Disclaimer 1: I do not own X, Clamp does.

Author's Thanks: Many many thanks for Lani Reaper who chatted with me on MSN messenger, if it weren't for that "most outrageous non-canon same-sex X pairing" chat I wouldn't have come up with this story.

Many thanks also go to Cait-hime-sama the lovely, lovely beta and WhiteSakura for co-writing. Also many thanks to Elizabeth Benedict, author of The Joy of Writing Sex who's book helped me map out guidelines to some of the future scenes in this fic.

Other many thanks, not a bit fewer than the those of the above, go to Trench Kamen for advising me about this story.

Author's Notes: This is the second edition, re-edited version of Equivocal since I've been feeling that the way the story was told the first time failed to hit the right spot in you readers and get the right result from you.

Disclaimer 2: This story is a non-humor satire, aimed to mock a certain way far too many writers focus on the yaoi quartet; Fuma-Kamui-Subaru-Seishiro.

Any OOC, over-the-top, non-canon and downright stupid behavior by the characters has it's purposes and is NOT written out of the belief that this is how the characters are really or should really be.

Chapter One: Perspectives

One Track Mind

Fuma stood perched on a lamppost overlooking a small green park on the edge of Tokyo's bustling heart.

He observed the humans in the park as they went about their ways under him. He monitored them, collecting information and storing it for future analysis.

There were lone walkers, taking a stroll in the lovely park to enjoy the first days of winter melting into spring, allowing the sun to shine brightly upon them.

These walkers were absent-minded; the void in their mind caused by the simplicity of the beautiful sunshine, the smell of freshly cut grass and the sight of little flowers planted in carefully planned flowerbeds.

The walkers didn't have to be alone; sometimes there were two of them or three, or a whole group. All were the same; all tranquil and silent shutting off every other distraction in order to completely observe the park around them.

Fuma liked these walkers (as much as he can like humans, being the Dragons of Earth's Kamui) for they seemed to be the only ones who could completely fathom the glory this park presented.

There were couples walking the park's paths holding hands and stopping for a quick kiss and a hug.

There were couples having a picnic on the large lawn stretches, crushing the delicate leaves under their bodies, their tablecloths and food containers, smashing the ants that tried to prosper on their food.

There were couples taking a romantic boat ride in the small artificial lake. They sailed harmlessly across the water's cool surface, enjoying the silky smooth heat rising from the lake.

From time to time the female of the couple would shriek and point at the water, marking the existence of a passing fish. They'd pretend to be afraid of nature's creatures…..well, Fuma too often found himself in slight discontent at the existence of these beings. Bred by humans, these poor creatures lost most of their natural features until they became the image of humans' twisted likes. The fish in that particular lake were even put there by humans in order to give the lake a more natural appearance. Ridiculous.

There were quick passersby, rushing from one end of the park to the other as a shortcut from wherever they came from to wherever they want to reach.

These were businessmen or women, hell bound on their corporate giri so bad they were blind to everything around them.

Some of these mad runners spoke into their cellular phones as they raced around, spreading the poisonous radiation from the machines into their surroundings.

Fuma could find little comfort in the fact that the first to be harmed by the radiation would be those who took it into their hand in the first place.

Then there were the hoards of children. Herds of them, screaming, shrieking, yelping, giggling, laughing, fighting, begging, falling, crying to mommy….so much noise!

They ran on the grass like a maddened stampede, crushing and killing anything in their way. They ate useless, unneeded candied snacks and threw their un-recyclable packages on the grass or just outside the waste bin. They smacked the water surface of the lake, scaring the fish. They caught some of the fish and tore them out of the water where they lay, twitching as they fought uselessly against suffocation.

They scared the little creatures who lived in the forested part of the park; the little squirrels, the feral cats, the birds and the insects. If they caught any of those they'd abuse it or cuddle it, scaring the poor animal. Only a few would care for an animal they'd find wounded or hungry.

Fuma despised children so much.

He despised humans, but then again, that was an essential part of his character as Kamui for the Seven Harbingers.

These humans underneath him; their ignorance shone out the strongest in this park. Shone out because most of them saw this as their image of nature, for they never stepped out of the stifling maze of stone and iron to know any better.

Shone out because the humans who built this park thought it was under their authority to trap nature inside a square of concrete and asphalt.

Shone out because no one in this park knew of the chemical harmony the trees and bushes created amongst them, of the feast the insects made of the little flowerbeds, of the intricate relationships and connections between the three clans of feral cats in the park. And no one wanted to know.

Shone out because the humans once knew of these things' existence, knew they could never possibly grasp it all at once, and gave up on their honor and awe for that existence.

Once upon a time humans were nature's woeful servants and faithful worshipers. They respected nature's needs, understood its cycles and various phenomena. They lived their lives tip-toeing around nature's Thou Shalt Nots with complete acceptation.

Now humans are selfish, ignorant, abusive, and careless. Mother Nature's children turned against her, abusing her ruthlessly.

And she?

Mother Nature created Fuma, begging this child of hers to rid her of her parasites, filling his mind with words of hate and plans of destruction.

Fuma nodded and agreed with her pleas.

He will destroy these treacherous humans. He will tear down every building they've erected upon the face of the earth and underneath it. He will rip the human out of nature's ecological system like a rotten tooth. He will unchain nature and set it free again.

He might die in the process, but that was not a notion ever thought of by him. He was, by his definition, a human and as one he should perish just like rest of them. When he died, he would die with the honor and joy of a mission well executed. He would willingly fall upon his sword, erasing the last of nature's most destructive race.

The Seven Seals were nothing but ticks born and made a little plumper than the rest of their race, and were now thrown against him by a force opposite to his Mother Nature. Like ticks, he would pluck them one by one and squash them under his heel without a qualm.

Those were and always will be the thoughts of Monou Fuma as the fully awakened Kamui of the Dragons of Earth.

Obsessed

Kamui sat on his bed in his little room inside the apartment given to the Dragons of Heaven who studied at Clamp Campus.

His knees were drawn to his chest, his left arm circling his legs in a tight embrace. He gnawed violently at the nail of his right hand's thumb, as violently as his mind raved between his ears.

Downstairs Sorata and Yuzuriha worked on dinner, making an awful racket of rattling kitchen utilities, shrieks and giggles. Both had such high pitched voices when they were in a good mood that if it weren't for Kamui's feverish mind blocking the real world from him he would have winced at the noise.

Fuma was on Kamui's mind or, to be more precise, the obsession Fuma had grown to become.

Kamui wanted Fuma.

More than ever, in more ways than before, with more force than before, and with an intense, obsession manner like never before.

Kamui would obsess over Fuma's looks, debating which part of the older teen he liked and lusted for the most.

He'd often ponder the change in the older teen's outfits and wondered if all this lay hidden in the Fuma he knew or came along with the change he's had since his 'awakening'.

When the time for them to meet in battle came, Kamui often found that he was getting more and more distracted by the other Kamui's appearance to focus on the task at hand properly. This had led to Tojo Pharmaceuticals' chief to almost die the last time Kamui and Fuma met.

Kamui, at this point, was way past the point where he wondered why he lusted over Fuma at all. It was there and it was so powerful that wondering what created it was pointless.

Kamui would obsess over the many memories he had of Fuma. He'd obsess over every word the young man ever told him. He'd obsess (and this he would delight in obsessing the most) over each minute and second of his reunion with Fuma; their first meeting in the schoolyard, the first time Fuma spoke to him directly, the first time Kamui felt the grown Fuma's hand on his body.

He would lie on his back and think about definitions for how much he loved Fuma. Childish, foolish, overly romantic silly notions like, "I love Fuma so much that if it was water it'd be enough to put out the sun's fire!".

He'd look back on the years gone by and compare his love for Fuma then to the love for Fuma he feels now, noting how it grew like a farmer looking over his field.

Fuma would not leave Kamui for one second. His twin star became a ghost repeatedly called to appear before his eyes.

Kamui would see 'Fuma' written in his textbooks instead of the names really written there which happened to begin with 'F'.

Then he'd see 'Fuma' written instead of every word beginning with an 'F'. It had gotten to a point where Kamui would open a textbook, his own notebooks, a newspaper, manga, a newspaper, and see 'Fuma, Fuma, Fuma, Fuma, Fuma' all over the pages.

When Kamui would brush his teeth in the bathroom, Fuma's face would appear before him instead of his own reflection. The youth would glare at him with evil fiery eyes bent on destroying him or smile at him, soft and brotherly as once upon a time.

Kamui would toss and turn in his bed at night, debating which one of Fuma's versions he liked best.

What busied him the most was trying to analyze the new emotions and sensations the new Fuma stirred inside him.

Kamui liked the new Fuma. In fact, the new Fuma drew more warmth, lust and want out of Kamui than the old, brotherly one ever did.

Was it always so that Kamui enjoyed a little (or more) pain in his encounters with Fuma?

Kamui raked his mind in search for past memories of such sort.

When they'd play 'catch' in the Monou's backyard and Fuma would tackle him to the ground, did he feel the same lightning bolt of excitement and arousal as he did when Fuma pressed against him just before he slew Kotori, or when Fuma leaned over him talking about cutting his heart out and eating it?

When they were young and Fuma would playfully wrap his arm around his neck and ruffle his hair just a little too violently, did he feel the same longing for more of this rough touch as when Fuma attacked him until he bled?

There was no doubt, in Kamui's mind, that Fuma was slowly handing him more and more of this aphrodisiac, of this drug to lure him towards him, to have him completely.

'Have him completely'. It sent shivers through Kamui's body, wrecking through his mind like a typhoon, blinding him, deafening him, twisting his common sense, making him hot and needy at night.

Kamui had had enough of this far off longing. He wished to move past fantasies and Fuma's little groping hints. Kamui wanted action!

But how will he bring action about! Every time he and Fuma met it ended in violence, the wrong kind of violence that is. Sure, Fuma would leave hot trails over his body wherever his fingers touched in maliciousness (or was it seduction?), but Kamui preferred it to be without all the damage to the surrounding buildings.

How will they meet? How would Kamui explain his needs to Fuma? How will he behave? How will he dress?…such pressing question limiting him while the raging need to meet Fuma almost exploded in him.

As he sat gnawing at fingernail, his mind became such a roaring storm Kamui reached out to his nightstand and grabbed the bottle of painkillers he had permanently stationed there since Fuma's awakening.

As if the sudden distraction of doing something that isn't thinking was all Kamui needed to clear his thoughts and straighten his mind, suddenly, in the crystal clear silence of his mind, an idea shone out.

A letter. He will send Fuma a letter in which he will invite him to a meeting. There they will talk, or fuck, whatever Fuma preferred. Kamui preferred the second; it'd clear his mind from some of its distractions.

Kamui leaped off his bed and shot to his desk, swiping off any textbook, notebook, old tea cups and other objects. He ripped a page from his loose-leave notebook and grabbed his pen fiercely as if it were a weapon of destruction.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his foggy fixated mind, and began to write.

By then Kotori became a vague shadow somewhere at the back of Kamui's mind; a ghost desperately reaching out its arms to help her friend save himself from madness.

It was only "Kamui and Fuma" for the leader of the Seven Seals now, and nothing of the outside world could crush down those obsessive walls around his mind.

He sat on the chair by his desk, surrounded by open notebooks and textbooks lying on the ground like dead moths in the morning, broken bits of cups and papers scattered.

He did not notice the mess he had made and he will not notice he had forgotten to do homework for the past week when he picks up the cast away school things to prepare for another day of time-wasting tomorrow morning.

Reciprocity

It was early morning. In the dark room, black was slowly giving way to grey. The light crept softly through the veiled curtains of a window and touched the edge of Kamui's bed.

Subaru reached out similarly when the dark head suddenly tossed in the throws of a
nightmare, or perhaps remembered pain from the boy's last encounter with the person who was once known as Fuma.

But unlike the sunlight, which advanced slowly and dreamily - Subaru recoiled his hand sharply. Subaru hadn't been thinking.

The onmyouji cradled his betraying hand to his stomach bewildered. Subaru had been by Kamui's bedside a number of times and the chair he sat in to watch over the boy had become a well-known friend.

Its red velvet armrest bore the imprint of Subaru's elbows, the dig of Subaru's fingernails when the onmyouji heard Kamui's harsh breaths and saw Kamui's restless turning grow desperate -- When Subaru ached to soothe with gentle hands over Kamui's fevered brows, or linger comforting fingers over a mouth that twisted and that often cried "Fuma".

But Subaru must not touch. Caught in the sheets of an over-sized bed, bound in dreams, Kamui was a boy torn apart by his own demons. Damaged. Fragile like glass that may break.

Subaru understood.

Early morning.

Black is slowly giving way to Gray.

In the silence, Subaru flees from the approaching light. He presses deeply against the back of the chair, moving to embrace what was left of the lingering shadows in the room, comforted by a darkness he is closely intimate with in one man's absorbing amber eyes - twin stars drowning in the night.

Beloved.

Hated.

But then, the sun suddenly breaks from the clouds through the window. The star's true colour, summer gold, washes over the boy's pale form.

Kamui makes a small noise and flings out his hand from underneath the sheets like a reach, like a plea.
Kamui's forehead frowns in discontent. Subaru automatically leans over, to tuck the sheet over that outstretched limb - Subaru is startled by lucent mauve eyes. Vaguely, Subaru feels his hand slip over something far smoother and far warmer than cotton bed sheets.

Subaru leaves his hand there.

Kamui blinks sleep away and the onmyouji smiles. Subaru clasps the warmth underneath his fingers to let Kamui know the boy is not alone, but even when Kamui squeezes back, Subaru's heart, hidden in the dark cavern of his chest where light can never reach, wonders:

Could its touch have pleased another?

Caught In a Storm

Seishirou-san had been careful. For that one year the cherry blossom assassin had cradled his possession jealously. Then he had smashed Subaru upon cold pavement, trampled over the shards of Subaru's heart like one would over a fallen leaf that had lost all its novel colours and was nothing more than a dried withered shadow in late autumn.

Seishirou-san can touch.

Sieshirou-san can take and let go, unchanged.

Subaru holds on, even when something sweet has become bitter, even when the shards cut, even when they tattoo his skin in blood.

Even when the memory of kindness is all Subaru has.

Yes, kindness. The loving smile, the soft eyes, and all those warm words.

Lies. The smile was a mask, the eyes were sharp and ever-noting behind their appearance, and the words were outrageous lies.

Outrageous to his grandmother, outrageous to his then-still-alive sister. These women called out for war against their blood relative's kidnapper when he couldn't.

Seishiro's cruel scythe reached them both. It reached Subaru as well. It merely grazed him, intentionally failing to kill him or rip Seishiro out of his heart forever.

For Subaru was caught in a storm with two wind directions, constantly blowing him here and there, violently, mercilessly.

He loved Seishiro with all his heart and hated him equally. His mind, just like Kamui's, mulled over every bit of knowledge about Seishiro for a much longer time than Kamui could've imagined doing with Fuma.

Kamui was a glitter of light in the darkness of his life, a rope dangled at him to help yank him out of the storm.

Only Subaru was unsure as of his willingness to take the rope. Nine years in the storm cannot be denied or miniaturized by the fleeting hours, days and weeks he's spent in Kamui's presence.

The Ever Observing predator

The large leather sofa was most pleasing. Seishiro decided upon this as he tested its softness and depth, sinking his back and rear into the furniture. His fingers gently caressed the smooth surface to judge the leather's quality. Yes, most pleasing.

He noted, with great delight, a little silver ashtray placed upon the whitened glass little coffee table at the left of the sofa.

When they designed this little living room they surely thought of every need of every Harbinger, whomever it was who did the designs. Seishiro thought he remembered the blond one in the ridiculous pink suit babble something about the living room as his doings. Seishiro had been far too busy studying his Kamui to note such petty little details at the time.

Yes. His Kamui fascinated him, more than any human, other than Subaru, ever did.

Never in his life did Seishiro encounter another predator who is his equal in cold ruthlessness and carelessness. Never in his life did he observe another man in his kill and found himself taking notes of what he should improve in his own techniques.

Never in his life did darkness allure him in such a sexual way.

Seishiro, like a deep night insect, was mostly attracted to light during his life. He delighted in taking delicate light in his hand and slowly crushing it like so many little bulbs.

Subaru was such a light; his pureness, his goodness, his heartfelt willingness to sacrifice any part of him for another's good. Since the younger one was nine years old and the older one was an assassin beginner, this light and darkness dance drew the onmyoujis together.

But darkness? Darkness was him, and Seishiro always thought he sought out what was different to amuse him.

Yes. His Kamui amused him, gave him hours on end of observation and admiring. The more Seishiro observed his Kamui's kills was the more he wished to be one (physically, Seishiro was no prey for cheap romantic definitions) with this other top predator. He wished to have the younger man's body under his, to hurt it a little and extract a look of total surprise, of total submission.

Yes. Seishiro was jealous of his Kamui's abilities. All his sexual notions, his little trapping plans were, at their core, nothing but a plan to make the youth submit to him and recognise him as the top predator. Seishiro will yield to no one, especially not to some piece of cute ass who could blast things more powerfully than him and walked straight into his maboroshi once, countering his spell with such ease.

Seishiro moved somewhat uncomfortably on the exquisite leather, itching for a cigarette.

Ah, a cigarette. Cigarettes reminded Seishiro of Subaru. His Subaru, his toy, his subordinate, his pet, his beautiful follower. Subaru's sudden choice to start smoking made Seishiro laugh for many long nights, proud at this powerful imprint he carved into his prey.

That is all Subaru was and all he will ever be to Seishiro, no matter what Seishiro said or how he acted, it didn't change even at the face of random birthday gifts and flower arrangements (always with a wild cherry branch at bloom dominating the complicated ikebana mound) he sent his pet from time to time to watch Subaru squirm.

He indulged in these gestures only to reassure himself that no one treaded the territory of Subaru's heart, only to re-open the deep wound that bound Subaru's soul to him.

And lately, much to Seishiro's resentment, someone set foot in his territory, someone was reaching out a helping hand to mend his toy and bring him over into another's love.

Shiro Kamui. There was not one person on Earth, other than Subaru in his appropriate time, that Seishiro wanted to kill more.

If only the little brat wasn't the DoH's Kamui, if only he wouldn't be surrounded by his fellow riff-ruffs; if he hadn't spent most of his days within the much protected walls of Clamp campus, Seishiro would have caught the boy and ended his life easily.

That boy holding his Subaru's hand.

That boy listening to Subaru's troubles and comforting him.

That boy making himself into the waif in need of protection for Subaru to fuss around all the time.

Thinking about it made Seishiro's right hand fingertips ache to feel skin break, giving way for the chest bone to crush, the heart to twitch and stop, the blood to rush.

Seishiro clutched his right fist, gritting his teeth before he took control over his body again.

Not even the brief conversation his Subaru had with Kamui over him made Seishiro sure his pet was still holding him within his heart. He shouldn't be talking to the boy in the first place, shouldn't listen to the brat when he told him to put his cigarette out. So what if Subaru lit another cigarette right after Kamui left? He put the first one out and that was quite enough to rouse Seishiro's displeasure with Kamui.

As if she heard his thoughts, Kanoe made a sound as she entered the large room. "Ah, now that is interesting," she said.

Seishiro ignored her. Like everybody else around him, Kanoe was nothing but another waste of air, water and food on legs (with the exception of his 'Kamui').

Kanoe's physically impossible high heeled shoes made tiny clicks on the hard marble floor as she stepped deeper into the 'living room', shuffling the small pile of incoming mail in her hand. She held out a single envelope which she, with a deep puzzled frown, scrutinized thoroughly under the nearest elegant table lamp. "This is from Kamui," she said in a low murmur "the DoH's Kamui."

Seishiro sharpened his hearing, to better note what she said, might she say it again.

"It's for our Kamui…." She mumbled, flipping the envelope as if its content might show through the white paper on its other side.

Seishiro leaped off the sofa with speed he never knew he had for such mundane situations. He walked up to the hardly dressed woman (she had the horrible habit of unbuttoning her work suit whenever she came down here as if the more skin she showed was the more evil she became) and carefully (as to not show too much interest and care) took the envelope from her hand.

'To Monou Fuma' was clearly written above the address sending the letter to Kanoe's office.

"Well" Seishiro shrugged the most careless and laid back way he could muster, "I'll give this to 'Kamui'. He's out somewhere, chasing Kusanagi, I think." And before she could object, Seishiro turned around and walked away from Kanoe, shooting a single "don't worry about it" look at her.

Kanoe stared after him a little bit longer, wondering if it was smart or not until she came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. If Seishiro delivered it then, well, what harm could it really do? She trusted her 'Kamui's' determination about his role in destiny. And if Seishiro did not deliver the note, what did it matter? Nothing.

She did wonder how on earth the other Kamui knew of her address until she reached the theory that he must have asked her sister to divine her location and, knowing who she is, asking her to deliver the letter to her 'Kamui'.

It didn't matter did it? Nope. She shrugged and shuffled on with the letters as she walked towards her bedroom, stopping to throw the huge electricity bill's envelope into Satsuki's refrigerator of a room.

Seishiro slipped the letter into his jacket's inner pocket and left the huge basement and its building, heading towards his home. He stopped at a little coffee shop to grab a to-go cup of extra strong coffee.

Often, he found that high quantities of caffeine, with their extreme stimulating effect, gave him such a buzz that it flipped and calmed him. If he is to read anything by The Brat he will need to be relaxed.

Inside his home, Seishiro hung his jacket (after taking the letter out of its inner pocket), eased himself into a pair of soft slippers, placed the steaming coffee mug on his living room table, laid himself comfortably on the sofa, lit a cigarette, placed both the ashtray and the cup within a lazy arm's reach, put on his reading glasses (the relatively early need for those always surprised Seishiro) and began reading.

His cat leaped to the sofa by him (on the side of him with no cigarette in its hand) and stared at its owner, checking to see if there's a chance of getting his dinnertime tuna delight earlier than usual, which is worth the bother of acting social.

His owner was not in any condition to notice anything other than himself, the cat understood, and so it leaped off the sofa and resumed his earlier task of monitoring a stray moth trapped in the assassin's apartment and waiting for the insect to grow weak enough to be caught and eaten.

By the end of the letter Seishiro had finished his coffee and cigarette and was desperately itching for new ones of both.

The letter, written by a sloppy, hasty hand that showed its writer could not shake off some residue of childish writing, read:

"Fuma.

I don't know what came upon you, why it happened or how I can fight it (eraser marks here) out of you.

I do know that somehow it's good, what came upon you that is. (Traces of several erasing fits here) Do you know what I think about it? Can you tell?

I (more eraser marks, fiercer now) hope you can. I hope you know what you make me feel wh (more violent erasing, depriving Seishiro of the sentence's end)..."

Seishiro put the letter away. He was getting a little irritated at the thought of this little brat not only playing with someone else's toy but now stretching out to grab said someone else's potential toy.

His eyes shot to the letter again, as if to glare at its writer than at the actual paper. The word 'room' caught his eye.

He snatched the letter again and resumed his reading.

"I want us to talk about it. I want you to end my misery and come see me to resolve these feelings I have. But we don't have to talk.

(The handwriting began shaking here) I will be at the Four Seasons tomorrow at 3:ooPM, in room 498.(a little more shaken) I will be bound physically as I am bound to you emotionally.

(Terribly shaken) Do with me as you wish.

(Not shaken at all) yours always,

Shiro Kamui."

Seishiro's mind was a thoughtless vacuum. All he could do was stare at the letter and blink.

Rage came quickly to fill the void. How dare The Brat! He reached out for the light plastic coffee cup and, as its light weight informed him of its lack of coffee, crushed it into a small plastic ball.

It pleases him how the faint baby blue of the plastic seemed so painful and disappointed in its new and deformed shape.

It was so innocent, this coffee cup, expecting its user to drink from it and toss it away, not crush it so violently.

Then it hit him. The coffee must have not been quite strong enough to send him into relaxation, only to linger in his neurons and stimulate them into quicker and quicker thoughts.

Kamui was the coffee cup; thinking he's so darn cute and wanted, thinking that every hand reaching towards him will be a loving one.

He will go to the Four Seasons hotel and meet Kamui, he and not his 'Kamui', cruel and bloodthirsty he and not the (possibly) passionate lover Kamui expected.

And he will hurt Kamui, he will crush Kamui in his palm just like this little coffee cup.

Oh, tomorrow will be a glorious day for Sakurazuka Seishiro!

(tbc)