More then a thousand years ago Kazutaka Muraki had been forgotten. How his deranged mother had dug up a millennium old, middling porno manga he would never know. Even less how she had developed a crush on the antagonist to the degree that it had become an obsession.
She hadn’t wanted a son, she had wanted a lover. Somewhere in that rotted brain of hers their blood relation had either slipped awareness or didn’t matter. At least her obsession had meant there was plenty of material present in the house to discover who he was made to be. Who he didn’t want to be.
He hadn’t killed anyone. Still.
The veneer was cracked, though. While some languished in the developmental and social deprivation of isolated living, he had relished it. No one touched him except in martial practices. No one was his friend. No one was his lover. All the latent psychotic episodes-waiting-to-happen had been safely averted and kept at bay. He was not Muraki, whatever appearances might argue. He had his own name, his own life, and he was living almost normally.
Then there was Yuuki.
And now everything was fucked.
There were stained hands flatted against his chest in the shadows of dreams. Shaking, bloody fingers. Yuuki was before him, laid flat on a table and his legs were wrapped around …Muraki’s…hips. It was not himself. It could not be.
Yuuki’s arms were tourniqueted. Slow-leaking slits up from armpit to wrist. No wonder his hands shook. The will alone to move his arms was delicious, and he took him harder in those moments, feeling heat against his own thighs and the act smoothen as Yuuki choked. He was bleeding inside now.
Such dreams. He shook he head. How long had he been staring at the wall terminal? Everyone must know it was over. He may as well be calling yuuki by that other name, tsuzuki was it? He couldn’t remember. It must be why Yuuki appeared on no searches, no inquiries turned up his name, location, anything. He was hidden somewhere within Babylon, but blessings and curses, he was kept from his sight.
Maybe he would be lucky and die in a mission outside. He had put in to be sent to Mars, let them be merciful and grant it. He was tired of shadows in the night, the waking in a hot sweat with his heart pounding and a painfully full erection. Tired of the empty release of his own hand.
The council wouldn’t give him Yuuki, and he didn’t, in what was left of him, want to hurt the other man who had considered bedding him. No one else would have him. Being alone was just madness now, and he needed it to stop. He needed to die, and he hoped honourably. Doing something good…saving someone or something instead of tearing it apart.