. (creepstakes) wrote in kitsune_complex,
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creepstakes
kitsune_complex

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Greetings!

Long time watcher first time poster, so with my first post I give you ficcage! I’d also like to say hello and that I’m Osoimaru.
I have been looking around for a while now and only just realized that this paring is in dire need of more love *nods* So I’m doing my bit for YK/SM world domina-…awareness.
 
 
Title: Temple of Statues
Author: osoimaru
Rating: G
Category: M/M, shonen-ai, Romance. AU. Fairytale-ish.
Summery: There is a fable of two men. Of love endangered and of the desperate search for immortality. They exist, only, is it just a fable? A wild story made to explain the inanimate mysteries seated in the deepest of catacombs?
Notes: This is what you get when you mix technology with fables. *sigh*
 
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Seated upon his throne it is there he sits, staring blankly forward. Few wonder if maybe he ever see’s anything as he stares forwards into the nothingness of the temple, lost to light as the candles only illuminate him at the end of the long room and not the long passage. There are cords that don’t seem to fit the scenery, a silver colour that shined perhaps too bright that didn’t seem to match the gold tones and long crimson hair splayed across his shoulders. He never moved, it was as if he were inanimate. Or perhaps as if he was caught in the grip of a coma of sorts. But it was nonsense; this being could never really fall into a coma or any other human weakness. He could hibernate among other things, but to fall asleep was such a human concept.
 
He didn’t look like a human either. Such a though seemed stupid, really.
 
Lounging, as if an animal guarding his master, at his feet, there was another. More inhuman than the eloquently dressed other, he seemed to be the most out of place. Amongst all the gold and red tones he was a beacon in the night. Hair the colour of pallid silver fell in rivers around him and down the steps just by his shoulders. His eyes closed, canine ears attentive and listening.
 
For what? No one knew.
 
Statues some said. They must have been statues.
 
Ah, but what of the cords? They carried energy and electrical current, they went straight into the one seated at the thrones neck. And should one try to step close enough to inspect or study the origin of such cords, the white one would let out a growl that would echo throughout the whole temple like catacomb. The would-be victim always retreated before the threat was always carried out of course; no one had dared to get close enough or been stupid enough to disturb the two.
 
No, they were alive.
 
What they were doing here though, no one knew. Who were they? More importantly what were they?
 
Nobility they seemed, as they were dressed with luster and finesse. Fine silk and other materials that looked uncommon to onlookers, most dazzling to the eye. The one seated at the throne dressed in a long multi layered robe of gold’s, red and muted browns. The other at his feet in fine white, blue and muted green folds wrapping around his body elegantly. Neither gained dust no matter how long they stayed there in their temple. The walls of gold shone bright, lit by the torches and the shadows filled the inscriptions on the walls; written in an unknown language.
 
Such a mystery, yes.
 
The one on the thrones eyes used to be closed, until about three years ago when they suddenly opened, revealing them to be a wonderful color of jade. The other at his feet still had not opened his eyes, and the people used to talk about the romance of it. The beauty of the two men, and yet the one at the other feet seemed so guarding and the one on the throne so patient. Both pliant and patient as if waiting for something. Oh, but the women! The women would talk about this! Romance they called it.
 
The master sat upon his throne gazing on patiently waiting for his faithful servant to awaken. Perhaps then they could go on about their business, whatever it was. This was of course one of the more sane versions.
 
Another was a long winded fable.
 
True love, it was told.
 
The one on the throne – in this version the women had given them names- Kurama, had fallen ill. And so the lover of this man, Youko, set out to save him from his illness. To save him from death. Only Kurama tragically fell into a recessive sleep instead of the quick healing sleep as Youko had intended. Ever faithful and immortal, Youko lay down by his lovers feet and resolved to sleep until his lover finally awoke. Patiently they slept on for an unknown amount of time.
 
In the newer version Kurama finally opens his eyes and is unable to function of his own will with the cords still attached. Youko sleeps on oblivious. Kurama waits, ever thankful, for his lover to awaken and free him from his slumber.
 
Perhaps one day Youko will open his eyes and they will tell us of their past and how things used to be. Maybe they will explain to us the intricacies of their dress and the manner of their technology.
 
The onlookers dare not intervene now, hoping that, perhaps we will understand the old ways from fables once more?
 
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