Justification A X/1999 vignette, sequel to 'Only Hope' and 'Inner-cities of the Soul' Sephy There’s no justification for this; scarred hands molding over his back, kneading and squeezing until Subaru gasps, tilting his head and feeling it pop, the rush of relief following it so profound that it’s all he can do to close his mouth, let alone his eyes against tears that are entirely involuntary but no less true. There’s no justification for the way those hands bunch at the base of his spine, pushing down against muscle and bone, stronger than he could have ever guessed, a hint of fingers sliding underneath the brim of his pants before the angle changes, the heel of a palm pressed low and working its way up, another loose, rush of warmth following their progress. A glance reveals Kamui’s features are furrowed, drawn in concentration, brown-black hair falling in his face, tickling against his nose and while that twitches, he doesn’t let up from his ministrations to brush it aside. Subaru’s fingers itch in response, wishing he were at a better angle to do that, to pull him downward and reward him for his efforts, if he could move out of the lethargy he’s been reduced to. But he can’t, the action beyond him, this lethargy more than physical, deeper than the movement of hands on bared skin, fingers moving to crush at the base of his neck, playfully tugging at the shorter hair there. They’ve passed more than an hour in silence; so comfortable at first, Subaru grateful for that reprieve, content to let Kamui have his way but as time passes that becomes harder. Kamui is not one for silences; not ones that stretch and strain and try as he might not to think about it, Subaru can’t help but wonder if it’s him. If Kamui can see the blood under fingernails he’s scrubbed and scrubbed, aching and raw from the rasp of a toothbrush, his hands and palms clean for all that they seem slimy to him, slick with the lifeblood of the woman he killed earlier. She was older, approaching middle-aged with no other crime than the selling of small children into prostitution and slavery, full of winsome smiles and eyes that crinkled as she spoke to a fundraiser, the audience cheering and clapping with no idea where her time and money had come from. Subaru had watched her, remembering the feel of small hands against his trousers as he’d walked through one of those shops, the air thick with urine and sweat, too many hopeless, dead eyes mirroring his approach, no longer afraid. No longer anything at all except a vehicle of misery, flesh pounded for someone else’s pleasure. He wasn’t sure where the commission had come from, he never asked, but the entire time in that place all he could think of was another boy with shy, too hopeful smiles, glimpsed only in the depths of his mind, arms open as if he could give Subaru the entire world. And he tries. He tries so hard to do just that, Subaru letting him and loathing himself for all the disquiet he knew lies underneath the surface of those welcoming violet eyes. Kamui never asks questions, just opening the door and greeting him as if it is allowed. As if Subaru hasn’t been banished from the campus by Imonoyama-sama or Subaru were anything but what he was now, a murderer, following the footsteps of a long line. He never asks where Subaru has been or what he’s doing, instead speaking to him of other things, sensing that it’s not something Subaru wants or is willing to share, a half-life he wants to shield from his younger lover as if Kamui were a stranger to blood and death, as if he could spare him the taint. But Kamui is no innocent, not for all his talk of more mundane things, of working at the Dukylon Bakery or sitting in physics class, despairing of ever learning the math despite Imonoyama-sama’s efforts at tutoring him. Not for all the time spent in front of his computer, working his way through levels of some game Subaru can barely follow, some obnoxious musical theme buzzing in the back of his mind, drummed in there from those mornings when Kamui sneaks out of their bed to play. Their bed. He feels guilty at the thought. It’s Kamui’s bed, Kamui’s dorm and he feels – that he’s only borrowing it, using it for a short time. For this blessed short time before it’s ripped away from him the way everything else in his life has been. It comes with the knowledge that he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t crave those moments when he and Kamui just sit, quiet and leaning against each other, full of easy, needy touches. This is Kamui’s life, the one he’s trying to build for himself to make up for the one that was never allowed, the one that had been so defined by 1999. He’s not fool enough to think it’s not still, having woken up one too many times to Kamui whimpering, thrashing in the thrall of some nightmare or worse, waking moments, staring at his hands, the lattice work of scars, flexing them as if needing to know they were still there at all, that they could move. There’s too many echoes from 1999, more than he can sift through and he’s given up trying, losing whole evenings, sometimes weeks, to just wandering, chasing the ghost of cigarettes and dark glasses, walking in shadows, in places where he had been and ever would be. He was the most powerful omnyouji in Japan but the two spirits he wanted the most, the voices he would give anything to communicate with are beyond him, the ether mocking with its sterile emptiness. And then there’s Kamui who haunts him those times Subaru isn’t here, craving the warmth of his body and the restless certainty of his touch, the way he’ll let him sit sometimes, and those times he refuses Subaru any such quarter. He’s causing trouble for Kamui by being here, he knows this but he can’t seem to stop himself. There’s a spark here he craves, a taste of life, a life that might have been his, that could be his all the time if he could just reach for it. He needs Kamui but Kamui doesn’t need him; of that he’s certain. One day Kamui will realize this, too. Subaru pushes up on his forearms, turning his head as the movement of those long boned hands cease, Kamui blinking at him, kittenish and confused as if breaking free of a daze. His palms are warm against Subaru’s shoulders, burning against his skin and he needs that, too. Needs that warmth and sensation, the breath raising Kamui’s chest, and the faint flush of color stealing into his cheeks. Kamui’s not yet nineteen years old, his hair shaggier than it had been at sixteen, having filled out in some ways, taller certainly, but his features are still his own, delicate and sharp, perhaps a little longer now than they had been. There are echoes of the boy Subaru had known there, mostly in the eyes that still reflect back everything he’s thinking, everything he’s feeling and what he’s feeling – Is a mystery to Subaru. He thinks that more than anything else might be what draws him back again and again, what leads him to close the gap between them, his hand insinuating itself behind Kamui’s neck, pulling him closer, his mouth dancing first across the pulse point of his throat then just under his chin, listening to the puff of breath, a little sigh when he kisses just there. Kamui’s fingers twitch, sharp nails digging into his collarbone as Subaru’s mouth finds his, soft and ready, nipping at his upper lip. This at least is simple, something he can do without fear of mucking it up, something he never got to do with Seishirou beyond furtive touches, ones stolen both with and without consent, with practiced sensuality. There’s nothing practiced about Kamui, nothing polished. What he gives of himself, he gives wholeheartedly, sometimes rushed and awkward, sometimes with such slow tenderness that Subaru thinks he’s going to break. He’s grateful for the differences, as if they allow him to keep something of himself; there’s not very much left to give these days. There are boundaries here, ones not defined by the shedding of clothing, ones untouched as skin whispers against skin, Kamui settling in against him, his hip digging into Subaru’s stomach, returning Subaru’s kisses with hungry, wet kisses of his own, his tongue sliding inward, brushing against Subaru’s before setting to exploring his mouth more thoroughly, until he feels nothing less than breathless. There are boundaries, ones without justification, as his own hands settle low on Kamui’s back, tilting his head back, neck straining as he struggles to keep up. The boundaries are for Kamui, to protect him, to save him from all those things in himself that Subaru loathes but the other side of that is lonelier than he would like. Kamui knows that, too or at least he thinks he does and sometimes he thinks that’s why their lovemaking turns so aggressive despite the ease Kamui has in spurring a response. Why the knee that’s been lying heavily against his moves, sliding forward and causing his breath to hitch as Kamui finds the right angle, the right spot, raising up on his hands and just moving. Long, drawn out movements, the pressure enough to make Subaru whimper, gripping small hips roughly before he even knows he’s doing it. It amazes him how flexible Kamui really is, quicksilver movements, mouth everywhere and nowhere, teasing and tormenting him until Subaru does give in, tugging him downward as he’s wanted to since this whole thing began, kissing until he’s thoroughly breathless. This he can do, this he can give, this he hopes is enough, rolling onto his side, his entire body aching, the taste of Kamui in his mouth and the feel of him just behind, fingers sliding over his rear, slick now and he no longer flinches at the delicate probing down there, pressing against tight muscle and then moving inside, his body unfurling, stretching into that even as Kamui’s lips move against his neck, his shoulder, the scrape of teeth there just – so – Much. Neither of them is patient tonight, mercurial and wanting, Subaru adjusting his legs, closer to his chest now, one spreading a little more as Kamui works quickly, two fingers now, daring a third and Subaru’s too hot, a fine sweat breaking out on his brow and neck, not helped at all when Kamui traces his tongue just below his ear, nipping and chewing thoughtfully on the lobe. Subaru shudders, turning his face and they’re kissing again, his mouth wide and clumsy, seeking blindly and finding what he knows is little more than a mash of teeth and tongues but it’s better, soft and hard at the same time, throwing sparks of shivery tingles throughout his body, moaning against joined lips when nimble fingers find what they’re searching for, withdrawing and that’s worse than before. Worse than anything before, reaching and finding Kamui’s side, his ribs evident under the search of desperate fingers, Subaru needing that assurance, his lover moving to whisper in his ear, little more than air and warmth, undecipherable and comforting. He doesn’t need words, just this, just knowing that something in Kamui recognizes what he wants, what he doesn’t want to want, and gives it to him anyway. Hands find his hips, Subaru pushing back against the hardness now rubbing against him, feeling Kamui’s body shift, flexing against as he drives forward in tiny circles, Subaru stretching with each inward thrust, giving up on quiet as a hand threads through the sheets, until Kamui’s there, fully seated, Subaru feeling him with each pulse of his heart, until he can’t distinguish between the two. The pause that follows is awful, unable to stop himself from wriggling back against him, feeling vulnerable, exposed as he does so and then – Kamui moves, he moves in the space between each heartbeat, steady and demanding, a hand coming down over Subaru’s, thin arms and legs blanketing him. When there’s movement, they do it together, Kamui pushing forward, Subaru backward, everything between them a splintering cascade of languorous warmth, a slow tide that grows stronger with each pull. He leans, half-wanting to turn as Kamui nuzzles his throat, lips nipping their way down, rougher than he expects, teeth stinging and he knows there will be marks there in the morning. So Subaru settles for craning his head and the angle is awkward, smoothing his mouth over whatever skin he can find, Kamui’s hand tightening against his, his thrusts no longer as drawn out but faster now, as if trying to claw inward. Subaru wants that, wonders if it were to happen, if they’d be whole, if he could find in Kamui the pieces of himself he lost, and as much as he hates the selfishness of that thought, something in him loves it, too. There’s no justification he can give for how something in him clenches up as those kiss-plumped lips brush his ear, whispering, knowing he needs those words even as he isn’t sure he can say them back. ’I love you.’ This Kamui says, has always said, without restraint, without asking anything of him after that first time, the question in the air stretching between them. Now he simply speaks as if of a truth he knows deeply, longing and pained, torn from somewhere deep within. There’s no reason why it makes Subaru break apart to hear it, groaning as his muscles start to protest, the slow fires of climax starting now, from cell to muscle, his body caught in a fiery tremor it can’t escape, Kamui’s breath in his ear hard and fast, the hand around his tightening and then – They fall together, warmth spiraling outward, Kamui slumping against him as he comes, face hidden against Subaru’s face and throat, Subaru himself whimpering against the fierce heat, the scalding wetness brushing his stomach and seeping into the covers between them. He can’t move, even if he wants to and he won’t, content with this, with Kamui’s arms, the tremble of unsteady muscles seeming to strain even now. And for a moment he lets himself feel – lets himself forget all the reasons why there’s no justification for any of these acts, why he shouldn’t do this, why he shouldn’t touch this boy – man. Seishirou shaped him and then broke him from the inside out and he fears -- fears that happening here, of killing the one spirit he can’t banish, not with all his power. Better to strangle Kamui here and now with that, to take that heart that beats so strongly against his own and silence it. This is how Subaru knows he’s damned, feeling nothing and then here, in this place, in this space and with this person, everything, whole worlds that could be, that could always be if he’d just open his arms for them. But he can’t speak, can’t dig for truths that might be if he looked, too afraid of the cost, of what it will do and mean, living in shadows and craving the blinding heat of the sun. And there’s no justification for that, none at all. ***End return to splash page