title: December 10th
fandom: Yami no Matseui
characters/pairings: Muraki/Oriya
rating: G/Teen
warnings: bloodplay
summary: The meaning of safety
notes: for my beloved aisoku, for his prompt for my advent ficalendar. *loves my aisoku so*

"You're safe now," a voice said. Cool, lean fingers brushed through his hair. He knew it was true. It was true. He felt it. He opened his eyes slowly... He was looking into grey eyes. Wait. "You're awake, finally."

This was... this was that guy... from class. Beautiful skin, haughty manners, silvery hair... Oriya tried to sit up, but... Muraki, that was his name, Oriya actually remembered it because he was the only person in class who didn't suck up to him because he was a Mibu, Muraki pushed him back down again.

"Rest for a bit. You took a bit of a beating."

"What the hell happened?" Oriya sighed. "All I remember is... I was talking to some guy... Short, nerdy kid, he was asking me about some form or something..."

Muraki rolled his eyes. "Three guys from class ganged up on you. They wanted to smash up your face so all the girls would stop falling for you."

Oriya covered his eyes with his arm. "Idiots. Why does everyone our age have to be such an idiot? So... what, you just happened to be walking by and decided to play hero or something?"

Muraki chuckled, and brushed his fingers through Oriya's hair. Oriya looked up at him hesitatingly, still shielding his face partially from Muraki. "Like I would. But it seems a shame to damage something beautiful." A cold finger caressed his cheek, and Oriya's eyes widened. "You're like a doll. So pretty."

Oriya felt his stomach flip. Wait, was this guy...? And who was he calling a doll, his face was more porcelain than Oriya's! "A doll, huh?" Oriya sat up, pushing away Muraki's hands. His head swam, and he put his face in his hand. "Is that a compliment?"

"People don't collect dolls because they're ugly," Muraki said offhandedly.

Oriya looked the guy in the eye. Was he making fun of him or...? "You're just looking for trouble. If I take offense, you know, it's not a minor thing. Are you sure you can handle it?"

Muraki leaned back on his hands, grinning, and he licked his lips. "Are you asking me if I can handle you? Why don't we find out?"

He was actually blushing. He didn't even think he could.

This Muraki... he was definitely trouble. Oriya grinned, and tossed his hair back over his shoulder. "Fine, then, but you'll be the one begging for mercy before long."

Muraki stood up, and offered Oriya a hand. Oriya took it, but then Muraki squeezed down painfully on his hand. "That will never happen," Muraki promised.





The sound of the wind chimes was familiar, comforting. He wasn't sure where he was, but he felt...

"You're safe," a familiar voice informed him. Of course he was, he thought, but he couldn't organize his thoughts into an orderly pattern. He felt parched. He didn't want to open his eyes.

Strong, long fingers brushed over his face, and pushed his hair back. His eye... Well. He opened them both, and looked up at Oriya. The man's yukata was falling gracefully off his shoulder; Muraki had either pulled him out of his own or someone else's bed. Since this was his brothel, it was probably his own.

He'd have to make it up to Oriya later, when he had the strength to tie Oriya down.

"You're becoming more reckless. I suppose you know that you're bartering with your humanity." Oriya frowned slightly, looking into Muraki's eye... the one that wasn't really his, but it was now. "There were police asking questions. You're getting sloppy, on top of everything else. Ritualistic homicide is a sore subject for some. I hope you realize you're tempting greater powers than the local constabulary with what you're doing?"

Muraki smiled viciously. "Bring them on," he hoarsely whispered. Hm. That wasn't good.

Oriya sighed, and tossed his hair back. "You're a lot of work. Well, as long as they are earthly powers, I can take care of it. As for the unearthly powers... you should be safe here, anyway."

That was a given, and hardly needed to be said. He was always safe with Oriya.

Though it ached, he reached up, and touched Oriya's lips. He wanted Oriya's blood. That would slake his thirst, right?

"What are you thinking, Kazutaka?" Oriya sighed. He leaned down, and long trails of Oriya's hair tickled Muraki's skin. Ah, right, he would be naked... can't be put to bed covered in blood. Oriya was moving closer and closer. Muraki grabbed onto his hair so he wouldn't be able to move away. Oriya put his lips on Muraki's, and Muraki bit down on his bottom lip. Oriya tried to pull back, yelping in pain, but Muraki had him in place. He suckled on the droplets of blood that welled up.

He looked into Oriya's eyes, and watched the pain and shock melt away into acceptance. He grinned, and pulled Oriya all the way down, turning them over so he was pinning Oriya down into the mattress.

"I need you," he lied, his voice still scratchy.

Oriya rolled his eyes. "There's no need to stroke my ego. Just take what you want."

"I always do," Muraki purred, pulling Oriya's yukata open.

Why was it that Oriya's blood seemed to always be just the thing for him?








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