X/1999 Fan Fiction ❯ Lie ❯ Lie ( One-Shot )

Dedicated to Kat, and the hopeful death of Jackie's mother.

Lie

By Catie Wilcox

It was a clear night in May, and Kamui stood before the grave of Kotori Monou. He had come with the thought that perhaps a visit to his late friend would help to remedy his unrest. Though it had been years since he left Tokyo, her recent leave from the living world had highly affected him. There was something about Kotori that had always seemed so surreal. Her smile, her voice, her unwavering confidence. It was as if she thought life was a game.

He loved her, he hated her, and he envied her. She had it so easy, wherever she was. She was probably dancing on her own proverbial catwalk, smiling down at those who had tripped and fallen off the side. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. Tears came to his eyes as he thought of Kotori, his mother, Daisuke, his aunt. All had died because of him.

Kamui got down on his knees, tangling his fingers into the long grass. He needed to know if it was really Kotori in that casket. Had they laid her pieces all in place? Or according to size? Possibly color. It didn't matter; he would know soon. He began to dig with his hands, scooping up soil and setting it aside. Tears of anguish streamed down his face. Soon he had gotten through six inches of soil.

A foot.

Two feet.

It was no use. His nails were packed under with moist earth, and he finally gave in to his hopelessness. He knelt until his forehead touched Kotori's tombstone and he used it for partial support, his entire body racked with sobs. It wasn't until he caught the fragrance of Sakura on the air that he lifted his head, listening for any sound as the breeze playfully kissed his face and his hair.

The mechanical click of a lighter, the thick scent of cigarette smoke.

"It's dangerous to be out after dark,"

He knew it.

"Kamui."

Kamui looked up to behold Seishirou Sakurazuka standing beside him, taking a drag if his cigarette. One chocolate eye and a caramel-coated voice. As ashamed as he was to admit it, the Sakurazukamori was really very attractive. He was elegant, handsome, and all kinds of cunning. It was a shame that such a beautiful mind and body had to be wasted on the likes of an assassin.

"I'm not scared." Kamui hissed, getting to his feet.

"You should be." Seishirou exhaled with a smirk. That vainglorious smile of his was unnerving, to Kamui and anyone that had ever met him. It radiated superiority. "You could be attacked, raped, maybe even killed. It would be a shame if more had to die simply because you weren't careful. Then again, you already have so much blood on your hands."

Kamui glared viciously, turning to look Seishirou in the eye.

"I'm not afraid of you, Sakurazukamori."

Seishirou only smiled, dropping his cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the sole of his shoe.

"Why not?" He leaned closer until Kamui could feel his breath on his face. "I could kill you. I could rape you if I wanted."

"You wouldn't." Kamui declared, sneering, and took a daring step backward. Much to his surprise, he saw vines appear out of thin air and begin to constrict around his arms. Seishirou stepped forward, caressing Kamui's cheek with the backs of his gloved fingers.

"I may." He removed his gloves and pocketed them, tracing the collar of Kamui's school uniform with his bare fingertips. "You have beautiful eyes. The color is exquisite."

Kamui fumed silently, refusing to look away from Seishirou's face.

"Though, I must admit, they'll never be anything like Subaru's once were."

"You son of a bitch." Kamui spat. The hairs on the back of his neck stood out, and the rage that overtook him sent shivers down his spine. For whatever reason Seishirou was trying to anger him, it was working. "Don't talk about him that way. He isn't your pet."

"I am aware of that." Seishirou let his hand wander up to stroke Kamui's jaw, as if fascinated by him. How ironic that it was always the Sakurazukamori that pretended to be interested in something when really it mattered little to him, when the one he was observing would often act annoyed but, in truth, be completely captivated by him.

Kamui realized that Seishirou wasn't going to speak further, and took the liberty on himself.

"So-" He was cut off by firm lips pressing against his own. The taste of alcohol mixed with tobacco and mouthwash. It was bitter but sharp, and he struggled against what it did to him. He couldn't stand to be humiliated like this. The stronger he fought, the further Seishirou pressed him, and the more his body began to react. Seishirou was not gentle. In fact, he was rough, almost savage in the way he kissed him.

A kiss led to desire, desire to passion, and Seishirou began to unbutton Kamui's uniform. He discarded the shirt in the grass and began to work at Kamui's pants, finishing with them in record time and ridding of them, as well as his boxers, in one swift motion. Kamui felt his cheeks becoming hot as his socks and shoes were removed and he was left unclothed before his enemy, wrists and waist help solidly by thick Sakura branches. Seishirou removed his trench coat and laid it out over the space in front of Kotori's grave.

Kamui hoped this wasn't what it looked like it was going to be.

Seishirou removed his jacket, tie, and shirt and draped them over Kotori's tombstone, followed by his pants and his boxers. He had taken off his shoes and socks beforehand and set them next to his coat. He let the allowed the Sakura limbs to disappear from Kamui's arms and waist and took him by his shoulders, lowering him to lie on top of his coat.

Kamui squirmed but to no avail, as he was pinned steadfastly to the ground. He felt his legs widen against his will as Seishirou settled against him and lowered his head to kiss Kamui's neck. Kamui flinched as a hand came up to touch his bare chest and fought the urge to arch his back as Seishirou ran his nails lightly over his navel. Seishirou smirked, tracing Kamui's collarbone with his tongue. In his mind, Kamui hated this, but his body betrayed him and he felt a soft moan emit from his lips. Seishirou nipped fiercely as his skin and he suppressed a yelp, fingers clenching around the material of Seishirou's coat.

Seishirou was patient and took his time tormenting Kamui, savoring every cry that escaped his lips. Kamui shook furiously as Seishirou reached into his coat pocket for a small tub of Vaseline. He tried to writhe out from under Seishirou, but his attempt was in vain as Seishirou only pressed more unrelentingly against him, rubbing the makeshift lubrication over his fingers.

Gradually, he pressed a finger into him, relishing the protesting whimper that Kamui made as he did this. He was in no hurry and made it known as he readied Kamui for what was ahead, wrenching objecting shudders and moans from the young Seal. Finally, when he did take him, Kamui cried aloud, clutching Seishirou's coat so tightly that his knuckles were white. He sobbed as Seishirou propelled him into bittersweet ecstasy. He never felt so shameful as he did while he finished that night, with his legs spread widely and his head tilted all the way back. He never imagined that sex could be so evil, so betraying. This hadn't been the way he'd hoped to lose his virginity, not to the hands of his opponent.

As rapture wore away from Kamui's tired body, he started to cry. Seishirou eventually stood and began to dress himself again, and Kamui continued to cry. He started to sob after a while, and by this time Seishirou was long gone. He had departed with a simple, "Sayonara, Kamui-kun." And left him without his coat, settling for his suit jacket. In time the sun could be seen coming up over the horizon, and Kamui was still crying. He covered himself with Seishirou's coat and gazed up at the sky, knowing he should move, but not seeing any real reason. Hours later, he was greeted with someone else's presence.

"Kamui-kun?"

The expression on his face did not change.

"Subaru-san."

Subaru immediately recognize the coat that Kamui laid beneath on the cold grass and frowned, but did not comment.

"Come. Let's get you home."