So, um, yeah. Surprise! Zero is, uh, dead... yeah. {rambling} Anyway,

THIS PART IS GENUINELY SOMEWHAT IMPORTANT (or whatever...):

It is partly in the power of the reader, for any author, to decide what shall be written next. Now, I have several brews which have been cooling for a while, and I was wondering which one the small lot of you would like for me to continue. Unfortunately, As a Note is quite dead. I've thought numerous times that I should simply delete it, but I have no intention of continuing it unless I could get help in thoroughly editing and weeding it.

THE CHOICES THUS FAR INCLUDE a continuation of At Last, a continuation of Menoetius, a T or M fic containing Hanabusa and Kaname, an M fic containing Ichiou, Takuma, and Kaname, a T or M fic containing Zero, Kaname, and possibly Yuki, (there could be het) a T or M fic containing Haruka, Rido, their father, and possibly Kaname, an M fic containing Yuki and another female character, or an M fic containing Kaname, a mystery character, and possibly Chairman Cross, Rido, or Zero (whichever).

There is a candy shop just beyond the city limits of a town buried in the eastern mountains. Its back faces a large river, which annually clogs with ice during wintertime, black water shallower and colder than it appears. There are two rooms, and a small sleeping annex which is never locked. In one room is taffy: from ceiling to floor, lined like an army are flavours exotic and domestic, all colours faded, wrappers crinkled and covered in dust. In the second room is the fudge and liquorice. Thousands upon thousands of flavours, blocks, sticks, crumbles, chocolate, peanut butter, mint, coffee, raspberry, orange curaçao; all are neatly stocked and awaiting custom from under a dusty sheath.

The owner is a neatly-trimmed man of good nature, clothes worn and patched, but clean and pressed. His goatee is splotched with white and his skin sags morbidly, but he is otherwise healthy. He has dry straits in which he might receive one or two customers a day, and he fondly instructs them on how he makes the fudge, and how he stretches the taffy, and how his children and their children loved this or that flavour when they were truly children. But these people do not generally care, and he accepts his fate as he hobbles back to his chair and tends to the register, which is battered but, like himself, modest and well-loved.

But here, the shop is new, and the man is young, fit, newly married, barely dreaming of old age. His customers are plentiful and his friends love him dearly. His parents are alive and his father fixes up the taffy stretcher when it breaks. A young man walks into the fudge room and looks around for a while. The owner smiles and asks him what he would like, children stuffing their faces and trotting out happy, messy. The young man looks up at him, and he stops talking.

"My lover likes white chocolate and raspberry. Do you have anything like that?"

The owner tries to speak normally, but he becomes slow and moves rigidly, broken like the candy machines sitting in the storage annex. He points to one of the lower shelves and squats, barely able to take his eyes from the young Adonis, whose voice stunned and enchanted him. He would stand there for an eternity if this creature would only speak to him again. Struggling to sum up the courage to tell the lad the bio behind the candies, he halts again, watching as the brunette leans over, long legs thin beneath brown corduroy. Grimacing when he still cannot reach what he seeks, he gets down on a knee, and then another, and the owner wonders why he would do such a thing for not even a second before standing and looking down.

There, on its knees beneath him, is the closest thing to an angel he will ever meet, and he suddenly feels the demonic desire to entrap it. He is a religious man, so later, he will repent for such thoughts, but at this moment, he feels an immortal energy; a masculine desire; the obscene jealousy of the very pit of man's disreputable being overcome him, and he rages all in that second over the fate of their parting. He wants, more badly than he wants to be rich or happy, to ensnare this young man, and keep that pretty face and that voice like cashmere. He would kill to own this being.

The lad suddenly gets up on one knee, and then another, and the owner sees change shuffling around in a perfect hand: the boy had dropped coins beneath the shelf.

He brushes a long chunk of chocolate hair behind his ear and counts to the last penny,

"I think this should cover it." He smiles, and the owner's desire for him is voracious, "It looks delicious, by the way." Those white teeth, pointed, strange eyes piercing and beautiful, skin like milk; "Thank you, really." Nothing should be so seductive. The owner wonders maliciously if the lad intentionally walked around an advertisement for vice and debauchery, or if he was an unsoiled, clueless beauty. The latter stimulates him to no end, and throughout their conversation he's been formulating ways in which he might lure the boy into the annex and tie him to the bed frame. Nobody in town cares for the wandering type, so who should be concerned if another drifter disappeared? As he hesitantly reaches out, mouth slightly open and eyes lidded wickedly, the bell on the door jingles, and the young man turns around. His demeanour changes, and he is not cold, but surprised. The warmth does not vanish, but the shop owner is bereft of it for this stranger has taken it from him. He would kill for this man.

That smile flashed, trying very hard to be critical. The shop owner thought for a moment, why should an angel need to lie?

"I didn't think you'd find the place." The stranger fights with his heavy muffler, cussing beneath the wool until the young man has had enough, and so goes to help. He takes it away and holds it whilst the stranger gets himself in order and spits out some words between warming his hands and staring down the very air before turning to the brunette and looking at him uncomfortably. The lad in corduroy realises he has held it for too long, subconsciously rubbed it between his soft, elegant fingertips, and so returns it with another grimace, hands delicate as if nervous or reluctant to touch the other male's hands. The stranger eyes him warily, posture guarded and tense, hunched, even, face cold and red,

"I was busy. Got in late last night," he looks around and eyes the shopkeeper sternly before going back to the beautiful man, "I had a rough time." The brunette looks surprised,

"But you had enough equipment?" The stranger, blue jean legs shuffling, shakes his head firmly, lips pursed,

"The jeep veered off. Couldn't get it going again, so we had to go into town." The beautiful lad stops him and looks down at his shirt, which peeks out from a numbed, wind-burnt chest. Blood soaked, it matches nearly perfectly his reddened skin. The lad turns to the owner, who dumbly points out the backroom door. The jean-clad man looks dangerous, but very handsome, different from the slenderness of the taller lad. He winces as they walk to the toilet, steps inside, and begins stripping without looking back. His shirt is ripped and saturated, and then the brunette closes the door with a gentle click.

-

Zero tore off his jacket and shivered intensely. Kaname ran the water hot and tried to take off the shirt, but the man swatted him away and nearly shouted as he slowly lifted his arms, face contorted in pain, chest heaving as he pulled it over his head. The window above the toilet was small, but allowed in freezing air, and he stared up at it vengefully as his partner tried to rinse the blood out of the shirt and tend to his wounds. As he wrung the cloth, he spoke quietly,

"So they made a mess of you. Why the Hell did you let them?"

"No fucking weapons. Why'd you have to get a jeep with a bum axel?" he gripped the sill and broke through the plaster, not daring to breathe as his friend cleansed the wounds and tried to scent out poisons. He worked with incredible focus, concernedly prodding each and every bruise, gash, cut, scrape, and scratch.

"Did this all happen in town?"

Zero whirled on him and pushed him over the toilet, hoisting up his thighs and letting blood drench the soft fabric. One hand was behind his back, the other practically bolted to the bowl of the sink. He bent his neck, waiting, but shivered when the hunter's icy face nuzzled harshly into his chest. The man was frozen, knuckles white and holding him so hard, he thought his wrists might break.

"I am never doing that again." The brunette couldn't see him well from the angle his body was at, yet caught the uneasy shifts and clumsy brutality. If anything, the hunter's discomfort surprised him, rather than evoked sympathy.

"Why, pray tell?" His voice was clear and the wind outside was silent, so that his unintentionally tender tone might have rung out through the evergreens and bracken. The other male didn't make to move, yet when the brunette tried to come down, he was pressed tighter to the wall, a cold body clamped down around him. He didn't know how to give comfort at such a time; only with Yuki had he betrayed his usually distant and cordial temperament. He tilted his head up as far as it could go, and Zero pressed a little harder, hurting him, causing him to close his eyes and simply sigh,

"I can't help you with anything mental. Either you take a drink or we're done." His firmness shocked him, and his partner stilled against him. Just as he had reached that superb feeling of triumph, the other man looked up at him, and he was desolate. He became pity, itself, and feared that he might fumble his words. He hadn't seen the hunter like that in his life, other than a time or two during the Rido days. But back then, the boy had Yuki to vent to. What could he do to help him?

The man looked up at him, eyes red from bloodlust, but also bloodshot. His pale lips quivered and he breathed deeply, shakily. Even his breaths were chilled.

The older male was alarmed,

"Zero, drink."

And the man buried his head in his partner's chest again, came away, hesitated, replaced himself, and came away again. Kaname's eyes widened as his hands were suddenly in front of him, still held tightly by the hunter's. Teeth punctured his neck and he didn't jolt or frown. His body remained suspended, but he slipped suggestively lower, until he was nested securely in his friend's taut lap. The man's broad body loomed over him like a beastly monolith, but shook and embraced him desperately. When he began to feel light-headed, he noticed the grip on his hands had loosened, and when he attempted to clear his throat to say, 'stop', the man instead removed himself, and went for his lips. The glow in those red eyes had reversed so quickly, the transition from red to blue left a lingering and frightening image in Kaname's mind, and he felt as those hips starting to piston against him, those hands, one undoing his trousers, the other holding up his thigh, all turned into something utterly fierce and all-too recognisable. If he was weak enough, he would surely black out and see those taunting eyes.

Zero only pulled the corduroy down enough for access, and awkwardly shoved Kaname against the wall and rotated him, unbuttoning himself and smashing that pretty forehead into cream paint.

"You are not going dry." The brunette said as the man continued to keep his hands locked in front of him. The hunter's voice trembled. They felt terrible.

"You want to use blood again?" The shaky bastard said darkly. Only God knew why he wanted to have more pain on his mind. When the brunette had to hold in a shriek, blustering breaths carrying curses and cuss after cuss from his throat, he let up a little, and entered more slowly, the tip of his phallus having a rough time getting in. It hurt like Hell for both of them to go dry, and the clenching and stomping weren't helping either. About a third of the way in, Kaname fell a bit, balanced again against the other male's thighs, wiggling and starting every now and then. A large puff of air came out in a string of words,

"Why can't you just go fuck a dog?!"

"Dogs prefer to bite. So do I, apparently. Can't mix such similar personalities." Having eloquence and sarcasm halfway to an orgasm doesn't quite make for the most erotic mood, and Kaname stomped again to avoid shouting. Halfway in. Only halfway in. The tile above the toilet was cold on his face, and the window wasn't helping. He closed his eyes for a moment and it was as if a light clicked on, for he saw himself there, in the darkness, and felt simultaneously that horrible figure behind him; clawing him; fucking him; riding him raw. He opened them again and found the vision gone, but feared it would reappear if he dared black out again, and so he tried to stay as stagnant and firm as possible.

Didn't work out very well.

"Fuck," he muttered, scalp now adjacent to the wall but always moving and seeking some semblance of enjoyment in their coupling. Pleasure? Who'd heard of it?

The heat of Zero's thighs pressing up against him was the most comfortable thing he could find in their situation. He wrapped his arms behind him and grasped the hunter's sides, anxiously lightening and strengthening his grip, unsettled and unsure of what to do. When at last Zero was buried so deeply inside of him that he felt the man's sac trying to glide in, too, he choked again, something not entirely incomprehensible: an uneasy sound which forced him to cover his mouth. Both stalled. His vulnerability had overwhelmed them. Hesitantly, the hunter's hands touched his hips, and then gripped them. A sweating body pressed down upon his clothed, hunched back, and his eyes widened. His fingers hovered just beyond his mouth, open and trembling. When a forehead rested on his shoulder blade, he snarled and tried to regain some control,

"If the extra touching isn't necessary,"

Zero blinked, and withdrew with an affronted, uncomfortable look in his eyes. He grew defensive, and posed a tiny thrust, which caused the pureblood to hit the wall.

"I thought these were the 'extra touches'?"

The brunette felt relief flood his veins, and curled his fingertips into his palms, fists steady against the tiling as the old spark was rejuvenated.

"If you want to know what it feels like, be my guest. It's troubling to know the man who tastes like poison is the one you can't keep your fingers off of." His heart wasn't weighted with these words; there was nothing strange about their antagonism toward each other. It was a far-fetched idea that there'd come a day when they'd be too tired to fight, or worse no longer feel the same desire.

Zero growled and thrust in harshly, thin hip bones like iron spikes, agile and painful. His claws dug into the other male's skin, and their souls chorused their pleasure with Hellish pangs. Kaname grunted and swore, struggling to keep his eyes open and his voice down. He heard the door open and a few excited voices from beyond the washroom and the sound of their shuffling clothing. If he got caught by some sweet little girl with this damned, battered fool buried balls-deep in him in the back of a bloody confectionary, he might just crack. To take his mind off the thought, he tried to reposition himself into a pose easier to hide their motive. But when he did, something strange happened. The hunter closed around him, arms coming away from guarding his splayed fingers to enwrap his chest. Hands cold as the glaciers in the pass crept purposefully up his shirt and held him tightly. He craned his neck up and back only to see the man distractedly lay his head on his back. The light hair tickled Kaname's neck, sending a few twitches to his face. The hands began to stroke him gingerly, unyielding and unwilling to let go as iron, but handling him as carefully as they numbly could. It was as if the man feared letting him go, which in turn made him fear what could have shaken him to such a point that he might turn to a 'frenemy' for comfort. He felt like asking why, but he was just starting to get hard, and emotions and deep thinking had no place in sex between them.

The thrusts came a bit deeper now; harder, more sudden. Pulling out halfway as leisurely as possible, and them slamming back in. Kaname felt the blood trickle down his legs, and shifted as his cock hit the rather rough boundary corduroy. Zero didn't want him to move, so he yanked it out swiftly and toyed with it for a bit, unsound on the idea of double-pleasuring the man, but feeling some necessity to do so. Tentatively, he began stroking, thrusts becoming sloppier as he multitasked. Becoming harder, they jolted the brunette into the wall, causing him to whisper a small "Fuck all," at the pain of hitting his head. He panted lightly, stifling his breath with terse lips before gasping for air, head turning up a little more, expression softening and losing its gnarled complexity. He touched the hunter's side and massaged him with soft fingers. Opening his eyes, the younger man suddenly gained what he needed to finish, and a deep, concentrated frown buried into his face.

In an attempt to distance himself from both his vulnerability and the man he was holding, he strengthened his posture. Gripping the back of the other man's head with a nasty snarl, he shoved it downward, forcing it to the tank lid of the toilet, grinding that pretty face into the porcelain with a series of animalistic thrusts. He heard a few small grunts escape the man below him, and when he looked down, met those lust-laden eyes, watery and hot. They beseeched him wantonly, but that sarcastic mouth ruined the moment,

"It's already dry, for God's sake, must you do it roughly, too?"

He responded by striking harder, pushing down the corduroy and getting a firm grip on the man's hips. The grunts turned into cries, but still those eyes bore into him. Now, he thrust so quickly he had to reach a hand out to the wall. They closed a bit, tearing up tiredly and painfully, still swirling with smoky, uninhibited lust. It is worth noting that, at the time, Kaname didn't realise what it meant when he brought his hands back and pried himself open a little further, or at least, he didn't think about it. About how much more noise he made, now that Zero could venture deeper greedily inside of him, or the profound and startling effect it had on the man in question. He didn't concern himself with any of these things until his voice went up just a few decibels as he cried out anxiously between the toilet and his comrade like a cat in heat, and the hunter's icy hand, which had zealously forced his face into the porcelain, gingerly laid over his own more lustful one with tender intent. His eyes closed fully at that point as he was opened up further, one hand being dragged down to feel what was plunging urgently inside of him. As the usual post-coitus humiliation began to creep into his mind, he came quite suddenly, grunting with a wet face, hands struggling to make sure the semen couldn't hit the corduroy. But Zero held them where they were, and stopped moving inside of him.

Orgasm intensified by the humiliation of being watched with such rapture, Kaname briefly thought of killing the man for bearing witness to something so intimate. When he finished, he was watched a little longer, and grew angry as post-orgasmic twitches overcame his body. As they peaked, the thrusting began again, this time with little rhythm. The purpose was simple and inelegant: "Come inside as fast as possible before Kaname can push me off, and then gloat about how I get to fuck the unholy king of the vampires whenever I please while the smartass tries desperately and fruitlessly to clean my jizz out of his asshole." Or so Kaname liked to imagine. Zero's true thoughts were much, much simpler, primitive. He thrust as fast as before and began making small sounds, uncharacteristic for him to do anything but breathe. When he was about to climax, he pulled out and came with a shudder, still holding the pureblood's bruised and trembling hips before collapsing against and sliding down a water heater to the floor.

The brunette regained strength and stood up in disbelief, turning around,

You actually had the decency to not come inside, he thought of saying, but the dark intensity of Zero's stare stopped him from saying it. The younger man panted unhealthily, wincing as his chest stretched his bleeding wounds and Kaname realised his back was soaked in the poor bastard's blood. He'd honestly and with great labour given him all he'd had. And then had the politesse come climax to consider his partner's comfort. Kaname couldn't deal with that. And he was thankful when he refocused on the crumpled mercenary to find a demonic smile, curled and unfounded, eyes angling toward the pants around his ankles. Looking down, the pureblood swore out loud enough for the world to hear, music to the hunter's ears, who closed his eyes and panted out his pain.

So his aim had been a little more devious. Coming on the corduroy wasn't as bad as inside his partner's belly, right?

... Seriously, have any of you tried to get jizz out of corduroy, before? It's Hell. My advice to Kaname is to throw the pants away...

Shameless filler... how I adore thee...