sidestory: a
The Sakura folded him in sleep when he had cried himself back into exhaustion, its chorus of voices murmuring comfort in his head.
My poor child. My poor, poor baby. It's been so long since one of My guardians grieved as you do.
Sumeragi half wished he could tell it to just leave him alone, let him sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to push away the warmth. Somewhere in the course of nine years of relative isolation, he'd come to feel that every room he slept in was too damn cold--even in the middle of summer, even with the heat turned up dangerously high. Now, with a friendly and soothing presence in his room after so long... it was like a drug, almost, warming the air around him, making him feel comfortable enough to take deep breaths. His heart beat slower. He relaxed.
The dreams came in little flashes at first, no more than passing moments from lives he wished he could have led.
He saw himself smiling, surrounded by friends at some kind of social gathering--a birthday celebration?--having his hair ruffled, being teased about when he was going to get himself a boyfriend already, getting pounced-on and tickled.
He saw himself back at the clan compound in Kyoto, walking through the gardens in his shikifuku, with a small, delicate-boned woman beside him. She smiled up at him, and he saw silver in her black hair, a flash of affection in her green eyes... he saw his mother. His mother, happy to see him, alive.
The moments began to open up now, to grow longer and more intricately detailed. It was as if dozens of his fleeting daydreams were suddenly given form; the illusion was so thick, so brilliant with life, that it seemed as if he were living out one existence after the other.
In some of them, he saved Hokuto from death. In some he was fast enough to keep Fuuma from taking his eye, strong enough to make sure the Sunshine 60 building stood intact. But in almost all of them, Seishirou was with him--sometimes bending to brush a kiss against his eyelid, sometimes cradling him close as he slumped, dying, against the assassin's chest. He dreamed of telling Seishirou how he felt, of Seishirou's hands on his face. He dreamed of hearing those last words spoken not against his ear but murmured low into his parted lips, purred darkly against the skin of his neck, making his pulse pound--
And then, quite suddenly, the flow of images slowed to a single pale-tinted moment. He still lay in his own narrow bed, curled onto his side, and he could feel warm sunlight slanting across his bare shoulderblades.
Sunlight and... something else. Warmer. He turned over, blinking sleepily.
Seishirou lay asleep beside him, lips slightly parted, tangled hair spilling over his forehead. Early-morning sunlight highlighted the muscles in his arms, the long curve of his bare neck, the angle of his jaw. There was something almost like a smile playing across his lips--sated, exhausted, utterly relaxed. For a long, wonderful few heartbeats, he wasn't an assassin at all.
Sumeragi shifted a little, and felt the sheets slide against his bare skin. The pillow that pressed against his cheek smelled more strongly of cigarettes now, cigarettes and sweat and hints of the rich scent that had been nearly woven into the Sakurazukamori's coat.
The revelation dawned in a rush, making his cheeks burn--the man who lay beside him was his lover. Alive, asleep, his.
He reached out, his palm nearly aching with the need to trace over the warm slope of Seishirou's throat.
And he woke.
His bed was empty. His room was cold, though pale early-morning light had begun to slant across the empty mattress beside him.
The Tree's presence was a very faint echo in his mind.
My child, My only. I will give you what you desire if you bring Me what I need. Tonight was only one night; there will be more.
Sumeragi took a very deep breath, and sat up slowly, brushing his matted hair out of his eyes.
If you bring Me what I need...
He wondered, as he started for the shower, what kind of dreams the Tree had given Seishirou.
He didn't have to wonder whether or not he would kill again that day.
*`-,--
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My poor child. My poor, poor baby. It's been so long since one of My guardians grieved as you do.
Sumeragi half wished he could tell it to just leave him alone, let him sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to push away the warmth. Somewhere in the course of nine years of relative isolation, he'd come to feel that every room he slept in was too damn cold--even in the middle of summer, even with the heat turned up dangerously high. Now, with a friendly and soothing presence in his room after so long... it was like a drug, almost, warming the air around him, making him feel comfortable enough to take deep breaths. His heart beat slower. He relaxed.
The dreams came in little flashes at first, no more than passing moments from lives he wished he could have led.
He saw himself smiling, surrounded by friends at some kind of social gathering--a birthday celebration?--having his hair ruffled, being teased about when he was going to get himself a boyfriend already, getting pounced-on and tickled.
He saw himself back at the clan compound in Kyoto, walking through the gardens in his shikifuku, with a small, delicate-boned woman beside him. She smiled up at him, and he saw silver in her black hair, a flash of affection in her green eyes... he saw his mother. His mother, happy to see him, alive.
The moments began to open up now, to grow longer and more intricately detailed. It was as if dozens of his fleeting daydreams were suddenly given form; the illusion was so thick, so brilliant with life, that it seemed as if he were living out one existence after the other.
In some of them, he saved Hokuto from death. In some he was fast enough to keep Fuuma from taking his eye, strong enough to make sure the Sunshine 60 building stood intact. But in almost all of them, Seishirou was with him--sometimes bending to brush a kiss against his eyelid, sometimes cradling him close as he slumped, dying, against the assassin's chest. He dreamed of telling Seishirou how he felt, of Seishirou's hands on his face. He dreamed of hearing those last words spoken not against his ear but murmured low into his parted lips, purred darkly against the skin of his neck, making his pulse pound--
And then, quite suddenly, the flow of images slowed to a single pale-tinted moment. He still lay in his own narrow bed, curled onto his side, and he could feel warm sunlight slanting across his bare shoulderblades.
Sunlight and... something else. Warmer. He turned over, blinking sleepily.
Seishirou lay asleep beside him, lips slightly parted, tangled hair spilling over his forehead. Early-morning sunlight highlighted the muscles in his arms, the long curve of his bare neck, the angle of his jaw. There was something almost like a smile playing across his lips--sated, exhausted, utterly relaxed. For a long, wonderful few heartbeats, he wasn't an assassin at all.
Sumeragi shifted a little, and felt the sheets slide against his bare skin. The pillow that pressed against his cheek smelled more strongly of cigarettes now, cigarettes and sweat and hints of the rich scent that had been nearly woven into the Sakurazukamori's coat.
The revelation dawned in a rush, making his cheeks burn--the man who lay beside him was his lover. Alive, asleep, his.
He reached out, his palm nearly aching with the need to trace over the warm slope of Seishirou's throat.
And he woke.
His bed was empty. His room was cold, though pale early-morning light had begun to slant across the empty mattress beside him.
The Tree's presence was a very faint echo in his mind.
My child, My only. I will give you what you desire if you bring Me what I need. Tonight was only one night; there will be more.
Sumeragi took a very deep breath, and sat up slowly, brushing his matted hair out of his eyes.
If you bring Me what I need...
He wondered, as he started for the shower, what kind of dreams the Tree had given Seishirou.
He didn't have to wonder whether or not he would kill again that day.
*`-,--
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