A/N: Hello my lovelies. It's been a tough year so far... been held up with various school-related work. I've sort of lost touch with my other stories at the moment... but I'll be sure to pick them up once school is finished and I have time to re-read them. So sorry for any inconvenience. But for now, here's chapter one of a new fic I'm not quite sure where I'm headed with. Hope you enjoy.

Rating: M. There will probably be sex scenes with Kain and Zero foremost, and later on with Kaname and Zero, but for now it'll focus on the development of the characters' relationship.

Pairing: Kain/Zero, Kaname/Zero.

Warnings: Language.

Making the Dead Smile

Chapter 1: Sharpening

It was close to uncomfortably warm in Zero Kiriyuu's studio apartment. Typical mid-summer afternoon temperatures were currently soaring in the thirties which made the fumes of the arrays of paints and mediums unbearable to those unfamiliar with the substances. Zero however was unperturbed and was more concerned about the sweltering heat seizing his incomplete artworks. He'd had to lay them flat on the floor of his apartment, suddenly plagued with a wave of paranoia that the paint would run more than what was necessary, which would ultimately ruin the artist's carefully planned (if not anal-retentive-worthy) foray.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Zero cast a vindictive glance towards the broken and currently smoking air conditioner across the room. It hadn't had to smoke… the damn thing had only produced what could only be called as 'the impact of an elderly relative breathing on the back of one's neck'. So Zero had persuaded it… so to speak. Unfortunately, negotiations hadn't ended so well. Zero tried to refocus as he began bleeding his colours together on a stray shred of canvas. There was a certain aesthetic he wished to achieve with that particular technique, but so far it had only accomplished a sort of minor effectiveness that Zero wouldn't have even expected from a preschooler without any hands. Maybe the colours were the problem, Zero thought with little substance to the accusation. Well, it was worth a try… Determined to not be outdone by a simple effect, Zero put the handle of his previous brush between his teeth and grabbed another to swirl around in the stark red paint on his pallet. Against the black with which he was using, the colours drew from one another perfectly, as if the two colours were made to be seen together as one. Zero stood up straight from his hunched position over the bench and admired the contrast and effect, finally satisfied – if a little.

"And this is the penciller Zero Kiriyuu."

Zero apprehended the two entering figures in his apartment with a glare, his teeth still clutching his paintbrush. He regarded them with a slight hostility only he was known widely for. The first who entered was a publicist of sorts who Zero had met with on many occasions, and for reasons beyond logical grasp, the man kept referring his clientele to the young artist. His name was Takuma. He ordered the photographs, illustrations, paintings and any sketches Zero made. He was also the man who gave him his paycheck, which was more than decent, and for Zero who was still struggling for two very far apart ends to meet, he knew he couldn't miss such good opportunities. Even if most of the hacks the publicist sent him were arrogant jerks whose proctologists were probably baffled at how often and far up their asses their own heads were. But at least now Zero had gained and perfected a profitable skill from his troubles: the ability to judge a person from a brief encounter. The tall man with Takuma was unsurprisingly attractive – all toned muscles, brown tresses and captivating auburn eyes. His eyes were perhaps the only thing separating him from all the others… it made the young artist uneasy at being unable to read such apathetic depths.

"And it seems that he is indeed in need of some fast cash," Takuma remarked, referring to the brush Zero had unconsciously left in his mouth.

Removing the brush from his lips, Zero frowned. "Charming as always, Takuma. Still single are you?"

Takuma feigned hurt on his boyish features. "Zero my love, you know my work comes first, even before you."

"Spare me your dramatics. What's the job?" Zero asked, mildly disinterested in their familiar banter. He flicked his eyes back to the stranger who hadn't stopped staring at him since he arrived, who winked at Zero when their eyes met for one agonizing moment.

"You hurt me, Zero," Takuma smirked. He motioned to the tall man, his ability to bounce back quickly clearly demonstrated. "This is Kaname, he'll require some… artistic creativity to his profile, as well as a portrait of him looking fancy. Starting as soon as possible."

Zero caught the smirk flash over Kaname's face as he reached into the pocket of his black pants to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. "Come on Friday morning, but before then," the artist approached the brunette and snatched the pack from his hands, "you better hit the cold turkey. You're not smoking anywhere near me while we're doing this." Hesitating and meeting Kaname's dead eyes as a warning, Zero gave him back the smokes and returned to his desk to pencil in the arrangement. 'Bring stress ball', he wrote as a reminder.

"Friday evening."

Zero was startled at how demandingly deep and silky Kaname's voice was. "What?" he turned to Takuma for explanation. Friday evening… wasn't that when the brainless and arrogant went out and got doped up on drugs, sex and rock'n roll? Besides, Zero had scheduled in to leave at that time for a well-needed holiday.

Takuma shrugged and smiled with that half-assed grin of his. "That's all we can do."

"Then make it for some time next week, I have plans," Zero stated firmly. He'd been so busy these last couple of months that he hadn't had any time to spend with his boyfriend. Patient though he was, Zero didn't think Kain was capable of waiting for the artist to be free anymore. It was supposed to be their weekend of reconnecting with each other, as Kain put it.

"Cancel them," Takuma said melodically as he herded his newest charge out the door. "See you Friday!"

"Wait! Takuma, what the hell?" The door slammed shut, leaving Zero with an abundance of justifications to rip the publicist to pieces. Why was it so damned important that it had to be done right now? The process itself would take months, maybe even a year or more… why was Takuma so damn keen…? Oh for fuck's sake, Zero groaned, rubbing his temple. He could just make out the premonition of an insipid migraine on the horizon.

"You're sure that some amateur will do the job right?" Kaname asked as he was ushered into the black limousine, sunglasses placed snugly on his nose as he pulled the collar of his black coat up to shield his neck from the last dying rays of sunlight.

"Positive, Kaname-sama. He's one of the best artists I've ever come across, bar Henri Cartier-Bresson, Picasso and Robert Capa of course," Takuma exclaimed, taking the seat opposite. "Take anything alive and he'll give it essence and meaning. Trust me."

Removing his glasses in one fluid movement, the publicist found he was being regarded with his leader's luminescent scarlet eyes. "How would he then, as an artist who breathes soul into the living, ever be capable of giving sense to the lifeless brought back into animation?"

Takuma smiled. "You forget Kaname-sama, that you were never dead."