I Wish

Summary: A companion piece to I Can't. Genma tries to deal with Raidou's death, but it isn't easy. Rated for some blood, sex, and major angst. Can be read without the previous story.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Damn.

Raidou's hair was damp and plastered to his forehead. Genma could see a bead of sweat as it rolled down his temple and disappeared over the edge of his jaw. Moaning, Genma wrapped his legs tighter around Raidou's waist, crossing his ankles, heels digging into the small of Raidou's back, pulling the other man deeper into him. Raidou growled and thrust even harder, drawing a strangled cry from Genma. Roughly, Genma grabbed Raidou and slammed his mouth against his in a possessive kiss, and fell back, horrified when a harsh coppery taste invaded his mouth. The taste of blood.

Raidou, unaware of this fact, grinned, and said, "Mmm, Genma, you taste so good. Clear and clean, like green tea you know, and…" He seemed oblivious to the deep wound that had appeared in his chest. Genma screamed, scrambled backwards and fell off the bed with a loud thump. Red spatters of blood covered his torso.

"What's the matter Genma? What did I do?" Raidou sounded puzzled and upset. Unable to talk, Genma pointed a trembling finger to the bloody mess that was Raidou's chest.

"Oh, that?" He said, and shrugged off the dreadful wound as if it was a tiny papercut. "You won't love me just because I'm dead? Seems a little unfair doesn't it?"

Suddenly, Genma jerked awake. He lay there, shivering, his breathing erratic gasps wrenched from his throat. It took him a full minute to get his breathing under control. Getting over the initial terror of the dream, he realized, with some disgust, that he was still achingly aroused.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself further and slowly, as if to torture himself, he drew his hand up his thigh. He imagined the hand was larger, the fingers longer, but blunter, the tips calloused and rough. As his hand closed around his cock he remembered the way Raidou's sweat slicked skin had slid against his own. He closed his eyes as he stroked himself, moaning at the sensation. He was close, so close, he could feel it. But it felt so empty, and hollow. All he had to go on was dreams and fantasies, nothing more. Suddenly, overtaken by self-loathing for his failure to act when Raidou was alive, he raked his blunt nails against sensitive skin, hissing in pain. In a wrenching rush, he came, striping his hand and thighs with semen.

Sighing, got up, and went to the bathroom to clean the sticky mess from his hand and legs. But before he got there, he noticed the kunai on his dresser drawer.

He had sharpened and cleaned it just this morning. Genma always insisted that his weapons be in top condition. He slowly walked towards it and, as if in a dream, picked it up. It glinted dully in the moonlight, the edge keen as a razor as Genma tested it with his thumb. A nasty little voice in the back of his head told him that it could be over so quickly. One small slash could end it all, and the kunai was so sharp that he probably wouldn't feel anything. It couldn't hurt more than what he was feeling right now.

First he pressed the kunai against his wrist, staring at the blue veins just under the thin skin. With a derisive snort, he moved the kunai to his throat. If he was going to do this, why fuck around? He ran two fingers around the sensitive skin of his throat, feeling the pulse gently thudding beneath the surface.

Then he remembered Raidou's last words.

"I'll tell you what you'll do," Raidou had said fiercely, "You'll live your life. You'll enjoy it."

With a furious growl, Genma flung the kunai away from himself; it embedded itself in the wooden frame below the window, the air humming with its fight. Genma stomped over to yank the weapon out of the frame. He stopped in front of the still quivering kunai and glared at it.

Abruptly, Genma was overtaken by an overwhelming wave of anger.

"Damnit, Raidou." He muttered, and the words started coming out faster and louder, "Its so fucking easy for you to say. You're fucking dead. You got yourself killed and left me here by myself. And…And…" Genma was at a loss of words, and ended in an anguished howl, punctuated by slamming his fist into the window.

Glittering shards of glass flew everywhere, littering the floor. It took a second for the pain to register as Genma stared dumbly his bloody fist; several slivers of glass were lodged deep in his hand. Blood mixed with semen to roll down in his fingertips in pink droplets.

Pain dulled his rage, hot anger leaving his body as quickly as it came. He walked back to the bathroom, and carefully cleaned himself. He removed all the glass from his hand and deftly bandaged it.

Walking back to his bed, he paused at the dresser drawer, and then walked towards it. He opened the bottom drawer and rummaged through old socks and shirts until he found a small plastic package. He took it out almost reverently, hugging the crinkled object to his chest.

Sitting down on his bed, he opened the package and removed the contents, an old, worn pair of pants, a crisp shirt, and a heavy thick vest. Raidou's clothes. Genma had guiltily stolen from them from Raidou's apartment after the funeral service.

Genma let out a tremulous sigh, the tears starting behind his eyes, the familiar burning sensation that came almost every night.

'No…not again…' thought Genma. He couldn't stop it, no matter what he did the tears always came.

Shuddering, he tried to get his breathing under control, he couldn't cry again. But he couldn't stop the tears now, they slid down his face and into his hair dampening the strands dark. His sobs were choked, slightly muffled from his efforts to hold them back.

The storm lasted for ten minutes. Ten minutes of raw emotion being purged from his body. Afterwards, he felt like a limp rag, all of his feelings wrung from his body. Slowly, he reached for the clothes that lay forgotten on the bed. He shook out the pants and pressed them into his chest, breathing in the warm, spicy scent, and closed his eyes. He grabbed the vest and the shirt, and huddled with the clothes; he could almost imagine there was warm body curled around him with the same scent.

"I wish…" Genma whispered to the night, "I wish…" But wishes will do nothing. Wishes are nothing more than painful reminders of past mistakes and errors.

Sleep only came several hours later.

-End-