First and Now

At first, it was stone gray tiles. Feet running over stone gray tiles. Hurried breath. Quick, swift limbs. Faster. Faster. Make it in time. Couldn't be late. Couldn't die. Please—don't. Pale hands pushed the door open, and he stumbled onto his knees, grasping at the blankets of the bed. The torches were lit around the room, and the only other person there seemed to be ready to start the death ritual.

The door snapped shut, and he touched the black hair, pushing it back gently—so gently. "He's not dead," he said defensively. "He's not." He shakily brought his hand up to touch the bloodstained bandages. "Stop it. It's not funny. He's not dead."

"Not yet." Kamui opened his eyes and walked calmly, stopping to stand beside Subaru at the bedside. "He will be. He's human. There's no way he'll live from that." He put one hand onto his brother's shoulder. "We're already breaking the rules as it is. If we leave now—"

When Subaru turned around, his eyes were golden slits. "No. We're not leaving him. You can leave. I'm staying." Kamui's face froze into place. Never. His brother had never gone into Mode against him. Even if it was an involuntary reaction for all of their kind, it was never supposed to happen against members of the same clan.

"You can't—"

Subaru's eyes didn't revert to their striking green—they remained slits and golden, aimed directly at Kamui. "No," he repeated. "No one is touching Seishiro. He's not dead. He won't ever die." He looked back at the unconscious man on the bed, and although Kamui couldn't see his expression, his brother's voice was soft. "He's never going to die."

Kamui folded his arms and looked away. It felt intrusive to watch his brother like this. But he knew the truth, and he knew that Subaru did. Seishiro was going to die. He was going to die soon, and nothing could be done. He was human, after all. And he didn't belong in this world in the first place. He shouldn't have come. Absolutely nothing good came out of it—all he'd done was cause mayhem. The worst of his deeds was seducing Subaru.

Kamui stilled. He raised his head suddenly, sniffing the air. By the time he'd realized and jumped on Subaru, knocking his own twin to the ground and pinning his wrists to the floor, Seishiro had already begun to convulse. He looked in horror down to his twin. "Please tell me," he said. "Please tell me that you didn't. Please."

Subaru's face carried only hints of apology as Kamui receded, allowing his brother to sit. "I had to." His eyes held Kamui's. "You wouldn't understand. I had to. There was no other way—he lost too much blood and he can't die."

"I do understand," Kamui said, his voice rising for the first time.

As Subaru went to kneel once again beside Seishiro, holding the hunter down and his face filled to the brim with pain from watching the man Turn, he shook his head without looking at his brother. "No. You don't. Not yet." Kamui leaned away from them, watching Seishiro's silhouette jerk and rack against the bed, trying not to listen to his attempts to keep his voice from screaming.

Kamui only remembered so well how every night for the past three moon cycles, how Subaru would sneak out of their clan's manor, flitting like the vampire he was, through the dark and off to Seishiro's cabin. And how every dawn, Kamui could hear his brother sneaking back into their room, and sighing with sated lust.

He was sure it was just infatuation, hardly love. But the boundaries of infatuation were being broken as he stood here, watching as Seishiro's form went limp, and Subaru kissed the sleeping man's lips. One thing Kamui did know, however, was that he never wanted to fall in love. But if love—all be damned—finally did catch up to him, then he'd never fall in love with a hunter.

Now it was shifting sands. Ruined boulders, smoothed through unnatural rainfall. The quite hum of a vehicle's engine hovering swiftly through the post-apocalyptic landscape. He swerved the hover-bike and turned one of the handlebars, hastening its speed. The hood of the cloak was pulled low and urgently over his face. Even if the night alone cloaked him, every precaution was necessary. His breath caught tightly as he neared the destination—he could imagine everything that was about to happen in perfect sequence and clarity in his mind.

Kamui pushed the vehicle beneath a nook off rocks larger than his own height, and began scaling the ruined building. He counted three chipped openings from the bottom, and two from the right, slipping into the one with five cracks spread through the top and one tiny crater in the corner. He'd memorized every defect in this one hole. If he miscalculated, he'd end up in a ward filled with tiny beds, children sleeping in each one—or worse, he'd end up in their water reservoir.

The man sleeping with his back facing the opening, and therefore Kamui, was breathing evenly and silently. Kamui padded across the disheveled room, past the makeshift chairs and desk, and past the torn books and papers. He passed the long rainproof coat hanging on the wall, and the gun slung up beside it. It was nearly pitch black, and it was too risky to light a candle. He climbed onto the bed, straddling the sleeping figure and waiting for the person beneath him to rouse.

The eyes opened, the pools of warm, syrupy gold staring right up at Kamui. They were so luminescent, it was as if they were there solely to provide light to the grinning mouth directly under. Kamui touched his middle and forefinger to Fuuma's lips, tracing the curve of his expression. "How're you doing?" Fuuma said in that infuriating tone that he always seemed to reserve for Kamui—whether they were enemies in public, or lovers in private, it was always that unique tone: A tone that danced the line between teasing and sincerity.

But Kamui made sure never to answer. The only answer Fuuma would ever get was a kiss on the lips, and a dart of the tongue. It was the only way Kamui could ever assure to himself that he wasn't in anything out of control. He didn't care about Fuuma—he didn't even like Fuuma. In this world, Fuuma was his enemy. Even if in another world, Fuuma would always be human, and Kamui would always be…not. And Kamui hated humans. The only humans that he liked were the ones he drank from.

Fuuma's hands rested on Kamui's hips. He grinned up at the vampire through the dark. "It's a shame you have to sneak around like this," his eyes were bright, bright, bright. So bright—brighter still because of the blackness. They blazed boldly right in Kamui's face. "I can't see you. And that's always a shame." Kamui could just hear him smirk. "You always look so pretty."

The vampire's hand was caught in midair—halfway in an attempt to hit Fuuma for his comment. Fuuma's silent smirk was even more pronounced now, as he balanced Kamui's wrist in his larger hand. "Wow. Phew. Close one, wasn't it? Any later and you would've actually hurt me—God forbid." Kamui scowled, as he felt Fuuma's fingers massaging their way from his wrist into the slippery, black material of his sleeves.

"Let go of me, Fuuma," Kamui hissed; he made to rip his arm out of Fuuma's grasp, but nothing happened. More shameful still, if Kamui truly wanted to take his arm from Fuuma, nothing would stop him. And Fuuma knew it, too. Just like whenever they fought. If they truly fought, they could've killed each other. But they hadn't yet. What that meant, Kamui didn't really know. He just knew that he hated Fuuma. There was no other way to explain it. No emotion was as strong.

Well, not entirely true. But Kamui would never consider that. That wasn't even an option. It was just an extremely vague, hardly conceivable idea that could be, but never would. Because if it did…then Subaru would be right. And as much as Kamui loved his twin, this one time, Subaru couldn't be right. He couldn't be. He just couldn't. Kamui needed him to be wrong.

"All right, all right," Fuuma smiled, gently extricating his fingers. In place, he put them lightly against Kamui's cheek. He dragged them down along the side of the vampire's throat, sliding against the black turtleneck collar of the shirt, following the chain of Kamui's Bond. The Bond that let other vampires know what clan he was from. The necklace-like Bond that no one except another of his clan was ever allowed to touch. The Bond that Fuuma was caressing casually in his hands like a toy. "I've always wondered. What is this? It's rather nice—like something you'd find before the Rain. A very long time before the Rain."

In any other circumstance, the one handling Kamui's Bond would've lost whatever limb they were using to do so. But for some reason, there was no rise of panic at the base of Kamui's throat that was normally supposed to, and usually did happen when his Bond was being illegally touched. The golden material seemed to glow between Fuuma's fingers, and Kamui merely leaned in closer. "Let go of it," he whispered. "Let go." Fuuma raised his eyes to meet the vampires, and he slowly unwrapped his fingers from it.

The moment Kamui felt his Bond freed, he leant down again and glided his tongue across Fuuma's lips. He felt Fuuma's hand snake its way onto the nape of Kamui's neck, gripping the hair and bringing the vampire's head down low. Kamui could feel the human's breath ghosting against his mouth—it smelled like warmth and oxygen and life and smoke and it was so alive. So alive, but with one thrust of a sword, it could be snuffed out as easily as a small flame. One thrust of a sword would hardly hurt Kamui—in minutes, maybe even seconds, the blood and wound would cease to exist.

Fuuma cupped the side of Kamui's face with a hand, his thumb running a tiny circuit across the vampire's pale cheekbone. The syrupy pools of gold watched the dark eyes intently; a solemn smile—so solemn—flitted over Fuuma's lips, as Kamui's hand came to rest over the human's heart. "Are you ever going to tell me who you are?" Fuuma laughed the query, but the words stabbed Kamui. They didn't stab Kamui as a lover's words were expected to. They stabbed at Kamui, because there was always something in Fuuma's eyes that were blatantly dangerous—something that Kamui should know.

"Will you ever tell me who you are?" Kamui watched an infinitesimal shadow of amusement cross Fuuma's face, as if this human knew something that Kamui didn't. And Kamui didn't like that. Fuuma arched his eyebrows and pulled Kamui's head down again, lips to lips.

Fuuma held up one finger and pressed right against the middle of the vampire's lips. He grinned and tilted his head on the pillow. "Nope. So I guess we're even for now." His hand wrapped around Kamui's thigh and their lips meet once more. "So, now that that's temporarily settled—more or less—wanna have the night done with?"

Kamui complied. After all, that's all he came for every night, wasn't it? The first night had been an accident. Fuuma's ku had raided Kamui's and while the other twelve were fighting it out, Fuuma had trapped Kamui against a wall, in another part of the building entirely, and they'd fought. Their first fight had been their worst and their best—bleeding and panting and gasping and sweating and completely exhausted until somehow, someway, whether it was an accident or some twisted purpose, they'd kissed. They'd kissed and then they had had sex. And then Fuuma had left, and only two nights later, Kamui had snuck for the first time into this room.

Neither of them questioned the other why they did this. Fuuma never asked Kamui where he came from or why he was here or anything else other than the vampire's name. And in turn, Kamui never asked any more of Fuuma other than pure, unadulterated sex. For vampires, sex was simple. Especially sex with one of the same gender. A human disease could never contain Kamui. Vampires didn't have diseases. Thus, Kamui could never disease Fuuma. Easy. Simple.

At first, Kamui and Fuuma were as simple as the sex. At first. But as the nights grew longer, the sex grew shorter. At first, Kamui would straddle Fuuma, and Fuuma would smile up at the vampire, and the vampire would scowl, and they'd kiss and then they'd have sex, and then Kamui would leave. At first. Because at first, Kamui thought Fuuma was nothing more than an immature child of a human being who simply seemed to be mature because of the supposed hardship of this apocalyptic world, and really, Kamui didn't need anything to detract him from the only real reason he was being kept here: Subaru.

Then, they weren't as simple. The sex wasn't any less intense. There just seemed to be more time afterward. Because then, Kamui would straddle Fuuma, and Fuuma would smile up at the vampire, and the vampire would scowl, and they'd kiss, and then Fuuma would ask how Kamui was doing today and Kamui would kiss him again and then they'd have sex, and then Kamui would leave. That was then. That was when Kamui thought Fuuma was interfering with his purpose of being here and that was to wait for Subaru.

Now, they weren't simple at all. Now, Kamui would straddle Fuuma, and Fuuma would thread his fingers through the vampire's hand, and then Kamui would kiss Fuuma's lips, and then Fuuma would ask how Kamui was doing, and then Kamui would scowl and reply grudgingly, then Fuuma would laugh and stroke the vampire's hair, but not before Kamui kissed Fuuma yet again, and then Fuuma would tease Kamui more, and Kamui would retaliate either physically or verbally or both.

And now, some nights, they didn't even get to have sex. It'd be sunrise before they remembered they were even supposed to.

At first, Kamui knew he was being forced to wait in this godforsaken world, because his twin, his brother, his other half was trapped in an uncertain sleep and leaving Subaru would be like tearing out half his body.

Now, Kamui didn't know at all whether he was hoping Subaru would wake up quickly so that they could leave before Seishiro caught up to them, or whether he was hoping Subaru would sleep forever, Seishiro be damned, so that Kamui could remain with Fuuma.

At first, Kamui simply needed something to alleviate the boredom and the anxiety of being stuck in a world filled with humans, and having to live among them indefinitely.

Now, Kamui needed to see Fuuma every night—it was like the question, "Do you live to eat, or do you eat to live?" Kamui wasn't quite sure which one it was when it came to Fuuma. He didn't know if he needed the human to live, or if he lived just to see the human. That frightened him.

At first, Kamui scoffed and scorned Subaru's infatuation—because love couldn't possibly exist between a vampire and a…ugh, human. Besides, Seishiro was awful—a bastard. Even if love could exist between beings like that, Seishiro was another matter entirely.

Now, Kamui thought he might actually understand his brother a bit more.

But that didn't mean he loved Fuuma. Because he didn't. He was drawn to the human. That was all. Infatuated, perhaps. Intrigued, curious, allured, even seduced, yes. But love? Definitely not. Whether at first, or then, or now, Kamui never, ever, ever had loved, loved, or would love Fuuma.

And when Kamui did find out who Fuuma truly was, he could at least say that he'd stayed true to his promise. He didn't love a hunter. Because he didn't love Fuuma. Not at first, not now, and never.

All the same, nowadays, Kamui finds that he's resorting to human excuses in order to hide from Subaru the fact that every night, for monthly sums of his own blood, Kamui is speaking to a black-haired, golden-eyed hunter via a sort of holographic system run by a rather troublesome Dimensional Witch.

A/N: Just a one-shot on one of my favorite couples in TRC and all of CLAMP-dom.