Distortion
Author: Stygian Illusage
Genre: Original/Anarchy
Pairings: Andreas + Seung, Ryu + Seung
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Yaoi, shounen-ai, AU environment, sap, possibly confusion for the readers (as well as author, mind you! ^_~).
Special: ‘Do You Like It’ –OLP. This is a crazy ficlet I thought up one day, and it took a few more days to piece it together, even though it might not make sense anyway. I’m sorry for those of you who die from confusion, I’ll send flowers to your funeral, I swear! The ending wasn’t meant to be that way, but it seemed appropriate.
The darkness was disturbing, enveloping him in silence that was endless and deafening. Blood pounded through his veins, throbbing in panic and fear. Alone. It was something he never wanted to be, never wished to learn, or feel. But, he was alone in the abysmal dark; there was nothing with him besides the cold wall against his back.
A shudder passed through him as he lifted his hands to run through his hair, eyes closing and no longer straining to attempt to see through the everlasting shadow placed all around him. It was useless, and the chill grew, sweeping over his slender form again and again. An opportunity had opened caused by the silence and the inability to see what lurked around him. Without the strain of the world, his thoughts conjured and created a fantasy of his past.
A past of slavery with no hope of a better tomorrow as he was sold from house to house and man to man for chores, or display, or… worse. He couldn’t recall his younger years in life besides the packing of many children into a shipping hovercraft to be sold in bulk to markets and then individually purchased. His first masters were a blur to him, some he didn’t even see or know as he only worked in the kitchens to clean and help workers.
He had never had friends when young, as he was sold too soon to know anyone. It was a life, a time, he did not know loneliness; too caught up in the rush of new homes and chores, new duties to be done. Learning always what he had to, to survive his time in one home or another. The common language was understood with difficulty, but harder was the attempt to speak it in reply and even write it. Still he did not know how to write as most others did.
The cold pulsed suddenly and new warmth burned over him, the darkness finally lifting to create a gloomy setting. His eyes peered open to look up and breathe in the soft wisps of heat that caressed his face as it flowed naturally. As he looked around, the lights continued to illuminate the hallway he seemed to be sitting it. Carpeted in plush red with a cream color masking the walls, the hall seemed to stretch in both directions and the candles stationed on the walls brightened mysteriously.
“Seung…” The youth looked up the hall sharply as the breathy voice came from a pleasant light. It was soothing, and he found himself standing slowly, unsteadily with aid from the cool wall against his back.
Suddenly, the opposite end of the hall darkened again, a gush of wind causing the candles to flicker and die out. He turned and watched the shadows creep over the walls and devour the colors of the hall in their depths. And then the leather of his crimson duster rustled as he ran toward the brightened end of the hall. He was afraid of the shadow and crawling darkness. With the joy of and color of the light, he was safe and secure as any could be during that time. But where there was light, there was destined to be dark; and with it came the uncertainty that would sweep over him. And so he ran along the hallway, nearly frantic to reach the light.
When he stumbled upon it, the open space before him flashed with the light above and then dimmed again. Behind him the hall was lit again with the burning candles, unseen forces lurking all around him.
Blue-black eyes examined the floor space and the heavy velvet curtains framing the front of the area. Slowly, Seung walked forward and gazed out to see the rows and rows of empty seats inclining as they distanced away from the stage. Balconies adored high above and also held seats for those of greater cost; the pearly candles flickering to perfectly illuminate the empty audience seats, and the Korean stood lone upon the stage surrounded by it.
A perfect environment.
He remembered the night when the lord of his current home had passed on, and a fraction of the slaves were obligated to pack their belongings and leave to be sold. It was something he always dreaded; the market, the merchants, and the dirty, sad slaves that would wail and chattered nonsense. As a boy he had always wondered if he would live his entire life in bonds, until finally he, too, would mourn of the wasting of his life.
“Get over there!” The men yelled and the young boy was lost in the rush of slaves around him, being shoved along a wall and then escorted to separate cells to await consumers that might care to purchase them.
“I not like here…” Seung shivered after forced into the small cell, dark eyes brimming with tears.
“A damn shame,” the man growled at the small teenage boy, making sense of the poor grammar and sneering at the dirt that covered him. “You stay in here like a good boy, and keep your mouth shut.” With that, the door slid shut to leave the youth alone. The only light that shone was that which streamed through the small window in the door; which he could not see out of, but others could peer in.
The boy mouthed a soft Korean hymn as he crawled to the far wall of the tiny room, curling up against the ice-cold steel that enclosed him. The stained and oversized shirt he wore was stretched over his bent knees to cocoon him as he gently rocked and the soft words of the song became audible; interrupted by his sniffling and some words stressed out from his tightened throat. He hated being trapped inside such rooms, whether alone or accompanied; there was no way out if he wished it and that stirred great fear within the boy.
It was no time at all, yet an eternity for the Korean youth, before the doors opened again. And as he looked up, he had laid his dark eyes upon the fairest man he had ever seen. Gentlemen of such stature had never come to inspect him under such conditions, and the merchant seemed hesitant to allow the man inside.
“Please, sir, there are others that are far suitable for viewing. I group has just come from being cleaned and vaccinated.” The merchant rung his hands nervously, unclean himself as he spoke of his merchandise.
“Nein,” the tall and smooth featured man replied, lifting a hand to silence the short man. He entered the holding cell and walked over to the small figure in the corner. Deep emerald eyes gleamed down to meet a timid blue-black, a warm smile forming the man’s soft lips, and blond tresses framed the face of a saint.
The man lowered to one knee and reached one hand out to capture the boy’s chin, gripping firmly as the small teenager whimpered and attempted to pull away. “Nein… Hush, I will not hurt you,” his voice was thick with an accent the youth had not heard before. And not until later would he learn of the many sweet lies the man would present him with. “What is your name?” He asked while attempting to wipe the caked dirt to view the face underneath it.
“S… Seung,” the youth replied and swallowed thickly, watching the handsome blond. He quickly moistened his lips and spoke before the other man had to ask him another question. It was routine, it seemed, “Am Korean of age thir… thirtee-een. Am good worker in house, or field… or mine,” The youth’s brow furrowed in thought to remember the rest of his information.
The man chuckled amusedly and stood, startling the Korean out of his thoughts. He placed a hand upon his dirt-matted hair, which reached to his lower back at the time, looking at the merchant that still lurked in the doorway. “I will take this one, ja? You are mine now, Seung, aren’t you?” His piercing green eyes lowered to look at the boy with that smile still on his lips.
“Yes,” Seung nodded and blinked his large, dark eyes. Obedience was evident in those innocent eyes, knowing no other life beyond that of servitude and absolute agreement. And with only one word he had promised himself to that man, unconsciously.
He learned shortly after that the man’s name was Andreas Koen, and that his family ruled the capital of Germany; Berlin. It was as clean a city as they came, the crime low and peace maintained accordingly- the Koen family keeping that peace and cleanliness with its own army of men stationed around the city. It was a city he would learn to know very well from his three-year stay there, and for those three years it would also be his prison. He could see those metal gates that they had to pass through just to get into the city; and nothing passed through without the family’s consent.
Finally, he noticed the microphone sitting in wait right in the front-center of the floor. There was nothing more upon the stage behind him when he stood with the microphone, curling slender fingers around its cool, chrome stem. And as he looked out into the audience, the empty red seats eerily silent, images flashed before him. So many faces he had seen, but could not remember, and some he knew the names of. But, they flashed and flickered in his vision until each individual was placed in a seat row-by-row, filling the room with matching eyes peering at him.
Without warning, music began to play. Steady were the guitar and drums, and immediately the Korean leaned into lessen the distance between his body and the microphone. No thought was needed as a light from above was directed on him, parting his lips while gazing at his audience.
“I crawled out from the pain of yesterday,” he began and closed his eyes, ”I crawled to you and I said all the things that you said to say. Have I said enough?” His head tilted just slightly as his lips brushed against the roughness of the microphone and a small furrow came upon his brow, an invisible amplifier pulsing out the words he sang.
“Do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah. I know why you're playin' these dirty games. They're killing me and— I know how you love to watch me beg. Well, here I am.” Seung moistened his lips while one hand gripped the stand and his other held to the device itself. He felt his heart throb with the hidden meanings of the words that he sung, a vague mourning hinting his smooth voice. Even as he moved to the music, his mind was elsewhere, recalling his life with that bastard of a master Andreas. He remembered those chilly, torturous nights the man would toy with him and make him writhe just to listen to the Korean’s begging… his pleas…
“Do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, yeah-e-yeah, yeah-e-yeah!” Again his dark eyes opened to stare into the many faces of the crowd, no longer seeing them, no longer needing to know they existed; loosing himself within the music as it intensified and sped up. In the blink of an eye the audience had vanished and only one seat remained filled… seated was the man of his past, Andreas.
“I don't wanna be the puppet for you,” he rocked forward and pressed his lips softly to the head of the microphone as he sang, “I don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding. I don't wanna be a sucker for you— Ah, yes, you! I hate myself for begging. I hate myself for staying. I hate myself for listening to... you…” he drew out at length. There had been nothing he could do back then, locked within the household of the Koen’s, and under supervision of their men, as well as the gates beyond. No escape, not even in his own mind, within the fantasies he used to create about being free. Everything had become tainted as he spent more time there in Berlin. There was nothing peaceful to him any longer… except the private gardens he would visit daily; each dawn to view the lush, crimson roses touched by morning dew.
“It's too little too late, I can't escape,” his brow furrowed again while narrowing his eyes upon the blond saint, “So I'm begging you please! I changed all the things that you told me to change,” the youth shook his head and jerked the microphone from its stand to slide down to his knees, “And now I'm on my knees. Do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, yeah-e-yeah, yeah-e-yeah!” He was sure the German loved it, to see him on the floor and ready to be abused, humiliated, and violated…
“I don't wanna be the puppet for you. I don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding. I don't wanna be a sucker for you— Ah, yes, you! I hate myself for begging. I hate myself for staying. I hate myself for listening to you.” And there was no pause before his other words, although the audience changed again… and an even more alluring man sat before him. Platinum hair played upon bronze skin and the Korean couldn’t help but get caught in those alluring, piercing cerulean eyes. A visible shudder ran through him from the intensity of the stare, just as it always seemed to be, such a delicate but raging fire contained in the pair of colorful gem eyes.
That man was the one Seung wished to be his savior, the man he wanted to look at him and admire his lithe frame as it moved to a sensual rhythm. Ryu Takamara was the one man he wished to challenge.
“I just want to get out; stuck inside of this. Waiting for something else; waiting to exist!” he slid his free hand down the pole of the stand and rocked softly, “Can you offer me help? Help for what I've missed, I've missed, I've…” his words trailed off as the music softened, but it’s tempo remained so for only a few moments, and then he threw his head back and cried into the microphone as his eyes slid closed.
“Do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, do you like it, yeah-e-yeah, yeah-e-yeah, yeah-e-yeah! I don't wanna be the puppet for you. ‘Don't wanna bite the hand that's feeding. I don't wanna be a sucker for you— Ah, yes, you! I hate myself for begging. I hate myself for staying. I hate myself for listening to— you! For listening to- you, ahh... For listening to- you, ahhh... For listening to- you, ahhhh...!”
With the absence of his voice, the music died away, and he was left upon the stage to breath heavily. His lips faintly brushed over the item in his hands again in an almost loving manner, before he lowered his hands and opened hazed eyes to look out into the audience. It remained to be the same man, the Vietnamese’s masculine beauty practically glowing, causing the youth to sigh and simply admire him for a few moments.
The youth was sure many knew of his attraction to the man, but he was just like anyone else that had laid eyes on Ryu. Every individual was star-struck and mesmerized by his great prowess and lack of flaws. And that was why Seung hated the feelings that had been uncovered, emotions he had buried in hopes to never feel them again— never have that pain lurking so achingly in his chest. He didn’t want to be like the rest, like any of them. The bittersweet taste of adoration, caring, and love taunted him; something he did not want to share with the rest of them… and it was not only the lust of his body to another’s or the chemistry that bounds two forces together. It was probably the deficiency of those bodily cravings that drove him mad. No, it was his heart that clenched and throbbed and his mind that screamed out to be loved in return.
The device rolled away from his hand as he slowly bowed his head and his slender body followed after. On the cold stage color, wood polished and glimmering beneath him, he lay and curled up. The convulsions already shook him before he allowed the tears to escape his dark eyes; eyes that stared into the nothing that surrounded him. He thought of what he used to be but only a few years ago, and what he had become after his innocence was stolen moment by moment which left him with no more than a memory, or so he thought.
He had wished the feelings, emotions, would abandon him after he had been raped of his youth and all he needed to thrive was the dull pleasure of excitement, until one day he would face death. And that would be his escape, his elation, whether he won or lost in that battle. The battle to kill himself and let that Todesengel sweep him away to rest forever in the distortion of his own mind’s dark fantasies. He wanted to be saved… from himself.
