Title: Something Ordinary
Pairing: Shuichi/Yuki
Rating: PG-13/soft R
Words: 1650
Genre: Strange :P
Summary: Yuki finds himself turning into a Vampire, and it's all Shuichi's fault.
Warnings: Thoughts about blood. . Lame, yeah, I know.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Notes: Written for silvermagess's Vampire challenge.
G.G.G.
Pain was flashing though his scull, centering at his temples. He knew it had been a bad idea to drink so much the night before, but he'd just finished his latest novel, and Shuichi hadn't been home. There was no use beating himself up about it, what was done was done. However, that didn't make the foul taste in his mouth any more bearable. Yuki groaned.
He was lying in his bed, that much was for certain. The covers bunched up at his feet, a strange chill permeating his body—but he wasn't cold, he didn't think. He turned his head and opened his eyes a crack to gaze at the red digital numbers on the alarm clock. His vision swam as the pain in his head intensified for a moment before dulling, easing from flashes into a steady ache. It was past ten AM. He wouldn't have to get up unless nature called.
Sighing, he curled up on the bed, with his legs close to his body. His movements slow, heavy, as if moving through water. His fingers were cold. Goose-bumps were rising on his skin. He shivered. Hell, maybe he was cold. The covers were at the other end of the bed, taunting him. He was not going to be defeated by some blankets.
The world tilted when he started to sit up, and he decided that it would be best to leave the covers where they were. Nobody would know he had lost the battle against the bed clothing. He curled his fingers, pressing them against the warm skin in the dips over his collarbones, wishing that the would slip back into sleep.
He was in a dizzy state of half-dozing when he heard soft footsteps padding over the floor and felt the bed dipping, Shuichi's warm body settling close to him. A small hand started combing through his hair in a soothing motion.
"You awake?" Shuichi whispered, brushing his lips lightly over the shell of Yuki's ear.
Yuki groaned in response, digging his face into the pillow, edging a bit closer to Shuichi's warmth.
"I made coffee," Shuichi continued in a soft voice, his hand moving down to rub over Yuki's stomach, "And there's an entire box of paracetamol just waiting for you."
Yuki didn't respond, focusing on trying to make the headache go away. Fruitlessly. The dull pain was focused right over and behind his eyes, like a sizzling wire between his temples, pulsing at every movement.
"I bought buns," Shuichi attempted in a sing-song voice, but at the thought of golden brown freshly baked goods, Yuki's stomach coiled.
"No buns," he winced, pushing Shuichi's hand away form his stomach, "Gonna," he paused, reigning over his raging stomach, "Be sick."
G.G.G.
He leaned so heavily on Shuichi on the way to the bathroom that he might as well have been carried. Shuichi dragged him out of the bedroom, through the living room—where magazines, broken glass and random ornaments lay strewn about—and into the bathroom. It wasn't until his head hung low over the toilet bowl that Yuki realised that the apartment was in shambles.
He stared down at the red clotted substance that he'd just regurgitated, now recognising the awful taste in his mouth. Blood. This... Was not good, to say the least.
He slumped down, cradling his head in his hands. Tohma had better not know he'd had a relapse. He hadn't brought up blood in months now. But— He froze, blinking down at the blood. It was coagulated. It wasn't fresh. "What the—?" The blood would have to have flowed from a wound quite some time ago to have clotted. There would have to be a wound, but he wasn't in pain. Well, other than the drowsiness and general hangover symptoms, anyway. He frowned, groaning when the world seemed to tilt with a burst of dizziness. "What's wrong with me?" he mumbled, voice rough.
He heard a sniffle, but he didn't turn. He'd seen Shuichi crying too many times already. He could go without looking i one time /i , surely. Besides, he was hungover and with an as of yet undetermined malady. There was only so much a man could endure.
However, the sniffles didn't stop, and after a while he could hear Shuichi's voice again, thick with tears. "I'm so sorry, Yuki."
He wrenched his head up, sweaty tendrils of hair falling into his eyes as he gazed blearily at Shuichi's tear-wet face. He didn't have the strength to glare. He didn't have the strength to be angry. He didn't even have the strength to sound anything other than breathless as he asked "What did you do?" before he passed out cold on the bathroom floor.
G.G.G.
Shuichi had invited people he didn't know into the house. Yuki didn't remember.
He found two small wounds on the side of his neck, surrounded by bruising skin. He wondered if he was supposed to be laughing. He didn't.
Shuichi would send him guilty looks, walking around the apartment silent and subdued. Yuki didn't blame him, but he never told Shuichi that.
He had turned into something he didn't understand. The world seemed brighter somehow, too bright. He dreamed of red lips and soft skin. Stars dotting a dark sky. Lace beneath his fingers. Sticky heat trickling into his mouth and sliding down his throat, warm, thrilling.
He would wake up, heart beating frantically, realising that everything had been just a dream. The relief would dissipate with every inch his fingers slid up his neck to find the wounds.
G.G.G.
Shuichi would bring blood home in small plastic containers, placed neatly in the fridge, right next to the milk. Yuki didn't ask where he'd gotten them. Shuichi didn't tell.
He didn't like the taste of it. He hated the metallic tang it left in his mouth for hours afterward, no matter how much coffee he drank. He'd avoid drinking it for as long as he could. Still, he craved it. Sometimes he'd go without drinking for so long that when he finally did drink he drank too much, and had to spend a couple of hours hunched over the toilet.
All in all, it wasn't so different. He stayed holed up in his study. He wrote. He stared blankly at his computer screen. He picked at the small prickling scabbed-over wounds on his neck. Sometimes his teeth would itch. One time he pressed his thumbs up against them so hard the skin broke. He kept them pressed up there until the blood stopped trickling down over his hands.
The days were the worst. He'd feel boneless and weary, too tired to move. He'd stay in bed until nightfall, hiding beneath the blankets. The blinds were always pulled down, curtains closed. They didn't stop the heat. It was hot and stuffy in the apartment, and Yuki would sit on the balcony railing for an hour or two after sunset every day, smoking, his skin itching.
G.G.G.
The first time Tatsuha came over wasn't as awkward as Yuki had imagined. In fact, it didn't turn out awkward at all.
Yuki hadn't seen anybody but Shuichi for several weeks. Granted, he had been reluctant to make contact, ignoring the phone, covering his head with his pillow when people came knocking on the door during the day, going out on the balcony to have a smoke if they came during the night, deleting emails without opening them. He'd had phone conversations with both Tohma and Mizuki, but only because he knew they would check on him if he didn't. He didn't want anybody to see him.
Even so, Tatsuha came waltzing in one afternoon, whistling on a Metallica song, a plastic bag clutched in his hand. Yuki wondered why Tatsuha still had that key. He wondered why they hadn't changed the locks. Foremost he wondered what his brother was doing there.
Tatsuha stopped whistling when he spotted his brother standing in the bedroom doorway, covered in blankets. "Hey bro," he said lightly, switching the bag to his other hand, "You for real?"
Yuki didn't stall. He didn't even hesitate when he answered. "Yep."
"Alright." Tatsuha's bemused smile didn't make Yuki feel better, but he supposed it was better than nothing.
They spent the rest of the day drinking beer in front of the TV. Shuichi didn't say anything when he came home, just curled up on the sofa with his head on Yuki's shoulder.
G.G.G.
They didn't sleep together a lot. Shuichi still had to work during the day. At first Yuki had sat beside him during part of the night, watching him sleeping. One time he fell asleep and woke up mouthing Shuichi's neck, dizzy with intoxication and hunger like he had never felt before. He spent the rest of the night in his study, trying not to remember the way Shuichi's skin had felt against his lips, his pulse beating hot hot hot beneath that thin barrier. His teeth ached.
He stopped watching Shuichi sleep after that.
G.G.G.
He'd become paler. Paler and thinner, veins dark against his skin. He looked like he was sickly, and he supposed he was. There were dark circles around his eyes, his temples were almost always tender to the touch, and there was a darker patch on his torso, right over his heart. He would trace the more obvious veins with his fingertips, wondering where they lead when they dipped deeper into his body, out of sight.
It took a long time before he let Shuichi touch him again. Yuki didn't know why Shuichi would want to, but he supposed that Shuichi saw it as a sign of forgiveness.
It wasn't new. It was just like it had always been. Panting, sweating, moaning, heart racing, blood pumping, and there—there.
His mouth pressed against the pulse-point on Shuichi's neck. He felt the thumps against his lips, and he closed his eyes. His teeth itched. He turned away.
Later, Shuichi lay curled up next to him, his hair tickling Yuki's nose.
It was almost okay.
G.G.G.
fin.