A/N: Some time ago I was visited by the eerie thought that Seishirou and Muraki would be a wonderful pair. And so I've finally written this long-overdue fic, which proved me right. They are awesome together. (More than I expected even.)
Warnings: I don't know what this is.
But it's not worksafe.
Disclaimer: X is the creation and property of CLAMP and Yami no Matsuei is the creation and property of Yoko Matsushita (and all associated companies). Please support the authors by buying their works. This work is in no way associated with any of them and no profit is being made from this story. All the creative rights to the characters depicted herein belong to their original creators.
The moon was blazing blood-red overhead, its light falling through the sakura branches and playing eerie shadows on the ground and the falling petals that covered it, creating a weak ambient light. A light breeze rustled his clothes and whispered in the branches above. Muraki sighed watching his intended victim running away: they always looked most beautiful when terrified to the depths of their very soul. Slowly, though, he turned his attention elsewhere; up towards the obstacle that had stopped him in his kill and disarmed him quickly and effectively. The knife was on the ground, partially covered by the fallen blossoms; out of his reach and hungry for blood still, as not even a drop had fallen yet.
Predators, Muraki mused even as he inspected the binds holding him in place, seemed to be the most vulnerable during their attack, for it was a moment when all their concentration was directed at their prey and their prey only. There was no other explanation how he could have gotten caught in such a ridiculous way during the very moment when he was strongest. He frowned. The binding wasn't going to yield and as much as he didn't want to use his summons in order to not draw attention from his obnoxious shinigami acquaintances, it seemed the only option right now. His head jerked up suddenly.
Somebody was here now. Somebody who had managed to conceal his presence from him, which was a feat in of itself, and Muraki turned his head to see a man dressed in black standing just a few steps away, hands tucked in his pockets.
"A lovely night tonight, isn't it?" Seishirou said, smiling, and only one his eye lit up.
"It most notably is," Muraki replied with the same, not falling behind even in expression despite his rather odd position.
"What were you trying to do to the young lady, I wonder?" And as Seishirou said this, his eyes rested on the knife glinting on the ground. Wind glided over the ground, disturbing the fallen petals and creating interesting designs on the blade.
Muraki's smile didn't disappear even for a second. He could smell magic where magic was due. "Would that really be any of your concern?"
"It most notably is." And there was steel in Seishirou's voice.
"I do not take lightly to intrusions in my territory."
And as if responding to him, the binds around Muraki's arms wound tighter and blossomed suddenly, revealing themselves for what they were - sakura branches.
"Territory," Muraki said it as if testing and tilted his head slightly to one side. "Then you can hazard a guess at my intentions."
Seishirou walked forward as tree roots suddenly rose from the ground and snaked their way around Muraki's legs, holding him fast. Seishirou picked up the knife and ran a finger along its edge, testing its sharpness. It cut his skin with unexpected ease so that he had to withhold a compliment on his concurrent's tools of the trade. He chose to slip the knife into his pocket. It would come in handy at some point.
"I thought something was wrong with the moon tonight. Who would have thought..." His voice trailed off, as he leaned in close to Muraki's face. Scent of decay and sakura mixed and became indistinguishable.
Muraki watched him through half-lidded eyes, wondering if truly another murderer could do him in. This man at least appeared to be on par with him and any turn this situation took would no doubt lead to something interesting.
At this point Muraki realised something, having noticed it out of the corner of his eye. The pale glow wasn't just a reflection of the moonlight; this sakura was emanating a light of its own. Each fallen petal on the ground gave forth a gentle rosy light, and so did the ones above, encasing everything under the magnificent tree in a breathtaking glow.
"I thought something was up with this sakura tree. The late bloomers are not usually so magnificent."
"Indeed," Seishirou whispered and leaned over him, a cold smile on his lips. The tree reacted seamlessly and without a command pulled the branches tighter, drawing the body in its trap closer. Muraki groaned silently, his body being bent at an angle no human body was ever supposed to bend in.
"I'll have to thank you for the compliment."
Muraki quirked an eyebrow at this. His gaze, however, attempted to follow Seishirou's hand as it slipped under his shirt to wander over his chest.
"I have been taking exceptional care of it, feeding it with only the best."
"Feeding it." Muraki wanted to laugh and that's exactly what he did. He threw his head back (as much as he could) and laughed the same way he had laughed when Saki was being dug up from his cold grave. "I believe then that it is a moot point to ask..." His breath hitched slightly because Seishirou twisted his nipple, hard. "...you why the sakura blossoms are pink."
It might have been the first time that night when Seishirou flashed his teeth in a wicked grin that he had only showed a few times in his life, during the kills that had been most exciting. His hand withdrew from Muraki's chest and he used both his hands to lean against the trunk of the sakura, its bark rough against his palms, hovering above the other man like no one else had in his life. He leaned in to his ear, nuzzling gently at first, then adding a tentative lick at the curve of his ear.
"I am the reason why they are pink," he whispered sensuously, the entire length of his body pressed against Muraki's and he wasn't all that surprised to find the other man aroused, or to feel that tiny twitch that passed through the other's body at his words. Seishirou shifted his weight a little and used one his hand to lightly trace the side of his rival's face, and neck, and a springy sakura branch wound around his neck, following Seishirou's finger. It was already blossoming, so ethereally gentle and at the same time suffocatingly strong that Muraki decided to postpone his summons. He was now quite interested in how far the man in all black would take this. If he would care for trivia, he would have reflected on their starkly contrasting attires that set them apart like day and night, though really they were both the same. And it was proved by the actions of the other.
"Though I regret to inform you that you are not my type."
The world was receding and Muraki could feel it shift - the reality into the illusory. A convenient power, he noted quite dryly, though he was currently more interested in whatever his adversary's hands were doing under his clothes.
"Likewise," Muraki countered smoothly with a polite smile. If his constant expression unnerved the other man, he didn't let it show.
Seishirou didn't seem to have heard that. While his mouth was on Muraki's neck, licking, sucking and kissing around the thin branches that started blossoming more and more wildly by the second, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. He stopped what he was doing for a moment and regarded Muraki with an unreadable expression.
"Though the tree seems to have taken a liking to you."
Was that regret in his voice?
Muraki glanced up at the sakura towering over the both of them. It seemed to stretch up into eternity from the position he was currently in. Loose petals floated down and settled on him. The scent was overwhelming. Suffocating.
"How interesting. So it has a mind of its own?"
"Should you really be worrying about that?" Seishirou asked with a smirk, his hands running along Muraki's torso, exploring, teasing and taunting the other man. He wondered if he could make him beg, briefly, but this wasn't his usual game. Therefore, he pulled himself back slightly for one last glance and drew back his hand for a powerful strike. His beloved sakura would enjoy this man's blood and afterwards he would go after the girl who had escaped because of his interference just moments ago. No one else was allowed to kill under this tree but the Sakurazukamori.
"Goodbye," he whispered.
Heat filled the area around them, and flames soared high, singing everything in their path. A deafening roar tore through the air. Seishirou barely managed to dodge. When he regained his footing, his clothes smoking and his hand covered in burns, he beheld a terrific scene. The cherry branches were writhing around his prey, all set ablaze, and they were untangling themselves from him, falling away one by one, all charred and burnt to the core. The entire tree was equally in flames and for a moment it seemed to Seishirou as if it was screaming, and his chest hurt. A large dragon-like creature reared its three heads from the other side of the cherry tree and one of them was chomping away on a large branch.
"Now then." Muraki stepped forth with a pleasant smile on his face and steel in his eyes. "The night is too young to be saying goodbyes already."
The red glare from the moon and the blazing flames overwhelmed the soft light of the sakura and though Seishirou had his shikigami and ofuda to call forth, this man blocked them all and countered them with binding spells, and when it seemed that Seishirou could get a break in, something whistled through the air and a thin wire wrapped around his throat, cutting skin. Seishirou tried slashing at it, but to no avail; it held fast and cut in even deeper, new threads joining the first.
"It is useless," Muraki noted with a certain hint of pride. "These wires are unbreakable." And with a single wave of his hand even more wires appeared, criss-crossing through the air. As a final touch, a binding seal tied Seishirou to where he stood. Behind Muraki's back flames billowed and the sakura tree writhed, even as the summoned creature disappeared.
"Let me repay you now your hospitality." And Muraki casually leaned against the seal area with his palms. White feathers suddenly fluttered and they were already bending dimensions: out of Seishirou's illusion and out of the park, toward a place where Muraki could go all out.
They ended up in an old abandoned church where Muraki tied Seishirou to a column, much like he had tied Hisoka to a slab of stone. Only this time he chose to keep the seal in place as an extra precaution. He was, after all, dealing with a powerful onmyouji here.
"I am inclined to turn you into a masterpiece," he announced, reclaiming his knife from Seishirou's pocket and placing it back where it belonged. "Though first things first."
He leaned in close to Seishirou's face, then moved down to lick off the blood from the cuts on his neck, making it a sensuous ordeal. Slowly, he traced along each wire, lightly sucking and leaving firm kisses on the cuts while his hands worked at Seishirou's shirt. Or rather - through his shirt, rubbing, pinching, and twisting his nipples. He worked quite thoroughly, making sure that his partner of choice would live through the entire spectrum of feelings. Of course, he didn't concern himself with making the other feel good; it wasn't necessary. And once he set to removing the other's trousers, Seishirou managed to speak.
Muraki hummed low in his throat and eyed his lovely prey. The expression in his eyes was unmistakable.
"You would prefer even terms, I see. However..." And his hands slipped beyond the waistband and found their target. His strokes were rough, his pace merciless, and if the way Seishirou reacted to this was any sign, there was no need to being anything less. "That is not how I operate."
Seishirou groaned and drew back, trying to loosen the wires around his neck, but it didn't work. The more he moved, the tighter they pulled, and the way Muraki worked him, not reacting was impossible. He couldn't help his body arching when he finally came and this movement made him strain against the wires. They cut in too deep and this world lost him for a moment.
When Seishirou came to again, he found himself lying on a laboratory table in a dimly lit basement room. A quick check told him that he was strapped down, but his neck appeared to be properly treated and bandaged, though it hurt quite a bit. But it wasn't an unwelcome pain. A quick check told him that he still had his ofuda. A mistake on his captor's part.
"Your beloved tree should be fine if you feed it a little."
Seishirou's head turned to the side and his gaze landed on the fellow doctor, and he saw a partially charred sakura branch in his hands. He was twirling it casually and there was an eerie glint in his eyes as he snapped it in two and tossed it aside.
Muraki stood up. "Shall we move on to the second part?"
A streak of red light snapped the cuffs and Seishirou was free again. "Gladly," he rasped, voice still somewhat lost.
Muraki laughed light-heartedly and produced an ofuda of his own. Sometimes the little tricks the shinigami used could be handy. Seishirou managed a sneer as he quickly scanned the room, not detecting any set traps or spells. So it was going to be black versus white, although the white was just as black. And then the fight was on, spells flying and wires singing through the air. The basement room soon was destroyed and they moved up through the rubble and into the same church where they had been before.
And there, on the floor near the broken altar they found a union of flesh and blood, forcefully taken, willingly shared.