Starless

Fic Title: Starless

Fic Rating: R

Fandom: YuGiOh

Pairing: Seto Kaiba X Mokuba Kaiba (Or… hm… Seto X Himself… as well…heehee XP)

Word Count: 2,752

Notes: A bit of an older fic, still, I thought it was indeed worth posting… I am quite fond of this one ^_^ Please forgive my horrible self editing skills, I do my best ._.

~*~*~*~

Your head hurts. Although you can’t complain, can you? It was after all, you who decided to walk those rain drenched streets, those slick long expanses of neon washed concrete.

It was you who drank a little to much, and fell a little to hard.

You hate yourself, but you don’t want to get into that now. Not with your legs up on the couch and a warm wet cloth cloaking your eyes. You’re covered in stiff warmth and if you got into anything now you couldn’t get away. So you’ll wait.

Ironic how trying to get away from yourself stuck you in a state of mind you can’t run from, isn’t it?

“Mokuba! You’re going to be late!” You would usually go in to get him, sit on his bed and whip off the layers of coverers, like plucking pale blue petals from an unripe flower. You would bare his pale body to the harsh chill of the morning, let it kiss down all that barred skin and pull him to the world of the waking.

He would smile, bat you with pillows.

You suddenly want a drink. Drinking away a horrible hang over seems like a good idea too you right now. And look at that, there’s some oddly generic looking vodka on the coffee table next to the couch. Go figure.

Your fingers stretch for it.

“Onii-san!” and suddenly there batted away and small fingers curl around the bottle, pulling it away. The accusing glare of the morning sun slides over the glass and the emerald sheen on his nails. You sneer.

“I’ve got a headache.”

“And a concussion. No drinking.”

“Mokuba-”

“No buts Onii-san, no alcohol. No hot or cold liquids, no sugar, and no sleeping unless you set your alarm to get up forty-five minutes later.” You can feel the sharp cut of your glare.

“Mokuba-” why do you bother? You know he will cut you off.

“I said no onii-san! I don’t want you hurt!” Damn it, he seems to have mastered your own glare, turning it back on you as if with a mirror, -shards of a mirror- because its so very sharp. “You cant sleep for a while, you need to wait till the concussion get a bit better… I’d keep waking you up but I need to go to school.” He paused, crossing his arms. “I can stay if you-”

“No, go.”

“Then take care of yourself. I’ll be back soon.” Again there is a sudden stillness about him. Like calm before a storm. And suddenly the winds pick up.

He swoops down, raining a kiss over your cheek. You bite back a flinch at the warmth.

“Try to stay up.” You stare up at him, and the searing sun that crashes through the window hurts your eyes. You hiss, squeezing them shut. Mokuba’s fingers trail briefly through your hair. “Try to stay up.” his voice was colder, harder.

“Fine.” and he sweeps away, leaving the morning light to blare around you in the living room. You wish he would have closed the blinds, you wish he would have stayed to keep you awake (no, no you don’t). The room swims in bright dizziness before you but you stare into it defiantly, as time withers away second my blaring second.

You won’t let yourself think, and you know you cant sleep. The thoughts crash against a dam in your head, welling up and setting a tight pressure between your eyes. It adds to the pains everywhere else.

No. You are Seto Kaiba, and if you decide not to allow the pain then it wont hurt you. You keep telling yourself that as you stand up, fighting against the dizziness that tries t pull you back down.

You think of Mokuba as you waver, clutching your forehead. How he looked, blurred before your eyes as he trailed away for school, hair and hips swaying like he was dancing.

You wonder if how much of this train of thought you can blame on your concussion. You wonder how much more you’ll let yourself think.

And worse of all you wonder what would happen if you went to sleep. If you didn’t wake up. If you made Mokuba cry. You couldn’t stand that, tears sliding down those flushed cheeks.

You seem to linger on the hue of pink his cheeks would turn… then you shake your head, drown in the dizziness and pain. You were letting yourself think, how foolish.

Finding yourself at the mouth of your hallway you wonder, watching the lights glare pointlessly into the shadow of the hall. You glare too, take a doorknob and yank it open. Metal glitters over counter tops, thousand of tiny computer chips blink up at you.

Maybe you can get some work done. You settle into a leather seat, sinking into the cushions. Its soft, and the leather smells of strawberry shampoo. You know he was here.

A virtual reality visor glares up at you, a spark of weak sun sliding along the black rim. Your tempted to get up and pull the blinds all the way closed. But instead you find your fingers ghosting the visor, the wires linking it to your computer. Papers are scattered about , millions of little footnotes like pale yellow butterflies. You recognize the childish writing, the thick curliness of the letters, and wonder what he was working on.

A sketch hails your attention from its perch on the counter. It smiles at you from under a weak strip of sun.

‘Starless’

Its silver, etched across a black backdrop in glimmering silver writing. A cresset moon curls around the title, in a cloud of fuchsia glitter. It looks like the cover to a book -you glance at the visor- or a video game.

For a moment you find peace in forgetting and smile. How cute. He’s trying to make a video game… You flick on a screen and your fingers fly over the key bored. You cant tell much. Only garbles of text and scripts, computer talk. From what you can tell it’s a game for your virtual reality system.

You peer at it through your long stringy bangs (they’re like tattered curtains). The virtual reality pod seems vaguely like a cushy car seat enclosed in a plastic bubble. It was only under these blurry circumstances you see how dorky your prized technology can be.

Dizziness clouds your mind and you clutch the counter. Silver chips scatter. You need to sit down.

Oh why the hell not. The games already here… Perhaps you could help him with bugs, graphics, something like that, something like a good big brother would do.

You fall more then sit in the little bubble, enclosing yourself in cold hard plastic and blinking chattering technology. So what else is new?

Lights flash before your eyes and you flinch, fingers clattering over the ‘start’ button. Damn. Okay but you don’t have to think past the colors and lights, so you’re your very own personal version of happy.

The sensation of night wind trails lightly up your chest and you need to remind yourself its not real. You blink into the sights pressing your eyes. Blackness, until a window pops un with a perky little ‘ping’.

“Would you like to continue from your last save point?” asks a smooth feminine voice.

“Why not.”

A world springs to life before your eyes. First there is the starless black of night, and suddenly the red wash of neon tides. Skyscrapers reached up to the murky moonless sky, like pillars of pearl dotted jet. Shadowy figures flicker to life, skittering and gliding down the cracked sidewalks. Neon letters blink to life over doorways and windows.

All you can do is stare as the false wind set false shudders through your false self. You’re virtual arms wrap you as you marvel at how good a job he was done with everything. It seems perfect down to every last detail, to every breath of wind, to every drop of sickly yellow city light.

“Mokuba, would you like your assignment update?” You spin (there are long black tresses swaying before your eyes) and look behind you.

You know that face, your sure of it. Its white as snow, and those brown eyes stare at you like jewels of dark chocolate. You can’t help but stare at his clothing, black fishnet and leather, shimmery ribbons of blue. You wonder if Mokuba likes this familiar person (Or likes his body at least). There’s a pain in your chest that has nothing to do with anything (really, it doesn’t).

“Shoot.”

“You have to find and destroy The Vampire Siren…” The familiar white person fidgeted with her (his?) hair as she spoke, eyes darting about nervously. The work really was quite exquisite. “He.. He killed my brother Mokuba, you need to kill him this time.”

‘This time…’ Mokuba must have attempted this before. You hope he doesn’t mind you playing his game but you really would like to help with something. Besides, you’re curious now. This whole world seems a little… dark.

Ah, but of course, because it’s ‘Starless’.

“Where do I go?”

“To the night club on elm street…”And the white one actually fidgets about nervously. With sad eyes he places a hand on your shoulder, and litters a light kiss over your cheek. “Please be careful Mokuba, we need you to come back safe…” and he turned to wonder into the night.

You simply stare, watching the emptiness he occupied, and thinking of the little pretty princess in your RPG.

Then you decide you don’t want to think at all, and turn to navigate the red-washed neon streets. You find the place pretty easy, trying to press the images of this little world from your mind. There are far to many people in fishnet on street corners, far to many dancing silhouettes behind fogged windows, and the street was far to red…

You shiver as rain slides down you, littering you with cold. Damn it… every little detail seem so very real, and you find yourself wondering why he would put so much effort into something like this…

And suddenly you’re so very worried as you think about him making a place like this to wonder through, to lose himself in. You wish you could hold him, and almost get up right there but remember the damn game. You need to finish. You need to see more (‘Are you okay Mokuba? What are you doing in this place…’)Besides, he’s in school, you cant juts take him out. People would talk.

You find the place. Walk inside, hiss at the heat and the smoke. The air is so dense its hard to breath and you have to remind yourself over and over that its not real. Dancers twist and slither around each other on the bar counters as neon light flash about erratically. A band is perched upon the stage, screaming to harsh blaring lyrics.


It's biting it's teething it's biting I'm bleeding

You cant believe this place was spawned from your sweet little brother’s mind.

It's calling it's crawling it's calling and I'm falling

You wonder what’s the matter, if anything’s the matter…? No, he must be hurting… you feel bad for ignoring him, you really did think you were helping…

The perfect sound of middle ground

And now you feel like a fucking coward. But you don’t get the chance to think about why, because suddenly you have a clear view of yourself.

Pull me under before I try to drag you down

You’re up on stage, sable hair long and pulled back in a shimmery black ribbon, skin white and blaring in the colored shafts of light as you scream into the microphone. Your fangs glimmer, your eyes squeeze shut as you sing.

Someone has to pull me under before I try to drag you down

All you can do is stare at yourself. Stare at the bare chest and silver chains, and the tight leather and black ribbons.

They're fighting they're growing they're fighting and They’re growing

You suddenly have eye contact with yourself, and your eyes glimmer; bluntly predatory. You look down at yourself, in denim and leather and brandishing a curvy sword on your belt. You can see the black bangs before your eyes, the smallness of your hands. It feels so much more like a dream then a game.

I'm biting I'm teething I’m biting, they’re bleeding

The electric gaiter screams. You watch your eyes flutter at the shrieking noise, watch as you hop from the stage with the grace of a cat and prowl towards… Mokuba.

You’re standing awfully close to him.

“You must be… Mokuba?” Your own voice speaks coolly to you. But you cant fabricate an answer, can let yourself think. No, you wont let yourself go any more into this. This world is far to bizarre… But your thinking of your princess girl as the vampire takes you by the hand and leads you from the grinding crowd into the shadow of a back room.

“I’m honored to have attracted the attention of the slayer…” You marvel at how your brother has captured your taunting, cutting sarcasm perfectly. Again, you don’t know what to say. You sit with your fingers curled around the handle of your sword as a last defense. You should stop this, you really should. And you will. Right now. You don’t know how to play this game.

“What’s the matter, your so quiet… are you scared of me?” you can see yourself grinning, see the fangs that fit so perfectly into your mouth and wish you could clothes you eyes.

“No.” Yes. ‘Are you afraid, Mokuba…?’ you wonder, but its all you let yourself wonder.

Suddenly you find yourself yelping as you’re (as Mokuba’s) pressed against the wall, and you can feel the coldness that shrouds the vampire (that shrouds you).

And for some reason you’re terrified. You’re thrilled. You hate yourself.

“Do you want this Mokuba…?” Mokuba programmed you to ask.

“… yes,” you make him say. And a sharp gasp stabs your chest as the computer tricks you into thinking fangs are sinking into your neck (and into thinking hands are sliding between your legs).

“Oh fuck…” you pant, head throbbing. Okay, your stopping now (and your so happy to lie to yourself. Good at it too).

“You’d like that…” he made you such a tease, made you grin down like a Cheshire cat. You make him beg. Its only fair, after all. You wish you knew how to play this game, wish you could stop.

And now your undoing Mokuba’s denim jeans and slipping your hand in and you hate yourself all over again (and you love your little brother, don’t you?).

“Oh god…”

“Yes?” and he’s managed to capture your arrogance. You wonder how he knew how you’d act while… and then you imagine your little brother imagining you doing this to him, while the vampire wraps his fingers around you and strokes while licking the blood from your neck. You nearly cum.

“Helpless…” your own voice hisses and it hits you on so many level as your legs (Mokuba’s legs) spread.

“Yes…” he is, you are. And again you loath yourself as Mokuba’s back arches into your touch. As he begs for it faster, as you love to be him doing it (as you love him begging for you). It feels like your bleeding when you cum.

With a growl you rip off the visor, and sparks fly about the control panels. Heat rips through your skin as the program malfunctions, yet you barley notice. All you feel is the hot cut of the tears as they slide down you cheeks, and the wetness between your legs.

You really should clean up before Mokuba gets back…

~^~^~^~

“Onii-san!” he’s shaking you a little less the gently as you lay stiffly on the couch. The dim light of dusk claws pointlessly at the closed blinds, begging for entrance.

“I’m awake.” You peer though your bangs at him as he drops his bag at the end of the couch.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No.”

“Drink?”

“No.”

“Have anything hot or-”

“Mokuba!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, geez…” He leas down, wrapping you in a hug. His hair fall off his neck, barring it and you just stare. You cant close you eyes, cant stop, can help wondering how he craves the cut of your teeth.

“What is it Onii-san?”

“…Nothing.”

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^_^ There~ Please don’t forget to leave a review, I really appreciate them <3