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Dec. 29th, 2007 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaStretching is lovely. It was like trying to break out of the skin without worrying about your bones.
All your muscles straining and aching and moving…
“Just a little more, Yuuta, just a little further.”
And there was eons and eons of bone and skin and muscle between you and the outside world. Not you, not the you that people touched and felt and kissed and fucked…
“Yuuta. YUUTA! Ah…. Harder!”
But the real you, the you you. What made you you.
“I’m not Fuji’s little brother! I have a name!”
That you. And that you always wanted out. The hard thumping of your heart after a lot of exercise attempting to break through your rib cage, the way your head throbbed when you were suffering from a headache.
“Shattered shoulder, three broken ribs, concussion. No, I’m sorry sir, I don’t think he’ll ever play tennis again.”
You You You You. Me Me Me Me. Mixing and swirling like finger paints. Finger paints made child safe like flavored lube.
“Yuuta that, ah, oh…. Mmm, No, don’t stop. Cherry right? Aaaah!”
Broken like a doll. A pretty plastic shattered face doll. Not porcelain, never wanted enough to be porcelain.
“You lost! You’ll never play again! Don’t you get it Yuuta? I can’t stay!”
Can’t stay? Won’t stay. Bonds, broken like a child’s shoelace, all curlicues and peanut brittle.
“I’m sorry, Yuuta. They won’t let me bring you any of nee-san’s pie.”
“Just a little more, Yuuta, just a little further.”
And there was eons and eons of bone and skin and muscle between you and the outside world. Not you, not the you that people touched and felt and kissed and fucked…
“Yuuta. YUUTA! Ah…. Harder!”
But the real you, the you you. What made you you.
“I’m not Fuji’s little brother! I have a name!”
That you. And that you always wanted out. The hard thumping of your heart after a lot of exercise attempting to break through your rib cage, the way your head throbbed when you were suffering from a headache.
“Shattered shoulder, three broken ribs, concussion. No, I’m sorry sir, I don’t think he’ll ever play tennis again.”
You You You You. Me Me Me Me. Mixing and swirling like finger paints. Finger paints made child safe like flavored lube.
“Yuuta that, ah, oh…. Mmm, No, don’t stop. Cherry right? Aaaah!”
Broken like a doll. A pretty plastic shattered face doll. Not porcelain, never wanted enough to be porcelain.
“You lost! You’ll never play again! Don’t you get it Yuuta? I can’t stay!”
Can’t stay? Won’t stay. Bonds, broken like a child’s shoelace, all curlicues and peanut brittle.
“I’m sorry, Yuuta. They won’t let me bring you any of nee-san’s pie.”
