Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Under the Ice ❯ Drowning Part II: Rising ( Chapter 3 )

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Under the Ice

Part Two: Drowning II

By: Vain 8/5/2001

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This is Chapter Two of "Drowning:" the second part of Under the Ice.

While I highly recommend that you read "Surfacing" first, it isn't an absolute must.

In keeping with the tradition set in Surfacing, I don't own digimon,

this is a YAMAKEN / KENATO LEMON, and contains YOAI and SHOUNEN-AI,

and themes of suicide, depression, and mental illness:

you don't like it; I don't care-don't read it, don't flame me.

This story also contains mature themes and adult language.

That's why there's that NC-17 pop-up thing on your computer.

The song "Muzzel" was written by Billy Corgen and

was preformed by and is the property of the band

The Smashing Pumpkins; it can be found on their album: Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness. (see Dawn to Dusk).

And yes, I am hentai. I've managed to live around it.

Enjoy.

~Vain

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Tsuyoshi glared at his wife as she sat on the edge of their couch. The good doctor would be there in less than a half hour. "Why did you invite her here?" he demanded for the third time that hour. She glared silently back.

Ichijouji Tsuyoshi was a traditional man. The only child in a long line of only sons, his grandfather had been a farmer, as had his father and his father before him. When the farm went bust, Tsuyoshi's father, Ichijouji Yuri, moved his wife and seven month old son to Tokyo so that his son could grow up a modern man in a modern world and thus continue the family line. Yuri worked twenty hours a day, six days a week so that his boy could attend the finest college and get the best education and opportunities available. His efforts were rewarded. Tsuyoshi applied for and received a job as an advertising executive in the Japanese branch of a major American firm and married Yatsumoto Rika, a respectable girl from an honorable family also barely a generation removed from the farmlands. Three years later their first child, Ichijouji Osamu, was born and named after Rika's father. That's when everything got strange.

With long silky, indigo hair and blue-violet eyes, Osamu didn't look like anybody on either side of the family. This was not a farmer's son-this was a sprite of myth. Then things got stranger. While neither Rika nor Tsuyoshi were particularly stupid, they were not particularly bright either. They were just average. Therefore, when Osamu started to walk at seven months instead of nine and read at age three instead of five, it never occurred to them that he was anything more than average. He was simply their son. That all changed when Osamu was almost six and three weeks into kindergarten his IQ test results were confirmed. Their little sprite was a genius. Then came the papers and the reporters. Everyone wanted a piece of the prodigy. It was alarming. It was invigorating. And the Ichijoujis wanted more.

That same year the Ichijouji parents received a second miracle: Ichijouji Ken was born. It was believed that Osamu would be their last child and Rika's pregnancy was difficult and dangerous. When Ken was born, the doctors declared him to be a miracle and Osamu was thrilled when his parents returned home triumphant with his new baby brother. The two boys could have been cast in the same mold, they looked so similar. They became inseparable. Ken worshipped his brother and, other than their occasional "spats" as Osamu called them, his brother doted on him in return. And in this fashion time passed.

There were interviews and business meetings and sports events and tournaments and somehow, through it all, Ken slipped between the cracks. Osamu slipped through the cracks. Yet nobody noticed.

Then Osamu was dead. It happened so fast that it barely seemed like it had happened at all, but grim reality could not be avoided. So Ken picked up the slack. Ken became Osamu, or at least as close to Osamu as he could get short of spiking his hair and wearing glasses, and Tsuyoshi and Rika's grief faded as they devoted their energy to Ken. But Ken was not Osamu. Ken was distant, cold-frightening. Ken was . . . strange.

And then he was gone too and they were alone. Ken wasn't dead-he was just gone. Gone out of his bedroom eight stories above the street with his door locked from the inside. Nobody could quite figure out how he managed to accomplish that particular trick. Yet he came back, materializing asleep in his room just as mysteriously as he vanished, bruised, battered and emotionally broken, but alive. His parents were beside themselves with grief and joy. And things continued to get stranger.

Ken taught them about destiny and other worlds. He taught them about love and family. But no matter how much Ken taught them, there was simply one thing that could never be overcome: Ichijouji Tsuyoshi was a traditional man and he called the shots in the Ichijouji household.

So, why then had Rika gone against his word and invited that . . . that . . . woman here, to their house to discuss their son? Ken was strong. He did not need a psychiatrist. What he needed was time, friends, and a lot of fresh air and activity to keep him busy. He was an Ichijouji. He did not need some meddling outsider interfering with his life.

"Why did you invite her here?" Tsuyoshi demanded again.

Rika placed her teacup on the table hard, the motion shaking with suppressed anger. "I know how you feel about her, but whether you want to admit it or not, Ken needs help!"

"Nonsense! He just-"

"Ichijouji Tsuyoshi!" Rika stood and put her hands on her hips, a clear sign that he was on dangerous ground. "Everybody that he knows agrees, so why are you being so difficult? I will not lose my baby, Tsu! Not to anything, and certainly not to your pride."

A knock on the door startled them both.

"Mrs. Ichijouji?" Daisuke called up the hall. As usual, the boy had let himself in.

Rika quickly dashed the faint beginnings of tears from her eyes and sniffed. Tsuyoshi frowned darkly and turned away.

"Hello, Daisuke," Rike greeted as the teen's fluffy hair appeared around the corner of the door. The rest of his head quickly followed and his brown eyes bore slight wrinkles from worry. Rika bit her lip and felt new tears spring to her eyes when she saw Dai's pale and slightly disheveled appearance. She had forgotten how hard the youngster was taking this. Ken and Daisuke had been friends for nearly three years and he had been by to see their son everyday since "the incident," as it had come to be known. It had taken its toll on the boy.

"Is everything alright, Mrs. Ichijouji?" he asked anxiously.

"Of course," she responded with a fake smile. She wondered how much he had heard. As much as she liked Daisuke, he could be a bit . . . nosey for her tastes. She made a vague gesture. "Ken's in his room with Wormmon."

He nodded, unsurprised by this particular bit of information. Wormmon was absolutely guilt-stricken since the incident and refused to let Ken out of his sight for an instant. The last time the digimon had reverted to such "ankle-biter" behavior, as Ken had once described it, was when Ken had been the Digimon Emperor. The change in behavior worried Daisuke and Veemon, but they were both happy that Ken was under 24-7 supervision. Casting a final glance at the two wrangling parent, the goggle-boy sighed and went to Ken's room.

The bedroom was pitch dark, but that didn't concern him-even after his transition to the light, the Tamachi boy had always had a predilection for dimmed rooms and shadows. He had once questioned Ken on the subject, but his best friend had only shrugged: "I know that you all think it's gone, but it isn't. Darkness is a jealous mistress and doesn't ever let go of something once it has a hold on it. It's not gone, it's just inside me-waiting, like that spore. I can fight them off, force them to behave, but sometimes . . ."

"What?" Daisuke had prompted him.

Ken shivered and looked away. "It's hard. There're still those days when I want to just say, 'Fuck it all,' and run off on rampage, or when I want to hurt someone. And I don't mean punch them or something, I mean break them. And I can do it. I know I can." He had his eyes closed and his pale skin was drawn unnaturally taunt in a tense and pained expression. "But that's not the worst of it. Sometimes I feel like I'm skating on thin ice. I feel like one day I'm gonna fall through and drown." He then had suddenly turned back to Dai, eyes softened by sorrow. "But you don't understand that, do you, Daisuke?"

Daisuke had wisely kept his mouth shut.

Wormmon's quiet voice interrupted his reverie. "Hello, Daisuke." The little virus's head swiveled from his perch up on the bed. "Where's Veemon?"

"He decided to have lunch with Agumon today. How's your human?"

"Sleeping," the digimon explained. He carefully slipped off of Ken's chest and puttered his way over to the edge of the elevated bed. "You may as well wake him up. This is his second nap today. I'm starting to think that he just sleeps because he doesn't want to do anything."

Dai grinned and pulled himself up onto the bed. "I got him."

Ken was lying covered up in direct defiance of the spring heat and Daisuke took the opportunity to study his friend. Dark smudges marred the smooth skin beneath the other's fluttering eyes despite the fact that he managed to get nearly sixteen hours of sleep a day. He was pale and slender, as he always had been, but now it had been taken to extremes. His skin had taken on an unnerving transluscent quality and lack of appitite and stress had reduced his already modest weight to practically nothing.

Daisuke put a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder and shook him. "Ken-chan? Wake up."

A groan slipped between the other teen's lips and his violet eyes opened. Ken's eyes were one of his best features. Whenever he was happy or excited, they shone a brilliant sapphire blue. When he was upset or depressed, they leaned more towards an intense icy violet-purple glaciers. Lately, the purple had been predominant.

His eyes locked onto Dai's and the goggle-boy offered him a broad smile. "Get up, sleepy-head. We have to go. You don't wanna keep Yama and the others waiting, do you?"

Ken obediently sat up and waited until Daisuke and Wormmon were off the bed before he actually got up. He was still wearing his Tamachi High uniform, complete with vest and stood aside rather uselessly as the shorter teen chattered and busied himself with packing a bag to take to Ishida's place. Wormmon resumed his perch on his human's shoulder and watched Dai with lidded blue eyes.

"Okay, you ready?" the Child of Courage and Friendship asked as he turned to the two of them.

Wormmon nodded and hopped down onto the desk. A digiport spun into existence on Ken's computer, shining brightly to await the virus's entry. "Bye, Ken-chan," he murmured.

Ken said nothing and Daisuke grabbed his wrist, yanking him out the door with him.

The boy gave him a nod that bordered on idle as he vanished into the hall. The door slammed shut behind him. Wormmon stared blankly at the wood for a moment. Then, when he was sure that he wouldn't be heard, he laid his head down and began to sob bitterly. The digiport hummed soft white light next to him.

Outside in the living room, Daisuke jerked his jogress partner down onto the couch next to him. Mrs. Ichijouji paced about the room, her hands fluttering anxiously. Tsuyoshi glared at everything as his wife chattered to the two youths in her reedy soprano voice.

"Now remember, dear, that you have to take your meds three times a day."

Tsuyoshi continued glaring as though the force of his gaze could turn back time and make everything normal again. They both know damn well that Ken wouldn't take his meds unless somebody stood over him and forced him to. He didn't fight, he just didn't care.

"And I want you to be sure not to play with your wraps. I know that they itch, but they won't heal if you toy with them."

At least he showed some interest in something now, even if it was just those stupid bandages.

"You have the number memorized to call us if you need anything."

He was a genius after all. He just had bad decision-making skills. That could be dealt with.

"I talked to Yamato all this week when we planned this, so he knows everything that needs done."

There was nothing really wrong with the boy-not really . . .

"Are you sure that Wormmon will be alright in the Digital World by himself?"

So he just needed some motivation and some help making choices . . .

"And all your friends will be there? Good. I'm glad that you're all getting together."

He was going to be fine. What Ken did not need was therapy.

"Daisuke, you know what's going on, too, right?"

There was nothing wrong with him. Ichijouji Tsuyoshi's son did notneed therapy.

Then suddenly the boys were standing up and headed towards the door. Ken was just fine . . . right? . . . Right . . .?

Tsuyoshi stood and went into the hall to grasp his son by the shoulders and turn him around so that they were eye to eye. In keeping with Ken's total lack of conformity to the rest of the family, the boy was tall for his age; in fact, he was tall for anyone Japanese. An absent thought strayed through the father's mind: How tall would Osamu have been at this age . . .? He closed his eyes in pain and then opened them, the motion bring his living son into perspective again.

Tsuyoshi's brown eyes bore deep into Ken's purple ones. Purple . . . he had never known that that color could be so intense-so cold. He looked deep into the purple, desperately seeking some sign of light or life-so spark, no how small or distant.

Ken is fine . . .

The adolescent's eyes were totally empty and devoid of anything. Of everything.

Ken . . .

Tsuyoshi smiled a smile he hadn't worn in nearly three years. It was a frightened, strained expression-the expression of a man who realized that he had been living with a total stranger. He tried to think back to a time when innocence and vibrance had shown in his son's eyes, before shadows seemed to engulf the boy's soul, but he couldn't. Even after Ken had returned from his dissapearence to the Digital World, there had been a great sadness in him, the look of innocence lost at a terrible price. And Tsu had never really dealt with Ken when he was little. He had always been so busy, and Osamu needed so much to be sure that he lived up to his potential . . . Not for the first time in his life, Ichijouji Tsuyoshi was afraid of his child.

He licked his lips as Ken stared at him coldly, somehow contemptuous and emotionless all at once. "Be . . ." he staggered in the sentence, hating the fact that he couldn't talk to the boy. Hating that he was scared to. "Have fun, Ken."

The boy's exotic indigo hair swayed with a nod. "Yes, Father."

With great reluctance, the man released his son's shoulder and stood away from him as the youth gathered his things and then followed Daisuke out the door. The head of the Ichijouji family felt helplessly small and inadequate-which, in reality, he truly was.

~~~*~~~

(A/N: The next scene is a re-write of the lemon in "Surfacing." The events are the same, but the writing is entirely different. If you paid attention, the scene in "Surfacing" was from Yamato's POV. This one is from Ken's POV. And, in case you were wondering, yes, it was a pain in the ass to write (no pun intended), but I think that, although the same thing is happening, the different perspectives add a special touch to the story. Please be aware that you are about to embark on graphic yaoi-type lemon. Yummy! ^_^ I'm such a naughty little fangirl!)

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Drowning is a terrible way to die, but drowning under ice is even worse.

All that matters is reaching the surface-

breaking through to the other side and sucking in just one single beautiful breath of air. And then you're pounding at the bottom of the ice, beating your fists and fervently praying to every god you ever knew-whether or not you're religious-

that someone will hear you or see you and come to your rescue.

If you're lucky someone comes. But by then you're almost out of air and you're so, so very tired. You can't think anymore. You can't fight.

You let out that last gasp and water invades your body, almost

violating you in its eagerness. But at that point, you don't care.

So you just let go and close your eyes.

And suddenly dying isn't all that bad.

Then something somewhere between a miracle and a disaster happens.

Through a sweet haze of black, you hear the boiling sound of air breaking the surface of the ice. You can see light . . . somewhere, somewhere remote and far, far away.

Then a something grabs you, not the angry, possessive stroke of the cold, but something real and hard, the clutch of heat-essence.

And god, it feels good.

You're still in that haze, cold black taffy wrapped around yourself,

but that touch, that painfully human grip, starts to pull you out. It reaches into the depths of your very soul and brushes against every vibrant, hungry part of you

that the cold killed, and makes you want to scream.

It makes your soul want to arch its back into that touch and beg like a shameless wanton. It makes you want to wake up. But you just can't.

Then you're moving, no, flying. You're flying through the water, up, and up, and up. Nothing can touch you, nothing can hurt you, nothing can ever reach you again.

It's utter freedom. It's love in your soul. It's like touching the face of God.

And you simply exist like that for an amazing forever

that can't have been more than a second.

Then a new cold flails the skin off your back and you're born again-

torn from a bitter cold womb of water and ice.

So there you lay on the surface, still tangled in your dark taffy dream,

sobbing and gasping-brought back into a frozen world without your consent or desire,

a trembling infant all alone.

~~~*~~~

// I feel that I am ordinary, just like everyone //

Daisuke was boring him. He was chattering on and on about his big soccer tournament and it obviously had never occurred to him that Ken didn't give a damn. Not that he would ever say something like that to his jogress partner, but the entire situation was enough to make his hair stand on end.

"So I told Nikobe that if he couldn't pass the ball properly, he'd be warming the bench. What an ass! He's just pissed off because I'm co-captain instead of him."

A shiver went through Ken and his eyes flickered away from Daisuke's inane prattle to meet a pair of startlingly blue eyes boring into him. Ishida Yamato. Somebody's stepped on my grave, the younger teen thought morbidly. Ishida bushed red and looked down at the suddy water in the sink.

Ken turned back to his Daisuke. Stupid, he chided himself in thorough disgust. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It's pointless to indulge in a baseless fantasy. He was Ishida Yamato-the Ishida Yamato. What could he possibly want to do with someone so tainted?

He felt Yamato's eyes on him again and shivered. He wished that he would stop staring at him, though. It was unnerving. It excited emotions within him that were hard to ignore-emotions that made him want to break through the ice around his heart and wake up. The possibilities of those feeling was somewhat daunting and more than a little frightening.

// To lie here and die amongst the shadows

Adrift amongst the day //

A weight settled down on the couch and Ken tore his eyes away from Daisuke's wild gesticulations to stare blankly at Miyako and Koushiro.

"We're gonna go now, guys," the older genius informed them. "We just wanted to say bye, okay?"

"Already?" Daisuke protested, looking around anxiously. The others were gathering their things also.

Miya shook her head and snorted indelicately. "Check your watch, Dai. It's nearly 6:30-time to go."

"Oh . . ." the goggle-boy looked crestfallen. Ken looked away, bored and slightly annoyed.

Miyako rose and looped her arm around Koushiro's. "Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow." Her glasses reflected the light and he couldn't see her eyes. That bothered him somehow-not being able to see her eyes. "You'll be alright, Ken?"

Koushiro's eyes locked onto his. They were so dark that it looked like he didn't have any irises, merely two enormous pupils. It was rather unnerving.

"Ken?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

Honestly, if just one more person asks me that . . . He forced himself to nod.

// For everything I've ever said

And everything I've ever done is gone and dead //

The others soon filed past before heading towards the door, each apparently feeling the need to visit the "invalid" for a moment in private (despite Daisuke's rather smothering presence) and say goodbye. Ken found it all very tiring and mind-numbingly dull. Irritatingly enough, there was a tiny part of him that loved the attention and soaked it up like a thirsty sponge. A much larger and much louder part, however, was wondering if even half of them would have extended this courtesy to him if he hadn't just recently been released from the hospital. The same voice said that they wouldn't.

Ken closed his eyes and tried to refocus himself on pretending to be interested. All of that other stuff sounded a bit too close to self-pity for Ken's tastes. He never had been a big fan of his own sniveling.

"I have to go now, Ken. Will you be alright?"

The child prodigy looked up into Daisuke's anxious eyes. A quick glance at the door showed that most of the others had filed out already and Takeru was lingering with his brother. That certainly was fast. He dredged a smile up from somewhere deep inside him. "I'll be fine, Dai-chan."

Chocolate eyes narrowed. "Are you sure . . ."

// As all good things must surely have to end

And great loves will one day have to part //

Ken nodded-speaking required that he actually give a damn. Daisuke frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but only nodded. He gently caught Ken in a swift hug, more of a brief squeeze than anything else, and the other boy stiffened automatically at the gesture; he didn't pull away, though. Daisuke thought nothing of this, even before the incident Ken would react that way-the former despot just didn't like to be touched. The cinnamon-haired boy never stressed over it; it was just Ken's way. Besides, Daisuke could always touch Ken, and that was all that mattered in his view of things.

After Ken managed to detach himself from his partner, he sat once more on the couch, brooding. As was always the case when Ken brooded, his conscience was more than happy to perk up start a good argument. The teen was sure that living in a perpetual state of confusion was not very healthy, but it was difficult when half the things he wanted to do were quickly pounced upon and dismissed by his damnable hyperactive super ego. This had nothing to do with the Dark Spore or Digital World, or even with his brief stint of insanity as the Kaiser-it was just the way Ken was built.

And right now, in fact ever since Ken had decided that it would be a bright idea to use his arms as a cutting board, that part of Ken that he had long ago dubbed "the voice," and later recognized as his version of a conscience, was going crazy.

And Ishida was still staring at him . . .

You've got more mental problem than Sybil, of course he's staring at you, he rebuked himself.

Ken sighed heavily and stared at his bandaged wrists. To believe a fiction and live a lie or . . . Or . . . He bit his lip. Those are the only real options, aren't they? He shook his head and peeked through his hair at Ishida. Daisuke was giving him the third degree. Or to . . . do what you want to do . . .? Baka!

// I know that I am meant for this world //

The teen glared back down at his wrists accusingly. He was tired of being polite, he was tired of being good, he was tired of being . . . what? What everyone wanted to be? But wasn't that a crucial part of Ichijouji Ken-being everything that everybody wanted? Is that why he had done what he did?

He was so bored and frustrated, though! And . . . and . . . suffocated. That was the only word for it . . . He was dying. Not a physical death, but a slow death: a soul death. But there was so much to do . . . there was school, his parent, his friends, his peers, his own expectations, Wormmon . . . and worst of all, the Crest he always carried with him as a reminder of what he had been, what he was.

The others thought that what had bred the Kaiser was something separate from him, something unique. It wasn't. Oh, sure, perhaps he wouldn't have taken things so far . . . wouldn't have gone so completely over the edge if it hadn't been for Oikawa and the Spore, but he would certainly not be the person he was now-not by a long shot.

// My life has been extraordinary

Blessed and cursed and won //

Ichijouji Ken had been weak and fragile and something delicate. But Osamu's death had changed that, made him a bit harder, a bit stronger, and undeniably a bit crueler. It was something that Ken lamented and shrugged aside all at the same time. But now, for three years, Ken had forced his body into a mold he had long since outgrown. He couldn't turn back the past and become the person he had been as a small child. He could not make everything alright. And he could not keep trying to hate himself over something he was trying to heal himself of.

The others never spoke of the Kaiser. Ken had never asked them not to or even hinted that he cared either way. Yet they all assumed that it was taboo, something never to be spoken of again. It had taken Ken nearly a year to figure out why: it had nothing to do with him-it was all them.

He had once told Daisuke: "There're still those days when I want to just say, 'Fuck it all,' and run off on rampage, or when I want to hurt someone. And I don't mean punch them or something, I mean break them. And I can do it. I know I can. Sometimes I feel like I'm skating on thin ice. I feel like one day I'm gonna fall through and drown."

Well then, splash, baby.

// Time heals but I'm forever broken //

Maybe he had it backwards . . . maybe he had never been on the surface at all, maybe it was the air that he was drowning in. Maybe he was simply out of his mind.

Ken's lips tightened into a small frown at that thought. Soft voices caught his attention and he tore his eyes away from the bandages on his wrists to look up at Ishida. He was now talking to Yagami.

Hmph. Ken pushed himself to his feet and walked out of them room. Those two were far too engrossed in one another to notice him anyway.

'Jealous now?' the little voice perked up.

He resumed gnawing on his lip.

// By and by the way . . .

Have you ever heard the words

I'm singing in the song? //

Ken was gay; there was just no way around it. He had once stupidly told Daisuke in the hopes of shutting his friend up, but instead he merely managed to have a lovely rumor started. He had tried, really and truly tried, not to be, but it couldn't be helped. Women didn't disgust him; he just didn't care about them in the least. They did nothing for him. The only problem was that it was WRONG. VERY, VERY WRONG.

And, no matter how much Ken's hormones might tell him differently, it was also sick. At least that's what he told himself. That's what his conscience told him, too, so who was he to argue?

It was a capital sin, worse than a crime. It was immoral and base and just plain . . .wrong. Oddly enough, Ken had friends who were gay, yet he'd never thought of them as immoral or base or wicked. Daisuke was gay, Taichi and Jyou were gay, Iori was bi, Mimi was bi, Ishida was gay . . .

// It's for the [one] I've loved all along //

Ishida . . .

Therein lay the issue of dispute. At first Ken's attraction to the other boy had been purely aesthetic, the way one appreciates a sunset or fine art. He had shrugged it aside: just another loss, really, nothing major. He had learned long ago that while he could walk the angels, he could never soar with them. It had been a hard lesson, but he got over it. So why couldn't he get Ishida out of his head?

The teen scowled darkly and pushed open the door at the end of the hall, as far from Ishida as he could get. He walked across the bedroom and pressed his palms against the glass, hoping that the cool smooth surface would ground him or return him to the warm emptiness he had grown so accustomed to over the past few months.

He is nothing, he ground out mentally. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. And you are a fool.

// Can a taste of love be so wrong? //

He wondered what his therapist would say if this ever came out. His parents would just about die . . . Well, there's a good reason to pursue a relationship.

Ken frowned and wondered exactly how sarcastic he had really been in thinking that. He wanted . . . what? The others would think forgiveness or understanding or compassion. Ken didn't give a rat's furry ass about forgiveness and understanding and compassion. What were they, really? Words-nothing more.

He wanted out. He wanted to do something, be something unexpected. He was so tired of this pretty little lie he was leading to one extreme or another. Hero, genius, athlete, fallen, repentant angel. How very dull it all was. And if he wasn't all these things then what was he?

Simple: he was as he had always been. He was Ichijouji Ken. And that was something that no one could tolerate. No one would even care enough to try.

// As all things must surely have to end

And great loves must surely have to part //

He made the others more righteous. He was something to be pet and fawned over and treated as carefully as if he was made of glass. He wasn't a Digidestined: he was a mascot. 'Look at what we've done!' they could all proclaim. 'Look at this fallen, benighted soul! We made him see the error of his ways. We have shown him the Light. We took him under our wing and made him like us, right, righteous, and almost pure. And now look at him. He was the worst of us and now he is the best of us. WE have snatched him right from the jaws of Darkness and brought him back safe.'

They didn't have a single fucking clue.

// I know that I am meant for this world //

"You're brooding," a voice murmured gently behind him. Ken stiffened as he recognized Ishida's gentle alto. There came a faint click as the door shut.

For a moment he considered ignoring the musician, but then he turned around and merely arched an expressive eyebrow at the blond. Yamato shrugged. "I know the symptoms."

If Ken had had a sense of humor, he might have laughed. "And you're drunk."

The older teen shrugged again, long delicate hands lifting slightly with the motion. One of those hands rose and waved the statement aside. "Tipsy. And fading fast. I know the symptoms."

Ken felt a smile tease his lips.

Yamato flowed across the room. "So what's wrong?"

Ken shrugged and turned back to the window. "I don't know. The same thing that's always wrong with me, I guess. Are the others all gone?"

"Yes," came the neutral response.

// And in my mind I was floating

Far above the clouds //

The dark-haired boy gave a barely noticeable nod and stared at the glass, struggling to come up with something to say. He was suddenly acutely aware of the bandages around his wrists and, unbidden he remembered the odd empty-eyed look in Ishida's face that night in the hospital. It was almost like . . . He brushed the thought aside. "Your father will be back in a few days?"

"Yeah, but I'm used to taking care of myself. His station is working on some great big field investigation and he absolutely had to be on the scene or something."

Ishida's voice was louder now. Had he moved closer? A chill slid its way up Ken's back. He wrapped his arms around himself. Someone's stepped on my grave . . . Aloud he merely said: "It must be nice."

"Hmm?" He had moved closer.

The instinct to turn around or move away was nearly overpowering and it took a great deal of effort to ignore the other teen's proximity. He smelled like . . . shaving cream and oranges and Sake. Ken was so distracted that he didn't pay attention to what he was saying. "Not having your parents around constantly," he replied automatically. "Hovering."

"Do you really feel that way about them?"

He felt Yamato pull back and mentally kicked himself. Never slip! he snarled internally. Never let your guard down! If he did that again, pretty soon Ishida would be absolutely convinced that the dear Kaiser was resurfacing. He dropped his head so that his hair covered his eyes. You're an imbecile. He felt himself close his eyes and shrugged. Ah, well, so are most other people.

// Some children laughed I'd fall for certain

For thinking that I'd last forever //

Suddenly a strong arm wound around his waist and he could feel Yamato pressed tight against him. Ken stiffened, but didn't pull away. His voice was slightly hoarse and uncertain of itself. "What are you doing, Ishida?"

Moist breath slid over the back of Ken's neck. "I'm cold, Ken."

He felt himself relaxing in the other's embrace. "What are you doing?"

Yamato leaned down and gently grazed the back of younger teen's neck with his lips. Ken shivered. "I'm always so cold, Ken."

Abruptly the genius pulled away and whirled around. Suspicion clouded his features and his lips were set into a tight, unforgiving line. His pupils were fully dilated to the encroaching darkness, reducing his irises to sapphire slivers that shone like gems. Pale hands came to rest on the windowsill and Ken settled back against the cool glass. He realized that he was trapped between the wall and his host, but somehow that didn't disturb him. The fact that his host was quite visibly aroused also did not disturb him. He found this phenomenon curious . . . and . . . exciting.

Well, this is certainly rather . . . random . . . The little voice of dissent popped up again and started yammering away. Ken ignored it.

Yamato shifted and eyed him uncertainly. His blue eyes shone with conflict and Ken watched him carefully. The ice was melting and he knew it, but he wanted to see where this would go. Would he fall through or rise to the surface? To believe a fiction and live a lie or to do what he wanted to do? He needed to see.

A pink tongue darted out over rose-peach lips and a bolt of heat went through Ken at the sight. Yamato leaned forward slightly, eyes intent. "Have you ever been kissed?"

Ken's hair moved as he tilted his head speculatively to one side. This couldn't be happening. "No."

The musician began to ease his way forward as though he was worried that the younger teen would bolt. "Do you want to be?" Step.

This just could not be happening. Good things did not happen to Ichijouji Ken. But he wanted this so bad . . . And the others would be so pissed . . . His parents . . . "… You don't know me, Ishida."

"That isn't what I asked you." Another step. "Do you want to be?" Another step.

This was not an Ichijouji Ken thing to do. Instant gratification was not an Ichijouji Ken thing. Random sex was not an Ichijouji Ken thing. Rushing in was not an Ichijouji Ken thing. But he wanted this. What was so wrong with that? He pushed the little voice aside. To hell with Ichijouji Ken. "Yes."

He wanted this.

// But I knew exactly where I was //

Before he could change his mind, Ken lunged forward and pressed his lips against Yamato's. He was shaking, eyes clenched shut and hands in fists at his side. Please don't push me away, he thought. Please want me . . .

For a terrifying moment, Yamato didn't move, but then two strong arms wrapped around Ken's waist and pulled him close. Ken awkwardly raised him hands to rest them on Yama's shoulders. He could feel the older teen's hard-toned body pressed close against him. He pressed himself tightly against the muscular wall, desperate to feel something-anything. The heat from Yamato's body was melting through all his defenses and he could feel emotions, in all their glorious and irreverent intensity boiling to the top. More. He needed more.

A hand pulled Ken's shirt a loose from his pants and slipped up his back, kneading and exploring the sweaty skin. Yamato parted his lips and sent his tongue out to beg entry. It stroked and tasted his lips reverently and Ken opened his mouth. The older teen's tongue slid inside him, touching, tasting and exploring. So eager . . . A light tug on his hair forced Ken to tilt his head back, deepening the kiss and drawing them impossibly closer.

The musician's clever tongue danced in his mouth-wanting to know everything it could-while equally clever fingers clutched and grasped at his hot flesh. Shoulders, teeth, spine, cheeks, waist, pallet . . . it felt so good it almost hurt. Ken writhed against him, accidentally brushing together their growing erections. His eyes flashed open as electric fire ran through him and pooled in his groin. He moaned and Yamato gripped his body like a lifeline.

Without releasing Ken's hair, Yamato pulled his lips away from the dark-haired teen, pulling his tongue out just far enough so that he could trail it down the other's chin to his neck. He sucked and lightly bit at the flesh he found there, tasting Ken's heartbeat and feeding his apparent curiosity. The hand which traveled beneath the shorter boy's shirt slid down to the small of his back, briefly dipping below the waistline of his pants to brush the tops of the smooth rounded mounds of flesh awaiting his inspection. He continued to fondle the boy with a smooth circular motion, dipping into his pants just a little more each time. Ken inhaled a sharp staggering breath as pain and pleasure slid into his brain and a bruise formed on his throat to mark him as Yamato's.

"Yama . . ."

"Shh," A whisper of air slid tauntingly across Ken's overheated skin. "Shh."

The younger of the two lovers shuddered as Yamato drew the tip of his tongue back up his neck. A gentle kiss was laid on the slender teen's pulse before a slow and rough licking motion resumed and Ken could feel his excited blood pounding loudly through his head. Yamato's grip tightened on his hair to something close to pain and the busy fingers of his other hand found and began to stroke the sensitive cleft of his ass, delving in and gripping-seeking-before tauntingly pulling back again.

Ken pushed back into those fingers and whimpered in need. "Oh . . ."

Then it stopped. Ken nearly cried out from the loss of physical contact, but whatever he would have said was lost in a sudden rush of air as his shirt was yanked non-too-gently over his head. Dull pain slid through the younger of the lovers as the sleeves briefly caught on the bandages around his arms, but it only enhanced the experience. He felt an odd surge of surprise laced with anxiety as he watched Yamato pull off his own shirt. Gentle hands pushed him down onto the bed and a pleasant weight settled itself on his hips.

In the back of Ken's mind, his conscience had a full blown panic attack when the reality of the situation finally sunk into the former despot. Nonononononono! This is wrong! You can't be doing this! You can't be wanting this! This isn't natural! This is-

Ken felt a sudden wall slam up between him and that voice-locking it away where it couldn't distract him or confuse him or ruin his fun. It was so simple . . .

Yamato was straddling his hips and staring down at Ken hungrily. The dark-haired boy felt a hot feeling of need run through him, knowing that he was the object of that gaze. Yama's hair was sticking to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat and his lips were slightly parted. He was panting softly. Pools of deepening shadows obscured his face and gave the moment a surrealistic feel. Clear azure eyes shone down, radiating lust, and need, and desire, and . . . something else. A thrill of fear settled in Ken's belly. Something so much more . . .

"Oh, gods . . ." the musician whispered in a sex-roughened voice. "You are so beautiful."

A moan slipped out from between Yamato's lips and he dove down to Ken, claiming the younger boy's mouth in a violent and possessive kiss. Ken parted his lips eagerly, yielding completely. This time, he sent his tongue out to do some exploration of its own and he lapped at the blonde's lips and fought past his wicked tongue to find the velvet heat of the mouth beyond and taste it. He wrapped his arms around the taller boy as he was crushed down into the mattress and dug his nails cruelly into Yama's back. He wanted to hear him moan again. He wanted to make him cry out. In retaliation Yamato bit his lower lip and blood spilled into both their mouths. The tangy copper-tasting substance intoxicated Ken and he whimpered as pleasure and pain fought a delicious battle for dominance over his overwrought nerves.

He drew back away from the kiss, needing more-something new. "Please . . ." Yamato sucked on his bleeding lower lip. "Ah!"

Hot kisses were drug down Ken's jaw to his bruised throat and the yet unexplored area of his chest. One of his hands gripped so hard at the slight boy's waist that a bruise would be found there in the morning and the other hand rubbed the Tamachi boy's hard flat stomach, mapping out the rippling muscles there.

Ken nearly choked when his lover's tongue discovered a hardened nipple. He bucked sharply as Yamato began to suck on it, occasionally grazing the pebbled nub with his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue.

"Please . . . oh, gods, please."

Concentration became a serious effort as the other nipple received the same treatment. He could feel his conscience beating at the wall he had put up and Ken buried himself in the sensations he was experiencing.

"A-ahh! Oh . . . Mmm."

Fine-boned musician's hands slid down the surface of his pants, carelessly bestowing upon him insubstantial and unsatisfying caresses. They both moved up and down his pants in opposite directions and Ken wriggled a bit in an attempt to create a rhythm. One gripped at his ass, lifting his hips slightly off the bed as the other slid over his hips to cup his pounding erection, giving it a few hard rhythmic squeezes before moving on to his inner thigh.

He groaned in frustration.

Any attempt that Ken was making at rational thought, though, was quickly abandoned when Yama's tongue shot into his bellybutton and pushed down hard on the flesh before retreating back into the other boy's mouth. A cry exploded from Ken's lips and his body snapped taunt as a bowstring. Of their own volition, his hips jerked up as though demanding the return of the older teen's tongue and Ken's eyes flew open and he half glared, half gaped at the now-smug-looking Child of Friendship.

Strong arms pressed down on his hips locking him into place and Yamato leaned down again. A sudden wild and nameless terror ripped through the younger teen's body as the terrible sensation that accompanies a loss of control gripped him and Ken raised his head, anger and panic evident on his face. "Yama, st-ah!"

Ken nearly passed out when he realized that Ishida Yamato-the Ishida Yamato-was using his tongue to fuck his bellybutton. He pressed his head down against the pillows to try and ground himself, but couldn't stop his body from twisting desperately, fighting Yama's iron grip. The older teen's hot, wet tongue pushed deep into the hollow in his stomach, sending pleasure ripping viciously through his tattered nerve-endings. The pressure was so intense that it felt to Ken as though he were being turned inside out.

"Yamayamayamayama-uh-ah! Gods, oh please. Yesss . . . Yes!"

Ken fought against the weight on his hips, an instinct thousands of years old finally rising to the forefront of his mind and pushing past all the angst, rage, pity, confusion, fear, hurt, and emptiness. He wanted nothing more than to come. He didn't care with who, how, or who fucked who, he just needed to come. Right now.

"Ah! Oh gods, Yama . . . Please! I-I . . . OH, YAMA!"

Then it all stopped and for one terrible instant Ken thought that that was it and Yamato was done. His eyes flew open in time to see Yamato lean up and catch his flushed cheeks in his hands. The older teen's long fingers tangled themselves in Ken's sweaty indigo tresses and he pulled Ken up to him. He felt the blonde's fine eyelashes flutter against his skin as gentle kisses were rained down upon his face. Ken whimpered his desire and began to thrust his hips up against Yama's, pressing their erections together hard.

Yamato shifted his position slightly so that Ken's penis pressed against his solid thigh. "Not yet, love," he chided between kisses and gasping pants for air. "Not yet." He slipped his tongue into Ken's ear briefly before whispering in a husky voice, "You are mine now, you hear me? Mine."

"Yes," Ken nodded, acutely aware of every inch of the body pressed against him. "Please, Yama. Please," he begged and rubbed himself against him shamelessly.

The blond pulled away and eyed him suspiciously for a moment, as though debating on whether or not Ken really agreed to these conditions. After several torturous seconds of hesitation, he began to undo the button and zipper on Ken's pants with jerky, impatient movements. After the clasp was off he leaned away for a moment and stared in open admiration as Ken continued to thrust his hips blindly in to the air with erotic and sensual abandon.

"Oh, Ken . . ."

Ken felt the hot, abrasive, pain associated with jean being pulled over skin too fast, immediately followed by the scratch of nails at his hips and a sharp jerk as he was divested of his pants and undergarments. As his erection bobbed free of its confines, he groaned, the hot flesh unused to the air temperature.

Yamato's voiced reached out to him through a heavy, sexed haze and a pair of hand gently flipped him onto his belly. "Roll over."

"Ohh . . ." A soft moan escaped Ken as his penis slid over the cool sheet. He started to hump the bed, a grunt slipping out of him, as he at last found some of the contact he'd been seeking.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him up to his knees. He felt hot breath on his back. "No, love," Yamato whispered. "Mine, remember?" Ken felt something long, wide, and very, very hard press into the cleft of his ass. A strong hand gripped Ken's dick and held him close. "You. Are. Mine."

Ken bit his lip and groaned, pressing his body back into the older boy. "Please." He was nearly sobbing now.

The cool air returned as he was released again and the dark-haired genius tensed, instinctively knowing was next. Behind him, Yamato's voice sounded distant and smoky. "Bend over."

Ken obeyed.

"This might hurt a little."

The indigo-haired boy didn't even have time to think before something long, firm, and slick was shoved into his body. He bit out a cry of surprise and fear as the pain of being opened hit him. Yamato's arm was still wrapped around his waist and he gripped the slender boy's hips, forcing him to ride that finger. After a moment, Ken's struggles ceased as he tried to get used to accommodating this strange object in his body. It hurt, but he still wanted it.

"Shh," the older whispered soothingly.

Yama rocked them back and forth, letting Ken adjust to the rhythm. He was almost there when a second finger was added and he cried out. Then a third went in . . .

Ken was starting to have second thoughts and that little voice that he locked away so callously returned with a vengeance. He pushed it away again and closed his eyes. Tears slid down his cheeks. He concentrated on the feeling running through him. Fear. Pain. Happiness. Anger. Need. Lust. And . . . and-

Abruptly, Yamato gently slipped is fingers out of Ken's body. The younger lover's eyes snapped open again and he started to turn and tell Yama not to stop, that he could handle it. Then, with one mercilessly swift thrust, Yamato was inside him-really and truly inside him. Ken grunted and felt his entire body do the absolute worse thing-tense up. It hurt like hell. It felt like he was on fire, he was being slowly split in two. His eyes were clenched shut as he tried not to cry out.

But it wasn't so bad-not like he had thought it was at first. It was . . . weird . . .and painful, but also kinda good. Like he was being filled up somehow.

He could feel Yamato trembling on top of him-inside of him-as the musician resisted pushing into him again. Heat and sweat covered his back and the older teen began to kiss his shoulder gently. "Shh," he whispered between kisses. "Shh. Please don't cry, love. Please don't cry. Please don't. Oh, God. You're so beautiful. So gorgeous. Please don't cry . . ."

The pain was lessening now, almost gone, as he adjusted to Yamato size. Ken could feel heat between them, around them, inside him. It was warm and pure and so close to something more, something-

He turned his head and peered at Yamato's face through his tangled and sweaty hair. Yamato looked beautiful. His face was drawn tight with tension and need and regret shone in his eyes. The blond bit his lip and in that instant looked undeniably cute. His voice sounded heavy and labored. "Do you want to stop?" he asked.

Something more . . . he was so damn close. Ken shook his head.

"Do you want to keep going?"

Ken nodded again and a smile crossed his face-it was the first smile he hadn't forced in months. He swallowed hard and dredged his voice up from somewhere deep in his soul. "I'm okay now." His eyes fluttered shut and he pushed himself back experimentally, taking a bit more of the other teen into him. A soft grunt of satisfaction escaped him. "I want you in me. I want more."

A mischievous smirk danced across Yamato lips and he suddenly gave Ken's cock a hard squeeze. Ken jerked in surprise and his erection pulsed with renewed interest. Yama began to stroke him from base to tip with agonizing slowness. "You want more?"

Ken groaned and felt the blonde's other hand press on his hip to steady himself. Then he started to move inside the younger teen. Slowly. Smoothly. Tauntingly. "You want more?"

Ken leaned back into the motion eagerly. So close . . .and what the musician was doing to him felt really, really good. "Please . . ."he whimpered.

The hand around his erection picked up tempo and Yamato's thrust became a bit harder. Ken gritted his teeth. Heat . . .

"Tell me."

And then Yamato brushed something deep inside him. Lightening exploded behind Ken's eyes and his body jerked as pleasure shot through him. "Ah . . . More! Please, Yama!"

Yama thrust again and again and Ken rose up to meet him. That spot, he thought sluggishly, gotta do that again. There didn't seem to be enough air in the room and Ken couldn't catch his breath. It was a dizzying sensation. Again and again. Oh gods . . .

Behind him the musician was panting hard. His voice was a rough and sensual whisper. "You want me to fuck you?"

Fire pounded in Ken's erect cock and his body jerked wildly to find that place where it had felt so good . . . "Ohh! Yes!" Ken pushed back wantonly-anything to feel that again. He was so hot . . . they were going to burn. "Yes!"

Yama pulled out sharply and thrust in as far and as hard as he could. "Tell me! Ah!"

There!

A small scream tore free of Ken's lips as the older boy struck his prostate. He grappled blindly for something to hold onto. Fire raced through him, all going directly to his penis and he twisted desperately seeking more.

"Tell me!"

More.

"Yamato! Oh, gods . . . Uh! Fuck me, fuck me, Yama!"

"Ah, yeah! Ken. Mmn. Damnit . . . Ken!"

Yamato pulled himself up and thrust down again, and something-Ken didn't know or care what-escaped the younger teen in a strangled groan. "Yama . . ."

The musician pulled out again and Ken tried to follow him.

So close . . .

A violent shiver wracked Ken as the other boy's body slammed into his.

Again

And again.

It was lightening in his veins. It was thunder in his blood. It was pure and it was holy. And the rest of the world fell away-spiraling back down into whatever hell had birth it and leaving Yamato and Ken on fire and alone and utterly together and so very close . . . Close to . . . close to . . .

"Yama!"

Ken pushed back. He was going to die if he didn't come soon. "Ungh! Yama! Ah!"

Sudden Yamato slammed into him so hard that Ken nearly fell. The motion, however, was more than enough to send Ken straight over the edge. The hand around Ken's erection clenched shut and everything stopped. For just a single second the entire universe froze and then every single nerve in the indigo-haired youth's body exploded.

"YAMA!" Passion ripped its way out of the teen in an inglorious spray of white and violent shivers. Every single muscle in Ken's body went taunt and Yama trembled and pulsed once, a warmth moving deep inside of him.

// And I knew the meaning of it all //

"Uh!" A stuttered groan left the musician's lips and he exhaled sharply as he spilled his seed inside Ken's sweat slicked frame. He thrust into the boy twice more, driven more by instinct and momentum than anything else, and then carefully withdrew from the other's body. If Ken could have moved, he would have cried out at the sudden loss.

Yamato collapsed next to Ken and wrapped his arms around his waist, drawing the younger boy close to him. A kiss was gently brushed against his forehead and Ken pressed his face into the slope of Yama's neck as though he were trying to hide himself there. They lay like that for several moments, trembling like infants.

Ken snuggled closer. That was . . . Mmmm. The dissenting voice in his head had shut up at long last and he felt more relaxed than he had in ages. For the first time in a long while, he felt as though he had made peace with himself-come to terms with certain things. He sighed and pulled away, looking up at the older boy through sweaty strands of hair. "Still cold?"

// And I knew the distance to the sun //

His lover smiled and gently pressed his lips to Kens. He pulled back, blue eyes twinkling. "Roll over and wait here."

Ken's brow darkened. "But-"

Yamato pressed a finger to his lips and spoke in a tone that brooked for no argument. "Wait. Here." The blond teen rose and left the room.

// And I knew the echo that is love //

A dark frown marred Ken's face, but he rolled over onto his belly and waited. Then the little voice reasserted itself.

'Stupid,' his conscience snarled at him from behind its wall. 'What happens now?! What will your parents say? What will the others say?'

Ken closed his eyes. This has nothing to do with them, he whispered in response. This is about me and Yama.

'And just when did he become "Yama?" '

// And I knew the secrets in your spires //

A light pressure tickled Ken's back, startling him from his thoughts, and he felt a dull ache shoot up his back when the other boy gently spread his cheeks. He couldn't really-

"Yama-"

"I just need to check to see if you're hurt."

Ken bit his lips and held still as a warm damp clothe was run over his skin, gently bathing him. See? He told the little voice. This meant something. There came a snort of derision and the dark-haired teen resisted the urge to shake his head.

Yamato's voice floated up from the foot of the bed. "Get up for me?"

A sudden smile danced around the corners of Ken's mouth. "Didn't I already do that?"

Oblivious to the surprise his comment had elicited, Ken forced his body to rise and felt a dull pain shoot through him. That's going to be a bitch in the morning . . . He watched as the other boy stripped down the bed and replaced the sheets.

"Lie down." Yama ordered.

Knowing that he bore a Kaiser-like expression of condescension on his face and not really caring, Ken obeyed the older boy. My, he's bossy . . . It was kind of nice . . .

// And I knew the emptiness of youth //

Wherever that particular thought was headed however was quickly brought to an end when he felt the hand holding the clothe wrap around his relaxed penis. He gasped. The sound of it made Yamato look up and Ken felt a surge of heat go through him at the expression in the other boy's eyes. The hand went to work again, slowly stroking him, and the teen lifted his hips up. He shot a half-hearted glare at the musician when he ceased his ministrations. The blond either didn't notice, or was simply ignoring him and instead rose and wrapped Ken up in his arms.

Ken felt more than happy to snuggle as he was spooned with his back pressed against Yamato's hard chest. He stared at his bandaged arms in the half-light and Yamato's words from the hospital came back to him. "Please don't ever do that again."

// And I knew the solitude of heart //

When they had been together, Ken had felt himself approaching some sort of realization about the other boy. He had been close to something. Now, laying in Yamato's arms and thinking about the devastated look on the blonde's face in the hospital, the piercing stares during the party, the strength and gentle fervor of his kisses . . . it was clear. And it was utterly simple and terribly binding that it made the former despot want to jump out of bed and curl up under the nearest rock for eternity.

He cares. It was a realization. Not like Wormmon who can't help but care, or Daisuke who always cares about everything, or even my parents who care in spite of their fear. He CARES. He knows the darkness . . . felt that hot and the cold of it inside him. He knows the damage it does-is still doing, and yet . . . he's here. With me . . .

He loved it. And it scared the hell out of him. "You alright?"

"Better than alright." Pale arms wrapped around slightly tanned ones and the younger boy tried to bury himself in the other's embrace. HE CARES.

Somehow he cared . . . didn't he? "Why did you do this?" Ken asked suddenly. His throat was dry.

Yamato stiffened and Ken's heart did a small flip. "You didn't want to? You didn't enjoy yourself?"

"No . . ." he paused, considering his words carefully, "I wanted it-maybe I even needed it. But why? I thought you hated me." He held his breath then, afraid of the response he might get.

"I don't hate you, Ken. I . . . I wanted you. I have for a while now."

He . . . wanted me? Hmm. "So what happens now?"

// And I knew the murmurs of the soul //

The arms wrapped around Ken tightened. "Can't we just stay like this?"

"And tomorrow?"

"That's what I was talking about."

"… And the others?"

Yamato shifted their positions so that he could look the other boy in the eye. "This is about us-not them. I want to be with you. What do you want?"

Indigo eyes stared deep into blue ones, searching-needing. And then they found what they were looking for. "Let's just stay like this."

~~~*~~~

// And the world is drawn to your hands //

The first thing that Ken was aware of was loss. Acting on instinct, the young genius ran his hands over the mattress and felt around for his absent lover. Finding nothing, he scowled sleepily and pushed himself up. His wounded arms protested the weight, but Ken had learned to ignore them. "Yama? What's going on?"

He watched, slightly bemused and only half awake, as Yamato slid a pair of tight blue jeans up over his narrow hips and did up the fly and zipper. A grin adorned his face and his sapphire eyes twinkled with a hint of merriment. Then the muscician scooted across the bed and kissed him gently. Ken leaned into him happily. Now this is a nice way to wake up . . . Mmm . . . How long it will take to get him out of those jeans and back in bed?

"Company, love."

Ken's eyes snapped open and he pulled away, all thoughts of sleep banished. He frowned at Yamato and the other teen mimicked the expression. Concern darkened sapphire eyes. "What do you want to do now?"

// And the world is etched on your heart //

Now that was a loaded question. Ken allowed a ginger smile to grace his lips and he leaned into Yamato's arms-a place which was rapidly becoming a favorite think spot. And Ichijouji Ken did a LOT of thinking. He listened to the other's heartbeat, but that wasn't the only heartbeat he felt. There was his, Yama, and Diasuke. And just a tentative brush against the mental link he shared with Dai showed his that his jogress partner was very, very, very angry.

Ken sighed. "Yours, remember?" he whispered against the soft skin. "I'm yours." He drew away to stare into Yamato's eyes and he felt himself bite his lip before he could stop. "If you'll have me."

Yamato grinned broadly and wrapped his arms tight around the younger teen, drawing him back to his chest. "Always."

// And the world so hard to understand

Is the world you can't live without //

But you're mine now, too, Ken thought fiercely as he leaned into the other boy. Mine.

The two were silent for a moment, simply enjoying one another. Then: "Hey, Ken?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not so cold anymore."

And, oddly enough, Ken laughed silently. Oh, yeah. Splash, baby.

// And I knew the silence of the world. //

----------------------------^-----------------------------

~~~*~~~

Muzzle

The Smashing Pumpkins

I feel that I am ordinary, just like everyone

To lie here and die among the sorrows

Adrift among the days

For everything I ever said

And everything I've ever done is gone and dead

As all good things must surely have to end

And great loves will one day have to part

I know that I am meant for this world

My life has been extraordinary

Blessed and cursed and won

Time heals but I'm forever broken

By and by the way . . .

Have you ever heard the words

I'm singing in this song?

It's for the [one] I've loved all along

Can a taste of love be so wrong

As all things must surely have to end

And great loves must surely have to part

I know that I am ready for this world

And in my mind I was floating

Far above the clouds

Some children laughed I'd fall for certain

For thinking that I'd last forever

But I knew exactly where I was

And I knew the meaning of it all

And I knew the distance to the sun

And I knew the echo that is love

And I knew the secrets in your spires

And I knew the emptiness of youth

And I knew the solitude of heart

And I knew the murmurs of the soul

And the world is drawn to your hands

And the world is etched on your heart

And the world so hard to understand

Is the world you can't live without

And I knew the silence of the world.

----------------------------^-----------------------------