Of Clocks and Watercolors

Type: Fandom

Fandom: BloodPlus+

Rating: M (mature)

Pairing: Kai x Diva

Genre: Drabble/Abstract

Setting: Anime : Blood+ : Episode (No. 42 - "The Reverberant Song" (Hibiku, Utagoe))

Summary: The day fades fast in short, quick hours, and all he can think about is little boys and coins.

Warning: Slightly spoilery. If you squint, you get a vague lime. Wah.

Roughly written about a year ago. Figured it was time to post something and get back into the habit of writing again.

She will never give him up.

She tells Amshel that is what she desires, and so, it shall be done.

The day fades fast in short, quick hours. High, high above, in domes and towers, in stars and skies, in ribbons and roses, and of wood grains and notches, and marbles and stones, the dark hand of the clock echoes distantly in the shroud of time. He can hardly hear it above the constant beating of dusty butterfly wings.

And . . . she wants to meet the man of the man of her children.

One step, and another, the staircase winds around and around the noisy bell, and takes a different turn at each door, until he is lost. The windows are open, with white lace curtains falling in waves. And he looks out the glaring windows and dreams of little boys and coins. The lights from outside fades. The falling of the stars is just another myth; watercolors mixing with tears across the sky. It is her guiding him, steadily, through and through the tangles of his soul.

There and there until the door is open, and there is a hook of a finger and the flash of a blade.

She is beautiful sitting there, and he thinks to himself, that she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Although he is angry, hurt, and wounded, he cannot deny himself.

Her voice is drifting across the delicate balance of his nervousness, across the plain of his hesitance, mixing all up with his eagerness to end it.

Her laughter is light, airy, breezing past him, brushing his sweaty face.

Her eyes are blue, sharp, deep, shearing, tearing his flesh open to reveal his nakedness.

Her hair is sweeping the delicate curve of her shoulder, tinged pink and wet.

Her fingers are digging into his sore wounds in all the right places, her nails winding tighter, and tighter around his heart strings.

His insides feel as if bursting, his hands cold and clammy.

He forgets how to breath, forgets how to let go, and forgets how to see all logic. He can't remember how he got here, nor can he remember why he is here in the first place. All he knows is her sitting in front of him, sitting there with a crooked finger, and inviting warmth. And suddenly the clocks rolls again in the background.

He stumbles forward, mouth parched, and throat dry, and suddenly, to give it all up now doesn't seem so bad as it did when the flowers died and the glass shattered. She asks him something, something he can't recall in his moment's waste, and he can't remember what he's suppose to say, or what he's fighting for. Hope is lost upon him, and she drags her teeth across his collarbone, aching slow.

And as the shadows spray across her face, he pauses to lower his gun, looking her dead in the eye. For a second . . . he sees Riku looking up at him, just like he used to, smiling softly. And Kai wants to laugh and cry, and hold his brother to his heart, and never let go.

And another shadow runs the plain of her broken face, and he sees Saya standing before him, laughing heartily. When she draws near, her hand runs the length of his neck, leaving a cold burning trail. And Kai wants to moan, and hiss, and to shiver all the same.

And when she pulls him near, he almost forgets to say no to her soft lips, and playful eyes. Kissing his throat, the burning pulse shakes, quietly throbbing beneath the thin membrane of skin. And Kai wants to scream, and plea, and whine.

For a moment . . . Kai wonders if Saya would hold him like this, if Saya would be willing to share her blood, the way she did with Haji and Riku. And in that quiet madness, Kai wonders if Saya would ever love him like this, or at least want him in this small of a way.

The breeze lifts her hair, and he wants nothing more than for her to touch him.

The air flutters, and in the distance, he can hear the low beating of a shattered heart. Leaving him, the current rips him asunder, and he suddenly wants everything.

Her kisses are sin, and her touch is rare. How foolish he was to walk into her, how foolish he was to come into her. But nonetheless, she waits and holds out her willowy arms, and embraces him like no one has ever done. And he's found something in the arms of his enemy.

She sings of promises, of a future and children.

So he digs deeper into her soul, spooning out all her madness.

Her hand is placed upon her belly, warm, and soft; life of his life following through her womb.

She guides his fingers to dance upon her stomach, tipping back and forth.

Riku . . .

A hollow echoing pulses in the base of his heart. He can feel the years ending; the falling of the leaves and smell the burning scent of ashes.

Falling, his voice is long and shallow, his breathing crying into the distance.

And when Saya does come for him, he remembers what he's doing, and he remembers why.

The gun is raised again, and he before he can shoot, she locks him inside all the madness of his own demise.

She will never give him up.