A/N: Eeegh. Yaoi. Shonen ai, too, but I think it's just lime-ish. First outright yaoi story, or ending at least, so...comment? Please? Because I'm kind of...eh. Read it and enjoy. And by the way...milk with honey is really good. Especially with a little cinnamon, vanilla, and almond flavoring. Even cold.
I wait ten minutes, the high, tinny sound of silence pushing into my eardrums. Nothing. I strain my ears, let what little youkai blood take control. I can hear the smooth exhale, then inhale, the cycle of breath. I breathe out slowly, just now aware that I'd been holding my own air in all this time. I edge off the couch, pad quietly to the kitchen. I needed something to calm me down. Not tea, that was for sure. I settle on a cup of hot milk with a little honey stirred in.
The pan of milk is slow in bubbling, so I wait, checking my pockets for a cigarette. Damn. I came up with nothing. No smoke, then. Dammity damn damn. I jump at the slow growl of thunder, so far away even the lightning hadn't appeared yet.
My mind runs over the events of the day, pausing the point where I'd hurt Hakkai. I should've sucked it up and just gone to bed instead of obviously dissing him. I sigh and stick in a finger to check the temperature - it's not quite warm enough yet to be hot, but I didn't want to burn the milk. I stir in the honey, sipping the stuff straight from the pan. And then I realize that maybe, just maybe, Mom's influence really did stick. It was something she'd do to me, and to Jien.
"Mom, we're okay. It's okay. Don't -"
"Don't you ever leave Mommy, Jien! Never!"
Red hair red eyes, he stands to the side, hands clenched and head bowed.
"Mom! It's okay! Come on, I'll take you to bed, okay?"
"No! You don't love me, I'd rather sleep with that thing."
The boy starts to slowly slide back, away from the woman. But she's too fast. Her slap leaves him on his behind, tears making slow curling currents in his eyes. The brother grabs her and leads her off, now as gentle as the senile old lady she would have been.
"That thing? Is that what I am to her?"
One more scar on a mass of them, on a miraculously tender and innocent heart.
I don't want to believe that I've turned out to be like the person I most hated in the world. I pour the honeyed milk into two mugs and carry them carefully to the bedroom door; A narrow bar of light shines from under it. So he's still awake, then. I nudge it with my elbow, it pops open.
He's propped up on pillows, both his and mine, his eyes steady on his book. But they don't move, there's no chance he's really reading. I guess it's his way of telling me he's disappointed and that I can get my sad, worthless ass back to the couch, but I go ahead and sit down on the edge of the bed and offer a cup to the book's cover. Hakkai hesitates for a long moment, but takes it. The silence isn't really a silence now. It's awkward, dense with hurt, both mine and his. We drink milk to fill it in.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't've asked." He breaks it first. His voice is soft, his tone is hard. He is insincere, but I can tell he's trying to smooth it over, to make it okay again. Just like Jien. And it hurts.
"No...I should've...I shouldn't've said that...I should've..." I shut up before my IQ starts dropping.
"Gojyo, I-"
I stop him with a desperate tackling hug, the last vestiges of milk flying in creamy droplets. I'm afraid that maybe he'll say that we need to separate, that we need to live actual separate lives. Worse, that maybe he really hates me, despite the journey we'd endured together. And I guess I realized just ho much I really needed him. Just how bad my life would be without his sense of order.
Then my body catches up with my half-formed thoughts of what I was doing, and I stiffen and pull away, my eyes turned down in shame. But Hakkai's hands flutter, long-fingered and almost pretty, flitting onto my shoulders, becoming more confident in their touch. I raise my eyes to his face, reading the mixed feelings there. Feelings of shock, of longing, of hurt, of tentative happiness, perhaps even affection and love.
"Hakkai?"
He turns away, shoves my pillows back onto my side of the bed.
He turns away, and something in me grows and breaks and dies, blowing away in dry ashes. And so, I sigh, and flick off the light, and regret what could have been.
But I can't sleep, and though the night is warm and stiflingly humid, so humid that we're both in boxers and little else. The sheets under my body are damp with sweat, but I feel cold. I shut my eyes and try to sleep the best I can. I don't realize what I'm doing until the clammy skin of my back touches his, and we both jump and both pretend that it didn't happen. But after a little while the bed creaks slightly, and the tender touch of his arm sliding around my waist makes me realize that he must think I'm asleep.
A flash of lightning, and inwardly I count. One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...a deep rumble shakes the air. The storm is a good two miles away, but even from there it affects Hakkai. A tremor shakes his frame, oddly fragile to me now, and edges a little closer, tightening his hold on me. And maybe it's just too many hired whores, too many nights of seduction, but I turn and kiss him, missing his lips in the dark and getting the base of his throat instead, probably because most of my experiences were with shorter women, and where their lips were his throat was instead.
He backs away, raising himself slightly on one arm, his eyes shocked. But I reach out and draw him against me again, kissing on the mark and ignoring his weak, muffled protests. I know perfectly well why he's struggling. I know that we both have had women, his quality and my quantity, but this seems strangely right, and I'm not shy about making this clear to him. But he breaks away, horrified.
"Gojyo, no! This...this..."
I don't let him finish,simply planting kisses on his face and throat, nuzzling against his chest. His struggles cease, and I know he's accepted me, accepted the only thing I could give him, the only thing skill I had, the only true thing of value, only more. I give him what is left of my tired, scarred heart, knowing he'll never break it, always treasure it. He gives me his, quiet and shriveled. Lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and rain falls silver around the shelter of our arms.
