Revelation-Resolution
By Kitsune no Alz
(Standard disclaimers apply: Don't own Tokyo Babylon, not making a profit from this, meant for entertainment purposes only, etc.)
There is perfection in a blood-soaked kiss that cannot be found in any other form of expression.
Seishirou looks down at the inert form of Subaru lying upon the spotless sterile stainless-steel table. Unconscious, of course—though but for the soft stir of breath misting the brushed-metal surface and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he might be dead. He lies still, not quite curled on his side, and his eyes are not, in fact, completely closed. A thin glimpse of shadowy green is visible beneath his thick dark lashes, but his gaze is empty.
Kissing is simple. The lips meet, or perhaps meet flesh, sensitized, sensitive; a gesture of farewell, or greeting, or to express affection, or love. Though of course, depending on how it is done, and when, and under what circumstances, it can be deeper than that, more tormented, torturous, torturing, terrible and irresistible. Perhaps.
Blood is simple. It is the source of life. Lose enough of it and you die. You can die many other ways, naturally or unnaturally, but blood and its vital importance make it almost too easy to kill.
Subaru stirs a little. Perhaps he senses the undercurrent of Seishirou's thoughts, or maybe he's just shifting in this pseudo-sleep that Seishirou has drugged him into. But he is far from wakening, and when Seishirou leans over him and places his fingertips, delicately, over his throat, Subaru does not stir. The pulse beneath his fingers does not jump; it is steady, if slow.
So easy.
He trails his fingers down the smooth, warm, pale skin, transforming what might have been a threatening gesture into a caress. Down the side of the neck, the tender juncture of neck and shoulder, slipping his hand beneath the black knit shirt, working around until he cups the back of Subaru's neck. Seishirou leans over Subaru, lovingly strokes his cheek, stares into that thin line of green, and smiles as he kisses him.
The only thing keeping this moment from perfection is the lack of blood. Subaru's flesh is white, and for contrast it should be spattered red. There should be pain twisting his eyes wide, making him tremble, drawing the breath from him in quick gasps from parted lips. He should be in naked and helpless in Seishirou's arms, hands ungloved and the inverted pentagram sharply defined and bloody upon them as he reaches up, hopelessly, despairingly, to push Seishirou away.
Seishirou smiles to himself then, gently takes his hands from Subaru, and goes to fetch his coat.
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"Back so late!" Hokuto exclaims, as she opens the door wider and lets Seishirou in. Subaru is limp in his arms, his head lolling against Seishirou's chest. Hokuto gives them a sly look. "Out clubbing? Or something else, perhaps? Just what were you doing with my brother, Sei-chan?"
Seishirou lays Subaru on the couch and smiles as he straightens. "We were having coffee at the clinic and then he fell asleep. I suppose the decaf is to blame for that."
Hokuto snorts in disbelief and makes snide innuendos as he leaves, hollering after him that he'd better come back the next day and make it up to her for not inviting her along, never mind that Subaru had merely shown up on his own.
Seishirou's stride is brisk as he travels the night streets of Tokyo. The search for perfection is an adventure that will have to wait another day.