FicWad

Notes: I had this idea brewing for a long time. An LJ Comm known as "yaoichallenge" gave me a prompt that brought this fic back to life. Here is the result. The idea of the "cord" came from the movie "Audition." Enjoy!


Dream on, fool, dream on.

It wasn't what Albel said, but the way he said it. His voice was a silk rope that wrapped itself around Fayt's neck and dragged him into a room to do things that frightened the decorations off the wallpaper. Usually Albel the Wicked's voice contained nothing more than pure venom. Still, when he spoke, people listened, especially when he wasn't hurling insults. Fayt listened more than anyone in the party. In fact, he was the only one who even bothered carrying a semblance of conversation with him. That didn't mean, however, that Fayt always liked what he heard.

When Albel first ended up in the party, the combined groaning from the others disintegrated brick walls. Even Fayt was worried, but not because he thought that Albel would do anything 'wicked'. He had to be honest with himself, a part of him was excited that Albel would be accompanying them, if only to see what made the fierce warrior tick. However, Cliff was right. What everyone else thought didn't matter, what mattered was what Albel thought, and the Wicked One was never afraid to say what was on his mind.

Why did Airyglyph lose the war?

Just a few days ago, Albel had asked him that question while the two were alone with boxes of fruits. Even now, Fayt couldn't find a straight answer. If he had to be totally honest, he would have simply stated that there was no one reason why Airyglyph had supposedly lost. However, he never did give such an answer because he had the feeling that such a response would have left him skewered by a very sharp, beautifully made katana. Had Cliff been asked, he would have said something like, "You lacked compassion for others." There was truth to that, but it had nothing to do with whether or not one wins a war. Not to mention Fayt would have probably found his head on the ground after saying it.

Of course, there was the other extreme. "The King should have been more ruthless." Fayt remembered honestly thinking that for about two seconds and only because he was standing right in front of Albel. He had to admit that there was a time for ruthlessness, but Airyglyph was ruthless enough for ten nations thankyouverymuch. Sure, Vox was responsible for much of it, but that didn't change the fact that Airyglyph caused misery to both Fayt and many people. Then, of course, the Vendeeni appeared, and caused much more sorrow.

I guess it was bad luck.

Almost immediately, Albel challenged that, but not with any sort of malice or the usual insults. He spoke with a keen intelligence that people either never noticed or never wanted to. After all, warriors like the Wicked One were as dumb as dirt, right? Fayt leaned against the cool glass. He wished he could remember every single word Albel said, but all he could remember was a simple question.

But, what is luck?

Fayt had a thousand and one answers to that question. Luck meant losing your vacation, parents, and best friend to a sudden invasion. Luck meant crash landing on two underdeveloped planets and doing your damndest to survive. Luck meant the same invasion causing the deaths of both friend and foe. Luck was a katana that pierced through the mattress barely an inch away from your face.

Looking over at the bed, Fayt could still see the hole Albel's weapon created. All Fayt needed was a hole in his head, but Albel clearly had no such intent, despite the crazed look in his red eyes.

So, you hate me?

Fayt answered the question faster than he thought he would. No. That's it. Albel turned right then and there, looking like he didn't believe a word Fayt said, but in the end, Albel smiled.

Dream on, fool, dream on.

"Soon there will be only the ice and the snow."

It wasn't what Albel said. It was the way he said it. Fayt watched him from the window's reflection, not knowing what to think, except to hold a string of bright red flowers in his hand. In Aquaria, they called it a "Wishing Charm," and girls made it with rare Palmira flowers. When they reached a thousand flowers, they made a wish, certain that it would come true. Fayt didn't believe in such a thing, but he liked getting it as a gift as thanks for saving Ameena. Albel didn't know about any of it, which worked out nicely so far.

"What do you mean?" Fayt finally asked.

Albel walked toward the bed, his boots ringing against the hard, wooden floor. He wore red today. Albel never feared color, battle skirts, or long hair. The Glyphian wore his long, black hair in braids. He sat on the bed, watching Fayt the way a hawk watched a rabbit.

"I mean that it'll be winter soon. Not like Airyglyph, but it will be cold."

Fayt turned away from the window and sat on the bed opposite Albel. "But, why would you say something like that."

Albel shrugged. "It was all I could think of when I saw with that thing." He narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing with it? What is it, anyway?"

"This?" Fayt held up the wreath.

"No, fool, the wall! Yes those flowers."

"It's a "Wishing Charm" made with the flowers of Palmira. You string together a thousand of those flowers, and you make a wish. If the wish is sincere, it comes true." Fayt shrugged, suddenly noticing that the flowers were as red as Albel's eyes.

"And you believe that superstitious nonsense?" Albel asked with an incredulous tone in his voice. "I thought you'd be smarter than that."

"I don't really believe in it. A friend of mine gave it to me, and I liked it, so here it is." Fayt chuckled, but Albel wasn't laughing.

"I see." Albel looked out the window. "A 'friend' of mine gave me some flowers too."

"Really?" Fayt always found himself on air when Albel talked about himself. Such moments were as rare as the flowers he held.

"Yes." Albel turned back to Fayt, his eyes again narrowed as if sizing up prey. "What I am about to tell you does not leave this room, do you understand me?"

"Y-yes."

"Good."

"What is it, Albel?"

"A few years ago, I slept with one of the Black Brigade members. He was supposed to have been my second in command. I thought that there might be something there. After all, we had much in common and thirsted for blood and battle. We shared a bed. We fucked our souls out, and then dawn came. When I woke up, he was gone, and on the night stand was a wreath of flowers," Albel spat that word out like it was shit, "some money and a note."

"A note?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"Yes . . . "

"It said, "This never happened."

Fayt gasped. "What did you do?"

"I killed him."

Albel sounded like he was describing what he had for dinner, which was of no surprise to Fayt. In fact, it wouldn't have even surprised him if Albel said that he had eaten the man's liver with some beans and champagne.

"Did you . . . eat his liver with some beans and champagne?" Fayt couldn't believe he asked such a question, but he did.

"No, fool," Albel snapped like a whip. "I hate liver. I'd only eat it if I were starving." He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "I chopped him to pieces."

If Fayt's jaw weren't screwed on his face, it would have fallen on the floor. "You . . . you didn't." Fayt shook his head. "I don't believe you."

"It happened, whether you believe it or not." Albel slowly walked over to Fayt and soon towered over him. He grabbed the wreath from Fayt's slack fingers. "In Airyglyph, there is a cord that can cut through meat and bone." Albel pulled on the wreath until it stretched into a straight line. "Want to know how I killed him?"

Before Fayt could even answer, Albel wrapped the cord around his neck. Fayt froze, knowing that he should be fighting back, doing something, but he ended up staring into red eyes while the wreath tightened around his throat.

Albel grinned. "I wrapped the vorpal cord around his neck. I pulled. He died. His head rolled down his body, and then I started on the arms, then the legs. I wore white that day, just like Airyglyph itself did, and I bathed in his blood before cutting his heart out. I burnt his body, and no one knew that I did it."

Fayt wanted to say that he didn't believe him, but the soft-spoken tone in Albel's voice said that not only did he speak the truth, he had no regrets. "Albel . . . " The cord didn't tighten, but it didn't loosen either. Albel simply started down at him, still smiling like all of this was child's play.

"So, do you trust me?"

Fayt nodded. "Yes."

"Heh, fool." Albel tightened the wreath, lifted Fayt from the bed, and tossed him against the pillows. Fayt coughed as air escaped his lungs, and almost choked when Albel crawled on top of him, red flowers crushed between his hands as he held onto the wreath. "Want to know what trust is?" Before Fayt could answer, Albel ripped the cord away, grabbed Fayt's hands, and tied them to the headboard. "This is trust." He leaned close to the boy, his breath mingling with Fayt's. "I ask you again. Do you trust me?"

Fayt looked into Albel's crimson eyes. "Yes. I know you won't hurt me. If you wanted to, then you would have a long time ago."

Albel grinned. "I can hurt you at any time."

"But you won't."

"Heh. Maybe . . . " Albel ran his good hand down Fayt's chest. "You'll never know." He tweaked at a nipple, causing Fayt to gasp. He took his claw hand, the one badly injured through dragon's fire, and ever so gently grazed it over Fayt's rapidly beating heart. "Don't worry. I won't cut your heart out. Somehow I know that you won't give me flowers and tell me that this never happened."

"I won't," Fayt breathed as he felt a "ping" between his legs. He clenched his teeth when Albel moved a little lower. "I--I . . . " He fell silent when the older man slid against him, his breath grazing Fayt's skin.

He smelt of the battlefield, like blood, sweat, and dirt. It lingered on him the way alcohol lingered on breath. No matter how many baths Albel took or how much powerful cologne he used, the scent would always be with him. Fayt knew this, and he had no choice but to accept it as Albel's lips pressed against the side of his neck. Fayt could feel the metal of the claw hand against his head while the warm hand palmed his nipple before sliding down his side and undoing his pants.

Soon both their erections touched each other, and they gasped in unison. Albel's good hand slid over Fayt's member, his finger s gliding across the shaft, and on the head. He did the same to himself, while his claw hand remained on Fayt's head, the metal finger barely brushing against his blue hair.

Fayt pulled on the wreath, but only flowers fell around him. All he could do was kick his feet to each stroke, each bodily thrust, and the press of Albel's hot mouth. He thrust against the older man, aching for more, wanting that build to become something that made him explode inside. Albel moved downward, replacing his hand with his mouth, causing Fayt to bite his lip until he could have sworn it bled.

He helplessly thrust his hips upward, just dying for that release, but Albel didn't quite give him a chance because he quickly removed his battle skirt and undergarments, and sat on top of Fayt.

"Come on!" Albel hissed. "Fuck me, you fool!"

Fayt dug his heels in the bed and did as he was told. He thrust hard, harder, and hardest as Albel cried out, his good hand now on his own erection, taking good care of himself while his inner muscles took care of Fayt. The claw remained on the boy's head, but he no longer noticed because he finally released himself inside of Albel. Fayt shut his eyes, gasping for breath as Albel's semen eventually coated his stomach. Albel withdrew, but kept his position on top of Fayt as he cut the wreath with a sweep of his gauntlet, sending crimson flowers all over the bed.

"This happened. Remember that," Albel whispered, his eyes glaring into Fayt's.

"I will." Fayt nodded, never looking away from the older man. "I will."