Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/791404.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Vampire_Knight
  Relationship:
      Kiryuu_Zero/Kuran_Kaname, Ichijou_Takuma/Kuran_Kaname, Ichijou_Takuma/
      Shiki_Senri, Ichijou_Asato/Kuran_Kaname, Aidou_Hanabusa/Kuran_Kaname,
      Kuran_Ridou/Kuran_Kaname
  Character:
      Kiryuu_Zero, Kuran_Kaname, Cross_Yuuki, Ichijou_Asato, Kain_Akatsuki,
      Aidou_Hanabusa, Kuran_Ridou, Ichijou_Takuma
  Additional Tags:
      Gore, Rape, Emotional_Manipulation, Violence, Cannibalism, Vore, Child
      Abuse, Sexual_Abuse, Drug_Use, Familial_Abuse, Non_Consensual,
      Depression, Affairs, Betrayal, Partner_Betrayal
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-10 Chapters: 1/? Words: 10761
****** In the Land of Bounty ******
by Good_Evening
Summary
     Following Ridou's death, purpose seems to run dry and adulthood isn't
     as fulfilling as anyone had hoped. Still hunting vampires, Zero has
     Kaname's occasional assistance on longer expeditions. Resentful of
     Yuuki's marriage and her husband, at every turn, Zero finds himself
     culling morbid enjoyment from Kaname's suffering. The men's
     relationship grows stronger as time wears on, but the hatred never
     shrinks, regardless of new complications.
Notes
     *CAUTION!*
     Re-titled from an old account on FF.net: "The Chases of Blood
     Brothers." That is honestly the worst title I have ever puked out
     onto a keyboard. Glad I stopped drinking.
     Is this still on hiatus? If you call being utterly, irrevocably dead
     a "hiatus," then, sure. Wishful thinking. Why not.
     Also, I hate pretty much all of the characters for sundry reasons,
     but particularly Kaname. Do I know why? Look at that aloof glare.
     Does it not infuriate you? To that purpose, I must admit, every VK
     story I've ever written has simply been an attempt to express my
     disdain for Kaname. After so many years of this, now I don't care,
     but this particular story was written when the hatred was running
     highest, so if you're ready for gore, heartbreak, rape, and
     manipulation, you are my kind of person, and I would like to buy you
     a drink.
     Enjoy.
See the end of the work for more notes
Zero looked over at Kaname tiredly, his eyes moving sluggishly, colours
indiscernible behind a curtain of multi-coloured dots. The man’s eyelashes
twitched in REM, light lines beneath them revealing how tired he really was.
Over the past few months, his schedule had been hectic with riot after riot;
reclaiming his power as king was proving to be a hard, dirty fight, and every
mud-slinging senator he’d come into contact with, he’d gunned down in his, or
Zero’s, ways. Needless to say, his stream of opponents had lightly dwindled
because of the alleged ‘disappearances’. As his friend had put one morning
after a hot shower, “’Disappearing has nothing to do with it. Everybody up in
the fucking sticks knows where they are.” As a pacifist, Kaien had discouraged
their nightly, though often daily attempts at removing their obstacles, but as
a hunter and caring guardian, gave them the tips on new tech and the old burial
sites. Though, often enough, a stack of green was just as inveigling. That or a
threat, and they handled threats very well, if not on a Godfather level, a fact
in which Kaien revelled.
 
But as the day wore on and their grim business was slowly finished, the dread
of the coming days bit at them, and the amount of blood on their hands
saturated their skin, turning their palms a lucid, congealing crimson visible
only on the more difficult days. Through their trials, they had come to points
at which they thought themselves unfit to be near Yuki, and certainly forbade
themselves from touching her, so a light phone call from halfway around the
world every two days or so often fought off their urge to rush home and baby
her again. Kaname was a ruthless and charming lobbyist: an irresistible force
with a gloomy, scrubby youth at his side as a modest show of his ‘friendly
relations’ with the modern [hu]man. Each new base foreshadowed unfamiliar
challenges, and their newfound acceptance of each other sprung from a bizarre
and sometimes gruesome kinship, every second they spent together fuelling it
through witty talk, grim, straightforward analyses, and an almost suicidal
bravery and sense of protection. Several occasions set the stage for
assassination, one or the other rushing in to back his ‘bro’. Four years at it
and all they’d gained were some bad scars and an unheard-of tolerance for hard
liquor. Disturbingly enough, even though Kaname could heal from anything, at
the side of his head had grown a thin streak of white. No matter how many times
he’d tried to rip it out, its mesmerizing translucence continued to allude to
his suffering, weeks at a time becoming unbearable as he reached a level of
maturity and knowledge no man his age should have gotten his gritty fingers on.
 
Zero’s eyes had lost the shimmer of his more meaningful youth, shedding the
amethyst chrysalis for a deep violet, a metallic sheen of toxic mercury
suggesting his apathy toward horror; his growing savage love of dissonance and
the hot, bloated barrel of a smoking gun. Kaname, personally, shivered at the
sensation of shorn flesh growing dry on his fingernails, and the sudden
evaporation of his history as his instinctual desire for conquer and the
illustrious ‘chase’ overrode whatever morals hadn’t yet dripped off of him.
More often than not, they’d slough their scars and torment on someone else;
Zero would press that round, calescent barrel into the already blistering flesh
of his target, the woven metal like magma on their newly branded skin, a
smoking design left emblazoned on the stomach or neck like a demonic vigil on
cracked leather. Sometimes the putrid rind simply slipped off, in that case
calling for a brief, uninterested shrug, followed by a firm, slow walk away, or
the introduction of a much more painful side of life, via Kaname’s own
increasingly practiced skills. The inebriation they faced from the wall of fear
and scents of blood forced them to drunkenly embark, and the poor son of a
bitch left quaking in their path might run for his life or lay there like a
stone.
 
But now, it was quiet, and as Zero continued to watch his companion sleep in
their two-person bag, he noticed how pronounced the streak had become, and
surveyed it with a careful, humane doubt that left him barren of his darker
inhibitions and usual disinterested demeanour. He had become frightened for
this man, having been saved by him, and, on occasion, saving. Never had he
become so attached to someone on such a strange level; walk inside a mausoleum
and down through the catacombs, and you might find where they would vacation,
at this point; a pleasant, pre-dead package for a change. Their bloody talent
alone set them apart from everyone else, not taking into account the fact that
they were the other’s predator, and for their own sake pretty much past the
fighting point, bickering not having left the picture just for the bitter fun
of it.
 
Long had they been austere in the eyes of the vampire community; widely
distrusted by both it and the Hunter’s Association. Altogether, they were
regarded as a mismatch made in heaven for their brutality and sparking
chemistry, along the road having taken on several characteristics Yuki, at this
point, would never have permitted in her husband or friend.  And Zero could
smell on Kaname’s and his breaths the no longer isolated product of the wealth
of their practised skill in being unconcerned with the lives of the lemmings
and sparse foxes they weekly gutted. Huddled in the scrub of some godforsaken
tundra on their latest trail, the vein-constricting glamour of hard alcohol had
been hard to pass up. In the end, the fire they’d tried so hard to keep going
in their intoxicated resolve to quell the frostbite teasing their toes had died
quickly without proper tending, their inseparable mass a mesh of heavily
scarred tan and liquid porcelain. Kaname’s pressured veins bulged fluidly
against his skin as his body struggled to keep them warm, the pulsing rivets
turning pearl into opal, and their bodies into a recognisable bundle of flesh
and an eager, bloodthirsty desire to live.
 
Zero squirmed on their mat, pushing his body closer to his companion’s,
shivering in his thermal underwear against the onslaught of an Arctic chill.
Kaname’s body acted like a furnace positively blazing with heat. They were
literally at the end of the road, high on the Dalton and stopped outside of
Deadhorse. The last days of September seeped away to reveal lessening light and
truly Alaskan temperatures, and even Kaname’s powers couldn’t match up against
the glamorous show the coming winter seemed intent on putting up.
 
He wiggled as the hunter twined their legs, feeling smothered not only by the
body beside him, but the immense amount of heat that was pouring out of him. He
was capable of doing amazing things, but it was more than struggle to keep such
a high core temperature, especially when a purple-eyed parasite was snuggling
uncommonly close, the ice surrounding them leeching off of their wavering heat.
Not only was he exhausted from this gentleman’s courtesy, but he had far
underestimated the strength of the alcohol he’d brought, and so his blood
boiled thinly beneath the frantically charged surface of his skin, the heat in
his face sweltering to such the extent that he removed himself from Zero’s
grasp, unfortunately ultimately awaking the ‘sleeping’ man.
 
“What are you doing?” He asked hoarsely, his voice a dirty croak as the cold
seemed to reach even his tangled vocal chords. Kaname, naked, looked behind him
at his groggy counterpart, and sullenly slurred,
 
“M’too hot; need a break. T’seconds, ‘kay?” Zero stared at him as his body
slowly leaned back and forth, the blood so incredibly thinned, the younger
wondered how it was possible the man could keep any temperature.
 
“I’ll join you. Not tired, anyway,” he scrambled, tongue loose and swollen
dryly in his mouth, for a pair of filthy socks to don his quickly cooling feet.
Kaname walked out into a dead night, the stones he stepped on steaming under
his unearthly heat. The lichen that had encroached upon the rocks sizzled and
contracted from its voluptuous quantity when he neared, becoming destitute
piles of scorched, dry weed. Zero fumbled with his clothing and tripped out of
the tent to see the whole of his companion, the jutting bones refracting light
and turning that celestial body into a true pearl, the gleam of moonlight
almost overkill in trying to assist in his prefabricated, divine perfection.
His hair was spotted with small droplets of water, the thicker sweat causing
his body to shimmer more-so. Zero stood a few appreciative feet behind the nude
man, transfixed by the rare sight of the complete, sylphlike form, stripped and
lovely in a sense intimated by his soft, lonesome appearance in the daunting
vastness of the sunless tundra. The sight was ineffably illuminating.
 
He began walking from their site, treading toward mountains invisible in the
dark horizon, his head thrumming with an immeasurable heat, lips dry and eyes
watering from the sweat that wet his onyx brow. Unperturbed by the familiar man
so closely inspecting him in his nakedness, he remained at a steady pace, skin
hugging his hips and cheekbones in a worrisomely tight fashion. His breaths
were like columns of steam in the cold, locomotive body moving effortlessly
until the fever grew to a hazardous level, and his vision became clouded by
those same dots that had obscured Zero’s. They shifted as he moved his eyes and
their colour intensified thrillingly, the surrounding light growing faint as
Zero came to his side, unknowledgeable of his precarious temperature.
Nocturnally, they had left the tent in search of absolutely nothing, a moment
that occurred only once in a great while, and often celebrated with heavy
drinking, and occasionally, stronger stuffs.
 
“Zero,” Kaname said in dreamy, half-inquiry. He gazed at the nightscape in
climactic exhaustion, apathy channelling lethargically through overburdened
veins. As his eyes grew quieter of his previous rage, his body suddenly stilled
and tensed, then a scintillating aureole grew in his irises, brightening them
to the strange scarlet a regrettable, but explicable, many had known. The
umbrageous scene was witness to a vindicating act of dehumanisation, as in
seconds, Kaname leapt from Zero’s side and bowled over the cold plain, within a
moment his companion shadowed him. A lattice of coarse shrubs confined what he
knew to be a more terrifying scene than that of their more surreal cases,
Kaname’s uncharacteristically inelegant bacchanalia further discomposing his
state. A brief shriek, followed in suit by a grisly cracking sound, pulled the
younger man, of no choice, into the bushes. There, his friend, front slathered
with streaks of blood, squat gnawing ravenously on a putrid chuck of traitorous
meat, his prey convulsing soundlessly as it was devoured. He looked toward the
stunned silhouette with an uncanny hopefulness, until it pulled out a gun and
caught him in the temple. The corpse stilled, Zero yanked Kaname off it, the
direful pureblood further losing himself as a dum-dum was loaded into the gun.
He fired it with a hardened, but disgusted look on his face, the brunette
beside him coming into a stunned reverie at the sound and spray. He looked
toward his companion in childish awe as the red faded from his eyes and his
mind fulfilled itself. Again, he was sober.
 
Collecting the pureblood from the ground, the hunter began the brisk walk to
camp, but paused in-step to open his pouch. From it, he retrieved a small
shell, the façade of an almond hiding explosive intent. Turning around, he
pitched it at the corpse and grabbed his dazed companion’s arm, yanking him
close to his body and covering delicate ears with his muffs, grinding his palms
against his as the brunette tried to keep his curious gaze focused on the
small, flying shell. Without a word, Zero tucked the troublesome head into his
coat, the shell hitting the body before he could recover and hide his ears from
the sound.
 
Kaname heard it well through the hunting-grade muffs. He cried out in pain; the
sound of a steel girder crashing to concrete echoing in his head, numbed
fingertips shaking wildly. He felt Zero still, and hugged the other man’s body
in his incalculable fear and dolour. And though he could not see the blaze in
the sky, like a great orange nimbus encircling the chasm of Hell, the heat
enwrapped their small bodies, their pride quaking piteously before the lambent
coruscation, frames frail and tiny against the powerful inferno that was
concentrated on such a small deed. Within seconds, it ended.
 
When the heat left his legs, Kaname unfurled the coat and threw the muffs to
the ground staring at Zero frightfully, anger and inquiry growing rapidly. But
the man only smiled, and patted his shoulder, “Sun Caps: leaves no bloody
evidence, eh?” The very rocks had been incinerated. As the brunette heard the
other man talk, though, he noticed the slurred words and uncertain stops, and
so, tentatively, said as he stood behind him,
 
“I don’t suppose you have any more of those?” To which the light-haired man did
not respond, only continued walking the path, somewhat uneasy on his feet.
 
Zero couldn’t hear.
 
-
 
A brief morning came and went, and Zero slept through it without disturbance.
Kaname watched the man as he slept, unwilling to sleep and distressed by the
fact that he couldn’t wake his companion to talk about it. His body was much
cooler now, so he’d brought in their portable heater to keep the hunter warm
through the dawn. Still, he couldn’t bear much more than his thermal underwear.
The heat inside of him and the caloric halo of the blast had almost made him
faint, and no matter how much he’d wanted to pry his friend about why he’d done
such a thing, there was only one way to ask, and God knew the hunter would
distrust him for the rest of their lives if it came to that. Not that the man
held him in high regard in the first place, but what they had worked well
enough, and being able to stand each other when sober was a good, far cry from
the short tempers of their youth.
 
“You should have slept,” the younger said as he woke up, turning onto his belly
so he could curl further into the warmth. Kaname looked at him softly, and
pushed the heater a little closer,
 
“Sleep a little longer. I’ll be fine.” Zero continued rearranging the sleeping
bag until he had a large pile around him, then scrutinised it before flipping
it over and getting up. The pureblood looked after him worriedly as the man
stumbled from their tent, feet black with grime from running barefoot in the
night. Whatever he could gather from his dishevelled appearance betrayed the
depth of his condition: whenever he turned his head, a painful swishing sounded
off in his ear drums, and sleeping had been absolute Hell. The hunter knew his
companion had probably figured it out, but retaining a sense of casualness and
normality was essential and, for the most part, tantamount to making them feel
just a little more civil, especially since he could practically draw a picture
in the mire of blood lining the threshold of the pavilion. Not only that, but
he could see the sticky tendrils woven throughout Kaname’s hair, growing
nauseated by the thickness of the congealed clumps.
 
Face quite pale, he turned to their fire pit, searching through the ashes for
leftover coals. Grunting when he found none, he took an all-too-precious match
from their kit, and lit a pile of twigs for cooking their breakfast. Or, at
least, his breakfast. He didn’t know how filling a human shoulder could be, but
it was in consideration of their delicate balance that he did not ask, and just
brought out an extra cup. What disturbed him the most was, although the gunk
had meticulously been cleaned from his teeth, the rotten smell of bad meat
still plaguing the brunette’s gentle breaths, making it a Herculean task to be
near him for more than a few moments.
 
“If you want coffee, it’ll be ready in a moment.” He said as his partner lifted
the flap. The heavy smell grew stronger and he grimaced from its acrimonious
presence. As the man sat down in front of him, a hand motioned up to a serious
face, and instantly, his stomach sank.
 
“You shouldn’t be out here if you can’t hear.” The pureblood slowly mouthed.
Zero immediately scowled, almost throwing the pot in his partner’s lap,
 
“I can see and smell fine. And don’t talk so slowly: I’ve been reading lips for
years. Give me some fucking credit already.” Kaname looked put out, but
continued staring at the other man, willing him to look up. He did so
sluggishly, not quite fighting it, but doing so for effect, all the while
glaring at the other man as fearsomely as he dared. “Don’t fuck with me. I can
manage myself. When we get back, I’ll go to a clinic or something. We’re done
with this Hellhole, aren’t we?” Though gritting his teeth against the hunter’s
strong attitude, Kaname nodded, standing up to cool off. The taste of rancid
flesh was getting to him, but there wasn’t good drinking water until the town.
So, in rebellion against something he wasn’t sure, he grabbed the pot of
boiling water and poured it into his mouth, letting it burn off the taste while
his friend screamed at him. He spit it out with a challenging glance at the
blisteringly angry hunter, wiping foul residue from the side of his mouth.
Almost surprised when the man simply cursed and reset the pot, he thought for a
moment that loss of hearing had made him docile, but jumped and shouted out
when the water lapped at his skin in a large cascade. It scalded, then healed,
and he looked up from his ruined clothing to find a reproachful glower and the
bent handle of a Sierra kettle. Throwing it to the ground, Zero stormed into
the tent to pack up while the pureblood stood outside, sensitive lap still
steaming painfully hot.
 
-
 
Their overstated return echoed throughout the vampire and hunter communities,
the tiresome questions inconveniently coinciding with their after-trip
exhaustion and rejuvenated apathy for most life. The man they’d hunted had been
a slimy congressman intent on withholding certain rites in the conference room,
a heavy bundle of bills flashed at everyone who could dispose of those who
could oppose him. He lacked Ichiou’s class and Rido’s hands-on style, so in the
end, it was an easy kill, lacking the flair they’d almost desired in having rid
themselves of the other two so spectacularly. Not to say the bloodlust began
then, of course.
 
“So how was Alaska?” Yuki asked them as she poured tea. Lessons from Ruka had
given her the discreet edge of a sophisticated woman, and while she was always
ready for small talk, she did mean to get to the point. Zero got up after
eyeing the tray of sweets on the sideboard, Kaname watching the back of his
white shirt as it rumpled and twisted.
 
“It was beautiful. I do wish we’d had more time to enjoy it before things got
hectic, though.” The hunter picked through the pastries at the bottom, licking
powdered sugar from his fingers as it complicated his fussy quest.
 
“Do tell,” she said, following her husband’s eyes and aiming the question at
their friend. Zero turned around and they looked back at the table, gentle
smiles deceiving the fact that his face was absolutely sheathed in white.
 
“Well, we camped out on the tundra for a night or two. Not much to do in
Deadhorse; but we did find a good place to take you sometime. A nice little
bluff a bit south.” He sat down next to Kaname, carrying a small plate holding
two éclairs. Yuki’s eyes shone in predilection, practically devouring them
already, and her beloved husband pushed the plate toward her, taking one after.
Her violet summer dress moved in pretty waves as she crossed her legs, her male
counterpart closing his eyes in relish, the saccharine taste imperative to his
recovery from dried fish and, of all things, vegetables. He positively lost
himself.
 
“It must be beautiful in winter, but I would like to see it in the summer,
perhaps early, so the flowers will come out. Were there many meadows up there,
I wonder?” Zero watched her intently, smiling and grabbing another sweet in
excited zeal.
 
“I spied some dead heads and upturned roots, but there won’t be any foxglove
like the fields in Washington.” The mountain trip; five days up in a pass
because of a broken axel and a rather irritable pureblood insulted by another
one of the hunter’s off-hand comments. Although the moonshine probably hadn’t
helped him much in deciding whether or not it was safe to start joking about
how ‘Shiki and his boyfriend fooled you pretty damn well for a while, didn’t
they?’  Yuki nodded, cheered and somewhat frightened by her husband’s almost
orgasmic enjoyment of the treats. A champagne bottle rested on the sideboard,
and she went to get it to join in with the tea. And they might even be
responsible adults, this time.
 
“So tell me,” she said as she again poured their drinks, “was it terribly cold
up there, or were you shearing your clothes on the lawn for laughs?” Silly
boys. Still unused to abrupt changes in temperature. Not at all like the
conveniences of being a more sensitive and lax female. Silence answered her, so
she asked again, having turned around to spy on their boyish adoration of the
sweets to see the back of Zero’s head. He didn’t answer her, “Zero? Is
something wrong?” Still, he was quiet. Kaname smacked his lips on the last
bite. Yuki shushed him, and he looked over at his friend, who snapped his head
back at them as if he’d been bitten by a snake,
 
“I’m fine. Simply tired. I’ll go doze in the guest room and see if I can’t be
better off in the morning.” Yuki, politely, wished him a good rest. Kaname got
up to follow, but as he began to stand, her eyes, focused on her tea, glimmered
over the rim of her cup. They told him to sit down and open up, so he sat, and
she waited. The porcelain clicked as the hunter’s boots clacked at the end of
the runner carpet, beyond the hall.
 
“What happened?” She asked straightforwardly, spooning sugar cubes into her
cup,
 
“Nothing bad, dear. Just a few miscalculations in how much ammunition was
required.” Her eyes, so like his, imbued with a deep red, gazed upon him with
onerous requirement: unavoidably, she demanded the damned truth. “He just got
knocked back by a bit of a blast. His head was ringing the whole trip back, and
he wouldn’t shut up about it. Other than acting spacey and short, he’s fine.”
He got up again, and this time, she let him leave, not bothering to watch as
his nervous fingers fumbled the door close.
 
Instantly, he was at the hunter’s unofficial room. Having the door open, he
caught the man unaware, limp on the couch. The sagging flesh dripping from his
eye sockets carried the message of his sleeplessness and jading vexation. His
skin was papery, body seizing when he saw Kaname standing where the door had
before been closed.
 
“What do you want?” He slurred, no longer required to meticulously form words;
he’d focused too much in trying to have Yuki think he was fine. God knew she’d
find out soon.
 
“We need to get you to a doctor. At the very least, allow someone to look at
your ears—”
 
“Fuck off,” Zero spat, slack form jostling as he thrust his boots on the table.
Kaname’s face grew hard at his insolence,
 
“Through thick and thin I’ve dealt with this attitude, but you need help. I’m
not going to stand by while you trip over your own two feet trying to spite the
world like some obnoxious four year-old.” Zero read his lips, mouth slowly
turning into an acidic grimace before he looked toward the window, ignoring the
fuming pureblood. Then, his head snapped back, and he growled as the man looked
down at him like some scolding teacher, “Don’t look away. If you can’t hear me,
I’m at least going to require that you look at me.”
 
“Why can’t you just leave? I’m not your responsibility anymore, Kuran.” Kaname
looked affronted, scowling something fearsome as Zero continued, watching the
man stand up and walk over to a night stand to rifle through the drawers, “As I
remember, you once called me a ‘liability’. So, before I put more of a damper
on your oh-so-glorious parade, please,” he tossed a gun into the brunette’s
hands, looking at him tiredly, but confidently, “shoot me.” Immediately, he
dropped the gun, the barrel clanging on the hardwood. His skin was burnt where
the metal had touched him, and Zero leaned back against the footboard of his
bed, hands supporting him, nails tapping on the wood unaffectedly. Ripping a
handkerchief from his vest pocket, the brunette wiped the seared flesh from his
palms as it grew anew.
 
“You’re a fucking spoilt child and you disgust me,” Zero clicked his tongue,
 
“Oh, and we were on such good terms,” he sighed dramatically. Kaname’s glare
lost no part of its ferocity, but he aimed it at his foul-smelling kerchief,
stuffing it back into his pocket with distaste.
 
“Lose the tone and maybe I’ll consider being nicer.”
 
“A pity I can’t hear myself. Whatever I’m saying is having quite the effect on
you.” His impassive look was mischievously punching at the pureblood’s buttons,
and while the brunette found himself terribly guilty for having caused the
man’s deafness, what was being said indefinitely dried up his unwilling
compassion.
 
The stalemate they were at was an allusion to their incompatibility: whatever
words Kaname might’ve scrounged up to placate the rogue hunter would be
squashed, and any scruples he’d had before that moment would evaporate into an
anger that, naturally, could only be matched by this little boy.
 
“I don’t feel like dragging you anywhere tonight, so after the sun rises, you
and I are heading to a clinic to get you checked out.”
 
“Save it, lover boy: I can handle myself. When something important comes up,
I’ll go. You should spend some time with your beloved little homemaker. Must be
quite proud that you’ve finally locked her up all to yourself?” He didn’t
really finish his sentence, but that was pretty much what he was getting at. In
the middle of his droll observation of his counterpart’s home life, the man had
him shoved to the bed, the foot board breaking in two as his body burst through
it. His head cracked through the wallpaper and plaster, running painfully into
some plasterboard. Without delay, Kaname was atop him. Zero kicked him soundly
in the gut, head still reeling when he felt his stomach almost rip in two as
the pureblood punched it. He sat up quickly, a great pain thrumming in his
belly as he sucker-punched the man, knocking him onto the floor. The scorching
feeling in his abdomen grew, and he nearly vomited, it hurt so much. Their
huffing filled the room, and Kaname got up, the nasty bruise on his face having
conveniently faded, hiding his companion’s extremelypainful strength.
 
“This isn’t going to get us anywhere unless I fight unfairly,” the brunette
said with a puff, calming down much more quickly,
 
“Same here. You want a drink?” Apparently, they’d just needed to get rid of
some testosterone. The minds of males would forever confuse and sometimes
disgust Yuki, whose head had already been described as an artefact of strange
origin by both men. Kaname remained on the floor when Zero came over, two
glasses of whiskey in his hands,
 
“Bit of a hard nightcap, isn’t it?” he drawled, the right side of his mouth
still aching violently. Having anti-vampire weapons touch naked flesh wasn’t
his idea of a good time, though little was to be said of his rambunctious
partner in a pacifistic, if not frightened frame of mind. He downed it with
difficulty, finding opening his mouth somewhat of a chore, then reminded
himself that, if he wanted to have the pain away, he would have to swallow some
home analgesics. But, on the other side of the room, Zero was finding hard
liquor did not mix well with an ‘upset’ stomach. He placed his glass gingerly
on the coffee table, stunned as Kaname held his own in the air, demanding more
in somewhat of a drunken way.
 
“If you’re so eager to get plastered, go to your own room. I’m not about to
have some drunk pureblood sprawled in mine.”
 
“Too late.” The brunette said disinterestedly, wiggling the glass childishly.
The hunter snatched it with a growl and put it next to his, which was more or
less untouched. Kaname covered his eyes from the rough light of the ceiling
lamp, the soft fabric of his white shirt cooling his heated face. “That feels
so good,” he whispered into his arm, knowing selfishly that the other man could
not hear him. And, strangely enough, he took pleasure in that: after having
suffered weeks alone with this tempestuous person; having a little something
over him was proving to be quite the treat, although he knew his complaints
shook before the dissenting young male’s own lamentations. They took more
offence from each other than any villain they’d known, through the years
finding necessary the bitter contention that had grown so lavishly between
them. It had made them feel alive, and the competitions of their youth failed
to give them even the slightest pleasures of their newfound taste for action
and, above all, decimation. Nothing had fed their heinous love of brutality
greater than the sight of freshly-made carrion. Disputes over who was more
deserving of delivering the brands and blows had occurred often. And, if you’ve
ever seen Saving Private Ryan, you’ll see their resplendent eyes glowing on
dirty faces as they handle dog tags as poker cards. No joy was more majestic
and sublime than that which came from their work, and in this, nightly, they
would rejoice.
 
Zero flopped down on his lounger, the bed coated with dust and wood shards. If
worse came to worst, he would toss the drunk on that, and see how he fared in
the evening. Even if there was an extra sofa staring at him as he laid down, he
most unequivocally did not want the empty view to be poisoned by that man’s
face, which, dozing, appeared callow and pale as a young child.
 
“I wouldn’t mind some water,” the corpse droned from the corner. His slow-going
mind chastised him for insensitively speaking to nothing but his sleeve, but as
he got up to finalise his demand, he found the hunter sleeping on the lounger,
body tangled as it tried to fit on the short thing. And Kaname didn’t know why,
but the peaceful sight made him frown and feel quite strange. To see such a
dangerous man sleeping so soundly was an odd, if not sickening sight. That
face, which was habitually covered in blood or cheap lipstick, so gentle and
unimposing in its vulnerability, was a marvellously rare sight, and as he
caught himself staring in his stupor, the brunette slowly came to the
realisation that the other man had probably felt the same way. Perhaps even
Yuki, when she looked upon her ‘kind’ husband’s face, knew of the tragedies he
had so apathetically witnessed, and more often than not carried out.
 
He departed with a stumble, which Zero couldn’t hear.
-
Undoubtedly, he was going to have to visit the clinic. It was all a matter of
hiding just when he did and where he went. For reasons he couldn’t quite
figure, he just didn’t want Kaname interfering, this time. It seemed a
reasonable request, but try telling that to the hand pounding on your locked
bedroom door at seven in the morning, after what could be called the second
worst night of sleep you’d ever had.
 
Having the door unlock, Kaname entered the room without looking up from his
gloves, pulling them on and pulling from them specks of lint until they were an
immaculate London grey.
 
“You need to get up. I don’t like being awake at this hour any more than you
do, but the clinic’s just opened, and I want to get there before the rush.”
Zero drew the sheets over his head, hiding from the window as the sunglass-clad
pureblood pulled back the curtains, “Get up, Zero.” He said, squinting through
the light and turning back to the bed. When the hunter pulled the thin blankets
tighter around himself, murmuring a sleepy
 
“Fuck off,” the brunette twitched, then sprung into action, lifting clothes and
shoes from drawers and closets to assemble at his friend’s bedside. Taking no
time, he ripped the sheets from the tightly-curled body, comfortable enough
with his partner’s intriguing nudity to not cringe when the several gashes
jumped out at him. Trying to ignore the naked beast clutching a pair of cotton
socks, he busied himself with which suspenders he would have the man wear. A
great crash echoed through the room, and he turned around to see a half-
conscious twenty year-old groping a nightstand like a new blind man does a door
handle.
 
“Piece of work,” he muttered angrily as he readjusted his readying friend,
cringing when the man leaned on him in his birthday suit. Tentatively, a
message echoed in the younger’s mind,
 
“You’re doing this on purpose,aren’tyou?” Slipping an arm from man’s shoulder
to pull on some underwear, Zero smirked slyly, gunk crackling lowly from the
corners of his eyes as they gradually wrinkled. Hands just about to encircle
the man’s throat, Kaname restrained himself, still feeling the disgustingly
sensuous drag of the other male’s thigh against his hip. Almost loathe in
giving the hunter any sense of privacy or comfort, he kept inside his head the
theoretic action of his smacking the other man in a place that would count, or
at least sting for a few minutes. Fantasizing about such things had become a
hobby which he regularly indulged in, and did not evaporate the thin spray of
social lubricant over their faulty relationship.
 
“How drunk did you get last night?”
 
“I slept.”
 
He asked the dressing man, causally rearranging the pillows on the couch so
Yuki wouldn’t get in a tizzy, because the smell of alcohol saturated the
pillows and poisoned their threads, making them unbearably tempting as wanton
advertisements for drunken fun. And, as a man with the blood of a drinker,
Kaname could hold his weight and several others. If it hadn’t been for his
father and Ichiou, he might not have stood for the taste of whiskey until, in
any case, a despairingly more mature later age. Behind him, Zero had finished
dressing, and had walked toward the mirror,
 
“How much time do I have before we get our ride?” He asked, getting out his
razor for a cursory shave. The brunette drawled with diminishing patience,
 
“I’m driving.” Which his friend saw in the mirror and, with a pause, turned
around to comment, shaving cream covering his five-o’-clock shadow,
 
“Uh-huh. And how much did you drink last night?” Very close to grumbling, the
pureblood waited for his partner to turn around before walking out of view to
crack or mutilate something. When the hunter had wiped his face and gotten his
coat, they left the house for the pristine Bentley sitting in the driveway. The
driver bowed to them and opened the doors as Kaname slid on his sunglasses,
their perfect round blackness mirroring the road and the disserving expression
on the younger male’s face. Then, they shuffled in, and the doors were closed.
 
Cool air pumped in from the console, the weather conflicting with the
brunette’s choice in clothes. Though Zero enjoyed looking mildly professional
on, at most, formal occasions, he was chagrined by the ridiculously upscale
rags his friends had bought him: suspenders should not cost a man four hundred
dollars, cheaply, nor should a shirt be any more than two hundred, let alone
two thousand. He was aggravated by the fact that they ere too comfortable to
give up, and so accepted them as calmly as he could, abominating the idea that
he might have succumbed to whatever seductions their ludicrous fortune had set
before him. And with the creep sitting next to him, dressed up like some
Romanian hit-man, he was less than propitiated.
 
“Who takes a fucking Bentley to a check-up?” He whispered to the window, not
caring in the slightest if his irked friend heard him.
 
“Mind your tongue; I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m not about to take
another of your tantrums well.” Truth be told, Yuki’d had a Hell of a time
extracting him from their bedroom floor when she’d woken and found him, passed
out at the foot of her side. Picking him up, she’d tried to put him back in bed
around five, but he rose on his own and slurred something they couldn’t
understand. Sniffing him, she’d sent him out in the hall. Ironic that the
princess who owned a bloody winery would have to excommunicate her husband from
her bed after he’d had ‘only a few sips’ of whiskey. Having blacked out long
before the couple’s tiff, Zero had no idea what had been said, but without a
doubt, he knew that Kaname had brought him up, and couldn’t help but fear what
the man had said of their travels. For, if he had divulged to his wife the
intimacies and workings of their dynamic, the hunter was unsure she would be
able to accept it; every word her husband spewed about peace and protection
would seem a cover for a morbid cause glamorised only by the flair and
inarguable perfection in which they succeeded each hit. Her head wasn’t little
anymore, and she know what went down on the bloody front lines, but to know in
detail their very primitive inhibitions and primal lusts would be an iron cross
on her conscience, and God knew she could shoulder as much guilt as either one
of them in her blossomed maturity.
 
They pulled up to a square, grey building, its front façade slashed with thin
strips of windows that spoke of the darkness inside.
 
“It looks like a dentist’s.” Zero remarked as he shut the car door. Kaname
touched the rim of his glasses, pulling them down to look at the well-kept, but
less than stylish joint,
 
“Dentists are more prone to suicide than any other doctor, you know.” He said
when the fidgeting hunter looked up. Then, pulling up the dark glass, he began
walking toward the institution with a determined, prideful gait, the other
walking with wider steps and frustrated hands, revealing his distaste for the
grim-looking establishment.
 
“Hurry up or you’ll be stuck in there for longer.” Twitching, Zero glared at
Kaname, who stared straight ahead with an unknown expression. Then, grimacing
in his rancorous, introverted tantrum, he slammed his hand on the elevator
button, and waited for the contraption to reach them. It flickered for a
moment, at last staying on as some bell rung out each passed floor, the tiny
vibrations travelling up his fingers and lodging in his brain. As he looked
around, distracting himself from his boredom and the otherwise motionless
pureblood standing some feet from him, he found there was little decorating the
ground floor lobby. A few dingy couches were packed tightly in the southeast
corner, a painfully dreary painting invoking a lacklustre lifelessness with its
depiction of some scrubby, jagged moor.
 
The vibrations stopped abruptly, his pores aching as he shook his fingers of
the constant, inconsiderable buzz. Kaname stepped into the bare elevator, a
single light struggling to illuminate his piqued flesh, casting down upon his
face as if they were stuck in some bad horror movie. As Zero entered, he saw to
his right a balding, Lilliputian man. In a wheezing, toilsome voice, he spoke,
looking ahead of himself as the doors patiently stayed open.
 
“I see Mr. Kuran has come in for a check-up?”
 
“Not until the wife demands it.” The round little man checked his fingernails,
 
“So I am to be concerned about this young man?” Zero felt Kaname’s aura
constrict, and then loosen wantonly in a stressed attempt at restraint.
 
“Room 908, please.” The brunette said in a voice much deeper than usual. The
little man sniffed, tapping a long blank plaque on the wall,
 
“As you wish.”
 
When they exited the elevator, they found themselves in another spacious room,
this time decorated in a theme of beiges and burgundy. A long line of chairs
sat against the far wall in military perfection, before them a few small coffee
tables coated with, not outdated magazines, but small vases, some with flowers,
others barren. To the right of the wall was a single door, plain and beige as
the floor, sporting an iron knob and a few nasty scratches at the very bottom.
Kaname tugged on the hunter’s arm to get him moving,
 
“You don’t have any friends here. I don’t want to stay too long.” Zero looked
up at the receptionist’s desk, a slim redheaded woman sitting behind it. She
looked up at him, specifically, scrutinising him emotionlessly as Kaname handed
her a small slip, to which she turned her eagle-like attentions.
 
“There’s a forty-second wait. Once you’re in, they’ll give you a green form to
fill out while he goes into the office,” she looked pointedly at the silver-
haired man, grey eyes distrustful and unwavering, “please wait here until
then.” The pureblood seemed strained, and looked up at the clock, which seemed
to move incredibly slowly, until Zero noticed it didn’t appear to be moving at
all.
 
“What does she mean, ‘there’s a forty-second wait’?” He asked in annoyed
confusion. Kaname took off his gloves in the well-heated room, dabbing at his
forehead hastily and infliction,
 
“This is a hospital for vampires. It runs on the lifespan of nobles. She really
means about forty-five minutes.” Feeling the growl in his head, the hunter sat
back with a bit of a headache while Kaname occupied himself with routinely
crushing his handkerchief.
 
Almost an hour later, the door clicked and he stood up, gripping his
companion’s wrist dolorously tightly, and pulled him briskly into what was
nothing more than a small, sterile waiting room. Mint paint coated the walls,
spindly wires seeping from the ceiling, from which hung large iron cylinders:
the light bulbs that might be inside having been removed what seemed like ages
before. The rusting metal was still in suspension, only occasionally creaking
as if to assert its existence, casting long, thin shadows on the few metal
chairs on the right wall. Beyond them were several white doors, all with brass
knobs, and all cleaned so as to make them sparkle in the morning light.
 
A black-haired orderly bowed to them in respect, then beckoned Zero into a room
whilst asking Kaname, respectfully, to come with him.
 
“Computers these days are so unreliable, so I’m afraid all forms must be filled
out manually.” Walking down a tiny corridor, he led the pureblood to a secluded
alcove, secure in its privacy, and sat him down at a small desk where some
papers were neatly collected in the centre. “By the time you are done, Mr.
Kiriyu should be out and fine.” The brunette muttered a ‘thank you’, and with
that, the smaller man left.
 
The papers were strange; on each of them, the only question was ‘Patient’s
Name’ and, while he might have admitted to needing help, after having waved off
the orderly, he felt stupid to ask. So, dutifully, he printed Zero’s name in
the box, and moved to the next paper. But as he relieved the pile of the
previous one, he looked down at it to find another box, inked neatly below the
name he’d written, showing ‘Age’. Slowing down, he replaced the paper, and set
to filling in the empty box. After that, ‘Sex’ appeared beneath his hand, and
he wrote a curvy ‘M’ square in the centre.
 
At this pace, each box appeared and was filled in succession, until it came to
a few questions he was less than comfortable answering: ‘Has the patient
engaged in sexual intercourse within the past three months?’ Remembering
discontentedly a night about a month ago, upon which he had discovered reddish,
waxen smears on his partner’s white shirt, he hastily put a ‘yes’ in the box,
and waited for the next. There was a pause, as if the paper had to rethink the
direction of its questions. The somewhat skittish Kaname fidgeted in his seat,
glancing at the third-story window beside him as if to check for peeping toms.
When he looked down again, in plain black letters stood the monolithic phrase,
‘Preference’. Genuinely, he did not know how do answer, and so squirmed again,
scooting his chair in closer to the desk until the girth of his coat scratched
against the metallic surface of the old desk. The thing creaked impatiently, as
if saying, “Well? Get on with it,”
 
So, as discreetly and naturally as he could, he scrawled in the square a hard
‘M/F’, and removed his coat with the conspicuous shuffle of grey wool.
 
-
 
They were in Reno, in a small, indistinguishable motel on some side street not
far from the highway. The edges of the windows had a thick, opaque layer of
greenish grime, and the porcelain bowl of the toilet was irreparably cracked.
Zero was sitting on the side of his bed, elbows on his knees as he stared
through the empty space below Kaname’s cot. The thin mattresses creaked aloud
easily, they found, and the scanty brass bed posts rattled from loose, rusted
screws. Kaname sat in the tall shower, arms, too, on his knees, head bent down
in little more than evasive reverie. Their bodies ached and the thick rain
battering the windows caused their bones to whine and scrape in the
discomforting silence. The brunette shifted and the hunter’s ears peaked, head
turning toward the door almost behind him. A soft head plummeted to loosely
folded knees as clothes rumpled on dry tile,
 
Well, now what?
 
-
 
He looked down as the next question emerged from the blue paper, ‘Class’.
 
-
 
The bedroom was a mess: the coffee table had been chucked through the window,
and the splintered wood had crashed into a courtyard below. The mattress was
ripped to shreds, springs piercing feathers, embedded in the wall. The door
kicked down, the room was silent but for a few grunts as Kaname struggled to
hold the hunter down, several bullets pushing from his flesh in slow
ejaculation. The younger grunted as he whispered to him, the red fire in his
eyes corroding the luminescent amethyst. Words thrummed through his body with
the force of some degenerating power as burgundy eyes glared through the blaze.
Claws out, he ripped a white-clothed arms and scarred hands, eager with wet
lips as bloody tissue sprayed across his face in long, false gashes. The
brunette closed his eyes, turning his hands down and wincing as he heard wrists
crack backward, a dismembered howl ripping through a tattooed throat. He didn’t
face the hostile man beneath him, hiding behind his growing hair and breathing
as evenly as he could as skin practically dripped from his muscle, through the
burst veins staining silvered, slivered bone.
 
Regrettably, he had known what he was doing, and choked on the resolve that
bubbled from his gut in a steady loss of confidence and self-righteousness as
he tortured himself for his taunts and misgivings. Provoking something like
this was far less than his appraised quality of character, and the liquid fear
coating Zero’s squirming, animalistic chest streamed obdurately from his
fractured jaw, a listless lag proving through the bloody foam on what was left
of his lips that his jaw had been broken in their primal tussle. When the body
had stilled, he looked up to find a heaving chest and the dangerous smile of a
demon hiding in a beautiful boy, and choked when, through the reddish haze, a
vibrant spring of purple brewed mockingly, aerated with those dastardly crimson
dots until they faded and he found himself too drawn in to keep those shattered
wrists down any longer. He struggled again as the beast fought for his mouth,
and touched down on the chewed flesh with a triumphant, ghastly grin, as
always, savouring the disgusted, frightful cries of the man of whom they had
dominated most easily.
 
-
 
When he finished the papers, he leaned back in the chair, staring up at the
pastel ceiling. The orderly, as if acting on instinct, came instantly and
collected the papers with glowing interest, scanning the simple, short answers
as if they had been cut from the brain of the greatest man on earth and, in a
sense, they might have been. Though, certainly, he was not the most fearsome.
 
Zero emerged some minutes later, knocking his palm at his head fervently,
hearing that horrible swishing sound sway luxuriously in the shells of his
ears. Kaname stood, and shook hands with the doctor, who told him the trauma
was close to irreversibility, and that certain hunter weapons, which he
identified with an indignant turn of the chin, were tremendously hazardous,
meant to be handled with delicacy and utmost respect. Jaw tight, the hunter
quickly made for the door, brushing the stunned doctor’s shoulder. But then,
his feet stopped, heels clicking as he turned around automatically, bowing low.
His teeth grit in humiliation as the doctor looked down at him,
 
“You really should keep a tighter grip on your allies, Sir. It is unthinkable
that someone of his level might disrespect you.” Visibly pissed, Kaname
tightened at the comment and had his friend released, who stumbled for a moment
before planting himself on the ground. Slowly, he looked up, and though the
doctor dismissed him with a sniff, he continued to glare, as if that helped an
ex human in the presence of a Noble.
 
When they returned to the elevator, it opened for them instantaneously, and
within stood the small man from before, hat and coat in arms. The brunette
stopped for a moment, pupils shrinking at the sight of his tidy little form.
Zero did not hesitate in entering, pulling his companion in alongside him as
the man wobbled through a little trance. Then, with grumbling care and
attention, he slung the grey coat over lax shoulders, and when the pureblood
did awake from his daydream, he handed him his glasses and gloves, which were
received with tentative hands. Pausing when he was fully dressed, the elder
looked toward the man in the corner, who looked straight back at him with a
tiny, toothy smile,
 
“It is a very busy day for doctors, to-day.” When the ride ended, he walked
out, turning to the left as the two went to the right and the Bentley beyond
the tinted glass entrance. Kaname sat down, and for a time did not speak, head
slumped so as to appear unconscious. Unnerved by this trusting,
uncharacteristic display, the hunter tucked safely against the window, face
marred by streams of sunlight as they made their way through the heavy curtains
a doctor needn’t prescribe.
 
-
 
It had been months since he’d seen Yuki, and his head ached from the bulges of
the words he wished to say to her. He paced through the room, hands shaking
behind his back as he caught sight of Zero’s whiskey flask. Grimacing, he
looked down at his trembling fingers, seconds after, walking briskly to it and
tipping it nearly to sixty degrees before releasing it from his puckered mouth
and wiping the runoff from his chin. Shaking worse than before, he took another
chug before screwing on the cap and tossing it on the other man’s bed, falling
on it with his arm across his face. God, he missed her.
 
He missed the way her eyes would light up when he brought home a new pet, or
how her hair would fall between his fingers like sand when she asked him to
braid it. Now, he wondered with vague jealousy whether Zero missed the same.
His look troubled, he stared at the door when the hunter emerged from the
bathroom, brow up when the towel came from his face,
 
“What’re you staring at?” He sized the man up, from the dishevelled clothes to
the brownish stains on an otherwise pristine collar. He groaned at the sight,
“Oh, are you serious?!” He continued to wipe off his dripping hair, outside the
window the clouds curdling the sky with a yellow, grey glow. “That shit isn’t
cheap, Kuran! Why couldn’t you have walked down to the market, or the
convenience store, at least?!” Snatching the bottle from the bed, where it
rested next to a limp hand, he proceeded to check the contents. Unsatisfied, he
grunted, then closed his eyes and poured the remainder down his throat with
much more ease than the pureblood, taking the towel to swipe at his lips
afterward. Glaring at the brunette, who stared at him almost curiously, and
certainly drunkenly, from the bed, he said, “Well you’re a bloody mess.” He
grappled the soiled collar and tried to yank the shirt from the wilted figure’s
body, but fingers wrapped around his arm, and tugged him down beside the man, a
move to which he responded with a sharp reprimand, and then a grumbling promise
not to up and leave once he was set free as the insecure pureblood gazed
worriedly at ceiling. The purse on those lips was disconcerting, and though
obviously drunk, the man appeared to be in a deep focus. Tentatively, the
hunter inched from the body so as to make some comfortable space between them,
but the brunette dug under his back and held his hip in place with such speed,
the younger might have feared the claws would come out next. Well, he might
have, but he was getting a little tipsy, too, now. Then, from the pursed lips
came a halting, scratchy noise greatly unsuited to the dignified man’s usual
liquid tone,
 
“D’you think Yuki misses us when we leave?” Zero squinted at the small stain on
the ceiling he figured the other was gazing at in such boggling intrigue.
 
“That’s an odd way of putting it: I don’t think ‘friends’ are usually grouped
in with ‘husbands’.” Kaname’s frown deepened as he turned his head to look at
his roommate in a conspicuously concentrated look, the concern and envy etched
in his encompassing, glossy pupils. He looked as painfully beautiful as his
sister, and in his withered loneliness, the hunter couldn’t help but envision
her face, placed so easily over the brunette male’s own. And in this, he found
a surreal comfort, which enwrapped him with warmth that even his careful reason
could not permeate. However strange, this feeling pulsed familiarly inside of
him, and before he knew it, his hand was on the pureblood’s cheek, and he saw
the man freeze, hearing a lowly humming heart skip a beat before those glass
eyes looked to him in bizarre, lonely kinship, and he had little choice but to
get up before his impulses took him too far from reality.
 
But again, his arm was caught, a pair of still-curious, dark eyes gazing up at
him as the hand released him, dripping down his sleeve like molten chocolate.
Oh God, he smelled her, now; the sweet scents of lemon bars and cocoa seeping
into the sheets as the brunette slowly rose from the bed, meeting his faraway
eyes with a blur of expectant, brotherly excitement. Zero’s hand came to the
side of his skull, and pulled gently at his hair, weaving it with unreal
caresses. Kaname dipped his head, came up close to the other man, breaths
heavy, and weighted with the warm scent of liquor. Forehead resting on a bare
shoulder, he listened with utmost care to the quickening pace of his comrade’s
heart, and decided in a haze that this way or that, the evening would be one of
remembrance, and that the mere suggestion of the intimacy he had shared with
his wife after those long months was far too much to bear.
 
The silver-haired man’s hand got clumsier as he went further into nostalgia,
locked behind the soft flow of drying white sheets, a sunflower hat bobbing
humbly between their coursing angelic masses. He remembered picking her up on
autumn days and tossing her in leaf piles, and felt at his back the gush of the
crisp dead foliage, made malleable by a thick barrier of canvas bags. At his
collarbone was the lick of a dog he’d known had died, but he gripped its broad
shoulders all the same, and pulled it closer with a dazed look, the image
conjured before him that of an ill, exhausted, desperate man. A pressure spread
over his body, and he saw that the man had laid upon him the length of his
supple body, so much like hers, head resting on his breast, hands lost in the
sheet.
 
“I don’t think I can take many more trips,” he said in that grainy little
voice, feeling Zero’s cool arms come around his back. They were certainly well-
muscled, and through their mass Kaname had a difficult time picturing his wife,
though the thing he may have missed most was this closeness with someone.
Because after so many months of hunting and killing and hunting and killing and
acting as some supreme, unidentifiable being, the intimacy which he had shared
with his wife had begun to condense, like bad milk, into particular things
only. In this position atop his friend, he struggled desperately to conjure her
image, the futility of this act apparent as the masculine arms that constricted
like an anaconda his, yet, boyish body.
 
With burgundy eyes, he lifted his head and set sight on the hunter, who looked
dreamily down at him. He smiled crookedly, a fang prodding his lip whilst the
other slipped past. And then the hand that firmly gripped his sides hauled him
up the other man’s body, pupils tiny and incredibly focused as finger wrapped
around his head and he was pulled into a somewhat sloppy, somewhat slow kiss.
Unknowing of how to react, he just stopped moving for a second, feeling the
alien motions of a large tongue in his mouth, finding it impossible to see his
wife in this man. About to call the hunter on his moves, when their lips
separated, he opened his mouth and tried to speak, only to feel the sudden jerk
as a firm body lifted him up, rubbing against him in a strange fashion.
Stalling again, he was shocked to feel those large hands quickly work on his
shirt, kissing his neck distractedly, toiling as fast as his bloody hands could
as he felt her image leave him. This moment of shock and dreaming deepened as
the brunette felt the shirt unravel at last, a puff of surprise pressed from
his chest when the hunter fell upon him. Even though the body atop him was
large, heavy, and firm, it was warm, and he closed his eyes as the man burrowed
into his hair, fumbling with a thick buckle.
 
Generally, the clinking would have woken the pureblood, or at least stirred the
vacuous space in which his scruples might have been. He lifted his hips
dazedly, wrapping his arms around a straining neck and thumbing the grim tattoo
at its side. The belt flew from his hips in Zero’s frustration, making an angry
clang on the hardwood. His back arched and his head folded deep into the sheet
as his slacks flew off next, the silver-haired man grunting in primeval
triumph. Kaname slurred something he couldn’t understand, maybe a refusal,
maybe just a groan, as he felt his body curl the other way, hips coming off the
bed to meet tense thighs. Looking blearily through whatever was clouding his
eyes, he met the hunter with a half-grimace, apprehensive as he felt a hand
pull him apart, prying with apart with all five fingers the older male’s pale
buttocks, and leaning back so as to survey the ‘prize’. If anything were to
end, the moment of truth had already passed, and the most Kaname could now do
to remove the other man would be hurtful, and while he was not at all opposed
to that, he loathed incredibly the detestable possibility of fracturing the
illusion he had set up. A mask for reality so powerful, it was something he
could use to distract himself from any horror, even if, when he first started
using it, he felt indescribably guilty for having ‘tainted’ the few precious
memories of his wife. Now, it was beginning to become a second language to the
devastation he caused, or rather, the realisation that his actions were no
better than those who hunted his kind, or worse, that of Zero’s bloody stigma.
Truthfully, it might be said that he feared tainting his pride more than
anything, although he would die for Yuki.
 
Zero was tender. With women. He was adoring and flexible, and even when he paid
them; he didn’t force them into anything demeaning. But he knew very well that
men could take much, much more, and having not had as much to drink as his
friend, was still highly aware of the fact that Kaname was indeed male, and not
the beauty he’d painted over that anxious face. So, without much warning, he
pried a little further, very concentrated, and very mechanical, a stern look on
his face as he focused, lips hard against his teeth as he scowled,
 
To have it too tight won’t do…
 
Not that he cared much if the bastard couldn’t walk for a few seconds; he just
didn’t want to get certain parts of him chewed off in the process of making it
so. So he flexed his fingers and reached in, delighting in a way he knew was
perversely intimate for their relationship the fact that the brunette’s arms
had crept over his eyes, a thin mouth showing teeth, opening wide as it dared.
Until the man who would claim him couldn’t take the once-subtle, but still
oblivious seductions the pureblood was using against him, and threw apart the
legs clenching him with such force that Kaname cried out. The sound flocculated
as he began to fuck the whiny little cunt, growing steadily from a growling
bass to halting, tenor gasps, and then stilling in perhaps pain, perhaps
confusion, as Zero changed courses and shifted positions. They had an
unmitigated desire to keep quiet, though once every few thrusts came the
onslaught of the threatening climax, a moment in which Kaname would cover his
mouth with his arm, biting the nearly hairless flesh so as to gulp down his
volume. And, as he was fucked, he realised that he liked it very much, and when
his friend came on his stomach, he remembered he shouldn’t.
 
The hunter didn’t give him much room on the bed, so as he got up, yet
unfulfilled, to get his clothes, a silver-haired head groaned into the pillow
as its body stretched out, the pureblood sticky and stuck in fearsome
deliberation. He opened the door to the bathroom and, stalling for a moment,
stepped in, closed it, and got in the shower, a little stunned to do anything
but turn on the knob, whose correlating flow managed to rouse the sleepy
hunter. As the man slowly rose, he slipped on some clothing, sparse on the
dilapidated scantling, and sat on the bed with a grim expression. By then, the
shower had turned off, and the other male was doing, practically and
shockingly, the same thing.
End Notes
     I did warn you.
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