Chains of love

BY : RinoaRed
Category: Final Fantasy X > General
Dragon prints: 546
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy X, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chains of love

I take my last glance over our humble home. I see the kitchen table (that's where
I took you so many times), the worn out couch (that's where we snuggled countless times more), and the rugged mat laying on the floor (that's where I used to meditate, waiting for you home). The bedroom door is open, so I see the bed. I made it, that's why the sheets are straight and folded in military precision. Couldn't believe it is the same bed I woke from this morning, ruffled up, pillows scattered. You always sleep so restless. And never bother to straighten up. I have washed those bedclothes hundreds of times, but it seems like the heavy scent of sex has impregnated them. And the mattress too. How I've toiled over it! But it is impossible. Almost like getting off of you. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. No more apprehension. No more weakness.

I turn away and close the door. My heart is pounding out of my chest, the mixture of emotions weighing on it. It's relief, regret, joy and grief, love and hate. Today I'm leaving you.

You were seven when I came here. I found you easily, you were exactly like your father told me; brown haired little boy with eyes ready to water anytime. You were charming in a childish, innocent way. People loved your bouncy, carefree personality, and you took great pleasure being the center of attention. In that respect, you haven't changed a bit. I came here because of your father, but you never wanted to hear about it. I came to protect you, and found a boy who wanted none of it.

Your mother was a lovely lady. She was kind and gentle and soft, in a way Jecht never was. I can see why he chose her out of all swooning fan girls he must've had.

Her death was like a blow to my gut. I never had a family, I wasn't used to kids and you were hell bent on making it difficult. You didn't trust me, I understand why. It must have been a whole year when you finally accepted me. I guess you realised I wasn't going anywhere. After all, I take my promises seriously.

Years passed. In retrospect, they were happy years. Even when keeping you out of trouble wasn't so easy, it was rewarding. As time went, it became more than mere obligation. I found myself almost enjoying my duty. My feelings were, in a lack of a better word, fatherly. It was all affection, pure and simple.

Good things always come to an end. In this case, the end came with your puberty. You were fourteen, and damn, if you weren't the little rebel!

You were the new prodigy of blitz. People appraised your skills. I tried my best to keep your feet on the ground, to stop you from growing too arrogant and cocky. I honestly can't say if I succeeded or not. I sure didn't pamper you, but what could one man do, against the rest of Zanarkand?

You were only fifteen when you started your collection of conquests. I looked over as you brought home a date after another. And I felt so awkward every time I found you necking with a girl. You always stopped, saving me from my embarrasment. Every time I hoped you would stop fooling around, concentrate on the game and grow up.

At the time however, I didn't know the real reason of my feelings. I pretty much dismissed the whole thing as normal parental concern. But when I lay awake in my bed, late at night drowning my sorrows in sake I always had this nagging thought I never wanted to admit. I was attracted.

Mere thought made me scold myself. I should not feel like that. Sure, you were always pretty, but you were also too young. Not to mention my status as your... how should I say it... surrogate father shall suffice. And did I ever feel like I was betraying Jecht! He was my friend, who asked me to take care of you, and here I was, lusting after you. That couldn't be right.

You were almost sixteen that night. I was waiting for you, once again. You were at a victory party; your team won another junior championship. I was worried when you didn't come at sunset like usual. I had this odd feeling of unease. My mind kept coming up with horrible scenarios how you're lost and... I knew something was wrong. I tried to calm myself, convince that your friends would look after you. And as a local hero, who would want to hurt you? As soon as I thought that, I realized I wasn't fretting over nothing. Of course there was always the jealous boyfriends, jealous competitors, plain evil predators... I instantly regretted not teaching you some self defense earlier.

Then you came and proved my instincts right. You were drunk. Not just happyhiho drunk, but royally blasted. Naturally I told you off, and I was doing quite well, until you collapsed on me. I was immediately struck with worry. Carrying your shivering form I already felt a pang of guilt for my harsh words. You looked so fragile and hurt. I could barely stand it.

I comforted you, stood by your bedside and helped you throw up into the bucket. We missed it only once, but it was enough to soil my robe with vomit. I didn't care. I simply whisked it to the floor and held you to my chest.

Some time into the night your mind regained some coherence. You began to tremble and cry. I assumed it was your body reacting to the alcohol, unused to the after effects. I pulled you closer to me to soothe you, but you pushed away. I still remember every word.

"Do you wanna know why? Why I'm never home? Why I had to drink like that?"

"Tell me."

"You."

"...."

"Yeah you heard me. I'm running from you."

"Do you... hate me that much?"

"No, stoopid. I don't hate you. Geez, are you blind or fucking dumb. I love you, you bastard!"

"What is so bad about that, I could say the same."

"Oh man... You just don't get it. I love you like a man loves a woman, like I should love some girl. Fuck, forget that, I think I just want you. There, so I said it."

You could say I was shocked, but that would be a severe understatement. I was outright stunned. KO. Shaken beyond belief. I never thought you'd end up that way. Perhaps it's another thing that runs in the blood.

You asked me if I was mad. I couldn't say. You asked me if I was going to refuse you. I couldn'twer.wer. You asked me what would happen now. I had no answer. My mind was blank, even with more individual thoughts there than ever before. They were running amok. I assume people in that position follow their base instincts. That's all there is when the brain won't function.

I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn't. I knew also that I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror anymore. I did it anyway. I gave in when you approached.

That first kiss. It was a miracle. It burned my heart, threw blizzard shards down my spine, flooded my senses over and tingled on my fingertips. It drained my reasonings. Sheer pain.

It was you who seduced me. I'm not saying this to defend myself. I'm saying it because it's the truth. Clear as crystal. My error was succumbing to your allure. I should not be so weak. There has to be a little demon on my shoulder, whispering: How can something be so wrong yet feel so good?

I swear you must have planned it all. How you'd break my resistance. How to make me more susceptible to you. You knew I would never be the one to take your innocence, so you had it taken months before. When you told me about that merchant who fucked you I swear I was enraged. He did my dirty work, and for that I was both greatful and furious. I still have a deep desire to see his blood drip from the tip of my blade.

Everything changed after that. How could it not? You were relentless in your efforts to make me love you. You showered me with little gifts; you brought breakfast to bed, and gave some hell of a dessert. You never left home without kissing me. I was bewildered with all the attention. You never seemed to realise it was totally unnecessary.

You turned sixteen in a matter of weeks. It was very significant for you, because it meant your move from the junior league to the Real game. The one with big paychecks. I let you throw a party, after squeezing out a promise of not having any alcohol or such involved. I recall your exact answer was "Yeah yeah, whatever, old man".

After the guests went, I stepped in and gave you my present, those godawful boots you wanted. You gave me the best sex I ever had before.

Ah yes, the sex. Usually I prefer the term "make love", but in this case that doesn't fully describe it. I've shared your bed for almost two years now, but I still have this unquenchable thirst for you. It's like a disease, some exotic poison running in my blood. It makes my body react to your eyes, your voice, your touch, even when I don't want it to. Most of the time I don't. Not because it's not enjoyable, no, but more about how it makes me feel. I feel like a dirty old man, a bloody abusive shithead destroying his young protégé's innocence.

I know it's not true. If anyone is used here it's me. You use me. You can wrap me so neatly around your finger. I'm your all-around maid. I shop for your food, I cook it and feed it to you. I keep the house clean and orderly, I take care of your schedules and contracts, I nurse you when you're sick. I keep you in line, and I keep you satisfied. I'm a fucking wife!

Only for one thing... If I ever told anyone, they wouldn't believe. All anyone would see is an elderly man fucking with his stepson. The sweet irony is that they couldn't be further from the truth, and still perfectly correct. You are not an innocent little boy.

Your sex drive alone would make Jecht proud. I guess many more things about you would make him proud, if he only were to see you now.

I remember vividly the first time you took me. You came home from another winning match. It always makes you hungry, so I had dinner ready. You came straight up to me and devoured my lips in a way that left no questions about the real nature of your hunger.

When you finally broke off, I saw a gleam in your eyes I had never seen before. That look made me shiver. You led me to the couch and ravished my body with your hot mouth, undressing me as you traveled down.

Your mouth's soft wetness on me was as good as ever, but your hands were rougher than usual. They straddled my hips, kneading onm som so hard it left one or two bruises. Then they went to my groin.

Next thing I realised was your finger inside me. You actually fingered me! You never did that before. My astounded yell quicklyned ned into a soft moan. You liked that.

When you pushed yourself into me, I thought I was going to die. That is if I could do that. Despite your young age you are quite well developed. Maybe it's an athlete thing, or then again you're only your father's son.

Oh Yevon, I'm growing hard only thinking about it. I have to sit down now and cool down. At times like these, which have been plenty with you, I'm greatful of my preference to saggy pants and covering clothes.

Oh yes, about that time. You weren't exactly gentle. It was almost like a punishment, one that I was glad to receive. I don't know where your sudden change came, and you never told me. I wanted to ask you, many times actually, but whenever I tried, you either changed the subject, or just turned away with this look of annoyance and sadness. Now that I think about it, it's the same look when I mention anything about Jecht.

After that you liked being in control. It was another area of life you could dominate me in. You always had a way of getting to me, with those snide remarks, cute pouts and irresistible smile.

And I enjoyed it all. Maybe even more than you. You tied me to the bed, pulled my hair, you even gagged and whipped me. The sweet mix of pleasure and pain...

The most positive outcome of your newfound interest was that while you had your way with me in bed, I had my way elsewhere. It developed into a strange game we played: I said no to you, gave you curfews and acted like any strict parent in the daylight, and when the doors of our home closed for the night, you gave me my punishment.

So why, you ask. Why have I decided to leave now?

Don't think it's because I don't love you. I do, you should know that. I leave because I have to. If I stay, my guilt will eat at my soul until I simply disappear. I have only some shards of my dignity left. I'm holding onto those. I have to get some distance to this.

Don't worry, I won't leave you all alone. You have all those groupies to comfort you, don't you? Actually, I still have a promise to keep, and I fully intend to. I'll be watching over you, even if I'm only a shadow on the street corner, a ghost just out of your view.

So here I am walking the streets, clutching your father's sword on my way to you. To say my goodbye. Maybe someday, in another lifetime or world, I don't know... If some things only were differend.

Forgive me.


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