Chesiere Cat
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Tangled in bed were two bodies

Twined were thin sheet and threads of destiny

Sweet were words those sensual lips whispered

Sweeter still the taste and truth of irony


From a monster to a monster

The sun reigned the sky; its brightness adorned the endless heaven with day-flower when blossom of night withered like a forlorn maiden. Dawn approached with warm fingers, slipping through the parting of verdant-colored curtains. Silently—always silently—those fingers crept, caressing over skin unhidden from the embrace of silky sheet. Much louder, the autumn wind visited, tapping against the windowpane that reflected the morning's azure. And even though the dreamers' dreams were bright, dawn was brighter than the dreams too fleeting to last…

Silently—ever-so-silently—sunlight's warm fingers moved, brushing over naked skin slightly cooled by night's web. Gently, the warmth and brightness livened up the once secrecy of astonishing sight: the perfect contrast of black and white.

First, you see the tangles. Tangles of hair. One long and sleek, one short and messy. One silver like river of moonlight, one dark like the shade of night itself. Then, you see more of their flesh. Pale and tender spooned by the tone so sun-kissed. Body strong yet lithe encircled by stronger arm attached to a chiseled body. Looking at them now—lying together in sleep of blissful peace—you might be convinced their past history was mere illusion—a nightmare so horrid, a phantasmagoria.

Then brilliant dreams decayed and rusted. Prevailing with time, sunlight's fingers shook one from the realm of slumber. Eyes, the deep color of obsidian, slid open, having felt the warmth of dawn on their lids. Eyes, the same dark eyes that had gazed once long into the abyss now fixed on no other but the pale creature in his arms. For this creature he held close to him was the very same monster he had sought.

A monster so beautiful and wicked… One so terrible and tragically nameless to that world…

The riser's fingers felt the soft skin of the albino's neck. A neck so graceful and slender… It appeared too delicate. It would be so easy as snapping a baby's little arm as to break now that lovely neck. The Hound's eyes narrowed fractionally as his wandering fingers came across a bruise mark—the very mark he had left. For at that moment, his entirety was fed with all the bitter bile of irony.

Vengeance could render a man mad, blind, and deaf. And yet Kougami was not sure whether he had become senselessly blind or just raving mad. Perchance in place of delivering a bullet to the magnificent monster, he had delivered a rose. The monster had failed to swallow him into the darkness it dwelled. Tsunemori might say it was a success in not becoming one. Yet, whenever he pieced back together the whole story for a complete picture, he always saw it there:

His own monstrosity.

He could see it in the memories of Sasayama. He could see it in the corpse of Funahara Yuki. He could see it in Tsunemori's sorrow. And he could not forget the last moment he had seen of Masaoka and Ginoza.

For instead of snapping that fragile neck, he brushed away strayed lock of silver threads nature had finely spun, and planted a butterfly kiss on that particular bruise mark.

Did he just submit himself to his obsession? Or was it Tsunemori's justice that had come to his possession before he pulled the fatal trigger? That, he could not answer. All he knew was the decision after that especial decision could hardly be called true justice. It was personal selfishness that had taken over. It was that ghostly whisper that kept whispering to him in the dark.

To hold Makishima his own captive instead of turning him in to the Prophetess.

Tsunemori Akane dreamt of brighter future. But that future seemed so far away when on that judgment day, Makishima could only be trialled in imaginary court. And so Kougami stole him—his object of obsession—and hid him away, so the Prophetess would forget her unholy desire.

Angel, angel, falling from the sky…

Who knows he himself would soon become trapped.

I keep seeing you in my dreams…

Trapped. Ensnared. Inescapable. Long years of obsession had infected him, and his mind was pervaded so easily with the longing to fall.

Angel, angel, falling from the sky…

Those chatoyant eyes. Captivating smiles. Sensuous lips.

I want to trap you here with me…

Again and again and again into that bottomless depth, he fell… Into the darkness he could see behind the nameless monster's pupils. Falling and falling, he fell… Down and down the unhallowed spiral of this creature's complex mind.

Trapped. Ensnared. Inescapable.

Forever and ever and ever...

He could look nowhere else but at the deceptive smile of a fallen angel. He could not help but listen to all the lies he knew his keen nose craved to detect. He could not help taking in the smell of cruelty laced with roses.

Even if those wings smell so heavily of blood.

Makishima Shougo. A man. A monster. An enigma. His prey. His enemy. His lover. Like a hound long starved, Kougami could not take his eyes off him… As well as how he could not let himself succumb to complete gentleness.

Slowly, it happened so slowly, yet Kougami was subconsciously sure. Eventually, his sanity would meet its absolute destruction.

He kissed Makishima's lips.

Fate's perversity had its name. And that was irony. Fate could be as capricious as the perfect criminal, and even the perfect criminal had his absurd moments. For instance, Makishima Shougo had always been a light sleeper, yet such ephemerality remained no longer as time wheeled deeper and deeper into the tunnel of aging days. He slept like death. And though he would have slept with Death himself years ago on the hilltop of the golden field, his love for anarchy died. And imprisoned by the embrace of his game's rival, he was trapped within the labyrinth of human emotions.

He slept like death, he did. Like a little child lulled by the comfort of security. Still, even in his sweet dreams, he wondered whether this was truly the feel of soul's splendor he had always sought. Could such splendor shine from certain wills rendered so feeble? Killing, searching, dying. Bleeding, emptiness, chaos. For so long, he had been in search of lost connection… For so long, the line between his initial desire and his twisted purpose had become hazy.

Who isn't alone in this society?

That was not the question, but the truth. Still, he kept yearning to ask. He persisted to find an answer. And it was perhaps this answer that had made him lost all the thoughts ordinary citizens possessed. He had long forgotten the pursuit of happiness. Yet, this brave new world his captor had sailed him to was filled with pleasure and light—the light much different from the civilized blaze of that City he was born in. He wondered why he was strangely shaken by his captor's touch. It was utterly absurd. Totally absurd and too amusing in so many ways…

Angel, angel, falling from the sky…

Even in dreams, he yearned to be kissed. Even in dreams that never lasted, he wished to be cradled like a child who asked for loving words instead of rhymes for nursery.

I keep seeing you in my dreams…

But in reality, he taunted. For those lips of Kougami would never say the sweetest words. Nor would they promise undying love even as their owner was trapped in eternal obsession.

To understand and be understood, that was precious enough.

Angel, angel, falling from the sky…

Colorful dreams shattered. The fallen angel woke. With verity imbibed.

It is time for you to wake up…

"Is it too late to say good morning?" He uttered, tasting the warmth lingered on his lips.

Eyes, those eyes with obsidian color, kept their watch, fixating, scrutinizing the mysterious creature's smile—a watchdog deciding whether he saw a monster or an angel. Lazily the beautiful creature moved, deceptive delicacy hiding well its strength and danger. For such eye-pleasing form carried also another kind of deadliness. The sheet formerly covered the naked flesh fell away, and the ex-Enforcer was left with all the opportunities to stare at the evidence of his mental struggle—the thing Makishima humored as tyranny.

All the bruises, cuts, and marks… All marring porcelain skin once perfect.

Angel, angel, falling from the sky…

In a heartbeat, amber colored eyes were so close he could see into its depth and the voiceless challenge daring him to dive.

You think you are an angel…

"It is nice to be able to see your face every morning," came the sultry whisper. Pale thigh stained the pretty color of semen mingling with blood pressed close enough for his desire to rekindle.

"You're always so quiet, Kougami." Oddly, the voice that spoke sounded even more quiet.

But human cannot be kind to a monster.

"…" He grabbed Makishima's chin, rough thumb kneading the beauty's glossy lips. Still, he refused to give him a kiss. Their gazes met, and he let go. "I need a cigarette."

With that, he could have left. To save his sanity and be heartless to the vile monster. To be cruel instead of being kind. To let the monster live as he robbed its desired finality of perfect death. Yet, dead or alive, this monster continued to haunt him, slithering into his subconsciousness with this infection so viral named addiction. The disease quickly spread, and Kougami knew he could never leave.

Makishima had become his world.

"You've stopped smoking in bed. Is this need because of some significant dreams you had?"

Golden eyes gazed deep into darker ones, reading, searching for something the other hid.

"…You've never struck me as the type to find dreams significant, Makishima."

A soft chuckle was emitted, ringing with charm in the bright morning.

"The average of three hours was never fit to dream enough."

Had someone like Makishima ever had a nightmare?

"It surprises me someone like you even dream."

A flash of emotion in those golden eyes. Gone so fast, yet presented clearly enough for sharp eyes to catch.

"Have you ever read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Kougami?"

Were you an android or were you a human? Even androids dreamt their own dreams.

"You aren't an android, Makishima. Just a whining kid."

And he could not deny when the monster sealed any more harsh words with a kiss.

"Remind me to whine for more books."

The remaining debris of broken dream fell as his sanity and guilt were torn apart. Blurry became the memories of loss as the needed justice faded in color. Hatred gave birth to a monster. Obsession and unnamed emotion also gave birth to one. For it was too difficult for human to love the wicked. As a monster to a monster, though, it was none too hard to be convinced…

That it was seeing instead an angel.

He wrapped his arms around Makishima's body, feeling again the rush of desire that had conquered him the previous night and the night before and before and before and before that. They had done it so naturally, done it so many, many times, countless times. And still, he always craved for more.

His touch left marks on Makishima's body, and in turn, Makishima marked him with many, many more. He grunted, he ground, he grappled. He sucked on that pert nipple until Makishima moaned and yielded the body so pliant. He mesmerized the sight when Makishima panted and when his usually calm expression became flustered. He savored all those sweet moments, and fed on the excitement of their union.

Tangled in bed were two bodies


Twined were thin sheet and threads of destiny

Silvery hair that had grown long over the years cascaded like waterfall, fanning out beneath sweat-glistened body. Unlike at night when moonlight bestowed the ethereal allure, day had granted its own charm of illumination for one to get lost in clarity's bittersweetness.

In a place far away, a monster coupled with an angel

Together, they reached completion.

Silently, golden eyes slid close. As he received the Hound's essence inside, the broken-winged angel wondered whether his hue would now be so tainted. For in this system-less world, his heart seemed more easily shaken…

They were wedded to fate's irony

"Do you still need a cigarette?"

"…Ah, I don't think so."

And he held on to Kougami's hand tight.


It's an eternal fall.

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