DISCLAIMER: Don't own Digimon, do own poems (they're not much, they've just emotional value)

For Lar Lar. Very much so. Thank you for the wonderful Yamakeru birthday fic, you totally made my gloominess go away! Hopw u like it...

Rain of Poems
chapter 2 / 3 - For Two Pins

"Sure I am, 'nii."

Long slender legs, nearly as long as Yamato's, neatly poured into a set of finely thin but next-to-shapelessly baggy gray pants, made their way into the carefully furnitured living room, carrying along with an unconsciously inviting swing, a sweet slender silhouette, graced by the most clear and radiating twin Sapphires for eyes. Having paused by the big cozy navy couch, accompanied unknowingly by an amused stare since the moment he had passed the doorway, Takeru simply picked up his green notebook from where his brother had put it down beside him. With a stoned smile, forced upon his lips, he shifted its pages quickly, suddenly putting his finger on the reason of the pale shadow crossing his dear 'niichan's beautifully smooth features. "Shall we begin, then?" he breathed, suddenly finding looking down into his brother's eyes a much tougher task than he remembered.

"Sure."

Yamato knew it then. There was no need for words, nor spoken nor written, nor expressed nor only thought of. But what made sense in his heart misfit what his mind labeled to be sensible. Or right. Denial walls built up to shield the eloquence of it as he stared, Sapphire blue eyes transfixed, glued on the lean shift of muscles under the thin stretching cover of a wine-red skin-tight T-shirt as his otouto sat himself down beside him on the couch carefully. The soft navy surface shifted slightly under his humble weight and Yamato shivered, casting his eyes, filled with silent but painfully aware guilt, on the cream-carpeted floor underneath his navy slippers. Don't think about it, he leveled himself, subtly grasping hasty fistfuls of the hem of his soft, snowy white laxen shirt.

Somehow they made it through the next hour. Takeru had decided to write a book about their Digimon adventures, focusing fully on the answers he needed, about what Yamato thought of Gabumon, how did he view the events, what were by his opinion the most drastic ups and downs... and he scribed it all down. Watching him so dedicated, Yamato had to admit he never had any bigger ambition, a huge dream to follow. Not even the band. To him, the world was cold and selfish and that was that, but in Takeru's eyes... everything was still shining, always was, but perhaps not for long yet. He knew full too well he looked up to him, the shining star to follow, the dream come true. Perhaps he had viewed his coldness as his way of being, that Yamato simply needed less smiles and joy to push through another day. Perhaps he never asked himself why, just accepted, with that bottomless angel's heart of his...

"Niisan? What did you think of me?"

Yamato had to look up at that, unaware until then, he had been answering only halfheartedly, lost in his memories and thoughts and the vision of those skillful hands scribing. Takeru, the blonde impersonification of patience and calmness that he was, was looking back at him with the softest of smiles hinting the corners of his lips. The slightest shade of pink blushing his flawless cheeks. Like that... just that was the most wonderful expression Yamato had ever seen on him. Somehow he knew it had been there all along, but this time, for a change, he had paused and let himself take it in for what it actually stood. A heavy feeling bubbled in his throat, the kind no one would want in the context but craved with his life on its own. It hurt the way what he was about to say was double-edged, hiding two meanings all at once, the false meant to both hide and hint the real one...

"I always loved you." There, the truth said aloud. Hidden and evident both at once, only a matter of time until unmasked. The older blonde smiled, plastering on one of those ever fake just-brotherly smiles, cerulean eyes averted. Truly, what a horrible big brother was he... Even if his suspicions were true, he should have never added logs to the flame. Burning instantly with regret, he leaned back into the backrest of the couch, fingers tangled in his lap. Even if brothers deserved sincerity, this was the one truth that should have never been told.

Takeru, didn't write it down. Clenching the pencil in his fist he glared on at his niisan. He was unsure of what he might have meant, but niisan alone seemed reluctant at the moment, not meeting his eyes, thoughtful... For the sake of the book, he assured himself, for the sake of the book he'd have to make sure. A writer always had to know what he was writing about, right? "Niisan..." he crisped, voice coming much smaller and quieter then what he had intended, "I always loved you too..."

Yamato's eyes snapped up into his own instantly, wider and blankly surprised and oh so very blue, blue like only the sky could ever be in May. Shifting through his depths he seemed reading sadness, amusement, guilt... and all at once. Somewhere inside, Takeru had hoped beyond hope there would be happiness mirrored in them when he'd say those words, and the shadow of doubt crept cold from the pit of his stomach. He knew he was not supposed to keep feelings like that, but he had hoped Yamato would understand. Because niichan always understood him. Because niichan always loved him.

"I still do..." he whispered, eyes posed on the notebook below for a pretense he hoped he could still grasp for. He knew, now Yamato would stand up from that couch and smile, say he's happy, that his otouto was everything to him, hug him, play with his blonde hair and plant another kiss on his temple... And he did.

Takeru's blank expression cut through him, making his now routine deceiving smiles so much harder to come. But he did it, just like always managed to; assurance, hug, caress, kiss. Only when he intended to draw apart, thinking unclear thoughts and feeling unrequired feelings, did he realize he actually couldn't. Shaky arms circled his waist firmly, pulled him tight in an embrace the second he threatened to leave their sanctuary. And he stayed quiet, net entirely shocked at what was happening as he was shocked of his own heart bombing, beating to race with the intensity of the scroll of his thoughts, beating against Takeru's ear when his blond-crowned head leaned down on his chest and hid those cerulean eyes.

There are no patterns, no rules to follow when such realizations dawn, Yamato thought, swallowing. Because if he could mask it with denial before, facts were now washing it bare, uncontrollably, baring the truth he didn't know how to deal with, he never quite could be ready for it, no matter how evident. And he hated being unable to do anything. But he could do something now, couldn't he? Only... he never could guess was it a right or a wrong thing to do. Whoever made those basic rules should have been more specific and clear...

He drew his hands about Takeru then. Everybody had a treasure dear to them, did they not? A treasure that some never found or cherished until it was gone and they realized it meant the world to them. He had lost his treasure so long ago. In his heart, he had lost a brother. But found a lover instead. Only this love was never supposed to love him back as then he would loose that pretense that he could never have him, and live his life pretending he was happy, pretending he had all that he wanted, that money could buy it all.

He lowered his head drawing his shoulders away from supporting that golden-tressed head, the same one he had seen grow to reach his shoulders over the years, and Takeru's hands clawed at his shirt, alarmed that he would again attempt a drawing apart. "Takeru," he called him softly, exasperating when he found his hand could not reach his chin this way. He could feel his outoto shaking, locked in denial that ha was about to break their contact. He wasn't, but Takeru was so blocked for everything else then the feel of their contact that he simply refused to let go.

Words wouldn't do, Yamato sighed, drawing his hands about his shoulders once again. Nearly without giving it thought he placed his lips against his locks, not caring where it landed, as long as it was Takeru, they had reached their goal. Attempting to think of how and what to do, failing totally, he only noticed he had left his lips there when Takeru shifted his head and suddenly those wide skyey eyes were gazing directly into his own. He had though Takeru would be crying, because of all the times he had came crying to him in the past. He even half hoped he was, it would have been all too simple to pretend a good big brother then.

Those eyes beheld all the sadness that he expected them to, only... the just stared glossily back into his own. I've grown, they said, I know what I'm feeling. I know it's wrong. But it's here. And it was there for him too, oh so very there. Always been perhaps. Closing his eyes to dismiss the world he leaned in, catching the last glimpse of those eyes widening, and he was topping his lips with his own. Of all the shit he had done in his life, of all the shit that was bind to do in the future, this one decision had been the easiest and most consequential at once. He tried not to fall into the feeling, thinking it would be way too much for Takeru to take, considering the possibility of him breaking away from the shock, and he left his hands soft and light upon him, to ease the attempt should there be one.

It came so slow, the response. Takeru moved his bottom lip, just drew it away and took a shaky breath against his mouth. Then his whole frame moved closer, flushing against the older and nuzzling his nose to the side, he was nibbling at his lips again, contact never been broken at all. Fighting with the feelings overwhelming him, Yamato let him prod, touch, explore, get used to the feeling... but inside he was loosing it. Kissing a brother should never feel this sweet. Slipping his tongue in the kiss, mind racing, he could feel those slender hands claw at this back and suddenly he was thinking no more.

He came to after an indefinable amount of time, it could have been just a minute or half an hour, cupping his brother's face close as if to keep him from escaping the kiss. Not that Takeru had any intention of doing so in the first place. One hand nearly driven into the older's back, the fingers of the other digging into his shoulder... it should have been obvious he was there to stay and that he wanted every bit of it. Moaning quietly when the lips were gone, he refused to let go of his brother or open his eyes. If he would just leave them closed like that, he could pretend the moment was still there. And even if Yamato felt attracted to him enough to have kissed him, he wouldn't have to open his eyes to reality and hear that silken voice tell him how wrong it was or how they should have never done it. Because Takeru knew that all along.

"Takeru..."

Those endless blue eyes snapped open regretfully, glazed from the pressure of the emotion they beheld, but clear in their will. This was where Yamato lost his ground. Lost the intent of telling to those eyes that the kiss had been a mistake, make some barely credible excuse, run away in him mind al lock it all behind. But he couldn't. And didn't want to, not when he saw in his eyes the fear his outoto bred of him doing just that. Still coping with so much happening all at once, he could feel his hand being tugged, never quite remembering when had Takeru's slit into it to angle their fingers there. Biting his lip at the decision, Takeru made it eloquent for the both of them when he turned, cerulean eyes averted and shy, but his hand firm and decided, and tugged his brother towards the bedroom door.

There should have been questions asked, Yamato mused, for how long had he wanted to do that, how deep were his feelings, why were they there and if they were to act upon at least, but they just wouldn't come. Clenching the leading hand, Yamato obediently followed, roles inversed from the ones years back in the Digiworld, even when his goal always remained the same, to protect him. Protecting him now was greeting his needs Yamato settled, because if his own were to be unleashed, he wasn't sure what he would do.

Felling alien in his own room, the room where they had slept together like the brothers they never completely were, and never perhaps would be, Yamato let him make this one new night a lover's night, standing there beside the bed with lidded eyes that greeted the blond vision of an angel that he made with the same affection he never thought they should. Unbuttoning one button at a time and planting one soft kiss at every new inch revealed, he wondered if life had ever meant for him to lead a calm life.

Laxen shirt hanging open, Takeru was now the one to straighten and gaze. Dreams were always there in the night, from when they first came, they had never left him, except when he had fallen asleep in that brotherly embrace, an embrace that was soon to become so much more, making those dreams come true. It hadn't been his intention to act upon them so soon, or ever, so he could gradually feel his courage slipping. Not the courage of wanting, just the courage of acting. Drawing his own shit over his head, he let it slip to the ground, gaze following to where it landed. Was Yamato going to stop him now? Was he going to come to his senses and tell him these things shouldn't be done between them?

Fine hands moved to slide up his bare arms, soothingly. Doubt was something they were both burdened to deal with, but as long as they willed to carry on, it was meant to be alright, wasn't it? Planting a soft kiss on the bridge of his nose, Yamato took his hands into his and let him seat on the bed, all the while locking those bombarding questions behind. Think of something else, he nudged himself mentally, something like... rhymes perhaps...

Touch me, stroke me, feel me, take me
I just want to breathe your breath
I want to feel your touch upon me
I am giving you myself.

Every kiss given, was greeted with one to mach, every caress delivered was repaid unconditionally, every feeling that mounted did so in unison for the both of them. Takeru was so responsive, so impossibly devoted, as Yamato would have never thought he could be. Or would. But the feel of his soft skin beneath his fingertips, the feel of his slender hands gliding against his form in return... it didn't feel it could ever be real. There never was a time that Yamato could recall having made love so consciously. While Takeru... Takeru had never made love before.

Cause tomorrow I shall leave
Racing wind across the sky
Praying God to take my soul
Without battle I shall die.

Lips descending that lean torso, determined as never before to bring pleasure to new heights, Yamato wondered how would their relationship turn out after this. It definitely felt like a big decision and it had already been made the moment he had let Takeru take him through the doorframe of the bedroom, but that made him doubt it no less. What they were would never again become what they are now, and although deep inside he wanted a change to be made, he never could tell if it wasn't worse then indecision or doubt. While Takeru felt neither, mused Yamato. Because he always found the strength to look ahead at a new tomorrow.

So tonight I'm here to stay
I shall hold you, let you take me
Hiding from the morning's ray
When I'll last time see your eyes.

Fingers tangled, blue eyes locked, but only for a moment or so. A world of pain exploded inside of Takeru for an excruciating second that seemed to stretch to eternity. "I'm sorry, otouto, gomen ne," Yamato was muttering, holding him, kissing him, trying to make it better with everything he thought could help. It hurt him, more than it hurt Tekeru perhaps, how those shaky breaths escaped his lungs randomly. He was about to draw back, ready to leave things as they were and never talk obit it again but... through the pain, his outoto smiled. Sunshine dawned at midnight.

"Closer, niichan," he begged with awaiting arms.

After years, one day perhaps,
They may say I saved to world
It shall be because of you
Because tonight I have been loved

Slipping away from under the sheets where they had laid entangled together, Yamato sat up to watch his brother sleep. It was never meant to have come to this, he thought. Everything was the same around him, the bed, the furniture, the window, the balcony. Yet so much had happened that only the discarded clothes on the floor and the sweaty sheets could prove. There was no new enligtment ahead, no new dawn to save them, the one he was gazing at was just as cold as any other, painting the horizon with light as it did every day. There just was no happy ending to this, he knew.

The words were said and the dreams were given, all for his dearest outoto to sleep soundly and with a smile on his face, a smile that would be lost forever when the world wakes up to take notice. He could see no clear path through form there on. But that was nothing new, was it? He had... always loved Takeru, hadn't he? All of his songs were always written because of him, for him. But shielding the truth from himself could only lead him this far.

Takeru mewled when he shifted his weight off of the mattress, hand searching for him in his sleep blindly. He caught it, leaning to kiss it, and his otouto calmed down, breathing evenly on. He loved him, he knew. He had looked at the depths of his love so many times before, but never saw them for what they were, at least consciously not. But right now he wasn't ready to receive such a complete feeling, not when he couldn't rid himself of the doubts that stained it.

Letting go of the hand ever so carefully, he stood up beside the bed. The wave the washed him through wasn't regret. I wasn't even sadness. But it felt so cold nonetheless. Stuffing a few clothes in his duffel bag, he picked up his way to the bathroom, letting the water slide down his entire body, with the feel of his brother's skin lingering on him like oil, refusing to let him forget what exactly they had done. The intensity and completittion of it were now something that would stay with him forever.

Dressing, he walked quietly back into the bedroom, looking over Takeru's sleeping form, curled in the sheets and smiling, the first morning ray reflecting the real glow those golden locks could shine. Settling the bag back to the ground, Yamato sat himself at his desk, expressionless.

The train has left
And I'm walking it's tracks
For each of my steps
I take two steps back

My sky above
Is titching pitch-black
Moonless and starless
With dancing snow flock

If it's all in my head
Then why am I cold?
How have I wandered
In this endless ice void?

Perhaps it is fate
This walking on alone
But maybe one day
My hopes shall dawn

Maybe they'll melt
This grieving white snow
To drench and reveal
Which path I must go

But now as it is
I'm just trying to grow
Wishing to see
My train through the snow

Takeru stirred, and Yamato shook fearful of him to wake. Leaving the paper and the pan on the desk, he pulled himself onto his feet again, whipped the tears he couldn't quite find the reason for being in his eyes, hung the bag on his shoulder, and left it all behind. Kyoto. He would go to Kyoto a day in advance. He needed to be alone to find that strength to move on. For Takeru. For himself.

tbc

---

That was one tough lime to write XX I just couldn't do a lemon ;; It's sad how I love Yamakeru this much but can't write it! I did my best tho. Which, let's face it, could have been done better - I just have no idea how. I turned awfully dramatic at the end u.u;; Next chap (when it comes); conclusion. A happy one, no fears. ;;; C&C!

Kitsu