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21 December 2009 @ 02:23 am
Flow  
Title: Flow
Fandom: Moon Child
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Living is breathing, but Kei knows it's not that simple.
Warnings: Angst, self-mutilation, and doubtless spelling and grammatical errors.
Notes: This is probably a oneshot. Probably.
Flow
The kitchen stood as his only barrier against the blinding sun that burned through the living room windows. There was no escape, only to remain trapped in the culinary room until it was dark enough for him to venture out into the city. He supposed he could have run through the lethal light to the windows, thrown together the drapes with his inhuman speed, and been free to enjoy the whole apartment. However, he knew Sho had stepped out to the store for only a minute, in a rush after spending over an hour in the kitchen in an attempt to make fresh omelets, only to realize they had a short supply of eggs.

Kei lifted his hands over his face, brushing back his blond hair that fell in front of his eyes irritably. His averseness was obvious, and he would make sure Sho noticed it when he returned. He eyed the mess of basal, onions, and spinach that lay diced thin on the counter. His dark eyes wondered to the two ripe tomatoes on the side, forgotten in the scramble. With a sigh, he decided the agonizing time had to be killed somehow, and made his way to the fresh produce. It was purely accidental, but when he reached for the cutting board out from under the chopped herbs and seasonings, he made the mistake of looking into the microwave's screen.

While he could not die without the sun's contact, the reflection of the light stung nonetheless. In his momentary blindness, he drew his hand up quickly, ramming the counter from under and knocking something to the floor. He ignored the sudden pain that began to numb his hand, and instead used it to shut the kitchen door, which had silently crept open without his knowledge.

Straightening himself, he proceeded to clarify his surroundings to check for damage. Everything was in order, except for the shining metallic glow coming from the floor. He bent down to pick up the knife, gracefully but carelessly, and in doing so grabbed it by the handle, but absentmindedly rested his index finger of the tip of the blade.

The smell of blood hit him before the sight. It wasn't his, having been stolen from greedy businessmen and mobsters, and it now flowed out of his veins inadvertently. He couldn't let it go to waste, so he brought his hand to his face and sucked his finger dry, but for only a moment, as that was as long as it took to heal. Extracting his hand, the dull ache of having perviously slammed it into the obstructing counter lingered, but what was even more astonishing was the faint tingle the cut had left on his finger. Unfortunately, it faded much too fast for him to savor, and he scowled.

Blond bangs fell back in front of his face, but he made no move to brush them back. Instead, he stretched out his long, thin arm and began to unceremoniously roll up his dressy, white sleeves. He took a mental note of how smooth his arm looked before unsolicitously running the sharp end of the blade over the skin, watching in fascination as small droplets of blood appeared on the surface. He paused yet again, bringing his arm to his mouth as to not the waste the precious life that now poured out of him so willingly.

The tingling was barely there, and he wanted to feel it again. The silver blade pressed against his arm, much harder this time, and Kei didn't really care because he knew death wasn't that easy. The pain was too fast, fleeing really. There were no scabs or scars to note, only the almost immediate return to his flawless, pale skin. It was ironic, and in a sick way reminded him of Luka's death. His mentor had been his companion for almost a hundred years and on earth much longer; however, there was nothing left to show for the years toiled, not even ashes in his memory.

Suddenly, he wanted more, to see more lines and feel more pain and see more blood. He wanted to show himself that this was real, that he was real.

His heart beat rapidly at the sight, the vampire in him overcoming his will to continue his practice, and coming to an agonizing halt as his tongue had to make sure it did not miss a single drop of blood. It was taking too long, and while he sucked on his left wrist, with his other hand he drew up his dress shirt, barely taking the time to fold it over his shoulders as to not make a mess, and brought the knife down to glaze his stomach.

He gasped at the touch, shocked to feel the warmth that suddenly emerged from his body dripped down to his groin. His legs gave out, mostly from the desire of fresh blood, and he was on the floor bending forwards to lap up as much of the blood as he could. His back ached considerably, but he ignored it for the greater good. A part of him worried what would happen if Sho suddenly returned, but he found it wasn't enough to stop him from plunging the blade back over his flesh.

As it could have been a chain reaction, the thought of Sho being there, with him, while he experimented with himself had an unexpected reaction. He could have possibly felt the blue eyes on him as the pressure in his groin increased, and he let out a moan as he this time ran the blade over his elbow, letting his tongue freely smother the blood that fell.

Sho.

He was the first human he had ever connected with, regardless of the time when he was a human or vampire. It would have been tremendously easier on the both of them if he had only abandoned his conscience and left him to die that one day many years ago, when he lay soulless on the warehouse floor. He couldn't help but grin at he memory, suddenly knowing exactly what would happen if the young man wondered in now.

There would be silence. That much he was sure of, and his hips twitched at the thought of his face on his, eyes covering his body, and he let out a needy sigh. Next, there would be action. He could see the knife slipping from his fingers as Sho pushed the gleaming weapon away and pulled him into his arms. Oh, and then there would be tears. Tears that would run down his face childishly, but he wouldn't actually sob (his pride wouldn't allow it) until he finally would pull his face away to stare into his eyes.

And then there would be warmth. The sensation made it all worth it. Working a hand through his much too tight dress pants, he began to run his fingers over his throbbing cock. At the same time, he brought his other hand up, blade engraved, and dragged it over his arm. He went as far as he could, pumping with one hand and digging with the other. The beast in him craved at the sight, but the evaporating pleasure that ran through him was enough of a distraction to hold off the instinct. He could feel himself coming, reaching a point of oblivion where Sho would bend down next to his ear and whisper the words he never allowed himself to dream.

Ah. He felt a high release and came into his hand, dimly aware of the clicking coming from the front door. He extracted his hand and dropped the knife, as if he was really was caught in the act this time and suddenly found his fantasy looked quite appealing but no where near realistic. Footsteps were echoing and the door was slamming shut, but the beast was roaring and wouldn't let him move until he had licked the drying blood off his arms. He was tugging at his clothes, his hair, but most of all wiping his mouth and cursing the lack of a mirror. There was no where to go but into the living room where the light resided.

“Kei? Did I leave the curtains back?” It was Sho, and Kei rolled his eyes indubitably, even in his current situation. He pulled himself together and stood up, but a little too quickly for his taste as the room abruptly spun.

He did not blame it so much on blood loss as he did his body's continuous regeneration. Dizzily, he dropped the knife in the sink and turned the water on full blast. Blinking back to reality, he was washing his blood and himself off his hands when the door creaked open. It wasn't to his surprise that the sun now did not shine menacingly at him as before, with the curtains now draped over the large windows. He turned his head slightly to see Sho by the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Were you in here the whole time?” He asked, walking slowly to the counter to put down a large brown bag. It was to Kei's amusement that he noted the bag was overflowing with items that did not belong at any grocery store, and in turn he offered the most convincing grin he could muster to his friend.

“Yeah, but it's cool.” He knew they were the wrong words; they tasted like paper in his mouth that not even the sweet aftertaste of blood could wash away. But it only seemed fitting, and he glanced down into the sink to see all the remains had been washed away. He turned off the faucet. “Just use your head next time.”

He started to make his way toward the door, close to his freedom, when he froze at sudden feel of hands on his back. “Your shirt,” came Sho's soft voice, still much too emotionless for Kei's liking. “It's everywhere.” He felt a strong tug and knew it was back in place.

He turned around and flashed a toothless smile. “Thanks,” he murmured, and acknowledged Sho's minimal nod. As he exited the room, he found his breath returning as the distance between him and his friend increased. He paid no heed to the background noise as Sho explained their itinerary for the day; rather, he walked to his room with a lifted stride. Hand in pocket, he smiled faintly at the feel of cold metal against his thumb.