Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation. Maki Murakami does.
A/N: This is a drabble prequel of sorts to a promised fic for Kaname-luvr. I've been trying to fit too much into the original work, but I still wanted something else in there, so … here. :)
Rating: M for dark thoughts and sexual situations.
Snow fell from the sky like floating bundles of cotton, lighting up beautifully under the glare of the myriad of street lamps that littered the sidewalks, dancing as they made their way to the ground. It was not an ugly winter, or one that foreshadowed months of freeze-induced gloom -- rather the kind that enveloped fairytales and brought stars to children's' eyes. Powdered already atop the grass, a blanket of purity on an otherwise dirty street, it gave the illusion of perfection. Gave people hope that life was not as cruel as they believed it to be.
From his balcony, the blonde-haired writer flinched viciously at the phantom voice that assaulted his mind, tearing golden eyes away from the awing scene before him. Pale piano-finger hands tightened violently on the concrete railing as Eiri bent to assuage the attack. Go away, damn it, go away.
(I love you, Eiri.)
"Please." He never begged, not to anyone else. But the crooning voice of gentle whisper, a voice that had always warmed him, a voice that haunted him. Eiri would always beg. "Please..."
(I would love to be with you on next week's night. You always did love Christmas, didn't you?)
"Go away, Yuki," Eiri pleaded softly. "Leave me alone."
(Now? Here? Why would I do that to you?)
"Yuki?" Eiri started at the whispered voice; a voice calling the name of his demon; a voice that wasn't his. By habit the scowl was already on his face as he whirled around to see his younger lover standing just inside the balcony doorway, small form shivering slightly against the chill as jewel-colored eyes stared soulfully into his. "Are you alright?"
"…Hn." A noncommittal grunt escaped his throat, and he flashed the other man a warning glare before turning forward once more. Laughter erupted from below almost instantly; children rolling around in the quickly-gathering white powder, tossing tightly packed balls of it at each other a screeching with delight as they exploded. He watched them silently, wondering how they could take such pleasure in something so cold, so dangerous …
"I was afraid it wouldn't snow in time for Christmas this year." A strong warmth by his side – Shuichi had not taken his warning even slightly seriously; pressed up against his arm as he, too, watched the playing children, a happy smile on his face. "First snowfall, a week before Christmas." There was a tinge of awe in his voice that made Eiri's gut clench. "Do you like the snow, Yuki?"
(I remember you in the snow.)
"No." And he flinched away from the wall, pulling himself from the vision of snow and back into his living room, groaning softly as he relished the dimly-lit surroundings. Away from the snow.
(But not away from me, little one.) Kitazawa's voice was a whisper in his ear. (Especially not when it snows.)
"Yuki?" Shuichi. Concerned again? "Are you sure you're alright? Do you have a headache? Is it your chest?" A warm hand traveling up his arm, naïve, innocent fingers clutching at his skin just enough to be grounding. The writer's body trembled at the movement, at the physical contact where phantom breaths had already traveled. Viciously, heated amber eyes tore away from the space they had stared at to slam onto the small figure he had claimed as his own. Shuichi reacted to the look instantly, a little shyly, fingers slowly dragging themselves forwards and back; soothing, tantalizing. Real.
(I'm not fake, Eiri. I'm real. I'm here, with you. Always with you.)
"Hey." Shuichi's voice, soft, gentle. A growl tore from Eiri's throat, and without warning he crashed his mouth onto the teenager's, nipping harshly at the soft lips that greeted his own. Bringing his own hands up to wrap around slim shoulders, grinding forward almost violently. Cold satisfaction raced through him as the singer arched forward with a small mewl, but an exceeding desire for more … for warmth … urged him for more.
(What are you even doing with him, Eiri? Do you think he can make you forget about me?)
"Now," Shuichi murmured feverishly against him, just barely louder than Kitazawa's voice. Eiri pushed them to the floor.
(Look at you. My beautiful Eiri. I have always longed to see you like this.)
Shaking his head, Eiri took no time. He was not gentle, or careful, or considerate. Each move was violent and uneasy, franticly tight with promises of pain and bruises. His lover writhed beneath him, arching and bucking and meeting his movements with the perfect desperation Eiri's body yearned for. He paid no attention to the sounds being made, just kept moving – running.
(I'm not going to leave you, Eiri. I promised you that night, didn't I?) Eiri's eyes burned as he latched his mouth onto Shuichi's neck, biting hard, but not hearing the answering cry. (I promised I would be right there, the whole time. I don't break my promises, little one. I'm still here.)
"Stop, please." The words escaped his mouth at the same time Shuichi muttered something else, and suddenly a sharp wave of vicious warmth enveloped his body. His lips twisted with his lover's once more, just as violent as before, just as needy, as the heat overtook them both.
"Yuki," Shuichi gasped, and Eiri froze.
(He can't keep you from me,) Kitazawa taunted gently as the writer slowly pulled away, eyes fearful and wild as they stare at the pink-haired form.
(I won't stay in your closet forever, Eiri.)
Shuichi watched quietly as his older lover shivered in his sleep. It had taken some urging to get the blond from the floor to the bed, complicated by the constant jerks and recoils whenever he got too near. There had been something in Yuki's eyes that the teenager had only seen echoes of before, something that had only grown since the moment on the balcony. Something … troubled. Horrifying. Haunted. Shifting and jumpy as though someone else was there.
And the way he had just stared after Shuichi had said his name …
Gently, he smoothed dampened bangs from a pale forehead, and pressed a swift, stolen kiss to the cooled skin.
"I love you," he whispered quietly, and lowered himself back down to the pillows.
Not noticing the tear that slipped from Yuki's closed eye.
Please let me know what you thought? :)
Side note: When in Shuichi's POV, Eiri is "Yuki", as is … his way. Thus, he is also "Yuki" to Hiro, because it is through Shuichi that Hiro knows him.
To everyone else, Eiri is Eiri, not only through Touma, but also because I like to think that everyone else knew Eiri before the Kitazawa attack. Makes me happy. (: