The last sentence is a tribute to a French film about a female serial killer and her love interest, a gorgeously-endowed blonde woman always shaking behind her. The ending was spectacular, and I could have fanwhored it, but was too busy working on 'Confusion...' and others at the time. I wouldn't have been able to do it justice at that level, either, not that I think I could perfect those scenes anymore...
Life isn't life until some cute broad thinks she can trust you, eh?
Naw... [taptaptap] enjoy.
Hanabusa grabbed his shoulder, turning him around into a quick fist that put him to the ground. The boy pounced him, blue eyes aflame, struggling to rip him apart. Zero pulled out the Bloody Rose and tried to fire it, but a circlet of ice wove around his wrist, encompassing his hand as the metal hit the grass. The blonde glared at him, but wrenched back when the ex human spat in his face. Scrambling on the ground, hand still caught up, the hunter grabbed the gun and fired it three or four times in a rush, trying to catch the bastard before he moved; vampires could be too bloody fast. Almost as if they opened wormholes to get around. One of the bullets hit a white shoulder, another grazing a pulsing temple. The head wound stirred him and he panted as the Noble slowed and leaned against a tree, wheezing with the lake a dim glitter behind him.
"You… you beast." He said, unwilling to approach the other boy in his state. He uneasily eyed the gun, and then covered his face with his right hand, left guarding the wound on his gushing shoulder. The ice disappeared, and Zero rubbed at the chilled flesh, unaware of the similar disgust his peer displayed at the blood creeping down his fingers from the injury on his forehead.
"I think you owe me some fucking answers!" The hunter grit out, the hand holding his gun trembling as he got up, trousers sheared through in some areas. The vampire glared at him,
"Why the fuck," he spat, "can I smell him on you?!" The silver-haired boy stilled, pale under the dirt on his face, spittle leaking cleanly down his jaw,
"What?" His trepidation was obvious, the hint of the snarl he'd attempted hanging indistinctly in the vacuum between them. Hanabusa grimaced, digging through his flesh and plucking out the bullet, shortened from contact with crystalline bone.
"I want to know. He won't look at you. When he does, there's nothing good. So I want some bloody answers pertaining to the reason I can smell his blood in yourfuckingveins!" Their skirmish hung in the air with a refreshing novelty; the staleness of the Senate's impending constrictions and Rido's bloody shadow hopping around had become old news—this was the commercial that outshone the Superbowl.
Zero licked his lips, "Got something against your pretty prince being an hors de'oeuvre?" Probably not the best move for the fact that his back would never work the same way, but the bark grating into it served as a nice reminder that he was, at the very least, still alive.
"You PRICK!! You GODDAMNED DEMON!!" The grip on his shoulders loosened with the episode, so he slid out of it, and tried to go for his gun again. Hanabusa flung him against another tree, and proceeded to punch him senseless. Fighting back, the ex human got his nails under a white chin, claws extending at the scent of blood, and he ripped it forward with uncanny strength, dislocating it and causing the other to leap back. Crumpling to the base of the trunk, he coughed up whatever he'd eaten, vomit crimson, and he realised he needed to get to the infirmary, or go see someone who had the means to… he needed some bloody help, like, now.
"If it's any consolation," he wheezed pertinaciously, "there's no way in Hell I could've ever done it against his will." The Noble stilled as the thought hit him, and the horror that came with it,
"Don't you dare say it" At this, Zero laughed, or choked. Didn't really work out for the better either way, and he clutched his gut as if his organs were about to plop out,
"As some puny beast going up against a fucking pureblood, there's really nothing I can do to force him into anything." His eyes flashed, belly swelling with the laughter he couldn't even painfully conjure, "That is to say, if the bastard wants something, he's going to get it."
"Don't you dare suggest that he would fucking lower himself to your level!" A single, uncontrollably taunting claw slashed at the prefect's neck, and he smiled as the light wound began to ooze. The blonde's blood was cold.
"Don't tell me you can't smell that. He's here," he patted it, "in my blood. And, conceivably so, I've been 'in' him." Ice ran up his entire body, and he gasped as it permeated his skin and searched inside, probing his injuries and poking at his sweetbreads. He cried out when spikes pierced his flesh from the inside, coming out with a fanfare of pants and spray of blood, sticky on the trees surrounding them. Now, Hanabusa's eyes were red.
He stood over the pathetic form as it tried to writhe under his impenetrable ice, pained and confused and… fucking pissed off. That about sums it up.
"He would never…"
"Oh, fuck his reserves! The cunt needed it more than you know." Zero croaked as the ice filled him further. Oh, if he died here, he'd haunt this fucker forever. "It's a shame I couldn't be gentle, you know, considering his former experiences were so unpleasant." He was punched again, but he still spoke. It was as if his voice box was the only thing the ice couldn't find, and he knew he could take enough pain to insult the little prat and make his day.
"Die, you fucking creature." As the ice pressed into his eye sockets, Zero whispered,
"What? Jealous he didn't sidle up to horny little you first?" And then he screamed. But, to his credit, he screamed something that would help him. A bound, blinded, half-conscious Noble hadn't been what he'd expected that morning over coffee and homework, but it was a nice surprise, in the right mood. So, released, he caught his second… third wind, and kicked the little cunt half to Hell, muttering a few more binds before limping off to the infirmary and struggling not to laugh when he though of what the Night Class would think when Hanabusa hobbled in dazedly, tongue twisted in explanation because of a curse no one had used in hundreds of years simply because it was, well 'juvenile'. That lifted the weight of relying on Kaname Kuran of all people for blood. Coupled with the fact that he was getting laid that week (and how!) made for a fantastic day.
-
"Sugar bullets." Zero said as he absent-mindedly picked up the room, squaring shredded magazines on the corner of a splintered table with an eerie domesticity. Kaname continued to nurse his swollen ankle, flesh dripping off it in crystallising blackish gunk. He pushed it from his foot in revulsion, and it fell to the rug with a squishy thunk.
"Sugar d-d-doesn't f-fucking do th-th-th-this. Hhh-what the f-fucking Hell did y-you shoot me with?!" the hunter looked up, unfazed and terrifying in his out-of-place calmness in the torn up room,
"The by-product," He commented, bending down near the brunette's feet to retrieve the little chunk, "is what Hunter scientists have dubbed 'black sugar' and," he licked it, prompting a repulsed look from the pureblood, "it's nothing more than congealed blood, made perhaps a little prettier by whatever the geeks put into it. Can't imagine what testing must have been like. I mean, they made sure it would work on purebloods. Seems as if nothing is safe or stable in your world at the moment," he licked it again with a satisfied expression, and placed it on the table, where it stood and shone like onyx next to the tattered magazines in silent salute. Then, he looked up at the brunette, who glared at him in horror, "Oh, don't be so dramatic, dear! I'm only teasing! They use copies, most of the time. Fabrications of the bloodlines left over from old experiments. Some thrill of the world of twenty years ago. Clone this, that, and all. Absolute failures. Bloody waste of money, too," his conversational skills had long relied on his fractured politeness, offered with a sarcasm that bordered on cruelty and often left his friend in need of a quick shower, sometimes hot, sometimes cold.
He pulled from his pocket a little capsule, which looked to have been prepared that evening (the glisten of some stray gunk lining the plastic spoke of an awful time putting end and end together) and held it over Kaname, resting a hand on the couch. He stood that way for a moment as they looked at each other,
"You kind of need to eat it if you're going to get better. Otherwise, that thing is just going to keep spreading." A bitter 'Fuck you' look came over the pureblood's face, but he took it anyway. The fight was over, for the most part, and he had to be somewhere the next morning. Coughing it down, he relaxed on the couch as the pain subsided and each wound on his body, wherever it was, sealed up, the 'black sugar' burning off and sizzling angrily on the upholstery. He was left in a euphoric state, and his eyelids wavered against the light of the lamp on the end table. Zero stared at him with genuine curiosity, watching as the man struggled to gain his senses, and then finally succumbed to the medicine. With a professionally interested look, the hunter softly held a lax chin, and quietly stated,
"It would be so much easier to do this if we could just find a way to get along." His eyes were glazed over, too. The violet stormed lazily against a cloudy grey, more yielding and inquisitive than the hard sheen that overcame him when he lost control, or otherwise faced his own tweaked little bloodlust. He'd loaded an extra bullet in the barrel of his gun before Kaname had even thought about visiting his room. Knowing from experience his explosive temper could more than damage the other man when going through a rage, he'd popped in a little hollow shaft, slim and sleek, with botanicals and liquid silver swirling in a hazy mixture beneath a glass frame. His chest ached terribly from the wound, but he was otherwise subdued and calm, and found that when he looked upon the brunette's limp form, he didn't much mind it. It didn't disgust or tease him; he didn't feel like hurting anyone… he was so wonderfully relaxed, his body nearly gave up on standing. Leaning down with a lethargic sluggishness, he nuzzled the man's neck, kissing it, and then moved up to a cheek, flush from the pill and dazzling.
Then he frowned: he wasn't used to this contentedness, nor the gentleness that came with it. Not since the famous Kuran [inter]marriage had he felt so at ease. Yuki placating him while he struggled boyishly with emotions and leftover hormones probably was not what Kaname had expected at the prelude to their honeymoon, but the hunter remembered the look the man had given him. Acidic and laced with petty triumph as it had been, it had been calm, as well, and the overall joy of the occasion seemed to make everything okay for the night, and they partied and drank and smoked in the parlour at dawn like they'd seen their fathers and grandfathers do. This calm air of maturity made their cumbrous conversations less potent, and for that early morning, for the first time, it seemed they felt like true men, talking high out of their minds about things they wouldn't have begun to soberly consider and understand. That moment had defined them in the prime of their youth; an intimacy no one else could have shared because no one loved her like they did; hurt her like they had; cherished her like they would. The smoke that curled around their heads and filtered their thoughts had, over the years, become a grimy, hot stench that set their pulses skyrocketing, and they leapt from roofs and the tops of trees, pouncing on prey which shook every time. It had become too late to salvage their serenity, after their relapse into a beastly, primeval state, and as Zero bent his neck a little further, kissing Kaname's lips with the gentleness of a lover, he realised that this thin memento hung even now in the air, lost as it was in the bitter smell of gun smoke and smouldered skin. A lovely memory, their one-night adulthood, had become taboo in the presence of this stench, but remained present all the same, perhaps not as striking or glossy as it had been ten years before.
"I think you're enjoying my vulnerability too much." The hunter snapped out of it, pulling back and facing an odd grin and half-lidded eyes. He flinched when a hand stroked his thigh and the pureblood tried to get up, becoming giddier when he only fell back again and laughed.
I shouldn't have done this to you.
I'm going to make it up to you.
Perhaps we could go to the park, tomorrow, or take Yuki to the carnival?
"I think you should sober up." Vacuous words were more proscribed than insults or caddy remarks in this situation, but it didn't lessen the brunette's smile, and it didn't stop him from dazedly grabbing an unclothed shoulder and pulling it down to kiss the man who could have killed him.
"I think you should join me on this couch." His smile broadened at the thick trail of spittle left between them when they parted, and he lapped it up playfully, high off his rocker. Zero picked him up, nostalgic enough to remind himself not to act like an adult, and plopped the form on the half-destroyed bed, telling it to
"Get some rest or get the fuck out. I need to clean up this mess before Yuki can get her hands on me for it." He tried to walk away, he said in his head, practicing lines and quips and things to say to horny, drugged purebloods to stop their advances. But a hand dragged him back and forced him to sit down, a languid, loose body crawling up his.
"Zero," it whispered, wrapping its arms around him, adjoining fingers grasping clumsily for his attentive cock. He closed his eyes, "we haven't made love in ages." They'd had sex last week, and fucked time and again before that, part of Zero's conscience countered, but he knew the difference between the three, and what his impaired partner was trying to get through to him. Still, waving off his maturity, he made to stand and leave, surprised by the desperation and anxiety which Kaname exuded when he was forced back down, "Please don't leave." Close to scoffing, the hunter sat still for a moment, waiting for some unlikely sign to say he should stop in his bitter tracks and bathe some prick in a naughty mood with affections he didn't want to have to dig up or fabricate. He was too old to play this game, but that message didn't quite reach his libido when the brunette said, quite clearly and loudly to him,
"Fuck me."
No adolescent, not-at-all-mature kid in his right mind would refuse that demand. Not that he cared any longer about any one of the handful of caring, lovely nights and days they'd shared. He didn't want to feel so good when someone touched him if her hands weren't the case, or her... head in his lap, eagerly fumbling with his britches and some exhausted words of praise. Kaname wasn't someone he wanted to ever like, and he'd set it years ago that that his uneasiness would stay with him, else that mind-blowing mouth might consume him whole.
"A little deeper, dear. No teasing, tonight." Upon request, the brunette deep-throated him, and he fidgeted, trying to stop himself from coming too early, or thinking this could replace the fantasies he'd had about this moment, minus the capitated body connected to that marvellous head.