K+FxK?... Tsubasa one-shot with WoD elements
Halloween Special
Fuuma and... two Kamui?
So it's more than a month late. I blame school.
I don't know what genre this is. Strange is what it is.
It's mostly Tsubasa, but the second Kamui is a Toreador from the World of Darkness, or the vampire section of it. Toreador are artistic vampires with ADD. They much like pretty things.
Toreador!Kamui vs. Tsubasa!Kamui
Over
Tsubasa!Fuuma
Fuuma could tell there was something wrong but he couldn’t quite figure out what as he fell into this Kamui’s eyes. After all, Kamui was pretty but he wasn’t so pretty Fuuma had lost his wits, before. Now the hunter couldn’t help himself as he stepped forward into the alley, guided by glowing amethysts toward a lithe body he so desired to hold. Coming upon the other, though it would have been incredibly foolish had this been a Kamui he was more familiar with, it felt natural to wrap his strong arms around the small waist and lean his head down to press his lips against the impossibly soft ones that belonged to a body he knew but a soul he did not.
His thoughts left him as the gentle sensations took over and he no longer took notice of the happenings around him. The Kamui before him must have bewitched him, somehow, but all the technical mechanisms he could have thought up did not come to mind as he fell into this beautiful creature’s violet eyes…
This Kamui was a Toreador vampire and fancied handsome food such as this youthful man before him. He took great joy in how easily he could trap his prey and even greater joy in how good a kisser he was though half-unaware of his surroundings. But it had taken him almost all night to locate this fine specimen of the human species and so he reluctantly admitted to himself that he must end this quickly. With a disappointed sigh, he left the demanding lips of his meal and extended the fangs he needed for puncturing skin, moving along to the man’s neck.
But just then a voice rang out from the alley’s entrance. “Release him!” it demanded. The Toreador looked up, never having gotten to puncture the skin, and saw himself.
“Who are you?” Kamui the artistic vampire asked, “You look like me.”
But the other Kamui did not say, “I told you to release him. Now.”
The Toreador took a moment to think about the pros and cons of consenting. It would be fascinating to talk to this double of himself, but he needed to feed tonight and it was rare to find such a delicacy as the man before him… He chose to wrap his arms securely about Fuuma’s neck and squeeze gently, “No. I don’t think I want to.”
The Kamui on the sidewalk came forward, footfalls seeming heavy and powerful despite their silence and grace, “It is not up to you.” He gripped Fuuma’s upper arm around the bicep and pulled, yanking him away from this double’s grip and throwing the hunter to the side. With the Toreador completely exposed, Kamui threw his arm forward and wrapped his hand around the other’s neck, then squeezed.
The Toreador was not unused to fighting. He had to deal with werewolves, after all, and so knew exactly how to break this grip. He brought a hand up and placed it over the second Kamui’s hand, working his fingers around the smallest finger, and then pulled backwards and upwards, peeling it off his own neck. Once the hand was free, this Kamui turned it over and, with both hands securely wrapped around it, pressed the palm into his wrist, forcing the other to bend over in a painful wrist joint lock.
But the new coming Kamui was not to be undone by his own wrist. The nails of his free hand grew long, dark and sharp like claws, and he swung that hand around to scratch at the other’s face. If not for their impressive length, they might not have reached, but they were just long enough and so the nails dug deep into the flesh at the side of the first Kamui’s face.
And the Toreador let go in shock.
His hand coming up to cover the deep gashes, the artist by rebirth cried, “You ruined my face! How could you?!”
The second Kamui, standing up straight after the painful position the lock had set him in, replied simply, “Easily.”
The Toreador could not believe it, “But I look like you. It’s ruining your own face!”
To this the other stood silent a long time, his own way of showing disbelief. In the end he said, “You look nothing like me.”
So the Toreador, insulted beyond belief, lunged at him.
Kamui, prepared, spun to the side and threw out his arms in a soft block at the same time, connecting his hands with the other’s arm and sliding them quickly to the wrist to get a good grip. Letting go with the near arm as the other’s momentum dies, Kamui wrapped it securely around the trapped limb and grabbed his own collar, creating a shelf for the trapped arm and a fulcrum for the joint lock he was now in. But this Kamui took no mercy in his hold, using it not for the intention of halting, but rather of disabling, and so he pulled downward quickly on the wrist and broke the elbow in the lock.
Completely defeated, the first Kamui slid his arm out of the hold and cradled it to his chest, whining pitifully, “What have you done? My arm! This will take hours to heal!”
The second Kamui stared coldly at the first, the perfect image of uncaring. “You are a weak excuse of a vampire,” He said, “Leave.”
Doing as he was told, glaring the whole way, the Toreador left.
And Fuuma, back to his senses, stepped back onto the stage and, smiling, approached Kamui, “You saved me.”
Smiling, of course, because this was the Kamui whose soul he did know: intimately, if not lovingly.
But Kamui responded in a tone equally cold to the one he used with the other of his self, “Not for you.”
“Then for who?” Fuuma asked, amused by the game such a vague answer began, “Who cares about my well being except myself and possibly my brother?”
“Yuuko.”
“You would do no favors for that witch.” No offense to Yuuko, of course.
Kamui gave Fuuma a look, “Who says it wasn’t payment for something?” he asked.
“Was it?” Fuuma inquired simply.
“Maybe.”
“For what?” He then asked, pushing forward simply for the joy of irritating the vampire, “What am I worth?”
“That’s none of your business,” Kamui replies, pushing past Fuuma who is obviously fine, now, and making his way out of the alley. “How did you get caught up in this, anyway?”
Fuuma followed, of course, but he also gave serious thought and an honest answer to Kamui’s question, “I don’t know. One moment I was tracking an item, the next I was kissing you.”
Kamui paused. He didn’t want to admit it, in his head or out loud, but pretending never made anything go away. He was blushing. “You’re an idiot.” And he kept walking.
Fuuma trailed, a slight bounce to his step, never failing to notice when color tinged those cheeks, “And you saved me.”
“Forget it,” Kamui said over his shoulder, preferring not to turn his head should he reveal the color before it drained away.
“No,” Fuuma declared, without any command in his voice but still oh, so final; and he took Kamui’s hand, pulling on it and forcing the vampire to turn around and face him.
Kamui tore it away.
“Thank you,” was all Fuuma said.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I’m mentioning it.”
“Well stop it.”
Fuuma grinned, “This is me, mentioning that you saved me.”
Kamui glared, teeth barred, “Shut up, Fuuma!”
The grin spread, “Make me. Just try it.”
With that, Kamui glued his fingers together on one hand and used it like a spear with five knives on the end, aiming for Fuuma’s mouth.
Unfortunately for the vampire, the hunter had been expecting this and swayed to the side, taking hold of Kamui’s wrist, but neglecting to move back with the vampire’s momentum as he came forward.
They collided.
Falling quickly and backwards into the wall of the building behind them, Fuuma wrapped his free arm securely around Kamui’s waist as if to steady him, and the vampire braced his free arm against the wall on the other side of Fuuma. The joined hand and spear slid upwards against the wall, but remained together above them.
There was a long pause.
A long, very awkward pause.
Fuuma spoke first.
“Well.”
But Kamui cut him off quickly, “Will you shut up, now?”
And it only made Fuuma grin, again, “Not a chance,” He replied, “It’ll take more than a near-miss of my mouth to make it stop moving.”
So Kamui leaned up in the next moment and viciously bit Fuuma’s bottom lip.
There was another pause; this one less awkward, filled mostly by Fuuma’s blinking. Several times. Kamui, appropriately, looked off to the side, the only place in his line of vision Fuuma wasn’t. Then let go.
Still refusing to look at the hunter, he spoke, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Without missing a beat, Fuuma replied, “It was a great idea. But for the wrong reason.”
Confused, the vampire returned his gaze to the hunter and lifted an eyebrow, “Wha-?” just in time to be cut off.
By Fuuma’s lips as the hunter swooped down and kissed him.
This wasn’t a pause. This was a moment. A long moment, filled with oppressed passions and urgent lips, pressed together insistently in a way that implied by itself that if they were anywhere else, their mouths would be open.
And then they broke.
Time passed as they caught their breaths, each reluctant to end the silence that wasn’t awkward and wondering, really, what there was left to say.
Kamui took the cue.
“I see your point.”
Fuuma and... two Kamui?
So it's more than a month late. I blame school.
I don't know what genre this is. Strange is what it is.
It's mostly Tsubasa, but the second Kamui is a Toreador from the World of Darkness, or the vampire section of it. Toreador are artistic vampires with ADD. They much like pretty things.
Toreador!Kamui vs. Tsubasa!Kamui
Over
Tsubasa!Fuuma
Fuuma could tell there was something wrong but he couldn’t quite figure out what as he fell into this Kamui’s eyes. After all, Kamui was pretty but he wasn’t so pretty Fuuma had lost his wits, before. Now the hunter couldn’t help himself as he stepped forward into the alley, guided by glowing amethysts toward a lithe body he so desired to hold. Coming upon the other, though it would have been incredibly foolish had this been a Kamui he was more familiar with, it felt natural to wrap his strong arms around the small waist and lean his head down to press his lips against the impossibly soft ones that belonged to a body he knew but a soul he did not.
His thoughts left him as the gentle sensations took over and he no longer took notice of the happenings around him. The Kamui before him must have bewitched him, somehow, but all the technical mechanisms he could have thought up did not come to mind as he fell into this beautiful creature’s violet eyes…
This Kamui was a Toreador vampire and fancied handsome food such as this youthful man before him. He took great joy in how easily he could trap his prey and even greater joy in how good a kisser he was though half-unaware of his surroundings. But it had taken him almost all night to locate this fine specimen of the human species and so he reluctantly admitted to himself that he must end this quickly. With a disappointed sigh, he left the demanding lips of his meal and extended the fangs he needed for puncturing skin, moving along to the man’s neck.
But just then a voice rang out from the alley’s entrance. “Release him!” it demanded. The Toreador looked up, never having gotten to puncture the skin, and saw himself.
“Who are you?” Kamui the artistic vampire asked, “You look like me.”
But the other Kamui did not say, “I told you to release him. Now.”
The Toreador took a moment to think about the pros and cons of consenting. It would be fascinating to talk to this double of himself, but he needed to feed tonight and it was rare to find such a delicacy as the man before him… He chose to wrap his arms securely about Fuuma’s neck and squeeze gently, “No. I don’t think I want to.”
The Kamui on the sidewalk came forward, footfalls seeming heavy and powerful despite their silence and grace, “It is not up to you.” He gripped Fuuma’s upper arm around the bicep and pulled, yanking him away from this double’s grip and throwing the hunter to the side. With the Toreador completely exposed, Kamui threw his arm forward and wrapped his hand around the other’s neck, then squeezed.
The Toreador was not unused to fighting. He had to deal with werewolves, after all, and so knew exactly how to break this grip. He brought a hand up and placed it over the second Kamui’s hand, working his fingers around the smallest finger, and then pulled backwards and upwards, peeling it off his own neck. Once the hand was free, this Kamui turned it over and, with both hands securely wrapped around it, pressed the palm into his wrist, forcing the other to bend over in a painful wrist joint lock.
But the new coming Kamui was not to be undone by his own wrist. The nails of his free hand grew long, dark and sharp like claws, and he swung that hand around to scratch at the other’s face. If not for their impressive length, they might not have reached, but they were just long enough and so the nails dug deep into the flesh at the side of the first Kamui’s face.
And the Toreador let go in shock.
His hand coming up to cover the deep gashes, the artist by rebirth cried, “You ruined my face! How could you?!”
The second Kamui, standing up straight after the painful position the lock had set him in, replied simply, “Easily.”
The Toreador could not believe it, “But I look like you. It’s ruining your own face!”
To this the other stood silent a long time, his own way of showing disbelief. In the end he said, “You look nothing like me.”
So the Toreador, insulted beyond belief, lunged at him.
Kamui, prepared, spun to the side and threw out his arms in a soft block at the same time, connecting his hands with the other’s arm and sliding them quickly to the wrist to get a good grip. Letting go with the near arm as the other’s momentum dies, Kamui wrapped it securely around the trapped limb and grabbed his own collar, creating a shelf for the trapped arm and a fulcrum for the joint lock he was now in. But this Kamui took no mercy in his hold, using it not for the intention of halting, but rather of disabling, and so he pulled downward quickly on the wrist and broke the elbow in the lock.
Completely defeated, the first Kamui slid his arm out of the hold and cradled it to his chest, whining pitifully, “What have you done? My arm! This will take hours to heal!”
The second Kamui stared coldly at the first, the perfect image of uncaring. “You are a weak excuse of a vampire,” He said, “Leave.”
Doing as he was told, glaring the whole way, the Toreador left.
And Fuuma, back to his senses, stepped back onto the stage and, smiling, approached Kamui, “You saved me.”
Smiling, of course, because this was the Kamui whose soul he did know: intimately, if not lovingly.
But Kamui responded in a tone equally cold to the one he used with the other of his self, “Not for you.”
“Then for who?” Fuuma asked, amused by the game such a vague answer began, “Who cares about my well being except myself and possibly my brother?”
“Yuuko.”
“You would do no favors for that witch.” No offense to Yuuko, of course.
Kamui gave Fuuma a look, “Who says it wasn’t payment for something?” he asked.
“Was it?” Fuuma inquired simply.
“Maybe.”
“For what?” He then asked, pushing forward simply for the joy of irritating the vampire, “What am I worth?”
“That’s none of your business,” Kamui replies, pushing past Fuuma who is obviously fine, now, and making his way out of the alley. “How did you get caught up in this, anyway?”
Fuuma followed, of course, but he also gave serious thought and an honest answer to Kamui’s question, “I don’t know. One moment I was tracking an item, the next I was kissing you.”
Kamui paused. He didn’t want to admit it, in his head or out loud, but pretending never made anything go away. He was blushing. “You’re an idiot.” And he kept walking.
Fuuma trailed, a slight bounce to his step, never failing to notice when color tinged those cheeks, “And you saved me.”
“Forget it,” Kamui said over his shoulder, preferring not to turn his head should he reveal the color before it drained away.
“No,” Fuuma declared, without any command in his voice but still oh, so final; and he took Kamui’s hand, pulling on it and forcing the vampire to turn around and face him.
Kamui tore it away.
“Thank you,” was all Fuuma said.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I’m mentioning it.”
“Well stop it.”
Fuuma grinned, “This is me, mentioning that you saved me.”
Kamui glared, teeth barred, “Shut up, Fuuma!”
The grin spread, “Make me. Just try it.”
With that, Kamui glued his fingers together on one hand and used it like a spear with five knives on the end, aiming for Fuuma’s mouth.
Unfortunately for the vampire, the hunter had been expecting this and swayed to the side, taking hold of Kamui’s wrist, but neglecting to move back with the vampire’s momentum as he came forward.
They collided.
Falling quickly and backwards into the wall of the building behind them, Fuuma wrapped his free arm securely around Kamui’s waist as if to steady him, and the vampire braced his free arm against the wall on the other side of Fuuma. The joined hand and spear slid upwards against the wall, but remained together above them.
There was a long pause.
A long, very awkward pause.
Fuuma spoke first.
“Well.”
But Kamui cut him off quickly, “Will you shut up, now?”
And it only made Fuuma grin, again, “Not a chance,” He replied, “It’ll take more than a near-miss of my mouth to make it stop moving.”
So Kamui leaned up in the next moment and viciously bit Fuuma’s bottom lip.
There was another pause; this one less awkward, filled mostly by Fuuma’s blinking. Several times. Kamui, appropriately, looked off to the side, the only place in his line of vision Fuuma wasn’t. Then let go.
Still refusing to look at the hunter, he spoke, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Without missing a beat, Fuuma replied, “It was a great idea. But for the wrong reason.”
Confused, the vampire returned his gaze to the hunter and lifted an eyebrow, “Wha-?” just in time to be cut off.
By Fuuma’s lips as the hunter swooped down and kissed him.
This wasn’t a pause. This was a moment. A long moment, filled with oppressed passions and urgent lips, pressed together insistently in a way that implied by itself that if they were anywhere else, their mouths would be open.
And then they broke.
Time passed as they caught their breaths, each reluctant to end the silence that wasn’t awkward and wondering, really, what there was left to say.
Kamui took the cue.
“I see your point.”