Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Gauze ❯ Deity ( Chapter 3 )

Deity

Devil come this way, towards the clapping hands
In my youthful days I played at Gion
Every day, every night with a lullaby
Swaying with a sickle moon seen behind

In my time with him, Seto (the vampire that so willingly haunts my meaning of existence) I have learned one thing. Rationality does not exist in this world. Everything comes with a recognizable explanation. Yet the real reason in which everything happens, or is created, is invisible to the living and undead world alike. We all create an explanation for what happens to us. It's some sort of subconscious need to know exactly why everything is the way that it is.

My reason for everything is him. I do everything for him now days. He is the reason I live, the reason I take each of my countless breaths deep within my lungs, holding them then releasing. I have no other reason to live besides him. He is my addiction, my obsession, and my life. There is not one this in this world that I prize more then him.

No, he is not a possession or a trophy that lays forgotten on a mantel aside from when it's being showcased to the world or polished until it sparkles. If anything it is I who am his possession. I willing give everything I am to him. Like I've said, I am what I am only for him; it is my only true meaning to living.

Still I wish I could make him change the way he comes and goes as he wishes. Sneaking up on me from dark corners, or when I'm reading in the library. He always seems to catch me by surprise. I haven't known him for long. I'm lucky to say that I've known him the few months that I have.

Anyone is lucky to say they have known him. Where as he is not the kindest of creatures he is one of the more magnificent ones. "God's divine creation," is what I would call him if I indeed did believe in God. Or maybe even if he was a creature in which was considered "holy".

Bloodsuckers, the vampires, are anything but holy. No matter how unholy they may be, I can safely say they are not devils either. They are in-between, neither good nor evil, but neutral. I like to conceder them watchers, creatures of the shadows.

For that is what he does to me, watch. Deep inside the gloom of a building, or from the other side of my room as I sleep; he always watches.

I wonder sometimes what exactly it is what he is going to do with me. I've considered many times that he may want me my blood only, since I seem to be so damn useless to him. The fierce glint in his eyes has told me otherwise.

At first I compared it to how a hawk would watch it's prey from the sky, circling around it before diving in for the kill. But that is not how he watches me. The way he watches me is so different. It's more like he's a scientist, one that's been assigned to a newly discovered species, devouring every peace of information that might make it known to him. That is how he watches me.

I am his subject, his convient test subject. Sitting, waiting him for to try his next experiment with my head cocked to the side and eyes wide. That's it.

Then the only times he'll say anything he'll make comments about how my room is too cluttered, too dusty, too messy. Or my hair is too long, too blonde, or not blonde enough. He says these things as if they're observations rather then opinions, like the arrogant prick he is. Of course that is only when he is watching me. Otherwise he's usually stuck in a book, feeding, teasing me with his sexual advances but never giving me enough to be fully satisfied, or he'll just disappear.

Often I wonder where it is that he goes when he disappears. Normally he won't show up for a few days, though he's been gone for a week once or twice. When he's gone for a long time, he's moody. Yelling often occurs.

He tells me that I'm too needy, that I'm exactly how I said when he first met me, a dog. A poor helpless dog, that's what I am. I'm so many things to him. All of them seem to be worthless. It makes me wonder if I really am worthless. I wouldn't doubt it. It's not like anyone besides him ever cares enough to see many anymore. I scared them all off a while ago.

The moody attitude wears off usually after a night or two. The Seto that kisses me, holds me, drinks for me then leaves me there to sleep. That is the Seto that I'm addicted to.

You're like a japanese doll
An expression that never changes
Softly, eyes close
I sleep beside you
Sleep well...

I look at him, sitting across the room, nose stuck in a book. A book in which he has undoubtedly read at least three times. The light in the room is dim. His azure eyes still glow, his chestnut hair falling flawlessly over them. His skin is faint, but glistens in the small amount of light provided. How is that someone could always look so good doing the simplest of things?

He always looked best reading. Lost and absorbed into the worlds of the characters the author has created for them to live in. It's the only time his face shows more then a small hint of emotion. When he reads it's as if he forgets the world around him completely. The emotionless front he usually shows rendered meaningless by their events.

He reads too much. "Do I bore you?" I ask knowing the question is sudden, but all of the thoughts going through my head seemed to have brought it on. I simply cannot understand how he can watch me as much as he does. Nor can I understand how he can read each book a hundred times over, but I suppose it's a vampire thing.

He looked up from his book, one of his fine brown eyebrows tweaked upwards questioningly at me. "No, on the contrary, I find you very interesting," He answered monotony. I suspect that he greatly wishes to return to his book even though it's not as if he hasn't read it before.

"How so?" I push further, noting how his eyes narrow, frosting over. They look wonderful like that, but I suppose they look wonderful any way to me.

"You're being paranoid," He said to me, dismissing my prod for further information completely. I hate it when he does that.

I get up off of the chair I had been occupying, snatching the book from his hands. He glares at me, commanding me to give the book back or die. I know he won't kill me, so I just shrug the glare off. "No, I'm being curious," I say, pulling the book away from his reach as he tries to snatch it back from me.

"I take my previous comment back," I grin at his statement, "you're not being paranoid, you're being annoying." Ouch, that hurt. "Give me my book back Katsuya. I'm not in the mood for one of you silly games," He commands me reaching for the book again. I pull it away.

I can feel the sly grin tugging at the corner of my lips. I had him in the palm of my hand for those few moments. It was intoxicating even though I knew if he wished it, the tables could be turned at any time. "Answer my question and I'll give you your book back."

"I have already answered your question," He snapped at me. He was getting flustered, angry. I liked him that way. His azure eyes would give off the cold frost of his anger. Cold, like the depths of hell. Not the ones written about in the Bible, or have been interpreted as fiery over the years, but the frozen one.

I smirk at him, walking up to a conveniently near by window. He glares daring me to open it. So I do. I am after all what some would conceder the "foolish type". Act now, think later; that's how I live my day-to-day life. My smirk deepens as I chuck the said book out the window.

"You know, right now you're reminding me of one of those damned annoying cats," He said, snorting, his fingers rubbing his temples in a circular pattern. Most do that act to stop an oncoming headache, or out of nervous habit. Do vampires even get headaches?

"What happened to me being a dog?" I ask him teasingly. He sighs of disapproval. "How do I remind you of a cat?" I add the second question knowing I'm treading on thin ice right about now, but I enjoy seeing him unsettled.

"Whenever cats want attention they poke, prod, meow, claw at your feet or bite you until you give it to them," much to my own dismay he said it particularly calm. Whatever effect my words and actions prior seemed to have on him had disappeared. Damn, he had to ruin it for me didn't he? "They're more persistent then dogs are. And surly throwing a book out the window is a more cat-like quality then dog-like."

"How so?" I prod further, noting the slight glint of annoyance that returns to his eyes. It leaves as fast as it came causing me to have the uncanny urge to pout.

"Dog's are loyal where as cats are just obnoxious," he explained. Someone doesn't seem to like cats too much.

I shrug, approaching him again. He shoots me a questioningly look as I nonchalantly fling my self onto his lap. "So, do I bore you?" I ask him for the second time.

With an annoyed sigh and a roll of his eyes he pushes me off of his lap and haphazardly onto the floor. "I believe we've already covered this," He says.

Ow. That hurt. My butt's probably is going to be sore for the next few hours, but I suppose I deserved that. "Yes, you said you find my quite interesting but I want you to elaborate."

Seto chose to ignore that. Instead of saying anything, he got up from the chair and walked in hasty strides to and out the door. He was going to get his book back. Stubborn idiot. He never really cared about anyone or anything aside from himself and what he wanted.

I'm going to have to fade into the background by the time he gets back. Vampires have quite the tempers. At least Seto does, but he's the only vampire I know. I'm forced to make every observation I can off of him, and only him. Maybe I should find another vampire.

Somehow I know that no other could possibly live up to the standers that Seto has set for me. No other vampire would be beautiful enough, intelligent enough… they'd be painfully dull unable to fulfill me in the ways that he has done.

I find it funny that life works that way.

Now I'm thinking of my own dead mother
And my child on top of those memories
Today again, I play the harp's sound

Watch him. That's all I can do when I get back. He sits there, his nose stuck deeply into that book. I wonder if it would be possible for someone to be permanently stuck like that. People say that if you keep the same expression on your face for a long amount of time, it will stick that way. Shouldn't it be the same with any other part of your body?

I think it would be humorous to see Seto stuck like that. His neck craned to look in the book, his elbows propping up his arms so he can keep it in his vision, his eyes curious, and his lips pressed into the thin thoughtful line. Yup, it would defiantly be hilarious to see Seto stuck that way. Even in the same navy button up shirt and expensive black pants.

I wonder if he would mind if I drew him like that. I'm not too good at drawing. Well, drawing things in realistic ways. My style is more like that of a comic book. It fits since I enjoy reading them. That's probably also the reason why I have such a style. Seeing so much of one thing makes you think that ways. It ingrains it your head. Just another interesting thing about how life works.

I grab a simple piece of loose-leaf notebook paper, and a black ballpoint pen. Most people seem to think that art takes special materials in order for it to be great. To do something great requires nothing more then what's handy and the mind of an artist. The world's just full of morons that believe they're insightful.

For a moment, I look at him; study him in the way that he does me from the alleyways. He is my subject at the moment, and unlike me he is perfectly unaware of it. I press the pen to the paper and draw a line. That's all it takes to draw, a series of line. Some are just better at placing these lines then others.

His face is more complex then any other part. That's what I start with. I find it easier to do everything that's hard first then fill in all of the easier tasks later. I form the lines to the slender shape of his face, his perfect hair that falls over his nose but never into his eyes. I leave his eyes blank for now, to get them just right will require more studying.

All of the lines come together, forming a simple thing. Seto, my deity in a way; I do practically worship the guy. After a while it starts to look like him. Not an exact, realistic likeness but a comical one. If you where to know him, and look at the picture you could tell it was him, that's the likeness it holds. That's what I was going for.

Now moving onto drawing the hands. Hands are harder to get just right. They're such a small part of each person's body, but they're more complexed then their faces. I wonder why. You don't identify people by their hands; they're not as unique as faces. They curve in ways that you wouldn't think right just picturing it in your head. Odd.

I put the book in-between the hands I just drew. And it's done. He looks up at me almost as if he had sensed that I no longer needed him staying the position he was in. "What are you doing?" He asks me, one of his chestnut eyebrows curved upwards.

"Nothing anymore," I say, an inventible grin playing on my face.

"Don't be a smart ass," He says to me, rolling his eyes. I laugh. He doesn't' normally talk like that, so hearing him say things like 'smart ass' is pretty damn funny. "What were you doing?" He asks me knowing that I'm not going to give him a real answer until he corrects himself. He knows me too well.

"Drawing you," I say. His eyebrow quirks upwards at me again, he does that a lot.

"Mother and you and my new relation"
Without thinking I put my hand on your neck.
You say nothing and you do nothing.
I'm gonna sing the last lullaby for you while you smile at me.
I wonder why I fell in love with you.
Impossible love.

He walked up to me, leaving his book forgotten on his chair; his frosty azure eyes locked with my own dull honey ones. If "Why didn't you tell me you draw?" He asked me. His voice was stern as he looked over my shoulder at the picture. I could tell he didn't mind. His hands where loosely placed on my shoulders, and I suspected that they wouldn't stay there for long.

"You didn't ask." That was the only answer that I could luster. With the simplest of touches from him I become dumbfound. My breath slows into deep nervous breaths. My heart beats fast within my chest.

I'm sure he loves every second of this. The effects he has on me must be amusing to him. That's why he must find me entertaining enough to stay. Still… why did he choose me? Was it because I was there in the library that day or did he call me?

I had felt drawn in, like if I didn't go into that library at that very second I would die. Was that the call of my own personal deity?

The press of lips against the shell of my ear hushes every thought in my mind. I am but a loyal dog now, just like he says I am, ready and willing to day anything he asks for.

I shiver at the feeling of his cold, dead fingertips as he pushes my shirt down to expose my neck. He's hungry now, I think. The gaze of his fierce eyes chills my skin, as does the breath tickling my skin; forcing all hairs to stand on end.

Is he hesitating? Normally he would've bitten me by now. What's wrong Seto? Does my blood not appeal to you anymore? The answer must be yes. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin on the nape of my neck.

For some reason he always teases the skin there first. I wonder if it's to make me feel more comfortable or just to make it tender. Either ways is fine with me.

This time he decides to skip the majority of it; placing a few placid kisses before I feel the sharp sting of fangs entering in me. It hurts more this time though probably because I wasn't expecting it.

My heart beat pounds in my head as the thick, metallic, red liquid flows into his mouth. My eyes flutter close purely in the rush of it. But he stops short, lapping up the blood with his unusually warm tongue. It was normally cold, but I assume it's warmed my blood.

He kisses my head, whispering something in French. I can't understand what he's saying, but he releases his hold on my shirt so I assume it's something along the lines of "I'm sorry". Part of me doubts the assumption. Seto isn't the type to apologize. It's not his style, so to speak.

"Get up," He commands. He really must think I'm a dog if he's giving me orders now. I give him a look in which I'm sure says 'why should I?' I know I'm going to regret that later. "Just do it." His voice is venomous; fierce like the first time I had met him. Okay, defiantly obeying now.

He snatches my hand and pulls me to my bedroom, throwing my viciously onto the bed. Ow, butt still hurting from being pushed off the chair earlier. That really didn't help.

Next thing that comes to mind (as soon as my ass stops hurting that is), panic; Seto is never in my bedroom unless I'm sleeping. Last time I checked, I was wide-awake.

I didn't get much time to react, thanks to the annoying butt ache. I was now pinned to the bed, with my arms at my side, and Seto's knee between my legs. To say I'm blushing fiercely right now would be an understatement.

"I thought you'd be used to this by now," He said, his sapphire eyes locking onto mine, filled with something I'm not used to seeing directed towards me. It was indescribable, the intensity of his gaze. I trembled under that gaze.

"You just caught me off guard." I swallowed. The predictability of our master-pet relationship was what had kept me comfortable. Now he is acting, as he hadn't before. It's unnerving.

Even more unbelievably, he's smiling right now. Not really a significant smile, but a smile nonetheless. The most I can normally get from is smug smirk if I'm lucky.

"You're cute when you're nervous," he says to me before capturing my lips with his own. My arms are released as his hands move to my face, cradling him as he kisses me slowly, sensually.

I'm not used to this.

But I can't help the moan the escapes my lips or my eyes fluttering closed. The kindness that he never shows me, this kindness, it's enticing. Everything's different this time. The way he's treating me, the gentle rub of the pad of his thumb against the side of my face. He's even warm, but again it's most likely from my blood.

The only things that haven't changed are the metallic stings that fill mouth with the taste of blood, and the soft scent of death, like the deadly flowers, belladonna and oleanders.

His hands no longer cradle my face, and his lips leave my mouth. The whimper that escapes my lips is expected, along with my eyes fluttering open. He's staring at me now, as I pant mostly from shock.

"I love you." Did I say that or did he? I think he did from the sure look in his eyes. There's something about that that scares me but my heart flurries in excitement. He loves me.

I grasp his face, cupping his chin in my hands. For once I'm willing to make a move. I force my body upwards just enough to make our lips meet again. Unlike the kiss he gave me, I kiss him intensely, passionate. When he returns it, I understand why he's being so different. I realize now why he didn't hurt me when I threw his book out the window, or why he stopped when drinking my blood before, and even why he was being so nice.

He is going to kill me, and I accept that. I knew he'd do it eventually.

Put your hands together
Your tiny hands
An unsuitable dream
Corpse and love

My intensity doesn't waver even with this newfound knowledge. If I'm going to die, I might as well make the last minutes in my life the most enjoyable. So I take complete control of the current situation by sliding my tongue along his upper lip.

His lips part for me, giving me entrance to him mouth. I accept, my tongue plummeting into the caverns of him mouth aggressively. My hands are on the back of his head now, pulling him further towards me. I want him as close as he can be. When I die I want to feel his breath on my skin. I want to shiver from the intensity of it, looking into the frozen pools of his cerulean eyes. He will not deny me of that, will he?

When I pull away I can hear his breath heavy in my ears. Things like that still amaze me. The breath drawn into his lungs is useless, unneeded. He would be able to live without that air. He has no heartbeat, but warms with human blood in his veins. His bodies dead but his chest still heaves in passion. His breaths still deepen from would-be exhaustion. Can he even exhaust himself?

The gaze of his azure eyes is scorching me. He hasn't done anything yet. He's hesitating. What's wrong? Don't have second thoughts. Never regret any choice you make, regret isn't worth the pain. I look into his eyes; they're glazed over.

Seeing him like that is freaky. He looks like he's in some kind of trance. Why are you hesitating? I've accepted my death; all you have to do is hand it to me. Why do you refuse?

Don't have second thoughts. Don't have second thoughts. Don't have second thoughts. I keep repeating that in my mind, but refuse to say it out loud. When he hesitates, it gives me more time with him. Time with him, something I cherish; something I strive off of.

I want to laugh at my self, my idiocy. What the hell am I holding onto? I'm going to die. I'm going to die any minute now yet I'm still thinking of how much he means to me, how every moment with him is something for me to keep within me forever. I don't have forever, not like him.

He lowers his head. I figure it's to bite into my neck, but his lips contact my own again. They quiver against me. His whole body is shaking. Do you want me to die? I want to ask that. Again, what's the point?

Pain. Stinging. Metal. My lips are bleeding, filling my mouth and his with my blood. I didn't even feel his mouth move to bite me. The liquid flows down my throat. It burns. I cough, hard, spitting it out on the pillow beneath me. Then I look back up at Seto's eyes.

The expression in them, it's something that hard for me to place. Hatred, anger, lust, disgust, sorrow, none of the words that come to mind seem to fit. What are his eyes telling me?

He's searching for something, a reason not to kill me, perhaps. I don't have a clue as to what he can be looking for. Then he raises my arm, still looking at me. His lips are against my wrist. They're colder now, the ice in which I am used to.

I feel the two fangs pierce my skin, my blood filling his mouth, his stomach. My heart pounds heavily inside of my head, which is now spinning. The only things I can see are his eyes. They're the only that I can make out. Drinking the little bit he had done before has weakened more then I had thought it did.

Fading… everything is fading. His eyes are becoming dimmer. He's drinking much faster then he normally does. Better to get it done and over with, then to savor it and end up turning back isn't it Seto?

My head hurts. The room's spinning too much, making me dizzy. For a moment I close my eyes, then open him. The first thing I see his neck, the vein thin like string, popping out from stress as usual.

What does it feel like to drink blood? I know what it's like to have it taken from you, the ecstasy that comes a long with it. When you partake of it, is the same bliss it's result? I want to know.

I don't pull my arm away, but rather use the one not being drained of blood to prop myself up. Bad idea, my stomach clenches. I feel like vomiting, but I have to know. How does Seto feel when he drinks my blood? How does he feel right now? That is my dying wish.

I bite into his neck. Unlike him, I don't have fangs so I have to tear at the skin with my teeth. My arm is released. I can imagine the look on his face right now. His azure eyes wide with an uncharacteristic bewilderment; he wouldn't expect me to bite him like this.

The blood that fills my mouth, it's bitter. Not the kind of bitter that makes you cringe in disgust, but more like the bitterness of tarts. My hands are on his back now, holding him close to me. Strangely, I can feel his heart beating, hear it ringing in my ears. It's a sweet song; different from anything I have ever heard. Is his heart really beating, or is it just my own? It feels like him.

His head is resting against my shoulder now. His forehead pressed against the fabric of my shirt. I can feel his skin through it. It's hot like fire, not cold as death. Does he feel warm to me because I am drinking his blood or is it all in my mind?

My stomach feels full, so I pull away. I tense as my breath hits my skin. This isn't right; it's a cold as death. My breath feels like Seto's should feel, but his is warm against me.

I lift his head up; force him to look at me. He's crying now. He never cries. He can't cry. He's too strong to cry. What have I done? "I should have killed you the first time we met," he whispers to me.

What have I done? I don't know what I've done, but I know my stomach hurts now. Not just my stomach but just about everything. Everything hurts, aches, and feels like it's being torn out of me. My head's pounding, my ears ringing, my visions blurring; everything hurts. I look to him, frightened, searching his eyes for some sort of an answer.

He pushes me back down onto the pillow, violently. I can tell now that he is angry. What have I done? I can't stop asking myself that but I can't ask him. He's angry. "You should've let me kill you," he looks away when he says it. His eyes are off me, only for a second, after then he just stares.

What have I done? My mind's screaming the question now, repeating it over and over. "Everything will become clear soon," he tells me, as if he can hear my thoughts. "Sleep now, you'll know by sunrise."

I nod. Sleep sounds good right now. So I sleep and he leaves, the sound of destruction from his anger heard in my slumber. My hearing was never that good before, why is it now? What's different about me then ten minutes ago?

I tense again. My heart's not beating. I run my tongue along my teeth. It gets pricked by one of the two newly formed fangs…

…Everything is clear now.

Turning, aimlessly, drifting, collapsing
Turning, aimlessly, collapsing
Turning, aimlessly, drifting, collapsing
Turning, aimlessly, frolicking