Author: Jordanna Morgan (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Characters: Dark and Daisuke.
Summary: Daisuke innocently questions Dark’s sense of fashion.
Disclaimer: They belong to Yukiru Sugisaki. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: This is a weird little bit of angst, inspired by a detail of one of Dark’s outfits. Take it with a grain of salt, as I’m not sure the rationale entirely works. (It might work better if he always wore the garment in question… but then, I love that Dark is one of the few animated heroes who actually has more than one set of clothes.)
At the prodding of Daisuke’s voice and thoughts, Dark unwillingly stirred in the corner of his tamer’s consciousness where he had effectively been napping. His inner voice projected itself as a groan of displeasure.
What is it, Daisuke? I’ve been trying to rest up for our little job tonight, you know. The Prometheus Lantern is no cigarette lighter—and he’s not gonna let himself be stolen without a fight.
“Yeah, well, it’s almost time to go. Anyway, I was wondering something.”
Duty called, it seemed. Dark roused himself and reached out from the depths of his private resting place within Daisuke’s being, connecting with the boy’s senses. Through their shared eyes, he saw that Daisuke was in front of the mirror, having just finished dressing in Dark’s own Phantom Thief catsuit.
Judging by the small movement Daisuke made, he could tell Dark was fully paying attention now. It had taken some time, but he was definitely getting better at reading his sense of his other half.
“This buckled collar,” he said, with a small tug at the feature of the catsuit to which he was referring. “What exactly is it for?”
Dark stiffened mentally. It’s not for anything. I just think it looks cool. Don’t you?
“Not really. I feel like I’m wearing a dog collar.”
An unmistakably terse silence was Dark’s response. After it had stretched on for a moment too long, Daisuke prompted with faint concern: “Dark?”
Let’s just go already, Daisuke.
Although clearly bemused, Daisuke seemed to accept that the subject was closed. He obediently produced Miss Risa’s picture. As he gazed at it, working up the feelings that would trigger the change, Dark momentarily pushed the sight of it away from his awareness. Now especially, he didn’t want to dwell on… her.
Daisuke was such a hopeless romantic that it always happened quickly. Within moments, Dark felt himself released from the shadows within, rising into control of Daisuke’s body as it took his form.
He gazed with solemn eyes at the reflection that was now his own. His fingertips touched the buckle at his throat.
Will you tell me about it someday? Daisuke asked quietly inside him.
Another hesitation. Finally Dark turned and strode to the balcony, raising his voice to his familiar who perched on the bed. “Let’s go, Wiz.”
“Kyu!” Wiz chirped in agreement, and black wings unfurled in a cascade of silken feathers as Dark leaped from the parapet.
Daisuke was too tenderhearted to understand, so he would never know. He would never know Dark wore that buckled leather strap around his neck as an occasional grim reminder to himself.
No matter how powerful the temptations Dark tasted in moments of rebellious mischief, he could never stray down the paths of his own desires. For as long as he existed, he would never be the master; never the tamer, but the tamed. He was bound to consider not his own shadow-life, but only the boy in whose flesh he dwelled, and the greater purpose he was devoted to serving.
Where there was a collar, there was a leash.
© 2013 Jordanna Morgan