Count Your Blessings. (X/1999, Fuuma/Kamui)
Title: Count Your Blessings.
Fandom: X/1999.
Warnings: None.
Characters/couples: Fuuma/Kamui.
Summary: Fuuma suddenly hates the world that broke his friend like this, that has hurt Kamui enough that even hearing something like that makes him suffer.
Rating: NC17.
Notes: Written for springkink:
- X/1999, Fuuma/Kamui: pre-Fuuma's awakening, so gentle & loving sex - He can't put his finger on it, but Fuuma has an overwhelming feeling of a clock ticking, and a need to make up for lost time.
Count Your Blessings.
Fuuma stays long, long minutes by Kotori's side, after she falls asleep. She had giggled, loud and unfocused, telling him how fishes were flying out into the sky before she had curled into his arms, humming one of the lullabies their mother used to sang to them and he had been hard pressed not to break down and cry.
Instead, he presses a kiss to her forehead, prays that she gets better and then he makes sure that her windows are closed, that there is nothing that she could harm herself with and he closes the door behind him, half praying.
“...How is she?” Kamui's voice has never been more welcome, never more sought. Fuuma tries to catch his eyes but Kamui keeps on looking down, his whole body tense.
“... she will be fine,” Fuuma tells him, even when the words taste like lies in his mouth. But it's important for him to say that because then it might be true. Then it might be like the things he used to tell her when their mother was killed: sometimes, if you say something enough times, it becomes true.
But Kamui catches the lie and winces, looks down, sad and broken.
“I'm sorry,” Kamui says, curling around himself, his fists tight by his side. “I'm sorry, Fuuma. I shouldn't have...”
“Shouldn't have...?”
“... come back. Or lingered.” Fuuma sees him lick his lips, close around himself even more, nails digging into his own arms. “If I had just taken the shinken, uncle would be alive and Kotori would be okay and--”
“And we would have no idea that you're in danger,” Fuuma interrupts, gently taking Kamui's hands in his. Kamui looks at him, wounded and scared, and Fuuma reaches to touch his face, wishes there was a way in which he could make it better for him, for Kamui to stop looking so hurt. “That would be just as bad.”
“You wouldn't know,” Kamui insists, looking away from his eyes, but at least he doesn't try to pull away.
Carefully, Fuuma places Kamui's hand against his chest, and that is enough for Kamui to look at him with eyes wide open, surprised, his expression scared.
“I'd know it in here. Kamui is one of my important people. I'd definitely know that he's not okay. ”
Kamui's eyes grow soft, and Fuuma suddenly hates the world that broke his friend like this, that has hurt him enough that even hearing something like that makes him suffer. It's enough that he hurts, too, and he thinks that Kotori would understand when he leans forward, brushes a kiss against Kamui's lips.
Kamui's whole body trembles, a shiver that Fuuma feels from the hand that he's still holding to Kamui's slight frame, but he doesn't pull away, and after a few seconds Kamui even kisses back. Fuuma dares to open his eyes and he notices Kamui's eyelashes trembling, a flush to his face, and he presses a bit closer, moves Kamui against the wall, and he lets go of his hand to wrap his arm around him, giving slow kiss after slow kiss.
*
More than anything, he caresses Kamui, presses kisses against his mouth, to his temple, to his brow and Kamui clings to his shoulders. Fuuma wishes there was a way in which he could explain why this is important, but there is something he's missing: he can't put his finger on it, but Fuuma has an overwhelming feeling of a clock ticking, and a need to make up for lost time, the deep urgency to protect Kamui beating fiercely inside his chest.
“Fuuma...” Kamui moans, softly, eyes closed, when Fuuma's hand brushes the front of his trousers, feels the way his body shifts against him as he works open the buttons of his shirt.
Fuuma doesn't know much about this, this slow-but-building-up heat that moved through his body, all the way to the fingertips that are touching Kamui's skin. But he knows enough to know just how to touch Kamui, enough to take care of him, enough to know how to kiss the faint, almost invisible scars that remain on Kamui's body, enough to make Kamui moan his name in a deep breath, clever fingers curled around the nape of his neck.
“Would you let me...?” Fuuma starts softly, smiling at confused blue-violet eyes. Kamui, flushed and beautiful and broken nods, and he still trusts him enough to just take a deep breath and let go of him enough for Fuuma to sit down, open Kamui's belt and button, undoing the zipper. Kamui keeps his eyes closed as Fuuma does this, tense and flushed, but when Fuuma pats his hip Kamui obediently raises them so that he can pull trousers and boxers down and all the way off, leaving Kamui in his open shirt and socks, his cock flushed pink against his stomach.
And for all of what he doesn't know, Fuuma has a good idea about what might feel good, and he leans down, breathes a kiss against Kamui's stomach before he lets his hand wrap around his cock, pumping it just a tad hesitantly. Kamui shivers, a full bodied shiver that runs everywhere, and Fuuma sees the way he grabs at the blankets, hears his hitched breath and that's enough for Fuuma to lean even further, to bet himself lick experimentally at the head of Kamui's cock.
It doesn't take much for Kamui to make noise, soft, almost surprised sounds when Fuuma tries pressing his tongue against the underside, or how his forearms flex when he tries sucking gently on it. Kamui whimpers slowly, moans his name, and ever so hesitantly he moves a hand to his head, just touching his hair, caressing him, as if he was afraid that he'd disappear.
The sense of urgency remains in Fuuma, that little voice that tells him that things will change, the dreams of Kamui killing Kotori and blood running everywhere in his mind, even though he closes his eyes to them. But he wants to take care of Kamui, wants for his friend to smile again, so he takes his time, holding Kamui's thighs, almost kneeding them, and Kamui comes with a moan of his name.
He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he moves to Kamui's side, holding him gently against him. He's hard, but he doesn't care about that, not when right now the one thing that matters is the way Kamui opens his eyes to look at him and smile.
Instead, Fuuma kisses Kamui's forehead once more, holding him close.
“I'll take care of you,” Fuuma promises, gently. “Just trust me.”
It seems to take forever, but finally Kamui nods, moving to wrap his arms around him, relaxing at last.
Fandom: X/1999.
Warnings: None.
Characters/couples: Fuuma/Kamui.
Summary: Fuuma suddenly hates the world that broke his friend like this, that has hurt Kamui enough that even hearing something like that makes him suffer.
Rating: NC17.
Notes: Written for springkink:
- X/1999, Fuuma/Kamui: pre-Fuuma's awakening, so gentle & loving sex - He can't put his finger on it, but Fuuma has an overwhelming feeling of a clock ticking, and a need to make up for lost time.
Count Your Blessings.
Fuuma stays long, long minutes by Kotori's side, after she falls asleep. She had giggled, loud and unfocused, telling him how fishes were flying out into the sky before she had curled into his arms, humming one of the lullabies their mother used to sang to them and he had been hard pressed not to break down and cry.
Instead, he presses a kiss to her forehead, prays that she gets better and then he makes sure that her windows are closed, that there is nothing that she could harm herself with and he closes the door behind him, half praying.
“...How is she?” Kamui's voice has never been more welcome, never more sought. Fuuma tries to catch his eyes but Kamui keeps on looking down, his whole body tense.
“... she will be fine,” Fuuma tells him, even when the words taste like lies in his mouth. But it's important for him to say that because then it might be true. Then it might be like the things he used to tell her when their mother was killed: sometimes, if you say something enough times, it becomes true.
But Kamui catches the lie and winces, looks down, sad and broken.
“I'm sorry,” Kamui says, curling around himself, his fists tight by his side. “I'm sorry, Fuuma. I shouldn't have...”
“Shouldn't have...?”
“... come back. Or lingered.” Fuuma sees him lick his lips, close around himself even more, nails digging into his own arms. “If I had just taken the shinken, uncle would be alive and Kotori would be okay and--”
“And we would have no idea that you're in danger,” Fuuma interrupts, gently taking Kamui's hands in his. Kamui looks at him, wounded and scared, and Fuuma reaches to touch his face, wishes there was a way in which he could make it better for him, for Kamui to stop looking so hurt. “That would be just as bad.”
“You wouldn't know,” Kamui insists, looking away from his eyes, but at least he doesn't try to pull away.
Carefully, Fuuma places Kamui's hand against his chest, and that is enough for Kamui to look at him with eyes wide open, surprised, his expression scared.
“I'd know it in here. Kamui is one of my important people. I'd definitely know that he's not okay. ”
Kamui's eyes grow soft, and Fuuma suddenly hates the world that broke his friend like this, that has hurt him enough that even hearing something like that makes him suffer. It's enough that he hurts, too, and he thinks that Kotori would understand when he leans forward, brushes a kiss against Kamui's lips.
Kamui's whole body trembles, a shiver that Fuuma feels from the hand that he's still holding to Kamui's slight frame, but he doesn't pull away, and after a few seconds Kamui even kisses back. Fuuma dares to open his eyes and he notices Kamui's eyelashes trembling, a flush to his face, and he presses a bit closer, moves Kamui against the wall, and he lets go of his hand to wrap his arm around him, giving slow kiss after slow kiss.
*
More than anything, he caresses Kamui, presses kisses against his mouth, to his temple, to his brow and Kamui clings to his shoulders. Fuuma wishes there was a way in which he could explain why this is important, but there is something he's missing: he can't put his finger on it, but Fuuma has an overwhelming feeling of a clock ticking, and a need to make up for lost time, the deep urgency to protect Kamui beating fiercely inside his chest.
“Fuuma...” Kamui moans, softly, eyes closed, when Fuuma's hand brushes the front of his trousers, feels the way his body shifts against him as he works open the buttons of his shirt.
Fuuma doesn't know much about this, this slow-but-building-up heat that moved through his body, all the way to the fingertips that are touching Kamui's skin. But he knows enough to know just how to touch Kamui, enough to take care of him, enough to know how to kiss the faint, almost invisible scars that remain on Kamui's body, enough to make Kamui moan his name in a deep breath, clever fingers curled around the nape of his neck.
“Would you let me...?” Fuuma starts softly, smiling at confused blue-violet eyes. Kamui, flushed and beautiful and broken nods, and he still trusts him enough to just take a deep breath and let go of him enough for Fuuma to sit down, open Kamui's belt and button, undoing the zipper. Kamui keeps his eyes closed as Fuuma does this, tense and flushed, but when Fuuma pats his hip Kamui obediently raises them so that he can pull trousers and boxers down and all the way off, leaving Kamui in his open shirt and socks, his cock flushed pink against his stomach.
And for all of what he doesn't know, Fuuma has a good idea about what might feel good, and he leans down, breathes a kiss against Kamui's stomach before he lets his hand wrap around his cock, pumping it just a tad hesitantly. Kamui shivers, a full bodied shiver that runs everywhere, and Fuuma sees the way he grabs at the blankets, hears his hitched breath and that's enough for Fuuma to lean even further, to bet himself lick experimentally at the head of Kamui's cock.
It doesn't take much for Kamui to make noise, soft, almost surprised sounds when Fuuma tries pressing his tongue against the underside, or how his forearms flex when he tries sucking gently on it. Kamui whimpers slowly, moans his name, and ever so hesitantly he moves a hand to his head, just touching his hair, caressing him, as if he was afraid that he'd disappear.
The sense of urgency remains in Fuuma, that little voice that tells him that things will change, the dreams of Kamui killing Kotori and blood running everywhere in his mind, even though he closes his eyes to them. But he wants to take care of Kamui, wants for his friend to smile again, so he takes his time, holding Kamui's thighs, almost kneeding them, and Kamui comes with a moan of his name.
He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he moves to Kamui's side, holding him gently against him. He's hard, but he doesn't care about that, not when right now the one thing that matters is the way Kamui opens his eyes to look at him and smile.
Instead, Fuuma kisses Kamui's forehead once more, holding him close.
“I'll take care of you,” Fuuma promises, gently. “Just trust me.”
It seems to take forever, but finally Kamui nods, moving to wrap his arms around him, relaxing at last.