A State of Ill Repair
They were bound to crack sooner or later.
Pillars are strong, and pillars support, but what supports a pillar before it finally cracks and crumbles and falls?
Desire is fire, and burning, and need, and want. Desire can control a man, make him do and feel anything, make him weep, scream, destroy, all for one touch, one look, one promise.
A kiss can be like water to a dying man, the last thread of salvation before the darkness of death envelops him. A kiss can be the flame that devours a weakening resistance, causing something new and terrible to rise from the ashes of destruction.
A tennis ball is a ball, but for some people it can always symbolise more. The sound of the ball meeting strings can be a challenge, a declaration, a pleading for forgiveness. A sun rises in the sky, heralding the dawn of a new age, and all will bow before their fire.
Echizen Ryoma kisses Tezuka Kunimitsu, his Buchou, and then turns, running as fast as he can. Clouds tumble through the sky as the breeze picks up; the sun sinks into its horizon-grave as an approaching storm rumbles.
The rain falls relentlessly in powerful, thick sheets and he is soon soaked, shivering as he splashes through the puddles and the water that flows down the streets. The rain stings against his eyes and he squeezes them shut, knowing he will soon be home, safe and dry and haunted.
His arm is suddenly caught in a tight grip and he is yanked to a stop, whirled around, and pressed against a body equally as soaked as his own.
“No –” he begins, but Tezuka slams his mouth against his, his protests abruptly cut off.
They break apart and Tezuka glares at him, rain clouding his glasses and dripping from his hair; their skin is cold and clammy, and Ryoma can’t stop shivering. “Yes,” he hisses, and kisses him again.
Ryoma closes his eyes and sinks into the embrace that Tezuka offers, burrowing his face against his neck. Let me burn into nothing, he thinks, so long as I am with you.
Desire is a state
A state of ill repair
It's ill prepared to cope
It's ill prepared to care
Beneath the creeping vine
A flower tries to change
It tries to satisfy
Its thirst without the rains
- Mantra, The Tea Party