Fruits Basket Fan Fiction ❯ Force of Destiny ❯ Release ( Chapter 13 )

Thanks to my reviewers!

Rjunkie: Sorry for the delay in posting. It took a while for me to catch up on other work after my computer was fried. Hope this helps--I took to heart some of your ideas, and you should be seeing them come into play very soon XD!

a-yolanda 13: I didn't mean to make you cry! But I love that I can wring some emotion out of my readers!

Hatori's_AnGeL: Yah! I learned of a new fan! I'm sorry that I kept you awake, but so glad you like it so much! That's one of the best reviews I've ever gotten! *hugs* I love Yuki, really like the Yukiru pairing, but am too jealous to write about it (shame on me). I think Yuki is too gentle to be with someone like Tohru--she's more what Kyou needs, y'know? So, I thought 'Fire and Ice', yes? But it's not all happy endings for them yet. I won't give anything else away. By the way, I guess from your username you're a big Hatori fan. Me too! I'm thinking of writing a series of one-shots or short stories for a bunch of different pairings, including the dragon. What do you think? (Well, I have to finish my Shi-chan work first, though.)

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Di sclaimer: Only in my insane mind do I own Fruits Basket, Yuki, Hatori, etc., but if Takaya-sensei would give them to me, she'd own my soul. In other words, 'I no own, you no sue'.

Chapter 13: Release

"Stole who? Your grandmother?"

She shakes her head sharply, a violent, incisive movement of negation. Her hands are now on the tatami, nails clawing the woven fibers like a tigress digging into bloody prey. "No." The single word stabs into the heavy silence of the night, roughly bitten out, laced with too much misery to express within so tiny a word. A world, a universe, of agony and self-recrimination are held within the next two words.

"My sister."

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After the words leave my mouth, I cannot stop the shaking that grips my frame. Ever since I came to this cursed place, my will has held strong. I don't have much of a choice--I must be strong for the two of us. My sister and I. Her beautiful face swims before my eyes, product of years of shared memories and the crushing need to see her again. But now, I don't know if I can go on like this, especially now that I have someone here with me. It's funny, but I thought that having a companion to share this bitter prison with would make me feel stronger, but I only feel weaker. Weak, like I have suddenly been robbed of support, as if all my bones have been pulled from my body, reducing it to a limp, insipid mass of shuddering feminine hysteria. Since when did I become such a crybaby? I disgust myself, but as hot tears rain down on the strong, supple arms Yuki has wound about my shoulders, I cannot stem the tide any longer. Turning within the protective circle he has created with his body, I blindly bury my face in his chest.

Deep, racking sobs rip from my chest, releasing the scent of sea salt and despair into the cool, pre-dawn air. My awareness is focused solely on my own consuming misery, my failure to protect, despite my unnatural powers. Time passes without measure. Gradually, I float back to some semblance of an existence outside of my tears. My fingers are curled deeply within the fabric of Yuki's yukata, clawed handfuls of soft, tear-soaked cotton. I can see short, harsh red lines painting the pale skin of his chest, mute evidence my first attempts at gaining a hold on his clothing weren't successful, but I'm so drained of emotion I can't summon a shred of remorse for the painful-looking marks.

I lay curled into his lap, like a spent, emotionless rag, letting the soothing feel of his hands smoothing repeatedly over my hair lull me into a state of semi-emotionless limbo. I can still feel tears trickling down my face, though the flow is much less, but I do not move to wipe them away. I think that I may be too exhausted to move. I want the world to go away, to recede into one tiny pinprick in the distance, and leave me in this nothingness--but Yuki is here, too. I feel a small stab of resentment that his generosity and warm comfort remind me that I am alive, that I really do feel. And since I am alive, that means I still have to do something, still can do something, to resolve this situation.

Conversely, I also relish the feel of Yuki with me; another warmth, another life, another human to commune with, feel connected to, gain strength from. Closing my eyes again, I breathe in the scent of his skin, savoring the sharp ginger and sweet mint invading my senses. Calming. Another breath, and I rub my face into the smooth, bare flesh before me, hoping to imprint his aroma on me, stamp it onto my skin so I can wear the comfort he has given me like a cloak, a second skin to protect me from the harsh realities of the world. I feel him suck in a sharp breath when my lips brush his skin, and I drop feathery, apologetic kisses over the red scores that are the aftermath of my blind and desperate bid for deeper purchase within his embrace. I feel a vibration in his chest; it tickles my lips and nose, so I bat my eyelashes against his skin in retaliation. The vibration increases, and I lift my head to stare into his liquid eyes, so dark with passion and heat they are almost black. The vibration was his groaned response to my lips on his skin. 'Oh.' I think fuzzily, a thought drifting around somewhere that I am in very dangerous territory. And I don't mean my location at the honke.

I know I should be pulling away, it is the sensible, sane thing to do. Distantly, in the background white noise filling my mind, I can just make out the faint screaming of my self-preservation, desperately urging me to scramble out of his arms and regain my emotional equilibrium. But I cannot tear my eyes away from his. The fathomless indigo depths seem to call out to me, the passion and need I can see in them reflected back by my own unblinking gaze--or perhaps my needs are reflected in his eyes. I'm not certain anymore, don't even know that I care anymore. I'm so tired of the terrible burden of this damned curse, the expectations set for me, and the situation I've found myself in, so drained of my former joy in life, that I am desperately seeking something to remind me of how I used to feel. Before this all began and I became chained to duty and power.

I can sense the same in Yuki, that questing need to feel your blood singing, pounding in your veins, throbbing to the beat of something primal, glorious, and unrestrained. The need to feel free. To feel alive. His aura is pulsing with the potency of his need, the depth of his desire, flaring gold around him as if stoked to a blaze by the flames within--reflecting them, amplifying my own hunger.

For endless moments, we simply stare into the other's eyes, searching for God knows what, but knowing we'll recognize it when we see it. I can feel my energy reacting to his, our craving for some sort of completion rebounding and feeding off of each other in a mutual frenzy, an endless cycle of giving and receiving. The now-bold blue of my usually pale aura crashes against his, gold reaching out to twine into deep azure in a tangled weave, a dance of acceptance and belonging, a primal bonding of life force to life force. I have never experienced anything like it, and the frightening beauty stops my heart and takes my breath.

At some unspoken, unseen signal, the tense tableau that is us breaks, and I clutch his shoulders and drag myself up his body to meet his descending lips in a scorching kiss. This is no gentle, persuasive lover's kiss. Not a soft coaxing of lips and breath and hands. This is raw, needy, violent in its intensity; a claim of ownership, a rite of passage, a desperate, defiant declaration of living.

Ragged, rasping gasps and moans fill the room, soft sounds of flesh and fabric sliding, twisting, tangling, dragging. Wordless murmurs and sibilant sighs. Finally, the electric, passion-charged firestorm abates into just a warm, spent meeting of lips and a comforting lethargy.

In the aftermath of our wild embrace, I am distantly surprised to find we both are still dressed, though our recent activity is obvious by the degree of our dishevelment. Looking into Yuki's face, I see the slightly glazed, slightly awed, mostly shell-shocked expression I am certain is echoed perfectly on my own features. His long-fingered hands are splayed around my waist, holding me up against his chest, as my grip on his shoulders continues to add the same measure of support. Both of us are unwilling to shift the position, perhaps not wanting to lose the amount of contact we have, but leery of increasing it, as well. That way lies a delicious, but dangerous road. I lift my shaking hand from his shoulder and bring my fingertips to his lips, lightly tracing what just wreaked such devastation on my senses. My hand moves to my own lips, pressing the residual heat and taste of his lips to my own. Who knew a man's lips could be so soft, so soul-shattering?

"Uh...", I feel that I need to speak, but I can't think of anywhere to begin. My anger and fear and guilt and grief got rolled up along with my unexpected attraction to this man, all my emotions sucked into the explosive inferno of our abrupt blaze of passion. I don't recognize myself anymore; my heart seems an alien landscape, forever changed by that cataclysmic kiss. Instead of feeling terrified, though, I feel the stirring of hope--tentative tendrils unfurling beneath the warmth of feeling Yuki garners within me.

Bringing my palms to his cheeks, I cup his lean face and bring my lips to meet his in a soft, fleeting kiss. I speak against his mouth, our lips moving teasingly against each other, breathing in his breath, "That was...", though I search for the right word, I don't think one exists, so I sigh and settle with, "incredible." What a weak, insipid word for it, but it's about all I can force out of my passion-numbed brain. I don't think Yuki minds, though, as he appears just as affected as I. He just brushes his mouth against mine, again and again, lightly, tenderly, then sighs and rests his forehead against mine. I take his slightly self-satisfied smile as agreement.

I feel a chuckle begin to escape, but Yuki abruptly stiffens, eyes snapping open in shock. I open my mouth to ask what is wrong, but it is too late, I'm already aware. The fusuma panel to the hall opens. I twist around desperately to get a look at the unexpected intruder, but Yuki and I are suddenly a tangle of limbs and clothes, impeding my attempts to turn in his arms. Yuki sits, rigid with shock. I can see the panic swirling in his wide, violet eyes, and I feel my own pupils dilate as the sibilant swish of silk on tatami slithers to my senses. My terrified trembling becomes a match for Yuki's.

"I see you are putting my little gift to good use, my Yuki."

A sinister, sickly-sweet parody of a smile twists Akito's thin lips as he glides into my line of vision.

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Masaka! You didn't actually think Akito would stay away, did you? Of course not. BWAHAHAHAHAH! My evil laughter is getting much better, so be prepared! Kakugo shinasai! I'm on a roll now. And I let Yuki get a little--XD. It's been a long time for the poor man, and you know how they get cranky if they don't get any. Hmm...maybe that's Akito's problem? Wonder if I should help him out there, or is he just too creepy-evil for that? Well, at least he's creepy-evil-sexy, so maybe I could...Oh, don't want to give it away. Tell me what you think! I like to keep reviewers happy!

Tsukitani