So, just in case no one read my warning at the beginning, I’m going to reiterate now: This story has sex, and lots of it. Starting with this chapter.
If you happen to be one of those people who thinks they can read a story and just skip the naughty bits, this isn’t your story. The sex, believe it or not, is important. Most of it is very important. So if you don’t want to read it, this probably isn’t the story for you.
Chapter Four: In Dreams
“Ano . . . Segawa-kun?” Kamui looked up at Keichii nervously as they sat eating their lunch. Keichii had been both surprised and pleased to see him, as it was only Saturday and he wasn’t expecting him back until Monday. Kamui had managed to survive through his morning classes, glad it was a short day, but found he was woefully behind in math from all the class he’d missed. Keichii had thoughtfully volunteered to bring him up to speed, and Kamui had offered in turn to take him out to lunch.
So now the two of them sat munching their sushi while Kamui looked over the stack of papers the teacher had handed him. His eyes were starting to cross. Math had never really been his strong point. He supposed he was lucky that Keichii had offered to help; it wasn’t as if he had any other friends. Subaru had been tutoring him earlier, but now Kamui had to laugh at the image of asking Subaru for help on his math homework.
“What is it?” Keichii asked. “And you can call me Keichii. We’re friends now, right?”
Kamui paused with a sushi roll halfway to his mouth. “You still call me Shirou-kun,” he pointed out.
Keichii shrugged. “Yeah, but you’re not as friendly as I am,” he said with a wink.
“Well, you can call me Kamui,” he replied absently. “Seeing as I’m about to ask you for a favor.”
Keichii laughed. “Oh? Another one, in addition to the math?”
Kamui turned pink. “Uh, yeah. I kinda need a place to sleep tonight.”
Keichii frowned. “I thought you said you were living with your friend Sumeragi-san?”
“I was. Am. We just got into a fight.” Kamui paused and decided he had better come clean. “Actually, a huge screaming argument, and he kind of kicked me out. I still have the key, but I think I’d better give him a day or two to cool off before I go back.”
“What’d you argue about?” Keichii asked curiously.
“Uh . . .” Kamui tried to think of any way he could stretch the truth creatively, given that the situation was rather complicated and would require a great deal of explanation he didn’t particularly want to give. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Oh. Okay.” Keichii recognized easily that this wasn’t something Kamui wanted to talk about, and dropped it. “Well, sure, you can crash at my place tonight.” He grinned cheerfully. “Rijichou set me up in a really nice room after I lost my house; I share with three other guys. We have a little living room that connects our bedrooms, and there’s a sofa in it. It’s small, but so are you, so as long as you don’t mind . . .”
“No, I’m getting used to sleeping on the couch,” Kamui said dryly.
Keichii blinked, perplexed at this comment. “I, ah, thought you and Sumeragi-san were . . .” He coughed, trying to find a delicate way to phrase it.
“No,” Kamui said. “We’re not.” Not wanting Keichii to get overly encouraged by this, he went on to add, “Not for any lack of trying on my part, though. He’s just still kind of hung up on someone else.”
“Oh,” Keichii said. “Is that what the two of you argued about?”
“Something like that, yeah,” Kamui said. “But . . . thanks. For letting me stay.”
Keichii grinned. “Someone’s got to take care of you, Shirou-kun. You obviously have no intention of doing it yourself.”
Kamui laughed a little and pretended to be indignant. “I take great care of myself.”
Keichii lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, that’s how you managed to get caught in every earthquake in Japan.”
Kamui’s laugh stuttered to a halt.
Keichii looked at him a long minute. “Will you ever tell me, Kamui?” he asked quietly.
“Someday,” Kamui replied, avoiding Keichii’s eyes. “But not today.”
~~~~
When Fuuma didn’t show up at all on Friday or Saturday, Seishirou was beginning to think that the younger man had forgotten about him completely. He wasn’t sure whether or not this was a good thing. It was certainly a blessing in one way; he was able to concentrate on his physical therapy and was slowly hobbling by the time Fuuma dropped in on Sunday. Of course, he couldn’t hobble for long periods of time; the longest the doctor would let him stand was about five minutes. Still, he was pleased with his progress.
He was, however, profoundly glad to see Fuuma when he showed up; he had smoked his last cigarette that morning. Fuuma walked in and dropped a pack on the bedside table. “Here,” he said.
“Thanks,” Seishirou said gratefully. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Think I was going to abandon you?” Fuuma smirked. “We haven’t had our ice cream yet.”
Seishirou rolled his eyes and made a mental note to teach Fuuma the meaning of the word ‘subtlety.’ Then again, part of him liked Fuuma this way; it meant that he personally didn’t have to worry about being subtle either. He imagined it would take quite a bit to offend Fuuma.
“So how’s the therapy coming?” Fuuma asked cheerfully, plopping into the other chair in the room. Seishirou refused to sit in a wheelchair if he wasn’t actually going to be going anywhere, therefore he was sitting in the cushioned chair by the window. The wheelchair made him feel like more of an invalid than he already was. Stupid coma.
“Pretty well,” Seishirou replied. “I can stand for a full five minutes without support now. And walk, if a bit shakily.” Fuuma was sitting a tad too close for comfort. Or maybe not close enough.
“So when do you get out?” Fuuma asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, smiling cheerfully.
“About another week, the doctor says,” Seishirou said imperturbably, watching Fuuma closely. He noticed that, when Fuuma came in, he had left the door ajar. Seishirou knew by now that the nurses only came in every hour or so, and the one on duty had left just before Fuuma’s arrival. They also always knocked before coming in, but they didn’t like it if the door was closed all the way. Fuuma had apparently realized this during his own stay. “Depending on how my physical therapy goes, of course.”
“A whole week?” Fuuma asked, sounding amused. “How awful for you.” He shifted slightly, putting one of his elbows on the arm of Seishirou’s chair so he could sit even closer. Then he rested his chin in one hand, leaving the other free
“And how is living at home going?” Seishirou asked, watching Fuuma’s free hand with interest. So far he wasn’t doing anything with it, but it was really only a matter of time.
Fuuma made a face. “It’s so boring. Apparently I lived in this shrine thing. My dad was a priest of some sort, I guess. But there’s nothing to do there and no one to talk to at all.” His free hand went into action, trailing a few fingers over Seishirou’s knee.
Seishirou raised an eyebrow at him. Fuuma just grinned.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a complete and total slut?” Seishirou asked mildly. He was beginning to think he was going to need a cold shower when Fuuma was gone. It was terribly annoying to be in the hospital; he couldn’t even tend to his needs himself. There was certainly no way to explain sticky sheets to a nurse, and he couldn’t stand through a shower without help. Jerking off was one thing; in front of someone else was quite another.
Fuuma smiled. “I don’t know. I have amnesia, remember?” His palm now rested on Seishirou’s knee, rubbing in small circles that slowly traveled upwards. “Besides, you’re enjoying it, so who are you to complain?”
Seishirou had to admit that Fuuma had a point there. “It’s not fair to torture someone,” he replied, half-closing his eyes. “I really don’t want to explain to the nurses why I want my shower to be cold.”
“What gave you the idea that I wasn’t going to be able to deliver what I was promising?” Fuuma asked with an innocent grin. His fingers trailed upwards, just barely touching him now. Seishirou deliberately kept his breathing even, not wanting Fuuma to realize just how much this was getting to him.
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’m in the hospital,” he said, after a moment’s pause to think, an activity that was getting more difficult by the minute. It was truly maddening to have Fuuma’s fingers right where he wanted them most, without any of the pressure to back it up.
Fuuma shrugged, obviously not giving a damn that, technically, someone could walk in on them at any moment. “The nurses always knock, and they don’t come in unless they have something to do. Yours just left.” He winked at Seishirou. “I waited to come in until I saw one go.”
“Of course you did,” Seishirou replied, not surprised by this in the slightest. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m hardly fit for much. My stamina is still on vacation, and I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about the kind of partner I am.” He followed this comment up with a wink of his own.
Fuuma chuckled, adding just a little pressure to his light touches. “Oh, don’t think about that. I’m not worried about myself for the moment.”
A snide reply about how Fuuma was always worried about himself was on the tip of Seishirou’s tongue, but he bit it back. He was beginning to get an idea of what Fuuma had in mind, and he didn’t really feel like endangering his chances.
“Besides,” Fuuma said, his fingers busily working on the button of Seishirou’s pants, “who are you calling a slut? You’re way older than I am, after all. Shouldn’t I be calling you a pedophile?” Button undone, he moved onto the zipper.
“I don’t really see how I’m a pedophile,” Seishirou said, managing rather admirably to keep his voice totally even, despite the fact that Fuuma’s hand was now down his pants, “when you’re the one doing all the work.”
Fuuma laughed. “This isn’t work. This is just fun.”
“Slut. Total slut.” Seishirou closed his eyes completely, enjoying the sensation of Fuuma’s hand moving up and down him.
“You’ll owe me for this when you get out of the hospital,” Fuuma told him, his eyes glinting.
“Like repaying it will be some big problem,” Seishirou said, leaning his head against the wall so he didn’t have to support it. He could hear Fuuma moving, and was aware that the movement of Fuuma’s hand had stopped. He frowned a little, but before he could ask what Fuuma was doing, he found out. Even Seishirou, as practiced as he was at keeping quiet under all conditions, couldn’t hold back the sharp intake of breath as he felt Fuuma’s tongue brush over his length. “Oh . . . I really will repay you . . .”
He felt more than heard Fuuma’s amused laughter, as Fuuma drew him into his mouth. One of his hands clenched down on the arm of the chair, the other twined into Fuuma’s hair, lest he think of pulling away. Not that Fuuma showed any signs of doing so, but it was rather an instinctive reaction on Seishirou’s part.
One didn’t become a nation’s most respected and feared assassin without learning how to control one’s mouth, so Seishirou closed his firmly and didn’t make a single noise, not wanting to alert the nurses that anything out of the ordinary was happening in his room. Fuuma seemed quite amused by this, pulling away at one point and saying, “I can’t wait ‘til we can do this somewhere a bit more private, you know?”
Seishirou didn’t reply, because there was really nothing more embarrassing than hearing your voice crack because of silly things like this. He also resisted the urge to demand Fuuma get back to what he was doing, or perhaps just shove his head back down so he’d get the picture. It was quite annoying, however, when he glanced down into Fuuma’s amber eyes and noted that the young man was definitely laughing at him.
“Oh, get on with it,” he said, still keeping his voice even.
“Ask nicely,” Fuuma said, smirking and blowing cold air onto Seishirou’s erection.
Seishirou half-jumped. “You’re a slut and a tease,” he stated. “Don’t make me rip your hair out by the roots,” he then added, giving the fist that was still clenched in Fuuma’s hair a little twist.
“That’s nicely?” Fuuma asked skeptically, but he obeyed, leaning forward and flicking his tongue lightly over the tip. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”
Seishirou hissed between his teeth. “So is finishing what you started.”
Fuuma just laughed, continuing to tease the tip of Seishriou’s erection, while using one hand to stroke the base. Seishirou choked back anything he’d been about to say, leaning his head against the wall. His breathing was starting to get harsh and uneven, but he was still keeping his silence. Fuuma finally got back to business, taking a little more of Seishirou into his mouth and swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin. Seishirou’s hips, which had remained perfectly still up until this point, finally got free of his iron self-control and jerked forward. Fuuma just moved back a little, as if he’d been expecting this. Seishirou’s fingers twisted in his hair, as if he were attempting to remind Fuuma what he was supposed to be doing.
Fuuma finally took pity on him, taking all of him into his mouth and going back to what he’d been doing before he’d stopped to make the comment. The tension built up quickly once he got going; Seishirou had been too frustrated to last long inside Fuuma’s mouth. His hand tightened in Fuuma’s hair as he came, though he still stayed completely silent. Then he relaxed, letting eight months of tension melt away.
Fuuma laughed and plopped back into his chair. “There. Feel better?”
Seishirou zipped up his pants. “Yes. Much.” He paused, then added, “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Fuuma said with a smirk.
~~~~
When Subaru came in, Kamui was sitting at the table, doing some math homework. Subaru barely glanced at him as he toed his shoes off. It had been fairly smart of Kamui to time his return for when Subaru wouldn’t be home. By now, he’d had a chance to cook dinner. And as cold as Subaru was, he was still human, and the food smelled good.
Kamui looked up and offered Subaru a friendly smile. He looked rather adorable, dressed in a worn sweater and frayed jeans, with his bare feet tucked up underneath him. “Hi,” he said, as if nothing had ever happened between the two of them. “Your dinner is on the stove; I figured I should keep it warm for you.”
Subaru got a plate of the food and a mug of tea, then sat down at the table. Kamui was not quite offering an apology, but it was plain that he was hoping for a truce. The food was something of a peace offering. Subaru wondered if, by eating the food, he was accepting the truce. He also wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted the truce.
Really, he would have preferred if Kamui had left. He knew that much of what Kamui had said was true. Despite his harsh words, he didn’t want Kamui to become what he had become. Kamui deserved better than that. Anyone did, really. So if he allowed Kamui to stay, would he eventually wind up using Kamui that way?
Perhaps the difference wasn’t that Kamui was stronger, or smarter, or better. It was just that he knew what Subaru was going to do, so he could prepare for it.
Whatever Kamui was really thinking, he kept his silence on the matter, studying a chart of numbers and frowning cutely at it.
Finally, the silence that Subaru had been living in for the past eight months got to him. “What are you studying?” he asked.
Kamui looked slightly startled to have gotten an unprovoked question from Subaru, and even more startled at the tone of real interest in Subaru’s voice. “Statistics,” he said. “I’m really behind. Keichii’s been helping me, though. That’s where I was last night.” He laughed slightly. “We had a late-night tutoring session. I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”
Subaru fell silent again, his one attempt at conversation done. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Over eight months with no company hadn’t helped his already pathetic social skills. “What do you want to be?” he asked abruptly.
Kamui blinked up at him, taken totally off-guard by this odd line of questioning. “Be?” he asked. Then he gave Subaru a lopsided smile. “You mean, when I get out of school?” At Subaru’s slight nod, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I never did much thinking about the future. I always kind of assumed I wasn’t going to have one. I suppose . . .” He stopped pensively. “Well, nothing mathematical,” he finally said, and let out a slight laugh. “Why do you ask?”
Subaru shrugged. “Just realized that I didn’t know.” He didn’t want to admit that he’d been trying to fill up the silence.
“What would you have been?” Kamui asked curiously. “If you weren’t the Sumeragi Head, and you could have done anything you wanted. What would you have done?”
“I wanted to be an animal breeder,” Subaru admitted, wondering why on earth he was even speaking to Kamui, let alone telling him that. “Or maybe a veteranarian. Anything that involved animals, really . . . I loved animals.”
“Because of him?” Kamui asked hesitantly.
Subaru shook his head. “No . . . it was because of that, that I was drawn to him.” He let out a slight laugh. “Well, no, there were lots of reasons that I was drawn to him, but that was among them. I think he became a veteranarian . . . because he knew that I loved animals.” He didn’t like to talk about Seishirou. It made the cold, tight knot that was in his chest more pronounced.
Kamui regarded him silently for a long minute. “Tell me about him?” he said softly, a gentle request and nothing more.
“I can’t,” Subaru said simply. “I never knew him. I never knew anything about him at all. Nothing real. I thought I knew Sakurazuka Seishirou-san . . . but that was a lie. Then I thought I knew the cold-hearted Sakurazukamori . . . and that turned out to be a lie as well. I have no idea who he really was.” Subaru took out a cigarette and lit it, feeling tears burn at his eyes.
“How can you love someone you don’t know?” Kamui asked. Not in an accusing way, just thoughtfully.
Subaru tilted his head to one side and regarded Kamui. “How do you know you love me?”
Kamui opened his mouth to answer, then looked away.
“Love is a feeling,” Subaru said. “Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t base it on knowledge. It’s based on emotion. I loved Seishirou because he was the world to me. He was the only thing I ever thought about. The only one I wanted . . . to be ‘special’ to.” His voice trailed into silence and he took a long drag on his cigarette.
“Why did you take his place, Subaru?” Kamui whispered.
There were a million answers to the question. Subaru smoked in silence for a minute, considering them, and finally gave the only one he could. “Because I couldn’t let him go.”
~~~~
Subaru didn’t seem to want to talk after that, but Kamui was so amazed to have gotten that much out of him -- to have gotten anything at all, for that matter -- that he didn’t object as Subaru wandered into the bathroom and shut the door. He was in the shower for a long time; by the time he got out, Kamui had curled up on the couch and fallen asleep.
As Subaru watched, he twisted and moaned, pulling the blanket tightly to him.
Shirou Kamui was dreaming.
~~~~~
// When Kamui stood on Rainbow Bridge and watched the wreckage fall, he had a peculiar look in his eyes, a look that Arashi, standing next to him, didn’t understand. It was the look of one who had lost everyone and everything. But Kamui had never known Seishirou -- what did he care that the man was dead?
Kamui simply stood and watched, knowing in that second an absolute truth.
He had lost Subaru forever.
All that careful work he’d done, slowly working his way into Subaru’s heart, convincing Subaru that he was worth something, that he was worth being loved, that Kamui could provide that love, all undone in a second. Shirou Kamui watched as Seishirou whispered a few important words in Subaru’s ear, then slumped over onto him. In that second, all his chances with Subaru were gone, vanished in the proverbial puff of smoke.
Kamui cried, and Arashi didn’t know why.
It wasn’t until later, when Subaru disappeared, did anyone understand what had been bothering Kamui. He had known that Subaru wouldn’t stay, despite what Subaru promised. He had let Subaru go, hoping against hope that someday he would be able to get him back.
Subaru had been gone a month before Kamui gave up. He wasn’t going to come back, and that was something he would just have to accept. His heart went out of everything, very nearly getting himself killed twice in the period of one week, with no one understanding why.
Well . . . not quite no one.
Kamui walked home in a daze after yet another pep talk from Sorata, one of the endless kind that he nodded and smiled through and didn’t quite hear. Everyone thought Subaru would come back. Kamui was the only one who knew better.
“Guess you really miss him, don’t you,” a smooth voice said as he walked into his room.
Kamui spun around, adrenaline rushing into his veins. Fuuma laughed, standing up and crossing the room in one quick motion, closing the door and simultaneously pressing Kamui up against it.
“F-Fuuma,” he stammered. He seemed to be stammering a lot lately. He made a mental note to try to break that habit as soon as he wasn’t in danger of immediate death. Well, that wasn’t quite true. With Fuuma, the danger was never immediate death. Fuuma enjoyed playing with him far too much to just kill him.
“You know he’s not coming back,” Fuuma said, holding one of Kamui’s wrists in a tight grip, so he couldn’t get away. “Why waste your time moping?”
“What the hell do you care?” Kamui snapped, stung.
Fuuma sighed, looking extremely put upon. “Because, my dear Kamui, you’ve nearly gotten yourself killed about a thousand times since that skinny onmyouji ran out on you. And that’s a privilege that’s reserved for me. If you don’t make it to the Promised Day, what am I supposed to do with myself?”
Kamui pushed away from him, managing to free himself, and backed a few steps away. “Get the hell out of my room,” he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Fuuma laughed. “Make me. You know you can’t. You can’t fight me physically, and I dare you to blast me. Everyone else in the house is asleep; you’d bring the roof down and kill them all.”
Kamui scowled, knowing he was right. “I could yell,” he said. “Sorata and the others could kick your ass for me.”
“You could,” Fuuma said, not sounding terribly concerned. “But you won’t.”
Silence sat between them.
“Why are you doing this?” Kamui asked softly. “Why are you being this way? Don’t give me any of that destiny crap. I want the real reason.”
“Hey,” Fuuma said with a shrug. “You can only hold in your true personality for so long, you know? You’re a lot like Subaru. He loved a man who never existed. And so did you.”
“I didn’t lo -- ” Kamui began, then broke off with a choked sob. “If I loved anyone, it was Subaru,” he finally said.
“Yeah,” Fuuma replied. “I know you did. The two of you would’ve made a cute couple, but it never would have worked. He’ll be hung up on Seishirou until the day he dies. You know it as well as I do.”
Kamui knew it was true, but no one else had dared speak the words aloud. They burned their way into him, imprinting themselves on his mind and soul, where they echoed in the silence. He knew Subaru would never be his. He had always known. Yet somehow he hadn’t been able to stop himself from falling in love. Subaru was so much like him.
“But hey,” Fuuma said, advancing again. “You’ve still got me.”
Kamui took a few steps back, then a few more, letting Fuuma back him up against the wall. He closed his eyes as Fuuma’s lips brushed over his own, then down his jaw and neck. “You’re just doing this to mess with my head,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Fuuma agreed. “So why are you letting me?”
Kamui didn’t answer, because there was no answer he could give. He didn’t protest as Fuuma backed away a few inches, then propelled him across the room and pushed him down onto the bed.
“Because I want it to stop hurting,” he finally answered, not making any move to escape as Fuuma pinned him down on top of the blankets. “I want to forget about Subaru.”
Fuuma laughed. “I can make you forget all about Subaru, Kamui. But I don’t promise that it won’t hurt.”
“I don’t care.” Kamui drew in a sharp breath as Fuuma slid his hands under his T-shirt, running his fingers over Kamui’s skin. “Just make me forget.”
Fuuma pushed the T-shirt over Kamui’s head and tossed it onto the floor. “You’re going to regret this in the morning,” he said, sounding terribly amused with the whole situation. “I thought you didn’t love me.”
“I don’t,” Kamui said, his back arching into Fuuma’s touch. “But you’re the only one who understands.”
Fuuma laughed at that, and leaned down to devote more serious attention to Kamui’s chest. When his lips brushed over one of Kamui’s nipples, Kamui let out a cry, pressing his hand over his mouth to muffle it.
“Now that won’t do,” Fuuma said, still amused. “I don’t want to have you waking the others up, then I’d get in trouble.” He stood up, letting Kamui lie on the bed, and fished around the room for a second. Kamui had the odd impression that Fuuma was allowing him the option of escape, if he so chose. But even though his conscience was screaming at him to take the opportunity, he didn’t.
He didn’t know why, but he didn’t.
He did start to panic a little, however, when Fuuma straddled him again, this time holding his school tie. “You’re going to . . .” he said weakly.
“Well, I don’t think you can keep quiet,” Fuuma said, then raised an eyebrow at him. “So if you’re going to back out, now would be the time.”
Again allowing him escape. But Kamui just lay there, looking up rather pitifully. Then he lifted up his head a little, allowing Fuuma to gag him firmly. The small part of his brain that had been screaming at him to run away gave up at that point and stomped off in a huff, leaving Kamui there without it. He hesitantly tried to cry out, but the tie muffled him quite effectively.
It was a good thing, too. Fuuma was neither gentle nor rough, but a combination of both at certain times. And by the time he was finished, Kamui was straining against the gag so much that the rest of the house would’ve been awake long previous were it not for its presence.
He cried, but for the first time in weeks, the tears didn’t leave him feeling empty. Fuuma untied the gag and sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Kamui’s hair. When Kamui finally managed to speak again, his voice was rough. “Why?”
“Why what?” Fuuma asked imperturbably.
“Why did you do this?” Kamui asked, wiping the tears after his cheeks.
“Have sex with you?” Fuuma clarified. At Kamui’s nod, he said, “Because Kakyou is being a prude and won’t even let me kiss him, and Seishirou just kicked the bucket, so I’m frustrated. Besides, you have a cute ass.”
Kamui just looked at him for a long minute, the words hardly setting in. Then he turned away.
“What?” Fuuma asked. “Were you expecting some deep answer? I thought you said no destiny crap. So, I didn’t give you destiny crap. There’s nothing wrong with being told you have a nice ass, you know.”
“Go away,” Kamui said softly.
“Sure,” Fuuma said, standing up. “I want a cigarette anyway, and I can’t smoke in here.” With that, he stood up and got dressed. “I’ll see you around, Kamui.”
Kamui waited until he was gone, then buried his face in the pillow and cried himself to sleep. //
~~~~
Kamui sat up with a gasp, then recalled his surroundings and relaxed minutely. He let out a soft sigh as the content of his rather vivid dream came back to him, then a louder sigh as he realized the problem he was now having. He looked down at his body in frustration and decided to ignore it. He didn’t want to remember what had happened with Fuuma, that time or any of the other times.
He had regretted it in the morning -- in fact, he’d been so totally mortified that he’d hardly spoken for two days, living entirely within his own guilt. Fuuma thought it was funny. When he saw Kamui again, all he said was, “Hey, I warned you.” And then he had cornered Kamui when no one else was home. Kamui had put up a huge fight, but Fuuma had won in the end, as Kamui had known he would. Part of him still wondered whether or not he had wanted Fuuma to win.
Don’t be an idiot, he told himself irritably, looking at his shaking hands. Who wants to get raped?
He sighed again, getting up to go to the bathroom. It didn’t matter; Fuuma was dead and therefore no longer a problem except in his dreams. Whether or not he had technically been raped that second time didn’t matter either. It wasn’t like he had ever told anyone it had happened, anyway.
After that, he hadn’t fought anymore. It wasn’t worth it. Fuuma always won in the end, and Kamui, disgusted though he was with himself, liked it when he did.
He splashed some cold water on his face.
God, Subaru was right, he thought dismally. We’re going to be him and Seishirou all over again, because I don’t have the guts to stand up to him. Because I want him, the way he wanted Seishirou, and I want to be hurt, the way he did. What a fucked up pair we are.
He dried off his face and went back into the hallway. He could hear a low moan coming from Subaru’s room. He most sincerely doubted that Subaru had any visitors; he was most likely having a nightmare.
Kamui hedged. Subaru had told him to never go into his room, but he had a vague suspicion that was more because he’d felt like being a prick than for any other reason. And Kamui knew from experience that being left to suffer through a nightmare was never a good thing.
Slowly, he pushed open the door and went inside.
~~~~
Chapter Five
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