Disclaimer: I do not own X. I own Sei-Sei's cat.
Author's Thanks 1: To Whitesakura, the co-writer who wrote most of this chapter, to Irresistibly Cruel, the wise advisor and to my lovely, lovely beta, Cait-hime-sama.
Other many thanks, not a bit fewer then the those of the above, go to Trench Kamen for advising me about this story.
Author's Thanks 2: To Nancy from (again, thank you! This fic is aimed directly at those horrid X badfics), LadyYeinKhan from (yes, you reviewed it, but it doesn't matter, you can review more and more to your heart's content, tee hee. And ah! You get to go to Japan! I want to go to Japan! Take me with you!), Slover Pink from (will Kamui and Fuma meet? Well….it's up for me to find out and you to guess, just kidding. There will be some F/K action in future chapters, don't worry), Fin Mafient from (batshit insane…uh…thanks? No, kidding, thank you and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the fic!) and to Feather-chan from (smut is this fic's middle name, baby! Waiting for the climax huh? Have I not provided you with enough?).
Author's Notes: This is the second edition, re-edited version of Equivocal, since I've been feeling that the way the story was told the first time failed to hit the right spot in you readers and get the right result from you.
Disclaimer 2: This story is a non-humor satire, aimed to mock a certain way far too many writers focus on the yaoi quartet; Fuma-Kamui-Subaru-Seishiro.
Any OOC, over-the-top, non-canon and downright stupid behavior by the characters has its purposes and is NOT written out of the belief that this is how the characters are really or should really be.
Chapter 5 – The Hanged Man
Late
Night Stroll
He's not sure when he lit the cigarette, but
in a sudden rush of clarity, he feels the smoke burn down his
trachea, curl like an electric eel into his lungs, caressing the
rasped length between his mouth and his lungs.
He looks at the nearly empty pack in his hand. Only two cigarettes left. He's already finished a pack, he really shouldn't think about getting another one, but there's no real reason not to.
For a moment, he thinks of purple eyes, a face full of concern, but Kamui isn't here.
Subaru thinks of gentle smiles and hands and a sly, sly mouth, soft and curving and full of flirtations. Seishiro isn't here either. Seishiro Sakurazuka, the veterinarian, never existed.
Subaru throws the carton down on the asphalt in a sudden flash of rage.
He stares at the crinkled carton lying at his feet. The wind shifts and it suddenly rocks, back and forth, but without enough energy to actually get it anywhere.
Subaru's lungs exhale worn, poisonous, grey fumes; inhales a new, deadlier batch.
His eyes water watching his cigarette bloom red in sudden brilliance. The smoke got in his eye and it stings. No matter how many times it happened it will always burn the same.
Subaru's not sure when he started smoking years ago, or how he ended up on this street right now, in a neighbourhood full of bars and X-rated neon signs flashing filthy seduction like a whore parting her legs.
Subaru sweeps low, grabs his misplaced box of cigarettes and pulls out the remaining cancer sticks before tossing the carton away for good this time.
His sweaty fingers leave faint grimy marks on the box's glossy surface. He doesn't remember the last time he had a bath. Too many onmyouji duties, too many fights as a Dragon of Heaven, mundane tutoring sessions with Kamui in the day, painful, illicit dreams about Seishiro at night.
The dreams leave him retching with want, burning with self-loathing and calling out piteous whimpers.
After Subaru wakes from those dreams, the brands on Subaru's hands always flicker on in an explosion of light and injury and Subaru clutches at them, wondering if Seishiro feels what his prey dreams of.
On the street, Subaru kicks aside the limp carcass of a dead rat.
Subaru remembers the smoke not only helps him to concentrate, but to also wipe the dry, nauseous taste from his mouth congealed from the nightmares that alternately cut and lick at his control. The smoke now stops him from biting his own tongue. He's suddenly very afraid that Seishiro knows about the dreams, about how he wants them almost as much as he wants the Wish.
Subaru's feet still.
A part of Subaru is excited. Maybe if Seishiro knows, he will come back to him. Come back to hurt Subaru in some new twisted way.
Subaru is so willing to hurt, so willing if Seishiro would only look at him again; touch him again with possessive, murderous fingers. They're never gentle, never like balm or medicine or warm bath water that soaks into the marrow of one's bones.
Only Kamui is a little bit like that. Kamui reminds Subaru of himself a little, when he was a teenager and naive, but innocent. Underneath everything, Kamui is kind.
Subaru used to be kind, he no longer believes he is.
He's kind when Kamui comes over with bags of food and Sorata in toe. Karen comes over too, when she's not working. They cook something for him, making up an excuse that they're testing a new recipe on him.
Subaru sees right through the lie and eats anyway, pretending to be a good boy now and be a human being. He's kind when he lets them think they've reached him and made a change.
If they saw through the lie they'd be heartbroken; they'd realize how pathetic they are for trying to help him.
After they leave, the extra food they buy stays in his tiny fridge undisturbed. Often Subaru'll open his fridge's door to see what brand new colours the food in it turned into, how furry it became with fungi and rot.
Subaru knows he hasn't been eating very well. He hasn't been sleeping well or taking care of himself lately.
Hokuto-chan used to do that for him. It used to be that Subaru simply forgot to do it himself, because he was so worried about others, but now, it's because Subaru doesn't think he's worth taking care of himself.
It's very late, but the pubs are still open and, with his keen hearing, Subaru can still perceive people bickering, laughing, singing together.
He ducks into an alleyway where no one will hear him and slumps against the stone wall of one of the numerous taverns that populate this area of Tokyo.
Everything that weighs on him is heavy, so heavy.
People drink to forget their sorrows, but Subaru's are etched in his skin.
They'll never go away.
Subaru sinks down, into rancid refuse mixed with stale water, and finally lets himself cry.
Nascent
Is there such a thing as fate, as destiny?
Since he was small, he has been taught of his lineage. The blood that runs through his veins is that of the Sumeragi, containing years of memories, of power, of burden and responsibility. Subaru is the 13th clan head, one who was assigned the role of a Dragon of Heaven, and one who is inexplicably bound to another, his enemy, his family's nemesis.
What's the use of lineage, anyway? It's not like Subaru can pull the spirits of his great fathers and talk to them. Maybe they'd help the side of him that wants to kill the Sakurazukamori more than anything. Maybe they'd beat some sense into the side of him that wants to sleep with the Sakurazukamori more than anything.
Subaru's absolutely certain that, in a sense, onmyoujis work so hard to make spirits calm down and be happy for the sole purpose of preserving themselves good spots in the next world.
Why else won't they come and fucking help him!
Is there such a thing as fate? When two opposites are destined to feud, how can one wish for something else, when that something else is only an illusion?
Kamui was destined to fight his twin, but he was not fated to love him.
Subaru
understands the heart. It makes its own choice against lines and
wills and
kismet. Sometimes, it makes a choice that can only hurt.
Sometimes, it makes even a pebble beautiful.
Subaru has wished for that moment, slick and warm and red.
To stare into Seishirou's eyes and for a moment become more than just a plaything. To bleed. For his heart to finally have the words. The last confession, when an answer isn't needed, only the sense of connection of that moment, when the world is bright like glass, shattering into a million pieces. A moment like falling out of love, run in reverse. When what is broken is swept away and whatever had lingered can finally find peace.
Subaru knows the heart.
He has never truly understood other people, because they often do not listen to their own. He knows why. The day he learned that was the day his youth ended and Hokuto had walked away, dressed in white shikifuku, with such sad, sad green eyes.
Kamui is standing
by the window. The morning bathes his pale skin with soft brightness
and the harsh lines of his slim outline are made into gentle
curves.
There's turmoil in the boy's eyes and a guilt that even
Subaru isn't too blind to see.
The cigarette is dark in Subaru's mouth and even though he has not lit it, for Kamui's sake, the smell of smoke permanently lingers on Subaru's skin like the possessive brands etched into it years ago.
Is there such a thing as destiny?
When he looks at the boy he sees a young man shining like someone who breaks destiny, who laughs in its face and does as he wishes. Was it because he was given two destinies? Or is it something else Kamui's doing?
Subaru only knows that when Kamui finally turns to look at him, Subaru still wishes to touch tenderness even though his hands are blemished.
And he still wishes for blemished hands to touch his tenderness.
A Pair of Sinners
Watching smoke curl its way in faint blue transparent scarves became something for Kamui to set his mind on when guilt spoils his afterglow.
That and watching whatever he has splattered on his body slowly congeal. Only, fluids-watching soon became too much of a foothold for his guilt, so he stopped it after the tenth time he met Seishiro in private.
He punched the pillow under his head into better supporting shape and snuggled closer under the silk covers to observe the smoke in silence.
The day was hot. Their acts made them even hotter, and now as they lay on their king sized crime scene, the heat reflected back to them from the thick mattress. So Seishiro set the air conditioner to more power.
When he got up to fish for the machine's remote control, Kamui scanned the man's naked body and found that he was smiling contently at the sight.
And his guilt burst out like a maddened storm.
So he concentrated on the smoke Seishiro now produced with his second after-sex cigarette.
Exhaled smoke is no fun, not the type Seishiro produced anyway. It shoots into the air in a single gush when Seishiro exhales, then it crushes in midair as if hitting an invisible wall, and slowly disappears ungracefully.
Ungracefully compared to how elegantly smoke rising from the burning cigarette dances in the air.
Kamui observes it trying to find words poetic enough to match the smoke's beauty.
But his eyes choose to wander from the smoke's point of complete disappearance, down the curving ever changing pillar of smoke, over to the burning cylinder, then to the powerful fingers (where the physical memory of their acts not less than five or ten minutes ago sends shudders into each fiber of his body), over to the long and wide palm, to the muscular arm where he lazily traces bobbing biceps, then the broad shoulder, the neck, and finally, the face.
Often this journey was cut short as the cigarette hovered to Seishiro's lips.
Usually, that would snap Kamui back to himself; he would not let himself start watching Seishiro with such a manner after sex, never ever, ever!
But he did and the guilt started flowing back into his head.
He turned his eyes desperately elsewhere, looking for anything to watch but that man. He gazed out the window behind him.
A black spot moving quicker than what's humanly possible caught his eyes; it was sneaking across the balcony's bar, as swift as an animal.
The curtains were drawn lower and Kamui was only able to see a slit of the outside world through the window. The black spot moving so fast; what was it?
Was it Fuma landing on Seishiro's roof to spy on them! Or maybe he's here to claim Kamui back? Oh, please let it be that!
He didn't care if Fuma coming here means a lecture of fire and brimstone about how Kamui is his, or maybe of how this is not the way to fight against the DoE; Kamui wanted to finally confront Fuma.
He wouldn't mind running off towards the man in his current state, all naked and wet and dirty; he just wanted to see Fuma already!
Flapping the curtain up madly, Kamui's heart almost snapped in half when he saw the black patch on the wide stone banister was nothing but Seishiro's cat stalking an innocent pigeon perched a few meters from it.
Kamui sighed, exasperated, and turned to the careless man who sat beside him.
Despite the fact that when he raised the curtains forcefully he almost hit the back of the assassin's neck with it, Seishiro remained as he was; silent and ignoring Kamui like he always does after sex.
Seishiro would wander off to do whatever he did (even going out to hunt some if the time was right) or just stayed in bed and occupied himself with the room's television set, a book on the nightstand or the faxes he got that day (even if Kamui could have easily read them and gone off to warn whomever it was about to lose their life).
Ignoring Kamui until the boy would leave on his own was just another sadistic trick Seishiro played on Kamui to make him feel horrible and cheap and used and beg for more.
The black cat took a series of smooth short steps towards the ignorant bird, its tail's very tip shaking madly as a sign of what its owner plotted.
The cat's eyes remained focused on the bird, its whiskers drawn forward, its ears completely turned forward, even the little fur around its eyes and on its cheeks stood on end.
From time to time the cat stopped to sniff at the ground as if pretending he was not interested in the bird at all, but when his charade was over it homed in on the bird again.
The bird took a few waddling steps towards a curve in the banister so that if the cat jumped it now it would hurl itself to the twenty six floor abyss below.
"Your cat's trying to commit suicide…" Kamui tried to make his tone as careless and cynical as possible.
Seishiro put down the batch of faxes he was reviewing and turned around to scan the cat and the bird outside the window.
He sighed. Sliding the window open slowly, he popped his head out and hollered out to his pet, "Oi! Are you stupid or what!"
Kamui sniggered and covered his mouth.
He noted his heart skipped a beat when Seishiro's head turned just a little towards him as if to acknowledge his reaction.
Seishiro smiled as well when he withdrew himself back into the room, and even shared an amused stare with Kamui for a-fragment-of-a-fragment-of-a-fragment-of-a-second. Then he resumed his fax reading and ignored Kamui again.
The cat cringed at the sound of his master's voice obviously speaking ill of him (Kamui learnt cats can detect what you talk about them the hard way when he laughed at the cat and got a foot full of claws a few minutes later).
It turned its head to them, its ears flat to its head. Its eyes were irritated, its wounded ego obvious through its sneaky low profile behavior, as it leaped down from the banister and walked to the still open window Kamui left for it to enter through.
As it climbed through the open window and down to the bed with moves as soft and sleek as the silk covers, Kamui tried to run his hand along its back in comfort.
The cat ducked from under him.
Kamui tried to pet it once more and was answered by a sharp snap of the feline's head towards him, ears still irritated and pinprick angry pupils flaring, ready to bite.
Having learnt a few things about feline behavior, and this particular cat's behavior, Kamui quickly withdrew his hand and avoided being hurt.
The cat blinked at him, even more irritated at this second degrading miss. He growled.
Seishiro looked up from the fax and observed this battle of wills and fangs between his two toys. This would be interesting.
Suddenly filled with confidence, Kamui ran his hand from the cat's ears to its nose, lingering his palm on the cat's eyes.
He could feel the cat trembling with anger under his hand. He knew he was going to be hurt, but he didn't mind.
He felt the same tremble of anger whenever he'd talk to Subaru these days; he knew he might be spotted by Seishiro and knew he would be hurt as punishment later, but the idea only thrilled him.
The cat's vengeance was not late; he sent his front paws to draw Kamui's palm over and dragged it to his belly where its rear legs kicked at the palm.
Kamui suddenly realized that though the cat's front claws were drawn and scuffed his skin, they were half sheathed and not in complete battle mode. The rear legs kicking at him were not with their claws pulled out at all and the cat's bite was not as blood-draining as they once were.
Was it possible! Could the cat have grown to like him? To do this as a game and not as hateful fighting?
Suddenly dizzy with this surprise breaking of ice, Kamui withdrew his hand and placed it on the cat's face to fluster it once more.
This time vengeance was swift and angry; the cat lashed out its front paw and carved four lines of blood into Kamui's palm.
Kamui giggled and drew his wounded palm to his mouth. Licking the wounds, he smiled at the cat maliciously.
The cat glared up at the boy; its tail pounding the mattress so hard it made an overused spring deep in it creak.
Seishiro bettered his position on the bed and placed the faxes away from him completely. The boy was plotting something, which was worth watching, and the cat he so far considered as a lazy spoiled lump of fur and fat showed its war colors in full.
Kamui waved his hand before the cat, who tried to lash out and slap some more lines into the palm. But Kamui was quick and his instincts just as sharp as the animal's; whenever the cat lashed out at him he'd draw his hand away and deal a soft harmless slap to the silky paw. Soon, the cat began hissing and growling most unceremoniously at the insolent brat before him.
Kamui sniggered scornfully at the infuriated beast, "You're angry, eh? Angry are we? Well come and get me why won't you?" he threw his palm forward to place it on the cat's face once more, snapping the feline's patience and composure completely.
He withdrew his hand in time and avoided the cat's retaliation.
The cat drew back a bit, bristling and mad. Then he leaped forward at the tormenting hand.
Kamui drew his hand back once more, but this time he committed the sin of vanity; thinking of a new way to annoy the cat and prove his dominance over the so far condescending animal, he grabbed the cat by the nape of its neck.
For a moment, as the boy grabbed his cat and picked it off the mattress so smoothly, Seishiro was about to clap the boy for his brave success.
He was even going to expand today's session for another go or two (Kamui was, after all, naked before him and on all fours which was not something Seishiro could ignore so easily) due to this sudden burst of surprising behavior. Who would have thought the boy had such spunk? How delightful it is to watch!
But the cat had one last bloody trick up its sleeve. It was a fat cat, with skin layers so abundant it'd fold up like human fat. Now, as Kamui pulled at its skin, it used those so far useless layers to its advantage.
It curled up in the air and wrapped itself around Kamui like a glove, its nape still held between Kamui's fingers. It sunk its teeth in, the claws of all four paws ripping through skin and flesh. It kicked and it yanked and it scratched until Seishiro slapped it with a pillow at it and it stopped.
Kamui was beyond pain at this point since shock was the first thing such an injury gave him. He stared at his bloody shredded hand and blinked.
Powerful hands yanked him off the bed, covered his hand with a towel and dressed him. He blinked some more.
The powerful hands pushed him out of the apartment's door.
Kamui snapped out of his shock, "Hey! What are you doing!"
"You need to go to a hospital with that hand," the assassin answered, about to shut the door on the boy.
"Wait! Aren't you coming with me!"
Seishiro laughed so loud it echoed off the hallway's marble walls and hurt Kamui's ears.
"It's your cat that did this to me!"
Seishiro was closing the door.
"Maybe he's rabid!...Maybe he gave me some infection! You know those things, not me!" the door was shut and Kamui could clearly hear the other man say "stupid boy" beyond the door.
Kamui kicked the door, but it didn't help.
His hand chose this moment to recover the shock and start hurting.
Then, as Kamui scanned the two other doors in the hallway, it dawned on him.
He started screaming. Like crazy. Half the screams were natural pain induced cries.
Kamui added, "Sakurazuka-saaaaan!" to his yelps until he could hear people moving behind the two other doors whenever he stopped to take a deep breath.
Finally, Seishiro's door swung open and a powerful arm lashed forward to yank him in by the hairs.
Seishiro bandaged him in silence, his anger at the boy oozing through his skin. Kamui needed stitching and, since the ex-vet still had surgery equipment in his apartment, he won a full treatment of that.
Seishiro did not give him painkillers and 'mistakenly' stabbed him too deep when Kamui suggested their use.
But in the end Kamui was cared for, cleared and cleaned, stitched and even on painkillers.
He sat before Seishiro, who was now packing up his little first aid kit, and smirked. Forget the small black cat; he grabbed the tiger by the nape of his neck and brought him to submission.
"Are you angry?" he asked with voice dripping of honey and sarcasm.
Seishiro glared down at him, "You've been a very bad boy with that trick in the hallway."
Kamui batted his eyelashes and pouted sweetly.
He received a powerful right hook which knocked him breathless to the floor.
There was real fear making him tremble now when, through the hairs obscuring his eyes, he watched Seishiro crouch towards him with drawn fists.
For a while, the Sakurazukamori held him above the floor by his shirt's collar, glaring at him coldly as he looked for a way to punish the boy.
Then, he threw Kamui violently back to the floor and calmly walked towards his phone.
He ordered three male escorts, "I'd like them big, heavy, muscular, please, thank you. Oh, and make them BDSM masters," to come to his apartment, "for a bit of fun, tee hee".
The next morning Kamui limped into his residence's living room and nearly gave everyone a heart attack. He told them he saw a cat standing bewildered on the road, about to be hit by a car, so he jumped before the vehicle and grabbed the cat up into his arms, which won him the shredded right hand.
But the car was full of young yakuza brats and they were very angry at him for spoiling their joyride. So they beat him up a bit. But he beat them back and it was alright.
Sorata gave him an educating stare, Arashi wondered if they should worry about grudges from the yakuza in their status, Yuzuriha asked if the cat was alright.
Kamui spent the rest of the day sleeping, trying not to think about anything. Was he completely corrupted to the core to enjoy last night's full events? Was there anything left in him of that innocent little boy who wrote a hopeful letter to Fuma!
Inner Circles Speaking to Each Other
Karen's old high school friend led the same career life as her. When they were together in high school he was the first one to teach her how to put makeup on and act seductive. As soon as she knew anything about it, Karen gave her friend tips about blow jobs.
Together they decided, since both of them were such underdogs and banished souls, to become prostitutes in order to survive in society.
Between those golden days and 1999, Karen's friend became a great big, heavy, muscular man who came to be well known for his skills as a BDSM master.
The morning Kamui limped back to his home, Karen met her old friend over a cup of coffee. The friend told her about an interesting night at a certain voyeuristic Sakurazuka-san and his pet toy.
Karen frowned when she heard the 'Sakura' in Sakurazuka-san's name.
She thought. She pondered. She poked every grey cell in her brain to try and add another piece to a puzzle she didn't even know she had before her.
"Were you violent on the toy?"
"Of course we were darling! Oh I forgot, you're a complete vanilla," the old friend giggled, shattering whatever tough guy image the café costumers around them had of him.
"Yes but….I mean, you never did anything beyond what he wanted?"
"Ah, sure we did hon, we had a safety word or we wouldn't agree to do it."
"What was it?"
"The safety word! Darling, that's a bit too private….I'm not even supposed to have this conversation with you."
Karen straightened fiery eyes at her old friend's. When Karen's eyes are fiery, they're fiery.
"Okay! Okay! Quit the death glares already, will you? It was 'Subaru'."
"Subaru was there!"
"Huh? Who's Subaru? 'Subaru' was the safety word."
"……I see….and the voyeur, was he a tall dark handsome man with one real eye and the other a glass one?"
The old friend blinked, "Y-yeah….why? Oh, deary me, do you know this man!"
"NO!...but I might know the toy….." now she was so worried that the old friend felt compelled to tell her everything he remembered of last night's events.
Sadly, the old friend's memory of faces was never that good and the only details he could give his anxious friend were that the toy was a young man, slim, gorgeous and feminine.
Which would suit Subaru well.
But why was the safety word Subaru's own name! It doesn't make sense.
Just to make sure, Karen paid Subaru a surprise visit.
She found him sleeping in his day clothes, at 3PM, surrounded by a heavy cloud of trapped cigarette smoke.
"Subaru-san, I'm sorry to wake you up, but I need to know where you were last night."
Which is a stupid question because Subaru would be absolutely delighted to tell her he spent the night getting gang-banged by a bunch of S&M male prostitutes while his Battle to the End of the World opposite and his family's arch enemy sat aside and watched.
"I was out on a job," he whispered instead, begging her to let go of his shoulder and allow him the sleep he so needed.
"Yeah, sure you were, Subaru-san," she placed her palm on his head like he was a child, "go back to sleep now, you must be exhausted after last night…."
Karen turned around and opened the door to leave.
She scared a petite young woman in typical Office Lady attire, holding a basket of fruits and a bottle of fine wine, who was about to knock on the door when Karen swung it open for her.
The two ladies blinked at each other, confused.
"Ah! So sorry to surprise you," the Office Lady bowed politely, flashing a perfect smile at her.
Karen hated Office Ladies.
"You must be Sumeragi-san's wife," the young woman chirped on.
The first thought to cross Karen's mind was that her age is hidden enough to make this woman think she's in the right age to be Subaru's wife, which flattered her greatly.
Then she realized the potential of this and struck a pose.
"Yes, I am his wife," she gave it an extra 'I don't like seeing chirpy young women on my husband's doorstep' tone to perfect her mask.
"Well, then maybe you can give this to him for me, he must be taking a rest after last night."
Karen blinked.
"Our coffee machines have completely stopped acting up now thanks to what he's done for us yesterday and this early morning."
Karen blinked again.
"Who would have thought a disappointed secretary could make such a mess with stifled feelings alone…." The Office Lady was babbling now. She realized it and stopped.
"Anyway, give him our heartfelt thanks and this humble gift from my boss. Thank you once more," she bowed lower and left.
Karen did not feel the weight of the gifts as she stood at the doorstep, staring forward, blinking.
It really wasn't Subaru at the Sakurazukamori's apartment last night. So who was it!
She'll talk it over with Seiichiro as soon as she manages to yank the man out of his work and his family long enough to have a good long conversation.
She hated to yank the man away from his family, but this was not something to think lightly of; who would the sadistic Sakurazukamori torment by making 'Subaru' the safety word?
(tbc)