|[short] [pwp] Augury
||[Mar. 21st, 2007|01:05 am]
My brother is made of bird bones, he says to himself. Bird bones break if you touch them without knowing how. His fingertips carefully trace the sharp contours of Naoya's drawn, tormented face; the taut skin relaxes just beneath his touch.
Naoya's ribs and knees and pelvic bones cut into his flesh. Naoto presses his whole weight down against them, unafraid of the bruises they may leave. He knows this weight is what Naoya needs; there is no other way for them to disappear together. He handles Naoya with precision and delicacy, as if he would fly off if he wasn't careful. As if he were something that could be completely trapped in both hands.
Bird bones could tell the future, he could remember reading in a book somewhere. Scattered into the wind, they fall into patterns that predict what comes next. That is the duty of worldly things. He recalls this as Naoya's thin limbs writhe and shudder under him.
But what happens to the bird's spirit, once the future has been told and the flesh has been shed? Where does it go?
It flies, Naoto imagines. Naoto remembers flying, once. Perhaps he was too heavy and made of too much cloth and skin to win more than a few minutes of that freedom...
But maybe Naoya could make it. Perhaps this frail creature could just leave this earth, unburdened, naked like this, stripped of anything and everything that could hold him down, stripped even of memories of his brother... he would go where no one could follow him.
For now, all Naoto has to do is to keep him anchored. Naoya breathes in gasps into his brother's ear, grips his shoulders as if being anchored was hurting him.
Naoto moves, torn between the pleasure and the desperate wishing that he, too, could simply shed his skin and soar.