X/1999 Fan Fiction ❯ Pretend ❯ Pretend ( One-Shot )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Elf Asato 
Fuuma/Subaru, post-X16. It's easy to pretend.
Anime/Manga: X/1999 Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Psychological | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.13.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 790 | Visits: 811 | Status: Completed
Fuuma/Subaru, post-X16. It's easy to pretend.
Anime/Manga: X/1999 Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / / Psychological | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 02.13.2005 | Pages: 1 | Words: 790 | Visits: 811 | Status: Completed
Title: Pretend
Author: Elf Asato
Summary: Fuuma/Subaru, post-X16. It's easy to pretend.
Disclaimer: Not mine whatsoever.
Notes: Tenses and subject-verb agreement are subjective in this piece :P (re: I'm too lazy to reword things)
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Pretend
By Elf Asato
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His eyes were always sharp and cold, like metal, and the fact that there were two of them never really bothered Subaru; after all, Seishirou had two good eyes once upon a time. He could forget the accident, forget that his eyes weren't quite as smooth as they used to be, forget that they weren't looking at him quite possessive enough, and once they got going, Subaru could even forget that Fuuma's eyes were the wrong shade of brown.
He was able to forget, and that made pretending all the more easier.
Subaru knew that Fuuma's shoulders weren't quite as broad as Seishirou's were, that he was too lean, and his stomach never had that extra bit of padding that came with growing older. He was too young, after all, but everything was easily overlooked. Seishirou had just been working out, yeah, and his suit had padded shoulders. That was right. The man he was with wasn't a teenager, no, he was an older man of thirty-four.
So very simple...
The visuals were easy to manipulate in his mind because Subaru always saw Seishirou when he looked at Fuuma anyway, even after he d--no, that never happened. He was alive and kicking, right, screwing him violently into the mattress. That was the easiest part because they both had the same style of fucking: sensual, yet hard and fast.
Yeah, yeah, he could pretend.
And it was easy for Fuuma to pretend that Subaru wasn't who he was. Kamui just grew, sure, and he cut his hair. That was cool. School was stressful or something, and Fuuma certainly didn't help - that's why he had the occasional grey hair.
Mother dying and dear friend turning evil and all, yeah, that was stressful enough.
His eyes, certainly, they were Kamui's, dark and tragic. Nevermind the color, he just had colored contact lenses. He was going for a new look; that was cool, too. Though Fuuma found it hard to ignore the amber one. The green one was Kamui's, yeah, full of sorrow and looking at him as if by screwing on a cold, winter night, they could somehow make things right; but the other one always looked at him, harsh and penetrating, reminding him that he was playing with another man's toy. So Fuuma never looked into Subaru's eyes to pretend he was Kamui, and if he did, it was only the green one.
Ignorance was easy enough, sure.
It wasn't so much his looks that really reminded Fuuma of Kamui, but it was the atmosphere around the two. Tragic despair was never the sort of thing that went away easily, so if he could just close his eyes and feel...feel the desperation, the heartache, his nails clawing into his back...so easy, it was good.
Yeah, yeah, he could pretend.
If someone were to perhaps watch them, they wouldn't see an older man with a blind eye screwing a younger, thinner man with mismatched eyes -- because the one was really blind, after all -- and they wouldn't see that the younger, thinner man was actually a slight and pure teenager with two very soft and deep green eyes.
Right, because that wouldn't be possible.
Nor would they see two teenagers going at it desperately in a hormonal rush, no, they wouldn't see sad, violet eyes in the smaller one, or a dangerous, frightening attitude in the other; and they wouldn't see that the two teenagers were actually children, childhood friends, fooling around and exploring their sexualities, either.
They wouldn't see things that weren't real.
But if someone were to watch them, they would see two men: one younger, a teenager, clearly dominant and aggressive, and an older man, twenty-something, tired and sweet, fucking desperately, as if the very act itself could transform things and make them what they should. As if it could change things. But that wouldn't be what the two men really saw. They could forget and fake reality, live in their own world for a while.
Yeah, yeah, they could pretend.
End
Author: Elf Asato
Summary: Fuuma/Subaru, post-X16. It's easy to pretend.
Disclaimer: Not mine whatsoever.
Notes: Tenses and subject-verb agreement are subjective in this piece :P (re: I'm too lazy to reword things)
Pretend
By Elf Asato
=+=+=+=+=+=+=
His eyes were always sharp and cold, like metal, and the fact that there were two of them never really bothered Subaru; after all, Seishirou had two good eyes once upon a time. He could forget the accident, forget that his eyes weren't quite as smooth as they used to be, forget that they weren't looking at him quite possessive enough, and once they got going, Subaru could even forget that Fuuma's eyes were the wrong shade of brown.
He was able to forget, and that made pretending all the more easier.
Subaru knew that Fuuma's shoulders weren't quite as broad as Seishirou's were, that he was too lean, and his stomach never had that extra bit of padding that came with growing older. He was too young, after all, but everything was easily overlooked. Seishirou had just been working out, yeah, and his suit had padded shoulders. That was right. The man he was with wasn't a teenager, no, he was an older man of thirty-four.
So very simple...
The visuals were easy to manipulate in his mind because Subaru always saw Seishirou when he looked at Fuuma anyway, even after he d--no, that never happened. He was alive and kicking, right, screwing him violently into the mattress. That was the easiest part because they both had the same style of fucking: sensual, yet hard and fast.
Yeah, yeah, he could pretend.
And it was easy for Fuuma to pretend that Subaru wasn't who he was. Kamui just grew, sure, and he cut his hair. That was cool. School was stressful or something, and Fuuma certainly didn't help - that's why he had the occasional grey hair.
Mother dying and dear friend turning evil and all, yeah, that was stressful enough.
His eyes, certainly, they were Kamui's, dark and tragic. Nevermind the color, he just had colored contact lenses. He was going for a new look; that was cool, too. Though Fuuma found it hard to ignore the amber one. The green one was Kamui's, yeah, full of sorrow and looking at him as if by screwing on a cold, winter night, they could somehow make things right; but the other one always looked at him, harsh and penetrating, reminding him that he was playing with another man's toy. So Fuuma never looked into Subaru's eyes to pretend he was Kamui, and if he did, it was only the green one.
Ignorance was easy enough, sure.
It wasn't so much his looks that really reminded Fuuma of Kamui, but it was the atmosphere around the two. Tragic despair was never the sort of thing that went away easily, so if he could just close his eyes and feel...feel the desperation, the heartache, his nails clawing into his back...so easy, it was good.
Yeah, yeah, he could pretend.
If someone were to perhaps watch them, they wouldn't see an older man with a blind eye screwing a younger, thinner man with mismatched eyes -- because the one was really blind, after all -- and they wouldn't see that the younger, thinner man was actually a slight and pure teenager with two very soft and deep green eyes.
Right, because that wouldn't be possible.
Nor would they see two teenagers going at it desperately in a hormonal rush, no, they wouldn't see sad, violet eyes in the smaller one, or a dangerous, frightening attitude in the other; and they wouldn't see that the two teenagers were actually children, childhood friends, fooling around and exploring their sexualities, either.
They wouldn't see things that weren't real.
But if someone were to watch them, they would see two men: one younger, a teenager, clearly dominant and aggressive, and an older man, twenty-something, tired and sweet, fucking desperately, as if the very act itself could transform things and make them what they should. As if it could change things. But that wouldn't be what the two men really saw. They could forget and fake reality, live in their own world for a while.
Yeah, yeah, they could pretend.