In the beginning, there was only the cold.
I am being destroyed, he thought, fleetingly.
He closed his eyes.
Hungry mouth, devouring his. Hungry tongue inside him, delving ruthlessly, battering at his clenched teeth until he allowed admittance. Deep, so deep. Plundering. He fell back before the invasion, helpless as his every defense crumbled, as he was betrayed from within and left gasping during the second's respite he was permitted before the assault began again, deeper and hungrier than before. Sound now as water was stirred, squeezed out from between flesh and flesh and flesh and stone; only a brief liquid murmur, and then silence again, or near-silence: only the sounds of mouth upon mouth, breath shared.
And then his mouth was freed and his neck made slave, his shoulders captured for later study. Again he was betrayed as his head fell back, baring his throat. Strong teeth grazing his skin, hot tongue lapping at his pulse and lifeblood. Betrayals everywhere now---a coup in his quickening heart, his gasp, his tightening groin. He whimpered, and heard an answering low rumble of desire from his lover. His destroyer.
He raised his hands to press them against the hard, broad chest, and nearly wept that he thrilled in the contact.
And he remembered---
The warrior was staring at him.
He'd been staring for hours. Marron sighed and finally opened his eyes, turning to look at the man. "Nan desu ka, Mocha-san?"
Mocha was sitting on a log on the other side of the fire, his chin propped on one massive fist; he smiled lazily. "Just admiring. It's Gateau, by the way. I don't stand on formality. We're going to be working together from now on; might as well be on a first-name basis, ne?"
Marron frowned and looked away, hoping that the fire would hide his flush; fortunately, his brother and the Misu sisters were not around at the moment. He leaned forward to add a smallish log to the fire, and debated how to politely ask the man to stop staring at him.
"Is it that you're just trying to be modest?" Gateau mused. "Or do you truly not realize how beautiful you are?"
Marron winced. He was going to have to get used to this man's bluntness. "I'm well aware of how others see me," he replied, carefully. "When I was a child I got beaten for it by others, fairly often. As an adult, I'm frequently patronized because of it. My appearance is not something I consider an asset, Mocha-s... Gateau-san."
"Hn. I can understand that. But I don't want to beat you or patronize you. I just want to look. I won't even touch." He smiled and raised both hands, waggling his fingers. "Promise. Unless---" His smile widened, just a bit, and Marron felt his face grow hotter still. "---you want me to."
He kept his eyes on the fire, in consternation, and said nothing in reply. He could think of nothing to say that would not reveal to the man how flustered he was. Gods! Of all the Sorcerer Hunters that could have joined their team, why had they been saddled with one who was... who was...
Attractive.
And completely shameless.
And interested in him.
He sighed inwardly. Across the fire, Gateau was still smiling.
He closed his eyes to finish his meditation, and tried yet again not to feel the man's eyes upon him. It seemed, he mused with some chagrin, descending finally into a proper trance-level, that his career as a Sorcerer Hunter was about to become a great deal more interesting.
Hard, ice-cold stone under his back, his hair providing only thin insulation. The sharp, painful chill of winter on bare flesh. And yet the cold was somewhere else, not a part of his awareness at the moment. The heat was. Heat burning still, on his nipples, where moments before that hungry mouth had lingered, licking and tasting and tickling and tormenting and suckling and pressing. Heat in a fiery trail down the center of his body, smoldering in his navel, leaving glowing crescents just beneath his ribs and deep in the flesh of his side and high on the angle of his hip. Hot hands gripping him, holding him up and in place on the cold, slippery stone. Hot mouth, moving in a slow, searing rhythm on him, drawing all of the lines of fire together and stoking them higher, higher.
Stop, he wanted to say. I need the cold. Don't drive it away. Stop...
But he said nothing.
He could see the mage-lights overhead, burning cold against the starlit sky, far out of reach of his outstretched hand. For a moment, it seemed that they were slowly rising, drifting further away, but he knew it was only his angle of perception. Probably.
The heat released him for a moment and moved lower, lapping and tickling and probing. He gasped again and reached down, threading trembling fingers through thick hair, whether to stop or encourage he did not know.
The festival was well under way. The marketplace was crowded not only with people but also with the rich scents of sizzling okonomiyaki and sweet mirin, and the richer sounds of enjoyment and laughter. Word of mouth had it that there would be a fireworks celebration down on the beach once the last vestiges of the sunset had finally faded from the evening sky, and the current of the traffic had turned in that direction. Marron stood on the elevated boardwalk, leaning against the wooden railing, and watched the other festivalgoers pass. He smiled to himself, vicariously enjoying their high spirits; it was so nice to be bathed in such a large, nearly omnipresent positive aura. It reminded him a bit of days back at the school sometimes, on the rare occasions when the teachers would give all of the students practice in group-magic by having them conjure a rainbow, or make animal shapes out of clouds. The atmosphere of joy was the same, for all that most of these people lacked the talent for magic.
His eye picked out from the crowd a young couple, laughing, in particularly beautiful matching yukata, his a white-speckled black and hers pale blue, with white designs that suggested clouds. The night sky and the day. It reminded him, abruptly, of Zeii, and he lowered his eyes and sighed a little to himself, his good mood fading a little. Three more long, lonely years to go.
Something intruded on his vision, abruptly, right in front of his face. He blinked and stepped back in surprise, looking up to see Gateau smiling down at him.
"Going to see the fireworks?"
He recovered his composure, smiling back politely and praying that Gateau wasn't in an exhibitionistic mood. "Ah... no. I can see them just fine from here." He gestured toward the beach behind them; the fireworks display would be only about half a mile further down the sand. "You?"
"Nope." Marron focused at last on the thing Gateau had lifted in front of his face. A sparkler. He still held it out, offering, and after a moment's hesitation, Marron lifted a hand to take it.
"Nan desu... ka...?" He frowned at Gateau in confusion. Gateau had turned to lean back against the railing and taken out another sparkler; he smiled obliquely at Marron.
"I don't feel like being in a crowd right now." The massive shoulders lifted in a sigh, and the blue eyes that gazed out over the slowly-rolling waves were, Marron realized, solemn despite Gateau's smile. "I'm not in much of a festive mood. You didn't seem to be, either. But since it's bad luck not to celebrate a holiday..." He waggled his sparkler at Marron and smiled. "Here we are."
Marron stared at him for a moment. "Is... something wrong?"
One of the moons had risen, out over the ocean, and its pale light glittered on the water in a long path of white. Gateau watched the tide roll in, his eyes reflecting the moon. "It's Eclair's birthday, today, that's all."
Gateau's sister, who had been missing for a year. Marron leaned back against the railing as well and lowered his eyes, out of respect for his companion's pain. "Gomen nasai."
"Don't apologize. Just light this for me, will you?" He held the sparkler out with a half-smile. "What's that fancy magic of yours good for, if you can't give me a light, hmm?"
Marron smiled and held out his cupped hand, summoning a bit of Suzaku's magic. A bit of flame appeared, dancing unsupported over his palm.
Gateau glanced at him and grinned wolfishly, for a moment without sadness. "That's so cool." He held his sparkler to the fire until it caught. Marron did the same. They were virtually alone on the boardwalk. Further down the beach, the fireworks show finally began, the first glittering colored blossoms unfolding against the early evening sky.
Gateau didn't bother looking at them, gazing down at the small sparkling light in his hand. After a moment, he lifted the sparkler as if in toast. "For Eclair," he said.
"For Eclair," Marron agreed, holding up his own. And for Zeii.
Zeii might have touched him like this.
Back in the water again, engulfed in heat. How could he have ever believed that the cold inside him could survive this? His walls were in ruins, his protections a-shambles, and any will that he might have had to resist had gone with them. All of it had been artificial, anyhow. Eggshell walls of distance and anger, the false and ephemeral protection of emotionlessness. He had been alone too long, lonely too long, and he had needed this---this touch, this fire---too long.
He lowered his head, panting. The hands that caressed him were gentle, but no less ruthless for that, exploring and subduing his body with hungry efficiency. Hot breath against his ear, catching occasionally, long-suppressed urgency trembling in its interstices. Traitorous body, responding to that urgency, pressing back against the hard, broad torso. Traitorous voice, breaking the silence with a low, fevered moan as fingers probed and tested. The vanguard.
A hard arm went around his waist and then the heat was inside him, inside him where the last of the cold had fled, and now the cold was gone and there was only the fire and his own quick, desperate cries of pleasure.
He was unable to suppress his cry of agony as the statue's fist smashed into his side, slamming him across the chamber and into the far wall hard enough to crack the mortar. The pain left him senseless for a moment; by the time the white haze had cleared from his sight he was on the floor at the foot of the wall, crumpled, and he could feel something grinding away inside him when he breathed. Ribs, he thought clinically, his healer's sense identifying the damage immediately, uselessly. And skull---not cracked, but nearly so. And shoulderblade. And pelvis. And a whole catalogue of bruised and ruptured organs. Going to get a lot of practice with Gaiasu today...
He had to get up. He'd managed to plant a Seiryuu ofuda in the thing's neck; only he could activate it. But it was taking all his strength and will, at the moment, just to remain conscious. He blinked and managed to clench a fist, but he was recovering too slowly... and he could hear, and feel, the stone footsteps of the magically animated statue as it walked toward him. To finish him off.
Something happened. He couldn't see it; his vision was still blurred from the concussion he'd sustained. But he could see a sudden flurry of motion, too fast and violent to distinguish, and hear---a furious shout, cries of protest from the others, the crunch and crash of shattering stone. An inhuman, echoing bellow, and more crashes, followed by heavy vibrating thuds that shook him through the floor.
Kuso... He had to get up! Mustering what he could of his magic, he concentrated on the worst of his injuries, stopping hemorrhages and sealing ruptures, for a few moments. The concussion, too, so that he could see and move without nausea. The rest could wait. When it was done, some of the pain had lessened and his equilibrium had returned---enough that he could finally lift his head and look around the room.
Silence. The great, thirty-foot marble statue of the Sorcerer Akkumaruin, king of the island of Hibachi, lay in scattered chunks and piles of rubble, all over the floor of the Great Hall of his palace. The mighty Sorcerer himself was on his knees a few feet away, his face pale, one hand held to his mouth in horror. Beyond the statue he could see Carrot and the others standing, staring, mouths open as well, eyes wide and utterly shocked. And in the center of the room---
---in the center, amid the rubble, shoulders still heaving from his exertion and with bloodied fists still clenched, stood Gateau, head down, sun-pale hair hanging lank in his eyes.
What in every god's name...?
He tried to push himself up further and gasped inadvertently as the movement stressed fractured bones; his gasp echoed in the high-ceilinged hall. As if the sound had been a signal, Akkumarin uttered a strangled whimper of abject terror and scrambled to his feet, bolting for the doorway behind his throne as fast as his short legs could carry him.
"Temee..." Gateau turned, slowly, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. He blurred---in one moment he was crouching, boots crunching in the dust and gravel, and in the next he was on the Sorcerer, one knee in his back and the other hand on the man's head, pinning it to the ground. But it was clear that immobilizing the errant Sorcerer was not enough for Gateau; the warrior's expression was savagely murderous. Powerful muscles clenched from the shoulder...
"G-Gateau!" he managed, desperately, and then was beset by uncontrollable coughing. He crumpled in agony; there was blood in his mouth. He fought the spasm, but his lungs had to clear; long seconds passed before he could lift his head and breathe clearly again.
When he could, Gateau was crouching beside him; the other man tucked fingers gently under his chin and lifted his head. "Yokatta, Marron..." A wealth of relief in his voice, he smiled. "I was afraid... when I saw you fall..."
Over Gateau's shoulder, he could see the others picking their way through the rubble. Carrot looked up, saw them, and frowned. The Sorcerer lay where Gateau had left him, unconscious but breathing.
Later, after he recovered, he would spend the next few months mulling over what had happened. Gateau's unbelievable surge of strength. His utter fury. The expression on his face when he saw that Marron would be all right. Carrot's disapproving scowl.
But for now his magic was no longer needed for battle, and his body demanded healing. He sagged forward, and Gateau caught him, and he knew nothing more.
He cried out when he was suddenly empty again. It wasn't enough---the cold was gone but the heat had not been there long enough---and there was nothing to replace either. He ached to be filled again, even if only in this way, even if only temporarily. Whatever happened later no longer mattered. Then the arms, the strong and comforting arms that had held him, protected him, were gone too and he was truly lost, truly alone.
But the touches were gone only for an instant and then they returned, long fingers grasping his waist and turning him around. He was pushed back again, his back braced by stone, his legs lifted, high. By the mage-light he caught a brief glimpse of his lover's face---intent, transported, contemplative---and then he was seared again, the pleasure sliding into him like a poisoned dagger, but such sweet poison that he yielded to it eagerly, gasping for more. He writhed against the hands gripping his hips, pleading mutely, and received a savage answer. Slamming, probing, demanding thrusts, reaching deep into him and stroking his insides and coaxing pleasures from deep within him that made him growl, low and in his throat. Pain was nothing new. Even this taut, rapidly growing pleasure was not unknown to him. But the tenderness and the need and the passion, yes, passion, something he had thought lost forever, these were new, these he had never expected to know, these he had feared.
But it was too late now.
And of course, just as he surrendered the fight, just as the last of the cold melted away and the last of the barriers came smashing down and just as he knew, once and for all, that it was over, then---and only then---came the final, devastating assault. The one that truly destroyed him.
"I love you," came the fierce, urgent whisper, in his ear. "I love you forever."
Despair and ecstasy and joy and terror and heaven and hell. All of it, inside him. He threw back his head to howl it out, and did not know whether his tears meant he was alive or dead.
"I love you. I have since... since I met you, I think. I need to know... tell me if I have... a chance."
"I'm sorry, Gateau. I want to, but... I can't."
"I like him already, my dancer. Tell me more."
"There's not much more to tell. I hurt him. I don't know how to fix it."
"Do you think he'd listen if you talked to him?"
"I don't think he'd talk to me. I don't think he'll trust me again."
"Hn. Do you want him, Marron?"
"...Yes."
"Do you love him enough to watch him grow old and die?"
"I..."
"If not, let him be. His hurt will fade eventually."
"I... I don't want... to lose him."
"Then it's settled. Bring him here, dancer. I'll help you make him ours."
Zeii.
Oh, gods, oh, sweet gods.
Gone. Forever.
Sweet, soft voice. Gentle hands. Eyes like the sea and the stars. The other half of his soul.
And he was still alive. Alone. Alone because he had been too weak to help, too slow, too useless. And Zeii had died screaming, the portion of his consciousness that was still in his body at the time suffering and despairing before the end. Because his weakling, newly-immortal lover was there, and the magical energy that Zeii might have used to escape was needed to free him. He had been the crutch. He was why Zeii had died.
And now he was himself again, completely himself, the gentle weakling who lacked the stomach for vengeance and who was so utterly lost without Zeii that he couldn't even grieve. Ah, but the grief was here now, wasn't it? Pain: three years' interest plus the initial investment, and it was time to pay up. Falling down on him like stone, like acid, crushing him and tearing him apart all at once. So great that he could not contain it; the pain spilled over and then came vomiting up out of him and he howled again, howled until something scraped and bled in his throat, howled until he could no longer hear Gateau's frantic calls and his eyes filled with blood as capillaries burst from the force of his grief and until he no longer had a voice to howl with, only a hollow whimper from the pit of his belly. And still he howled, standing on his knees in the grass onto which Gateau had pulled them after their lovemaking. Shrieking his grief silently to the sky and crying blood tears.
Gateau wrapped arms around him tightly, and held him until he passed out.
**End Ch. 17