Somebody has to die. Somebody always has to die.

Takuma stared at Kaname from his wingback chair, pale lips dropped open. His thin hands were limp in his lap, eyes buggy and hazed as he tried to convince himself this was—oh, it had to be—some very, very bad joke. He smiled in his confusion, skeletal fingers bringing nails to translucent palms,

"I don't think I need that sort of help, Kaname," he stalled, trying keep a light conversation, but stunned by the question, "did someone threaten you to put you up to this?" he asked in concern, sceptic of the idea, yet open to anything but the quick-to-come truth. Kaname looked at his coffee thoughtfully,

"I saw you with Yuki," he admitted quietly. The blonde looked shameful for a moment, and hunched over his lap, a hand on his forehead,

"I would never, ever do anything to her, Kaname, I can promise you,"

"But you would with me." Claret eyes gazed at him with iron intention, flashing blue as they drifted back toward the cup. He couldn't bear his indignation, and stood hastily,

"At the very least, I ask that you won't use those tricks on me, Kaname. I'm not some child in need of a therapist. If I wanted so badly to see him again, I'd kill myself." He glowed as he prophesied his scripted fate, so old and practiced in his mind. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sound of someone listening for once, instead of apologising. It was a breathtaking sound. "I just want some peace. I want to enjoy my daughters and love my wife… I don't need any more closure, Kaname." That painful smile; it made Kaname think of himself in that position, never mind he'd probably not have made it to Takuma's age.

The blonde walked toward the door, shoulders a bit slumped, legs light and thin but still managing to drag his feet. His friend caught his sweater, bulky on his tinder frame. He was scared; he knew the man was going to trick him, and that he would probably thank him for it and die soon afterward. He reminded himself that he loved his daughters more than anything right now; even more than Senri. The other man stood up then, taking his hands and holding them as friends do, then touching his forehead with a brown brow.

"Kaname," he breathed as the man began to hold the rest of his body. He pushed back suddenly, strong for his state, and kept his head bent respectfully, "I don't want this. I didn't ask for this. Thank Yuki for me for being so thoughtful," he made the mistake of looking up, green irises swelling as he saw that beautiful man, just as he had been ten years before: coffee hair mussed up, hard blue eyes demanding an answer or affection or anything he would have been wont to give.

"Takuma." Senri said, wiping his friend's eyes, meaningful and intrepid. The man stared down into those beautiful blues, freed from the grip, but staying where he was, all the same. Takuma Ichijou was inarguably stuck, and as his hands hovered over the ghost, he choked, voice thick as he tried to say the man's name before he disappeared. He shook a little, and his hand came to cover his mouth as he convinced himself that this was a prank and entirely Kaname's doing, and that he wanted nothing of the meddling brute. He closed his eyes and stood as straight as he could, and with unimaginable will, tried to break the illusion,

"Kaname, get the Hell out of my house before I have to force you out." It was cool; it was capable; his tone was controlled and only flocculated the smallest amount, but when he opened his eyes, it was still Senri, beautiful and questioning and aloof. Kaname's clothes were large on him, and the coat hid him, large as a circus tent. The blonde pushed it from his shoulders silently, soundless, marvelling. Kaname was too good at this, but he tried not to think about it. He bent down and kissed the other man innocently, lightly, and came away reeling from a scent he hadn't smelled in ten years. It drugged him, and the apprehension dripped away as he bent over again and licked and prodded those realistic lips, feeling arms wrap around him, the bed coming closer as he realised he was the one pushing them toward it. When Senri had plopped down, still staring up at him, hair all over the place, he nearly jumped him, the bait was so fantastic, and had him stripped in a few seconds, inside of him within a few minutes, trousers barely unbuckled before the boy pulled him in with contentious fingers and calculating determination. His eyes blazed a blue inferno always staring insidiously outward, a little wider now as Takuma buried his head in a pale shoulder and thrust continuously, rocking the whole of the bed.

-

Kaname's hands moved anxiously over his friend's back, trying to relax and hold up. It hurt like Hell and the whole thing plucked his nerves like a bloody harp, until the lower half of his body surged forward and he bared his teeth, eyes closed tight to the fact that he was planted on his best friend's lap while the poor fuck rode him like a high school quarterback after a good game. But—he thought, arms now held to the bed, a tongue in his mouth—compared to quarterback sex with Zero, it turned into something of a haven, and he knew the blonde would want him feel good.

-

Takuma glowed, cheeks still wet, but red and lively and tight in a smile as he kissed his lover, hands low on a small back, delighted and playful as they ghosted over the younger man's buttocks, feeling uncharacteristically tentative fingers playing over his own. He was thrilled! He was young again, just eighteen and ready to raise Hell! All he waited for in the world was the moment Senri was out of high school, and then they could be free! It was just a few more years, and everything would be alright, because Rido was dead, and Kaname was taking charge! They had time! They had youth! And they'd be damned before they settled down! Just a few more years; just a diploma away, and they could up and go. He'd envied Kaname and Zero for what they had: so unrestrained and reckless, like cowboys off on some unfathomable odyssey, gone for however long they liked, though he felt the torment both were wont to slough off for the fact the Yuki was always alone. The poor girl! He'd never treated his wife or daughters like that in his life!

Maybe they'd just go out for a little while, do rounds and come back when they pleased, but never be gone long enough to frighten or sadden his wife.

Yeah: all he had to do was await Senri's graduation, and they would be gone.

It would be grand.

-

Kaname panted heavily as the man muttered, surging against him. He moaned guiltily, hair whipping over his head as he turned, back off the sheets, arms quivering as he held up his drenched torso, legs clenched around a firm, healthy back, buckling weakly as he moved the hair from his eyes, trying to focus long enough to keep up the illusion as his second orgasm approached him. Takuma was a damned animal when he was well! If he'd known, maybe he would have called sooner because, well, Zero was more of a monster. He had the scars to prove it but damn it, this was the best, least painful sex he'd had in a while. It just didn't end. And he surrendered himself to that fact as he fell back on the bed, pulling his friend down with him and huffing a tired laugh as the man laughed along with him, and ravished him with the ravaging adoration of a teenaged boy possessed by puberty, the virility of a bull, and the skill of a man in his fifties. Kaname moaned like a goddamned whore, and if he'd ever been one, this moment would have been the proof.

He smiled as he was flipped over, sitting limply in Takuma's lap as the man shifted and started to fuck him more slowly. He balanced on the sheets, and caught his friend in a kiss. The blonde's member glided in and out of him, gentler, more mature as they calmed down and enjoyed the quiet and good health. But he felt dizzy somewhat, and ended up falling on the man, who giggled again and pulled out, climbing over and behind him as he clawed the sheets like a cat in heat, moaning as he was penetrated again, smelling the blood and semen and relishing the feeling of someone not so vicious as Zero inside of him.

-

Takuma blithely rocked, watching with vague awareness the hands clenching the sheets over Senri's pale, hunched back. Somewhat lucid, he slowed more, wondering if the man was in pain. The young man had never complained before, but he supposed it could have been because he was so quiet and detached. He became more loving, softer, and felt skin shudder beneath his fingertips. Chocolate hair stuck to the clammy skin of a pasty neck, and he brushed it off, kissing down the man's spine.

Senri groaned and flexed, and the blonde panted as he fell in a little deeper. He kept a leisurely pace until his libido spiked again, and those hands were forced into fists for just the last thirty seconds before he was finished, and collapsed onto that pretty, slender back.

-

Zero was perched up in a tree, in October, with no coat. A light northern wind buffeted weaker boughs and he watched a lake glimmer about 400 yards away. A wildcat shifted in the bushes and a group of deer grazed near the shore. The mosquitoes were gone and the fireflies tickled his eyes with light, and he wiped his nose against his illuminated breaths and the bitter cold.

Fuck Kaname.

Fuck their arrangement and fuck monogamy. He crossed his arms and leaned against the trunk, boots wriggling the bough and causing the top of the tree to shake, but he didn't look down. You couldn't look down when you were up so high, else you'd never get down.

The moon had grown from a sliver to about three quarters, and balanced atop a short peak to the southeast. It sent a mesmerising glow across the lake, and he looked down, saw the deer, rippling the glittering water as they drank and treaded it. His posture changed: he was observant. He didn't take his eyes off them for a second. The wildcat lurked in the bushes. He felt it readying itself to pounce, and leapt from his branch. His hands caught bark as he descended, popping blisters and ripping off calluses. His boots hit the ground heavily and he ran harder than he'd had to in a while.

The deer scattered at the thumping of his feet, and the cat skittered over the dirt, chasing them. It caught and pinned a young stag, claws deep in a tan back before a pale tank thundered into it. Zero knocked it from the stag easily, and wrestled with it on the shore, getting an arm around its throat and holding it tightly to his battered chest as its body twisted and kicked at him, dragging skin with toes and biting at an arm built strongly as an ox's back. With a mighty crack, it went limp on him, and he panted underneath it, eyes dilated, great and red and watching the bleeding mass lying upon him shift as he got up. It rested heavily in his lap, and he ran his fingers through fur coarse with blood and earth. They scaled the animal shakily as his pent-up energy blew through the tips and ripped at the corpse until he was satisfied, and the pelt, well-bloodied sat in his lap, ready for drying.

He lapped the blood on his hands and arms, and stood up, chucking the body into the lake and walking back into the trees. The wet pelt was draped around his shoulders, and he leaned against a tree trunk with an eerie, uncontrollable smile. He wasn't cold anymore. His hands were steady and capable, shining from the moon and eager for the familiar cold of the Bloody Rose. Death was a dream! Death was in his mind, but he was life. He was fire. He was the pride and purity of the stag and the perceptible ferocity of the cat. His was a godly kind, and he stood in the forest with his only two equals as witness, and they treated him with the indifference of their universe. He was unknown by this world. He was beast as it learned cleverness without discrimination.

Fuck Kaname, and fuck the whole goddamned world before he was done.

-

I hate the title. Titles which require more than one or two words, minus particles (or those that do not flow) generally make me uncomfortable. They just sound bulky. If I work up the patience and courage, maybe I'll change it. Not as if many are reading, correct?