Disclaimer: All characters are copyright of CLAMP. No monetary profit is being made from the writing or distribution of this fic.

Warnings: AU, blood, mild mutilation (?) and all the things that come with vampirism, as well as non-graphic nudity, sensuality, implied sexuality, shounen-ai... I'll stop now.

Beta-Reader: The Incredible, the Amazing, the Awesome... SCHNICKLEDOOGER!

Chapter 1

A Boy with no Will

Fuuma met Kamui for the first time in a sea of cinders. It was still hot. He could feel the heat rise in waves off the layer of smoldering ash even through the cold night wind. Pieces of posts and plaster and other unrecognizable bits stuck out of the earth at odd angles. Carcasses of downed trees lay in charred lumps. The remnants of what had once been a mighty estate rested scattered over a mile radius. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing left at all. Nothing, that was, except a single boy, sitting amid all those smoldering ruins, knees drawn up to his chest.

Blackened bits of metal crunched under Fuuma's feet as he approached, coming to a halt a yard from that hunched figure. For a minute or two he simply stood there, observing the boy before him, the last living thing in a field of death.

"My, my, it appears I got here a little late." Fuuma smiled, a lopsided twist of lips, and chuckled good-naturedly. After some indeterminable amount of time, the boy looked up, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky, and Fuuma could see that he had amethyst eyes—eyes so clear that, had it not been a dark and brooding night, might've reflected stars. There were silvery streaks gracing pale cheeks and smudges of ash, but even that was beautiful.

"Who are you?" The boy still wasn't looking at him, and the words were startling after the silence.

"Monou Fuuma," he replied. "I'm told you've met Kanoe-san too." There wasn't anything that could be done about the woman at that point, of course, and he wondered if the next question would be what he was doing there in the middle of nowhere or what he wanted or maybe even a request to go away. But it wasn't any of those.

"You're just like her…"

Fuuma lifted an eyebrow at that, that the boy had been able to recognize him so quickly, but considering where he was, who the boy probably was, maybe that wasn't so surprising. It was dangerous though. For a second, he saw himself holding that pale body, porcelain limbs draped limply in his arms—imagined the feel of that silky black hair between his fingers after it was all over. After all, there was only one fate awaiting those who knew what the boy did, who had done what the boy had done. But then, to ask so frankly… You're not afraid of me at all, are you? Fuuma smirked a little at that.

"I am." There was no point denying it. Besides, it was only polite to be courteous considering. It wasn't like the boy could escape, but it was nice that he wasn't trying to. It was actually quite refreshing, Fuuma realized suddenly, that lack of fear. He liked it. Liked the boy, he realized. That was dangerous too.

"Will you do something for me?"

Fuuma had to stop himself from outright laughing at that, at the nerve. A human. Asking him for a favor! "It's no concern of mine. But since I find you intriguing, I'll listen to your request." He smiled indulgently as he waited, but then finally the boy looked at him… As those amethyst eyes pinned him in place, something inside pinched tight warningly, and the half-formed fantasy he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring of keeping the boy flew out the window.

"I want you to destroy me."

The first thing Subaru felt, upon finding the other boy standing there in the middle of the empty, echoing entrance hall, was fear. He froze at the foot of the stairs, stilled by the sight. Seishirou had brought others home before, of course, sometimes younger, sometimes older. Subaru himself had once been brought back in like manner when he was little. He'd been one of the lucky ones. Seishirou had only taken his memory—had made sure he'd never have anywhere else he'd ever want to return—but he hadn't taken his will. Seishirou claimed it was because he'd never given him a reason to. The others, pitiful creatures, hadn't lasted more than a couple days at most. Each and every one of their deaths was engraved into Subaru's memory. Seishirou had made him watch.

So the first thing he felt was fear—fear that this was yet another poor soul about to become prey to Seishirou's whims, fear of that inevitable, bloody conclusion to which they all came. The boy didn't move though, and eventually Subaru eased down that last step onto the paneled floor, the fear wearing thin into pity. If this boy was going to be another sacrifice, the least he could do was introduce himself and make sure the boy wasn't alone at the end.

"Pardon me," Subaru started shyly, but there was no movement in that small body, not the startle of hearing another voice nor even a shimmer of fear. Just nothing. The boy didn't move as Subaru crossed the distance between them either. That was odd—usually the ones Seishirou brought home were terrified, memory-less things that would jump at any shadow. "I'm Subaru," he introduced himself—just Subaru, because he couldn't remember his last name and Seishirou had never told him. The boy still didn't turn or acknowledge him, and feeling suddenly wary, he stepped so that he could look into the boy's face… and stopped, startled. Perfectly blank amethyst eyes stared back at him. The boy was beautiful, all raven hair accenting snow-white skin, but empty. It was an unearthly sort of beauty. When Subaru unconsciously reached out a tentative hand to touch that icy skin, half afraid it would melt, there was no reaction—amethyst eyes remained steadfastly fixed forward. It was like touching a mannequin, a pretty little doll.

"Are you okay?" Subaru asked, twisting fingers in the cuff of one sleeve nervously. "Can you speak? Do you understand?"

The sudden click of a doorknob had Subaru jumping away from the boy, spinning around, embarrassed to be caught like that, one hand on the boy's cheek. He blushed.

"Do you like him, Subaru-kun?" Seishirou was an imposing image in the doorway to one of the anterooms, and Subaru immediately blushed, having been caught touching the boy. He hadn't meant to touch him, it was just… he hadn't been sure the boy was real. But by the dangerous glint in those piercing amber eyes, he was in trouble. Quickly, he dropped his gaze. He'd been forbidden to touch anyone else since he was little, never allowed to know what anyone but Seishirou felt like, and truthfully he'd never had the desire to touch anyone else anyway.

Realizing he'd been asked a question, he searched frantically for an answer. But then another man came up behind Seishirou, shorter with a dark gold gaze, and Subaru froze, emerald eyes wide, trapped there in the middle of the open entrance hall. Seishirou had reminded him repeatedly not to look at guests, but this man was very obviously a different kind of guest. It surprised him, because he'd never met anyone like Seishirou before nor even seen the man with others of his own kind, not ever, and now to meet another so suddenly... Looking at the two of them, all cold amber and gold, he felt suddenly terrified for the boy with the blank eyes.

Biting his lip, he anchored his feet to the floor, because Seishirou was watching—Seishirou was watching and he had to be good. He couldn't find his tongue to answer the question, but then, it wasn't a question he could answer safely anyway, and luckily Seishirou didn't seem to expect him to.

"Shirou Kamui is a guest," Seishirou's amber eyes flicked briefly to the boy with the blank eyes. "He's visiting us with Monou Fuuma. I'm sure you won't mind showing him around."

Subaru came to the sudden, distinct, and mortifying realization that he had not only been caught touching without permission, but he'd been caught touching someone else's property.

"Yes, Seishirou-san." He wanted to ask what was wrong with the boy, but it wasn't his place. Glancing back at his new charge, he wondered how he was expected to get the boy to follow. Kamui was as unresponsive as ever. But then the other man, Monou-san, spoke up.

"Go with him, Kamui." It was only at the man's words that the boy finally reacted, turning to look at Subaru. And he knew—knew what the man was, what he'd done. The way the boy reacted to the command. That blank look. If Subaru had wanted to know what was wrong with him before, now he knew. The boy had been stripped of his will, subjugated to the man's desires. Worse than a prisoner. Subaru sought not to recoil, horrified. It was hard not to jerk toward the stranger, Fuuma, at that. The other man had the same smile as Seishirou—that same wild dangerousness beneath it. Once again, Subaru had to remember to drop his gaze, not to meet those burning gold eyes. Not because of what the man was, but because it wasn't his place. Turning back to the boy, he smothered his unease and smiled reassuringly instead.

"Do you like it outdoors? I could show you the garden…" Amethyst eyes blinked back at him silently, but when Subaru took a few steps in the right direction, the boy followed, keeping pace. It was a bit strange, walking like that, like having a shadow. He felt awkward and nervous, and that empty expression trained on his back wasn't helping matters. As they traversed the kitchen, a short cut, Subaru searched for something to say.

"The chefs make the best food," he said, the words jamming up on his tongue. "Maybe, if you visit again, you could come for dinner! Er, that is, if it's alright. I mean…" Embarrassed, he shut his mouth with a snap, berating himself for babbling. One of the servants, down on her knees to scrub something off the floor, looked up and smiled at the sound of his voice. Subaru came to an abrupt halt, caught in place by that smile, before skittering quickly through the other door, Kamui following dutifully. Dangerous. Dangerous.

It was definitely a relief when they passed all that pristine tile and the hallway beyond and he could fling the veranda doors open, letting in the cool night air.

"This is my favorite place," Subaru said, keeping up the dialogue, as he led the boy across the wooden porch. Then they were in the garden, on one of the little paths, and it was green beneath their feet and green everywhere and the house was just a memory somewhere behind them. He didn't know when the boy's silence stopped seeming awkward and began to feel welcome and undemanding. Maybe it was just that stillness suited the garden. "I come here often. It's beautiful at night, especially when the moon is full and the jasmine seem to glow. And it's quiet. Even on dark nights, then you can see the stars." He was whispering by the end of it—it was a whispering kind of place—and pointing up at the sky. Kamui glanced up, following the gesture, and his eyes caught the constellations, and for a second that amethyst gaze didn't look empty. But it was only reflected light and the realization made Subaru suddenly sad.

"Watch the stars with me?" he asked, on impulse. The other boy only blinked at him, and Subaru decided to take that for assent. He lay down on the ground, feeling the grass scratch his arms, waiting for his companion to decide whether "go with him" included "watch stars with him." Apparently it did, for it was only a few seconds later Kamui sprawled out beside him. Companionship welled up within Subaru suddenly, the realization that he enjoyed having someone to talk to, someone he wouldn't have to worry would die the next day. And for awhile they simply stayed like that, Subaru occasionally pointing out star clusters. "That smaller one there," he said, pointing out one group, "that's KoGuma, and across from it, if you can see, there's…" But at that point a shadow fell over them both.

"Seishirou-san!" Subaru fairly sprung to his feet.

"It's time for Shirou-kun to leave." Seishirou waited for the amethyst-eyed boy to get to his feet as well before leading them back through winding garden paths. He didn't look at Subaru—not as he led them back, not as they exchanged pleasant farewells with their guests. It was only after the door swung closed on the heels of their visitors and still there was no acknowledgment that the foreboding finally set in. So when the man finally spoke into the thick silence, Subaru cringed.

"You will wait for me in the kitchen." Even then, not a single glance.

Subaru stood nervously on the cold tile of the kitchen floor an hour later. Seishirou's word was law, and Subaru knew without having to ask that he was about to pay for his disobedience earlier in touching Kamui. Spotless kitchen counters wrapped around the walls, all sterile and clean. The only instrument out of place was a pot on the stove. The burner under it was on, and the bubbling, hissing sound of boiling water was making him anxious. But before he could dwell on it too long, a shadow appeared in the doorway, and Subaru whirled around, facing Seishirou.

"Pick up the pot." The politely smiling, congenial mask the man had worn earlier in front of their guests was gone, wiped away, replaced by a merciless set of amber eyes. There was no forgiveness, no pity in the firm set of that mouth. Neither was there a handle on the pot. If he picked it up, he'd burn his fingers on the scalding metal. Subaru glanced back at the man again, uncertain, only to meet that same cold, uncompromising gaze, as if to say, "Go on."

Steeling himself, Subaru reached out, bit his lip, and wrapped his hands around the blistering metal.

"Don't let go." And that was a command. It took hold of him, burning in his blood where the man's control ran strongest—the blood that bound him irrevocably to the man's side. It pressed his hands to that pot, keeping him from jerking away when the pain splintered in his skull. His arms shook from the conflicting directives: the internal need to let go and the external force of the man's will preventing it. If he needed more proof that he belonged to Seishirou, there was none better.

Skin blistered and burnt. Subaru clamped down on the sob in his throat and it welled up in his eyes instead, overflowing in crystalline tears. When the pain went away and there was only the sickening smell of burning flesh, he could feel nausea bubbling up inside him. He struggled to tamp it down, but the world was ringing alarmingly, the sound swallowing the fizzle of the burner and the hissing of the water. For one disorienting moment, he had the sensation of standing in a void. He never knew when Seishirou's will released him, never heard the metallic ring of the pot hitting the tile, because everything went black first.

When Subaru twisted and tossed himself awake not much later, it was with the brilliant memory of burnt and bleeding, crippled hands, and for a moment he could still smell that revolting torched-flesh smell. He was rolling over onto his hands and knees and retching emptily before he even registered where he was—before he even registered that he could roll onto his hands. There was nothing wrong with them. They were whole and unharmed and covered in pale skin like they had been before. Only the metallic taste of blood still lingering in his mouth gave away the illusion. And then he was retching again, entire body heaving.

A warm hand was placed suddenly on his back, running soothingly up and down his spine while he shivered and shuddered and sobbed. Hot tears splashed down his cheeks. And finally his arms buckled, and he collapsed into a broken bundle on the blankets. Arms wrapped around him, drawing him close to a warm body, and there were fingers in his hair. It didn't take long to cry himself back to sleep.

"Kamui, come here." The response was instant. Kamui slid away from the door and crossed the distance to where Fuuma waited by the bed. "You seemed to get along well with Subaru-kun." Fuuma tilted the boy's chin up with deft fingers so that he could undo the little buttons binding black cloth together. "Would you like to see him again?" The question was rhetorical—something to keep up the pleasant hum of conversation, one-sided though it might be. Then the last button was loose. "I think I'll take you with me when I go back. Lift your arms." When the boy complied, flawlessly obedient, he pulled the sleeves off and banished the garment to the floor. A sharp shove and the edge of the bed folded under Kamui's legs so that the boy was forced to suddenly sit down. Fuuma started on the buckles of black boots. Of course, he could have ordered the boy to undress—he had done that once, watching graceful fingers slowly strip that beautiful body under his careful instructions—but it was often simpler to do such things himself. Commands were delicate things that had to be worded with careful consideration. Otherwise Kamui would try to carry out the order without asking for clarification first.

Once, after having told Kamui to remember to bathe, he'd returned to find the boy still in the bathtub, clothes and all, the water gone cold. He'd lifted the boy out immediately and stripped him of the sopping clothes, heedless to the water dripping all over the floor or soaking into his knees. It was only later, as they lay wrapped in blankets, Fuuma slowly licking little water droplets from the boy's ear, only then, when he was sure the boy was warm and okay and no longer shivering in his arms, that he'd asked Kamui what he thought he'd been doing. The response had been frustrating. Those empty amethyst eyes had looked at him and replied simply that he'd been taking a bath, as if that wasn't obvious. Fuuma had bitten the boy's ear in annoyance at that, pleased by the wince that briefly broke those blank eyes with pain.

That hadn't been the only time one of his orders had been… twisted. Another time he'd told Kamui to get ready for bed, only to find the boy had sliced off his own clothes with a knife. Of course, it was possible to misconstrue an order. The trouble was Fuuma knew Kamui had understood what he'd meant when he'd given the commands. It was almost as if the boy had intentionally defied him. Maybe he wanted to believe it was defiance. But that was impossible.

"Stand up." And again Kamui got to his feet. Staring down at that perfectly pliant body, totally unable to disobey even that simple command, Fuuma knew better than anyone.

Slender legs were slipped free of concealing clothing with clinical detachment.

Finally, when he had Kamui stripped bare before him, Fuuma pulled them both down on the bed, silk sheets sliding against soft skin. There was no response when he shifted to sit astride the smaller boy. No response to his kiss. There wouldn't be, he knew. Not unless he ordered it.

Self-derision was a slow corrosion of sanity: dwelling on idiosyncrasies in the boy's behavior was pointless. It was no more than the dying dredges of hope.

He had never wanted anyone to disobey him more.

Seishirou wasn't surprised when he found Subaru in the garden again. It had been several days since their guests had visited and Subaru liked the garden. It was a good place to go to be alone. Seishirou saw him first through a curtain of willow branches. The boy was lying sprawled haphazardly in a patch of long grass, the scratchy stalks catching wisps of his black hair, framed by carefully kept hedges on two sides. There was a little bench there too, cold green metal spiraling into intricate armrests and back draped in wisteria vines, those too having been artistically arranged. Beams of moonlight illuminated white jasmine petals and made pale skin seem to glow. It lighted on eyelids, closed in serenity. Subaru lay asleep, and it was an unforeseen opportunity to find such a timid creature, believing itself safe, sprawled for once in private abandon. It was an unearthly sight, and standing there, admiring it through the concealing sweep of willow branches, Seishirou had a sudden surge of gratitude toward the gardener.

Then sudden movement caught his attention, and annoyed by the interruption, he tore his gaze away from the boy. Behind one of the tall shrubs that were so numerous there, one of the servants had paused, captivated by the same sight as Seishirou. There was a pair of clippers in the man's hand, the handheld kind, and the surge of gratitude turned into something darker.

"The garden's beautiful tonight, isn't it?" Seishirou asked, coming up behind the man. The man started to turn, startled, but Seishirou stopped him, clapping a hand over his mouth and wrapping an arm firmly around his waist, binding him in place. "Maybe more than just the garden…" Seishirou's voice was soft, insidious.

The man struggled, but Seishirou's hold was iron, that single strong hand keeping the man immobile, forcing him to keep facing forward, to keep facing the wisteria and the boy sprawled beneath them by the bench. Seishirou wouldn't let him look away from that sight. Because Subaru was going to be the last thing he saw…

Afterward, he gathered the sleeping boy into his arms and brought him to bed where he belonged and no one else would see him.

Author Note: At this point I'm beginning to realize either my subconscious has decided to single-handedly fill in the alarming lack of vamp X fics or I am just mentally incapable of writing anything else. T_T I'm sorry. Also, after a month of working on this, I'm afraid it's turned out a lot more like TF than planned. Things never turn out quite the way I intend. But I hope it's not too bad?

P.S.: KoGuma = Ursa Minor.