapping the shaking ghosts attached to my wrists around the golden-copper corded muscles that ripple in the skin beneath your neck. I am strong enough to snap your neck before you registered the touch.

I cannot move.

And it occurs to me that my arms are getting heavy and there's a knot forming somewhere in the thick sheet of my trapezius muscle. I imagine that it will be extremely painful in the morning.

My arms fall. They are leaden ghosts apparently and cannot bear to move, handicapped by the weight of their sins when they lived. I settle back into my sleeping bag, careful not to disturb Leafmon. My fingers are tingling and I listen to Leafmon's rhythmic breathing in my ear for several minutes as my eyelid get heavier every time they open and close.

You cough and my eyes snap open. I have the strangest felling that I'm falling, but I know I'm on the floor, so I swallow the lump in my throat. I cannot, however, stop my hand from convulsively gripping the worn bluish wall-to-wall carpeting that you've trod upon for longer than you can remember.

"Ken?"

"Yes, Daisuke?"

I hear you move and envision you carefully shifting into a sitting position, narrowly missing knocking Chibimon to the floor. I turn my head and blink at you as you look down at me, a very odd expression on your face. It's a thoughtful look. A look of deep and extreme pontification. You are confused I think, or perhaps you have figured something out. Something unpleasant. I like this look on your face. It enhances the shadows in the dimples around your mouth.

"Ken . . ."

I am feeling expectant.

"What were you doing just now?"

I stiffen and the feeling vanishes, something hard replacing it in the pit of my belly where my womb would be if I were a woman. "What do you mean?"

You scrub a hand back through your hair and my fingers itch to mimic the action in a slow, drawn out motion that would make you purr. You look away from me to stare at the marvelous sparkle of the streetlight off your blunt, decidedly male nails.

"When you were sitting like that . . ." You clear your throat uncomfortably and I find myself doing the same thing silently. "When you had your hands at my throat like that for such a long time . . .?"

. . . So you saw that? No. Not an appropriate thing to say now. I cough and find myself twisting uncomfortably. I hate not being able to control my body, but right now it seems to be avoiding your eyes all of its own accord and I am not motivated enough to stop it.

". . . A long time?"

And I suddenly decide that I hate the sound of my voice. I resolve to speak less.

You look up at me sharply and you look angry. That look, I do not like on your face. It doesn't suit you at all, love.

"You were sitting like that for over fifteen minutes! What the hell were you doing?!"

I flinch and the motion makes my joints ache. I feel tears build in my eyes and I try to push them back. I fail. "Dai-chan . . . I . . ." I choke for some reason and then I start to sob. The hoarse sound shakes my frail body and comes out as a wet painful noise. I hate this. I don't want to cry in front of you. I don't want to cry at all.

I fucking hate this!

And then you're at my side, wrapping your arms around me and pulling me to your chest.

"I . . . Dai . . ."

"Shh, Ken-chan . . ."

You stroke my hair and my gasping slowly turns into deep hungry breaths and shudders that get lost in your embrace. We sit like this for quite some time.

"Ken-chan?"

I grunt. I'm tired now, drained. I wish I was a stronger person. You shouldn't have to deal with this. And yet you do. I don't understand you Daisuke-san.

You grip my shoulders and pull away from me so you can look into my wet, bloodshot eyes. What do you see there, my love?

I have never seen anything but tundra.

You smile, an expression I have always found to be strange. It's a pleasant look, but it always seems as though your face is splitting in two. Rather macabre, actually.

I blink. I suppose I look quite stupid.

"Just don't do it again, okay?" Your smile fades for a moment and I can feel the tears start to build again. Oh god, how I hate this!

You look me in the eyes and frown. "That was just fucking creepy, Ken."

I open my mouth, but seem to have forgotten the words somewhere, so instead I nuzzle your neck. "Can I sleep with you tonight, Dai-chan?"

Your chest rumbles and it takes me a moment to realize you're chuckling. "Sure! I love it when you're close to me."

I wonder at your simplicity, but allow you to help me get up and climb into your bed. You move Chibimon down to lay with Leafmon. Neither of them wakes up.

"Hey, Daisuke?"

"Mmm?"

You climb into bed next to me and I immediately scoot over and wrap my arms around you. I tuck my head beneath your chin and mutter into your chest. You smell like cinnamon and autumn.

"I love you, Daisuke."

You hug me closer and I know you heard me. The thought makes me feel good inside and I don't question it. As I begin to drift off, I wonder if you will snore. It doesn't matter to me all that much though, as long as you're close. I wonder if I will dream.

Thankfully, I do not and when the world fades away all I can hear is your heartbeat in my ears. It sounds like peace.

~ Fin ~

~ ~~~~~~~~ O ~~~~~~~~ ~