Note: Harukami is making me mention that this fic is undergoing major revisions so that makes this a rough draft. Personally I like it even if it is a draft, so it's going up! Nyah nyah! :P

Rebel Rebel

A very odd Kaze to Ki no Uta fanfic by that nutjob Harukami

Lyrics by David Bowie, Kaze to Ki no Uta by someone I don't know but who isn't me. I only wish, actually, it was a surprisingly good movie. So, ask me... why exactly am I writing a fic from the point of view of someone who isn't even one of the main characters? Yep, it's Max Blough, one of Gilbert's (many) lovers, reflecting on what he's going to do right before he does what he does in the opening scenes.


Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

 I wait at our usual spot, abdomen jittering, odd nervousness fluttering in my stomach. I am not usually nervous about our meetings; nobody would try to discredit me, and everyone knows Gilbert does what Gilbert does.

My fist has tightened on that last thought, and I force it to relax.

Relax, Max. Gilbert does what Gilbert does, and getting angry over it is pointless. Except...

This time I have prepared, and he is not escaping me. It never mattered how much I touch him, how much he enjoys being touched, I have never really had him in my grasp.

You've got your mother in a whirl

She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl

Hey babe, your hair's alright

Hey babe, let's go out tonight

I passed Jacque on my way here. He eyed me coldly, like an insect below his notice, and I admit to feeling much the same about him. He is just another.

"Blough," he nodded at me. "Going to meet a certain someone?"

"That is none of your business," I replied as civilly as possible to /him./

"Have a good evening, Drien."

He smirks. "I already have," he told me, and I knew fair well what he meant by that. "You will not have the same. He is mine, and mine alone."

I left then, not about to do what I have planned for Gilbert to him, though sorely tempted. Drien had been studying the Enchiridon Militis Christiani and Gilbert, no doubt, had been learning through osmosis.

After all, Gilbert does what Gilbert does.

Sometimes I hate that conniving little boy.

You like me, and I like it all

We like dancing and we look divine

You love bands when they're playing hard

You want more and you want it fast

The sound of a light step breaking a dried branch drew my attention out of my brooding thoughts, and the sight of him, as usual, makes my breath catch.

Moonlight shining through the branches makes his thick and silky blond hair create a halo around his head, lips a dark blood-red as though wearing whore's makeup or deeply bruised. He looks beautiful, angelic.

"Sacre..." I swear, barely hearing the words escape my throat as he takes a step toward me, eyes half-lidded, mouth opening into that smile, a prelude of what's to come.

"I would hardly call myself sacred, Max," he smiles, tilting his head, still with the look of an angel about his soft young face.

Young physically? Perhaps. But there is no way in any of Dante's layers of hell that Gilbert is young in actuality. I force my heart to steady, nodding at him and taking a seat in the leaves beside the trees. He follows. "Gilbert. I ran into Drien today."

"As did I." Gilbert's red lips form a petulant moue. "He bothers me, Max! He wants so much from me that I am not willing to give. Sometimes he truly scares me." One eye peeks up at me coyly from under those bangs. "But you will protect me if I need you, will you not?"

As always, he is manipulating me, but I find myself nodding anyway. Yet still I do not voice such words.

He is very good at manipulations. I choke out words. "How are your studies going?"

"They are lacking, as always," Gilbert admits, lips twisting up into their teasing smile again. He leans up against me, suddenly, fingers toying with the buttons on my coat, heat radiating from his body. "You will help me, will you not, Max?"

My body is tightening all over; it is as if my skin is several sizes too small. My breath stirs his hair. "Don't I always, Gilbert?"

His smile turns full-force, and he leans in to touch his lips to mine.

Is this how he kisses Drien? Or any of the many others, for that matter?

I pull away slightly, managing to turn my sudden heat of anger into a small smile. "So fast, Gilbert?"

Gilbert's eyes and lips are hungry with the look they wear. "I like being touched by you, Max. I do not see enough of you."

I would like to believe, you, Gilbert.

They put you down, they say I'm wrong

You tacky thing, you put them on.

His lips find mine again and lick their slow way along my jawline, hands moving deftly to remove my coat. I am defeated, emotionally, physically, though my small rebellion still waits in my bag. Yet despite his roaming hands and mouth, I continue talking. Gilbert and I do our best talking during relations, partially because that is nearly the only time I see him.

"Gilbert, do you like being touched by Drien as well?"

Undoing my pants, he smiles That Smile up at me. "Mou, Max, I never believed you were one to be jealous. I feel nothing for Drien. That is merely business. YOU are different, with your strong arms as you hold me for me."

I wonder.

"And the others?" I ask, lifting his head, moving him closer. "Are they just business as well?"

"I must survive school."

I wonder what paper you will want from me in exchange for this evening together.

"Of course you must," I agree, rolling him under me and moving over him.

For a moment, his face closes. "Non, Max. Do not. You know I don't do that."

"No, you don't." I sit back, wondering whose bite mark that had been on his shoulder. "My apologies."

Of course he doesn't. If he did, he wouldn't have that to hold over the rest of us, to keep us wanting. He would have given himself to just one of us, and Gilbert cannot seem to do that.

He follows me back, leaning in to kiss my neck. "Do not be so formal, Max. We have this now together."

His lips find more interesting occupations.

I wonder how many of these same things you have said to the others?

Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress

Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess

Rebel Rebel, how could they know?

Hot tramp, I love you so!

Gilbert is getting a roommate, I remember as Gilbert works Gilbert's own special magic. What will this new boy be like? Will he be good at the subjects he studies? Will Gilbert bed him as soon as look at him, as always?

I won't let him. Gilbert's mine.

"Oh..." the syllable escapes my lips and my hands run along his skin, his silky, soft, clean skin.

How can he still be so clean?

How many other bodies has he touched in the last few days... the last few hours, even?

He is too beautiful.

Too beautiful.

Sometimes I truly think I do hate him...

He is so small, so young looking compared to my over-large body. I wonder, not for the first time, what made him the way he is.

Perhaps nothing... Gilbert does what Gilbert does and what Gilbert does is get others' pleasure in return for his own needs, be they physical or mental.

I do not believe he has any emotions, unlike me. 

Don't ya?

Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

The world reforms in the aftermath of my haze of pleasure, Gilbert smiling up at me with that half-lidded, self-satisfied look. I cannot help myself; I take the small boy into my arms though I know he will want to go himself soon. Yet he moves around in my arms so he is more comfortable, head resting against my chest.

"What are you studying?" I ask lethargically, in the state of pleasure, love, and hatred deep enough that it is difficult to feel anything else.

"The humanities, Erasmus's works... mais... you knew that already." His lips smile. "Yet I have difficulty understanding the teachings. I don't suppose you would happen to have a feel for his Colloquies?"

"I have my paper with me, Gilbert." He has no grasp of the teachings because he does not go to class. There is little there for him; the teachers do not care for him, and the students taunt and hurt him, though they would use him as well, given half a chance. To the public voice he is dirty, yet to the private one, he is our angel.

Our very much fallen angel.

You've got your mother in a whirl 'cause she's

Not sure if you're a boy or a girl

Hey babe, your hair's alright

Hey babe, let's stay out tonight

"Shall I get the paper now?" I stir as if to leave, testing him.

His expression seems suddenly panicky. "Non! Do not leave me, Max! Stay here a while longer, with me! I want you to hold me more, I want you to kiss me more! I don't want to go home tonight!"

I want to believe that he wishes to stay here with me because it is me, but the truth of the matter that I know all to well is that he wishes to stay here with me only because he doesn't want to go meet his new roommate, whoever he is, and because he wants to be held by someone. Yet I am here, and I am that someone, though it is not enough.

I want you to myself, Gilbert.

You like me, and I like it all

We like dancing and we look divine

You love bands when they're playing hard

You want more and you want it fast

He kisses me in a frantic, almost scared manner, stealing my breath from me. "Gilbert," I half protest. "You are in a state tonight."

"I just want to be with you."

I cannot help myself: I kiss the little hellspawned angel. "I hear you are getting a new roommate."

"He will be a nuisance, but not for long. Forget him." Gilbert leans up to me again.

If he asks me to forget him, it means he already has arranged for someone to take care of him. Gilbert would make a deal with the devil to get what he wanted. Perhaps he already had; it certainly seemed like he always ended up getting what he wanted, though the rest of us -- no, though I have not been so lucky! 

They put you down, they say I'm wrong

You tacky thing, you put them on

"Why will he not be a nuisance for long?" I question, just to hear his answer as he finds ways to tease me back into painful awareness of my body.

Gilbert pauses, eyes darting. "He... he... he will learn fast enough how I am, what I am. From what I have heard, he is a very... straightforward...boy, and he will only cause trouble for me, being dirty as I am. After all, everyone says it. 'Gilbert does what Gilbert does.'"


He laughs, the sound bitter as opposed to the usual flighty joy in his voice. "Do not think I have never heard it, Max. It has been said often enough. But that doesn't matter," his voice softened, teasing. "After all, I am here with you."

He knows. And he doesn't care.

Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress

Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess

Rebel Rebel, how could they know?

Hot tramp, I love you so!

How can he not care? What has been done to him? Or is it simply that he has known too many people to care what they say about him, knowing that he always wins in the end?

Gilbert, you walk a very dangerous line, around some people.

Around some people like me.

Don't ya?


Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo

Gilbert is now satisfied, almost purring as he leans against me, but my mind is on other thoughts, distant tormented thoughts on what I am going to do.

I love him. I know that. I have known it for too long.

Perhaps I am dirty, but I no longer care. I have only two things left in my heart: love and hatred.

Love for him.

Hatred for him.

I will not be used as you use all the others! 

Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress

Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess

Rebel Rebel, how could they know?

Hot tramp, I love you so!

I look at him, white skin glowing, blue eyes and red lips joyful, hair haloing his angelic features, and I wonder what went wrong inside him to make him the person he is.

It doesn't matter. I love the person he is and won't let him leave without feeling something.

Love. Hate.


You've torn your dress, your face is a mess

You can't get enough, but enough ain't the test

You've got your transmission and your live wire

You got your cue line and a handful of ludes

He stirs, eventually pulls away slightly, and I rise to get my bag.

"Max," he calls out sleepily. "It does not matter. You can get me my paper in the morning. Stay out here with me tonight. Right here, beneath the trees, as we are."

I almost change my mind, but I take my bag anyway, and return to him.

"Put your clothes on, Gilbert." I love looking at him. "You will catch cold."

He protests, but eventually struggles into a few articles. Dirty, sweat drying on him, he still is beautiful and clean, somehow.

Gilbert has a history of accidents.

You wanna be there when they count up the dudes

And I love your dress

You're a juvenile success

Because your face is a mess

I seat myself beside his stretched-out form, watching him. His eyes are half-open again, peering at me in an expression I cannot identify.

"You are beautiful," I tell him, resigned.


I cannot help wondering, digging, trying to get more out of him than the others, learn who he really is. "Who did you get your looks from?"

"My mother," he replies, sleepy and not seeming to care, though no doubt watching his words as much as before. "She died during my childbirth, and my father died before."

"Who raised you?" I asked, hungry for this sparse yet existing knowledge.

He half-raised himself, surprised. "Mais... you do not /know/? I thought everyone knew... I was raised by Augu. It is why I have not been expelled from school. Augu is my uncle."

So how could they know?

I said, how could they know?

There is a look in his eyes as he says the Dean, Auguste's name, and I suddenly realize. It was him. Him who has kept Gilbert from giving his heart to anyone, from giving his heart to me. It was him who went wrong, for he cannot have gone /right/, in Gilbert's past.

I am decided.

I do not want to kill him, of course, but hopefully this will at least make him think.

My hand is in my bag. "Gilbert... there is something I want to do. Close your eyes."

Obediently, mischievous look crossing his face, Gilbert obeys, eyes sliding shut.

I lean over him. "Open your mouth."

Wine-red, full lips part slightly, waiting for... whatever it is Gilbert waits for.

So what you wanna know

Calamity's child, chi-chile, chi-chile

Where'd you wanna go?

What can I do for you? Looks like you've been there too

Gilbert has a history of accidents.

It's not that he's accident-prone, persay, but bad things just seem to happen to him, as if arranged.

Most of them are.

I am fairly certain that those faint lines on his back are from his childhood, whereas the others are more recent. Last month, the graceful boy fell down a flight of stairs. The week before that, he had a dark bruise marring the ivory of his chin. A split lip, split knuckles are common things to see him sporting. Once he threw up all the contents of his stomach for days when no disease was going around, and Pascal, our equivalent of a doctor, said that Gilbert had just swallowed something he shouldn't have.

My poor Gilbert, I am as bad as the rest of them in my love. But I need you to see that I am serious. 

'Cause you've torn your dress

And your face is a mess

Ooo, your face is a mess

"I love you, Gilbert," I whisper as I slide the poisonous leaves into his mouth.

His eyes shoot open and he coughs, sucking the leaves into his lungs.

"Max!" He claws at me around his sudden bouts of coughing. "I thought..."

I take him by his shoulders. "Gilbert! You don't understand! I need you!

I love you! I hate the way I'm always sharing you! Give yourself to me, to just me!" I can feel myself begin to laugh at the stunned look in his eyes, though the situation is not at all funny. He has pushed me too far. "I promised to protect you from others, and I will! Just stop GIVING yourself to them! They don't love you; they just use you! Nod, agree, and I'll get that out of your throat!"

He flails at me with his arms, nails drawing blood, and I bite back an angry curse as he claws at me. Even as I fall backward from his silent onslaught, I notice that his throat is swelling and though he's making such rough actions, and his chest is heaving, but I can't hear the sound of him breathing. He's not breathing.

Oh God. I may have killed him.

He dashes past me, wildly, and I call after him. "Gilbert! I'm sorry! I did not think!" That is a lie; my problem is that I thought too much.

"Come back and I will help you and we can forget about this."

Gilbert trips, falls, and throws himself to his feet again, and I lose track of him among the trees.

Ooo, ooo, so how could they know?

Eh, eh, how could they know?

Eh, eh

It would be comforting, after this, to think even that I have driven him from me, but I know that's not the truth. I wish it were the truth.

But as with when Drien pushed him down the stairs, as when Silaun punched him in the face, he will be back to me.

Perhaps then I will be able to redeem myself. Prove that my feelings are true. I will try. I will think. But I needn't fear that he won't be back.

After all, he still needs my study notes.


Okay, a bit weird and perverted... just like the series. If you're wondering, Augu, who raised him, decided to train Gilbert in extreme pain and extreme pleasure being the only truths, raping him and convincing the poor boy he was in love with uncle-dear. "Twisted body, twisted mind." It was all Gilbert knew, and, well, made him the jolly fellow who ended up throwing himself under a carriage. Max was one of his many lovers, as was Drien. I made Silaun up; we knew there were others, but no names were given.

Actually, believe it or not, Max was my favourite of his actual lovers (though we all have to love his roommate, Sergei). Despite shoving a poisonous plant down his throat and prompting the first scene, Max was the person who tried to rescue him when Gilbert lost it at the end. Email the nutjob... er.... author at