Ronin Warriors Fan Fiction ❯ Red Wine ❯ Red Wine ( One-Shot )

Red Wine
By Djinn Hashiba-Maxwell

Vampire yaoi. If there's a better thing, I haven't found it.

*~*~*

He didn't move as the blonde leaned closer, he was motionless, but not tense or stiff. Simply accepting. The hands on his forearms gripped hard enough to leave bruises on his pale skin, but he did not pull away. He did not even flinch. He simply turned his head slightly to the side, as if in offering, as the creature leaned closer. It scraped sharp fangs across the pale throat of the dark haired man, leaving shallow furrows that sprouted small droplets of blood the color of raspberries. He slowly drug a rough tongue over the shallow wounds, lapping up the blood.

The dark haired man's lips parted, and a small sigh escaped, so soft as to be almost inaudible.

He was thrown back, sliding almost a meter over the polished hardwood before stopping, sprawled out at the blonde's feet, eyes blinking up at him uncertainly, responding with silence.

"Why? WHY??"

The blonde grabbed the other man by the collar and dragged him to his feet, before sending him sprawling once again by backhanding him across the face. A small splatter of blood stained the dark wood.

"Why aren't you afraid of me? WHY?"

The dark haired man offered no response, simply blinked up at him with dark indigo eyes. His tongue flickered out over his split lip, the source of the blood. There was no fear in those eyes, just a deep and long present sadness that threatened to consume the possessor.

He was dragged to his feet by the blonde once more, and shoved backwards until he hit the wall. He turned his eyes away slightly and the blonde breathed down on him.

"Why aren't you afraid? Why don't you fight me? WHY?"

The blue eyes, so sad, so hopeless, turned to look into the ice grey eyes above them. His lip was still bleeding, rivulets of blood trailing down his chin. His blinked up at the other man, as if only just registering his questions.

He leaned forward, closing the distance between their lips in something that was not really a kiss. He offered to the blonde the blood from his split lip, rich and sweet, like fine wine. He shuddered slightly as the other made a hungry noise against his mouth, tongue snaking out to keep any of the sweet liquid from escaping. Hands pulled him closer, the blonde's mouth moved down to his jaw, following the line of the blood, unwilling to miss a single drop. The darker haired man was limp in his possession, letting him do as he wished.

Lips against his neck again, at the first wounds, sucking at the blood that no longer flowed freely. The dark haired man grimaced slightly, nonetheless turning his head to expose more of his throat. His lips parted for a sharp inhale before he finally spoke his response.

"Should I fear you?"

The blonde shoved him back against the wall violently, face close to his and twisted into a snarl, eyes flashing red. The other looked back at him with the same expression of unfathomable sadness, and did not flinch or recoil at the twisted features inches from his face.

Finally the face smoothed into the handsome planes familiar to him, the expression one of disdain. He released the other man, letting him slump back against the wall.

"You are not worth the effort."

He turned towards the stairs of the cavernous mansion and disappearing up to the next floor. The blue-haired man leaned his head against the cool wall behind him, tears shining in his blue eyes, yet none fell. He was able to blink them away quickly. This was something he had much practice in.

*~*~*

The table was long, one designed for formal dining, but only the blonde sat there, in his place at the head. The blue haired man stood a step aside, not seated, hands resting gently on the tablecloth. Occasionally picking at the finely stitched embroidery. The food on the table was uneaten, except for the few bites the blue-haired had managed to take. The blonde leaned back in his throne-like chair, a glass of wine held in one hand, watching the other man.

"Aren't you going to eat some more?"

The blue-haired man did not move his eyes from where his hand toyed with the tablecloth. It seemed as if he had not even heard the other. He certainly gave no indication that he intended to respond. He wrapped a loose thread around his finger, then unwrapped it again. Starring at his hand with that same sad, preoccupied look that he gave everything.

The blonde swirled the pale wine in his glass absently, watching the other man for any reaction whatsoever. When it became clear that none was forthcoming, he leaned forward in his chair, setting his wine glass down on the table.

"You should eat, Touma. You'll starve."

There was the slightest hint of challenge in his tone, as if daring the other to prove him wrong, to prove that to starve to death was his goal. And yet, obligingly, the blue-haired lifted a bit of meat from the plate nearest him, placing it in his mouth and chewing on it thoughtfully for long minutes. He swallowed and then lifted another piece.

The blonde once more lifted his wine glass and leaned back in his plush chair, sipping the cool liquor and watching with a slight, satisfied smirk playing on his ivory lips. It was quite a convincing expression, and yet something in his eyes betrayed it. The smile said he was pleased to have a loyal servant, but his eyes said he wished for conflict.

The blue haired swallowed this second piece of meat and then pushed the plate away, reaching for a goblet of wine to wash down the taste of the raw animal flesh. The blonde watched him as he swallowed mouthfuls of the dry alcohol, before gently placing the goblet back on the white tablecloth. It made a round, red stain on the cloth. The blonde looked at this stain thoughtfully as he spoke.

"I think I shall go to town tonight."

He looked up to see if there was surprise, shock or fear in his companions eyes, but all he saw was that familiar sadness, and resignation.

"This wine is not as sweet as theirs."

They both knew that it was not wine to which he referred, but the stuff of his unnatural life. Blood. The blue haired man took a step closer to the seat of his lord, and lifted the large knife from the setting in front of him. He drew the blade over the flesh of his palm, not cutting, but feeling the coldness of the metal on his skin.

"You do not need to go to town."

He dug the knife into his flesh and pulled it across his palm. Great rivers of blood flowed over his palm and dripped off of his fingertips. He reached over towards his benefactor with bloodied hand; lingering too long over the wine, his blood dribbled into the liquid, staining it a deep, powerful red.

Unable to resist, the blonde reached out and captured that hand, bringing it too his lips. He sucked the blood off each finger before bringing the palm to his mouth, lapping up the blood from the deep wound, slitting it further with his attentions. The other man did not even grimace through all this, just watched with those unreadable blue eyes.

The blonde shoved him back against the hard wood table, with forced intended to bruise, holding the blue-haired still as the vampire's ivory lips, wet with human blood, claimed his own fiercely, purposefully. He pushed the blue haired man up onto the table, hands against the sharp bones of his hips, lips never parting.

He took him against the table, mindless of the bottles and trays he overturned as the tablecloth slid underneath the blue-haired man. The other threw his head back, eyes closed, lips parted, taken without making a sound.

He looked up at the blonde when it was finished, still panting from the ecstasy, and smiled, just for the briefest second. It was the smile that fascinated his blonde companion. That rare, genuine smile that he had seen so often before darkness claimed him. Fascination made eyes soften from the cold grey to a soft violet, and slowly he caressed the soft skin of the other man's cheek. The other blinked, startled by the soft expression, and in his surprise the smile gave way to a look of contemplation.

The blonde frowned. "You should get some sleep."

The other nodded mutely, getting to his feet, stumbling slightly, trying to work the fastenings of his pants with numb fingers. The blonde batted his hands away with a hint of annoyance and fastened them for him. "Go to bed, Touma." The blonde said sharply.

The darker haired boy nodded slightly, wiping at his still-wet lips with the back of one hand and moving away slowly as lavender eyes burned into his back.

* * *

It was only while he was asleep that the blond being allowed himself to observe the other man so closely. Only then that he allowed himself to stand over the wide - much too large for a single person - bed, test the texture of cool cotton sheets, the softness of unkempt blue hair like silk around his fingers.

While the boy was awake this was impossible. To touch him in a way that was not a strike was forbidden. To cause pleasure that was not equal parts pain would only make things harder. To let him see the slightest tender gaze, to know, or even suspect, that the blonde saw him as anything more than a plaything . . . no, he could not. Would not.

It was not love. The blonde did not believe himself capable of such a thing, not anymore. When he had been human . . . but that seemed so long ago. So very long ago, and that was the only reason that the other stayed. For a person's whose body was dead and possessed by a demon that drank blood to keep that body alive. He was no longer who the darker haired man thought he was, not the man the boy had loved.

No. He was not. He knew it.

Then why had he not killed him by now?

Certainly the boy was beautiful. And his blood was sweeter than any he had tasted. But that boy was all that stood between him and massacre. If not for that human, the entire town would have been dead by now, just to serve his fancy. He wanted to take their lives, their sweet life's blood. But every time the bloodlust filled him, he was there, offering himself instead, all that he needed to sate him. He never told him not to go. Never said 'you should spare the lives of the townspeople', he would not dare. He would simply slit his skin and offer it up, himself a sacrificial lamb, and that was enough.

Was he a slave? Never. For he was free - the blonde gave him no limits, he all but told him to run. To escape. To leave.

He wanted him to escape, because he hadn't the strength to force him.

He wanted him to fight, because he didn't want this power over him.

He wanted him to . . .

He wanted him.

Wanted to feel those pathetic emotions he caused. Wanted to shed tears that were not tinted with blood. Wanted to do more than recall love and beauty and peace.

We so rarely get what we want.

The sleeping boy did not stir as the door closed.

* * *

"You're still here?" the blonde asked with mild disdain. "I thought you would have seen the light by now."

The other did not say anything; he ducked his head as he walked down the staircase slowly, his footfalls sounding hollow in the large, empty chamber. His delicate hand trailed over the banister, lightly, absently. He dressed in dark colors, as his benefactor insisted, thought they did not suit him at all. He should be in bright, vibrant colors. Black was for the dead, and he was alive.

Appropriately enough, black suited the blonde beautifully.

"Do you want me to leave, Seiji?" And there was rare challenge in that tone. Challenge was not his place in their lives; he was the one that lowered his eyes and did as told, that stayed despite everything. But sometimes, sometimes the man he had once been shone through.

The back of the blonde's hand caught him hard across the cheek; he tumbled down the remaining stairs, ending sprawled on the wood floor, expression not the slightest bit surprised.

"You will never call me by that name!" The blonde hissed. That was the name of the man, and the man was dead, long dead . . . he was the demon, the man was gone . . .

"Do you want me to leave, Sage?" the boy replied, the side of his lip twitched, just the slightest, as if he might smile, and yet he did not.

The blonde screamed to himself. Make him leave, send him away. He makes you weak . . .

"Stay if it suits you." The blonde said, coldly, turning away. "It is your life."

* * *

There were torches outside the door, thousands and thousands of torches, each held by dark-eyed men; cold, determined, beyond the echoes of reason.

"We have come for the monster!"

Something new. Novel. A good old fashioned angry mob.

"Open the door, Touma."

The blue-haired looked to him with wide eyes, fear darkening them to blackish indigo. "Sage . . ." He whispered, uncertain. He earned a glare for his disobedience.

"Open it." He repeated, and the other obediently slid back the lock on the large wooden door, pulled it back just enough to see outside. Blinked at the men outside; they carried crossbows and spears and for the first time in many years, he knew true fear.

"What do you want?" He asked, his voice low, monotone. Uninviting.

"We have come for the creature. Step aside, you will not be harmed." In contrast, the voice of the man outside was hot, conspiratorial. Offering him escape from somewhere he chose to be. Indigo eyes burned into him, hot ice, and a cold fire.

"Leave here." He said. "Or you will all die." Still low, still cold. But just the slightest bit pleading. There was no hyperbole in his words. Cold truth, and yet they could not believe it.

Don't you believe in monsters?

The door was slammed inwards, the blue-haired was knocked to the ground inside. He scrambled backwards as they swarmed in, flies on a corpse, weapons and torches held menacingly. The blue haired only stopped moving when he ran into the blonde's legs, unable to move any further, and so he stayed there, curled up at the feet of the man who saw both his savior and his damnation.

"It's rude to enter uninvited." He said, and he stepped around the human at his feet, almost protective in his posture. Standing between him and the danger. "How many of you are there? I'm not all that hungry tonight." Not moving as the blue-haired pulled himself using the back of his cloak, a warm hand over his cold shoulder.

"Let him go!" Someone called from somewhere. The dark eyed man blinked in surprise when it occurred to him that they were referring to him.

"Very well." The blond said. "Touma, go to them."

But of course, he didn't move.

"There you have it, gentlemen." The blonde said. His eyes flashed crimson. "I tried. Best just be on your way."

He dodged the weapons with an easy grace, laughing at their naivete. Humans. Fools. They might as well be one word, since they were exactly the same thing. Glass cracked, vases broke, spilling water to the floor. The mirror which never showed his reflection shatter, shards dancing across the floor, reflecting candlelight. And through it all, the low, terrifying laughter of one who was not human.

And then, abruptly the laughter stopped.

The movements too quick for the human stopped. The blonde was utterly motionless, eyes shining cool violet. In his arms was a body - cold, unmoving, unbreathing. He had been fast enough to dodge the spears, the arrows.

But no human was that fast.

Indigo eyes were wide, staring up at him unseeing. A trickle of blood over cold, parted lips. An arrow through his lung, his heart . . . There was silence, just for those few moments. Even those who had come for his life somehow sensed the sacredness of the scene. Breaths were held, but only two tears were shed, and those tears were tinted pink with blood.

"Touma." The word echoed in the silence. "You should have left while you had the chance."

And then eyes looked up on the assembled men. The features of the face no longer retained that human perfection. The eyes had no warmth, no color at all. Just the gray of ice. And lips cruelly smiled, but a smile without mirth. No laughter now, they were no longer petty annoyances.

Now, they were prey.

That night, the blood ran like wine.