thenearshore | 22 - Harvest Moon Viewing

No, I...

[Is he babbling? Gojyo is looking at him like he's babbling, and Hakkai reviews his last few sentences and is forced to admit, wincing, that Gojyo is not wrong. His monocle is not helping with the headache that's set in right between his eyes, and, abruptly frustrated, he reaches up to pull it off again and slip it into his shirt pocket. That's better.]

... yes. I could use someone to talk to. If you don't mind.

[He looks around at the rough patch of lawn edged by tall, razor-edged grasses, and makes a face. For privacy, it could be worse; he can hardly hear the others in the maze until they're almost to the dead end. For comfort, it leaves a lot to be desired.]

I should have brought a bottle and something to sit on.

[ Ah. And suddenly everything makes sense. This is about Ayumu, isn't it? Or maybe about Sharak. Or it's something that he can't talk to Ayumu or Sharak about, which pretty much limits it to a handful of topics. And okay, none of those topics are things that Gojyo can imagine somebody -- especially somebody like Hakkai -- wanting to talk to him about, but maybe this is a case of beggars not being able to be choosers, huh? He doesn't actually know if Hakkai's got any other guy friends who aren't kids. That's what happens when you're a teacher, apparently. ]

Yeah. ...Yeah, no, I can do that.

[ That's something he can do. He can be an ear, and a friend, and he can even contribute to the setting, he thinks, reaching for his back pocket. ]

I can't help with the something to sit on, but...

[ It's not a large bottle, but thanks to all the free beer being handed out it's still mostly full. He passes the hip flask of cheap vodka over to Hakkai. ]

[Hakkai blinks, and smiles, sincerely, reaching out to take the flask. It's surprisingly heavy, almost full, even though it's growing late in the evening; he uncaps it, takes a ceremonial swig, and wipes the mouth on his cuff before he screws the cap back on and offers it back.]

You came prepared. Thank you.

[He's wearing beige slacks, and he's going to get them grass-stained, but he can't bring himself to care. He folds with a sigh, settling himself just far enough from the grasses not to risk a cut, and waves Gojyo to the comfortably wide space across from him.

He feels... tangled. He's feeling too many things, but at least Gojyo's not trying to leave, or asking why Hakkai would miss him, as though it's inconceivable.

The next question is what the hell he's going to talk about, but he supposes he can wing it.]

[ Not being able to lean back is definitely an issue, but he can't imagine that they'll be here that long, right? Instead, Gojyo drops into a cross-legged sit far enough away from the grass wall to avoid the temptation of leaning back, and he takes his own swig off the bottle.

Hakkai looks nervous. At least, he's pretty sure that this is nervous, for Hakkai. Whatever he's got to say can't be that bad, can it? Maybe he's just ashamed about having feelings for his shinki, or something else perfectly fine and normal. It's not like he's the kind of guy to have real problems, right? He's a good guy. Good guys don't have bad problems.

It's such a huge relief. Here he was, lost, and now here's a chance to be helpful, to do some good for somebody who actually matters. Gojyo's smile is a happy kind of embarrassed as he takes another sip off the bottle, then hands it out to Hakkai. ]

Anything you need to say, or whatever you did, I'm sure it's fine.

[ That was a little too eager, but whatever. Hakkai is a good person. He deserves eager help. ]

[Hakkai looks at the bottle, wondering what alcohol is going to do, on top of -- whatever it is that's already affecting him, and takes a more judicious sip this time.

It's strong, but whatever the alcohol is likely to do to his mental state, the burn in his throat helps. He smiles a little, and hands the flask back over.

Where is it that he's supposed to start? At the beginning, he thinks. Where stories are supposed to begin. He hasn't told Gojyo anything about himself, not really; not in Gojyo's memory, and if Hakkai is going to ask Gojyo to trust him, then -- it's more of a wordless impulse than anything, and his smile goes a little odd as he leans forward, wrapping his arms around his knees.]

I wasn't lying when I told you I was born human. There is a way, for a human to become youkai. I hadn't even heard of it before-- in any case. The blood of a thousand youkai.

[ Hakkai leans forward, and Gojyo leans back, so far back he needs to throw a hand behind himself to brace against. ]

A thousand…?

[ Hakkai’s already said, in a worse situation than this, that he wouldn’t hurt Gojyo, and Gojyo’s got no real reason to believe that’s changed. No, if anything, Hakkai’s talking to him like a friend, like he wants Gojyo to be okay with what he’s done. But how the hell can he be okay with that kind of slaughter? Sure, he’s a slob and a taboo and lived a violent life, but murder? A thousand murders?

The jolt of warning wrongness interrupts his thought, startling him enough that he flinches from it. A moment later, there’s the sick pit of dread in his gut; the warning simply confirmed it. Hakkai’s a mass murderer, and Gojyo’s the kind of person who is okay with that.

Well, really, what else should he have expected? Filth is drawn to filth.

He tries to laugh it off, but he can’t quite make his mouth respond well enough to smile. ]

That’s, a. A lot of people.

[It's exactly the kind of reaction that Hakkai had expected the first time he'd said this, and hadn't gotten. He leaves his hand outstretched holding the flask for a moment, and then his eyebrows flicker up, and he takes it back, watching the moonlight glint on the metal.]

Yes, it is.

[He's silent for a few seconds longer.]

Kanan was kidnapped by the Centipede clan; I don't mean to excuse what I did. They didn't all deserve it.

[Some of them -- some of them definitely did. But not all of them. Not all of them had even tried to fight.

This is bizarre. There's a sort of unreality to it, recapitulating his confession years later, to the same audience, in cold blood. He's not sure what he wants to get out of it. He's not sure if Gojyo will swallow it so easily, this time. He almost doesn't want Gojyo to: he'd been saving all these confessions to scare him away, after all. Even if he doesn't want it to work, he doesn't particularly want to be forgiven, either.

Maybe it's just because he hates to hear Gojyo say It's fine, when he doesn't know. Their friendship had been based on honesty once, and it makes his skin crawl to base it on lies.]

I meant to rescue her.

[ There – a good intention. A thread of hope to hang on, to justify Hakkai’s actions. Is this how it used to happen? Something terrible would occur, and he’d find a way to claim that it was fine, that they deserved it?

He knows the Centipede clan too, knows enough about them to have some idea of what being kidnapped by them might have entailed. But even so. Even so, can he be okay with this? A thousand people. A whole clan. ]

Was it a thousand soldiers?

[ He knows the answer. He just needs to hear Hakkai say it. ]

[Hakkai's laugh is almost soundless, with absolutely no hint of amusement in it. He shakes his head.

Gojyo's on his blind side, and he has to turn his head to see him as more than a reddish blur in the shadows. He does, watching distress flicker over Gojyo's face. He feels light, himself. Confession does seem to be good for the soul: or, at least, it shifts the weight.

He should feel worse about that.]

No.

They weren't all soldiers and they didn't all fight back. I am a murderer. I'm not asking you to...

[To do anything, really. Gojyo can't forgive him his sins. Hakkai can't ask him to accept them, either, although he does want that, selfishly. He shrugs, at last, leaving the sentence unfinished, and concludes:]

... it's just something you should know. Now that I remember.

[ They weren’t all soldiers. They didn’t all fight back.

A clan is made up of the king and the queen, Gojyo knows. And their family, and their soldiers, and then all the people who work for them. Most of the people in a clan are adults. Most of them. Probably 800 of the thousand were adults. Maybe even 900.

His wife was kidnapped and eaten, and in return he killed a hundred kids. ]

I don’t know what to say to that. [ Because as much as he should be running, or telling Hakkai off, or most likely both? He’s still here. This is the person he is. How can he hate Hakkai, when he’s the kind of person to excuse the sort of things a man like Hakkai does? ] Was she okay?

She killed herself.

[His voice, to his horror, breaks on the last word in a way it hasn't since-- he can't remember. He turns his attention hastily to the flask in his hands, re-capping it, setting it down between them, where Gojyo will not have to get too close to him to take it back.

He still feels light. Weightless, even, as if he's falling: which he supposes is what happens when one loses one's grip. He wraps his arms back around his knees, for something to hold onto, and digs his fingers into his sleeve.]

[ Hakkai sobs, curling in on himself, and Gojyo watches his own hand move as though controlled by someone else. Hakkai is a killer, a child killer without a doubt, terrifying, dangerous... she probably killed herself to get away from him, or out of terror at what he'd done in her name... but he's still Gojyo's friend. He's still hurt. ]

I'm sorry.

[ He catches Hakkai at the shoulder, squeezing tightly at the tight tendons right there at the join of his shoulder and throat. If the were closer, he knows, he'd have his arms around the other man.

He's not sure if he wants that or not. ]

I'm sorry.

[The hand settling on his shoulder startles Hakkai for an instant, then Gojyo's fingers dig into tense muscle and he finds himself melting into the touch.

He's at least still in enough control of himself not to actually try to cuddle. They're arm's-length apart, for one thing. He'd fall over trying. He isn't in enough control of himself not to put his hand over Gojyo's, and take a shaky breath.]

No, I'm....

[His hand tightens, just a little.]

... something's wrong with me tonight, please don't mind me.

[ Gojyo scoots an inch or so closer, and squeezes Hakkai's shoulder again. ]

It's okay.

[ It shouldn't be okay. None of this should be okay. Why is he okay with this? Why isn't he on his feet, running as far and as fast as he can? Why does he feel the need to be holding Hakkai like it's a real physical necessity?

His hand shifts, sliding up further toward the bare back of Hakkai's neck. ]

I'm feeling it too.

[ His voice is hoarse. And it's not okay if they're both feeling it, because that means something is actually going on and they should get the hell out of this damn stupid maze... but he doesn't want to take his hand off Hakkai's skin. ]

You must have really loved her.

[ He can't forgive, but maybe he can understand. ]

Yes.

[Gojyo's hand is sliding towards the back of his neck, and Gojyo's voice is hoarse. Hakkai is struck simultaneously by the realization that this is the most cliched teenage-romantic situation imaginable, and the realization that it is working on him very, very well.

A confession of mass murder and here Gojyo is, scooting towards him and rubbing his neck. They are both, he reflects, so fucked up.

Hakkai breathes out, tasting a little of the cheap vodka on his own breath, and finds himself leaning towards Gojyo in return, with exaggerated care. Maybe he can pretend it's the vodka, and not loneliness, affection, and far more lust than he ought to be letting himself indulge.]

[ Okay, no, he understands nothing.

He can't believe the look in Hakkai's eyes. It's absolutely impossible that he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing there -- not just that Hakkai would look at him that way, but that Hakkai would be looking at him that way now. Not after confessing to murder and reliving the loss of Kanan!

If he were, though? God, if he were. Gojyo's stopped even trying to pretend that he isn't aroused every time he's near Hakkai -- it's not necessarily the boner he wants, but it's the boner life's given him, and he's learned to accept it.

And no matter how this turns out, he's going to keep that look of Hakkai's locked in his memory forever.

He's filth for that, he knows. He's every bit as terrible as Hakkai is, but maybe... maybe that's okay?

Can that be okay?

Maybe, just like the heaven around them, this is the end game that he deserves. This is what his karma has brought him.

Maybe this really isn't so bad. ]

What was that like?

Love?

[He'll never get a better straight line than that. He knows he shouldn't do this. He's just told Gojyo he's a murderer hundreds of times over, and Gojyo had wanted to run, he thinks; he's only here because he's so bad at walking away from a person in pain.

Hakkai loves him for that, too: that, as fucked up as he is, he can still be so kind.

And even if it's just kindness, his hand on Hakkai's neck is solid and warm. He's here. He's-- if not alive, exactly--

That's the thought that kicks Hakkai into motion at last, leaning forward to close the last of the gap between them and find Gojyo's mouth with his own. It's graceless and awkward, leaning sideways at a clumsy angle, and Hakkai is three-quarters certain he's about to be punched even if he's keeping both of his hands to himself.

He knows how bad the moment is. If Gojyo decks him, he'll apologize. But, just now, he can't stop himself.]

[ Not love, not really. He knows what love is – or at least, he knows what the world tells him love is, which is basically the same thing. But a love so strong that you’re willing to kill for it, that you’re willing to damn your own soul a thousand times? Gojyo’s only got a few months’ worth of memories – he can’t even begin to imagine that depth of feeling.

Hakkai’s mouth on his might be a start, though.

Later, he’ll be ashamed of how immediately he responded. Later he’ll replay the moment a thousand times, cursing himself over and over again. The way he didn’t even hesitate. The way his mouth opened beneath Hakkai’s the instant their lips touched. The way his whole world narrowed until nothing was real except Hakkai’s breath, Hakkai’s skin beneath his palm, Hakkai’s shirt tangled in his fist. Hakkai’s heart pounding; he let his hand slide down to the side of Hakkai’s throat, fingertips resting lightly over the pulse point there.

The embarrassing sounds he made, groaning into Hakkai’s mouth. The way he rose up on his knees, the better to pull the other man closer. How desperate he was. How shamelessly ready. ]

[Gojyo doesn't punch him.

Gojyo's lips part against his, and his hand twists in Hakkai's shirt, pulling the shirttail out of its neat tuck as he pulls Hakkai closer. Hakkai is so startled he almost falls over: but, God, the hungry groan Gojyo makes into the kiss leaves him achingly hard, and his hands come up instead, one pressing flat against the small of Gojyo's back, one sliding over his jaw.

He kisses desperately, possessively, barely pausing to breathe, as if he could wipe away the bloody claws and torn throat that hound him awake with the reality of eager, warm hands, and a mouth that doesn't taste of smoke anymore.

(He hadn't seen Gojyo's face in the memory. He'd seen through Gojyo's eyes, watching himself attack. In the dreams, though, he's always in his own skin, and Gojyo only looks surprised. Never angry. Never accusatory. Only surprised, as innocently as a child, as he falls: and that's the worst part.)

Guilt is starting to seep in around the edges of his mind, and he breaks the kiss at last, gasping for breath, not knowing what to say and with his heart pounding too hard in his throat to let him speak even if he did.]

[ Breaking the kiss? Oh no. No, that's not okay, that can't happen, he needs this. Hakkai pulls back and Gojyo lunges forward, mouth seeking Hakkai's again, chest pressing to chest, sucking the very air from Hakkai's lungs in his desperation.

It doesn't matter that they're in public, doesn't matter that somebody could come around the corner any moment. Gojyo yanks at Hakkai's shirt, trying to get his hand beneath it, craving as much of Hakkai's skin as he can touch. ]

[The shirt is already half untucked from Gojyo's grab earlier, and it comes free easily. Hakkai isn't trying to keep any distance. He falls in against Gojyo again, catching his breath in mingled shame and arousal as Gojyo's fingers skate over the ridges of his scar.

Being in public is the least of the reasons why this is a bad idea. Gojyo doesn't remember him, Gojyo hardly knows him at all, and Hakkai is, even by his usual standards, unstable.

He's still kissing back. His hand slips from Gojyo's cheek into his hair, tightening there.]

[ It's absolute bliss.

Granted, he only remembers a few months of life. But not once since he can remember, not while drunk, not while fighting,
not even when flirting with a pretty girl, has he felt so... so good. So mindless, so adrift. So at peace. If somebody popped out of the bushes
and told him he was having a religious experience, he wouldn't question a thing.

And it's not that the kiss is sweet and gentle. The kiss isn't gentle -- it's harsh, hungry, far too wet,
with clashing teeth and beer breath and the occasional shuddering gasp as Gojyo remembers to breathe. It's red marks forming beneath his sweaty palms
as he rubs over every inch of Hakkai's skin that he can reach. It's sharp blades of grass beneath his knees and the
throb of the cuts on his face as they're smeared with sweat. But it's still bliss. It's perfect.

He's dreamed about this moment so many times -- and not just idle daydreams with one hand down his pants, either, but real dreams,
heavy and uncontrolled and so often terrifying. He's dreamed Hakkai's mouth, dreamed his hands, dreamed the taste of him. Dreamed
their bodies joining in a dozen different ways... and now that it's real (this is real, right?) he's not going to ever let go.
He groans again, releasing Hakkai's shirt and throat to work at the fly of Hakkai's pants.

Because behind that bliss is fear.

Because -- and he doesn't think this actively, doesn't dare -- because if he stops, if he pulls away, if he lets himself fall back
into the thoughts of a thousand bodies lying in a corridor somewhere (stop, stop, don't, that's not real, only Hakkai is
real)... then he'll have to face what he's done. What he's doing.

He fastens his teeth against Hakkai's skin and sucks hard, hard enough that his head swims from it. Bliss. ]

[Seventy-five percent chance of being decked, he'd thought, and the remaining twenty-five had been split into a dozen scenarios. None of them were this. None of them were Gojyo responding with desperate hunger, pushing beyond the kiss to hands under Hakkai's shirt, teeth digging into his skin in a jolt of pain that leaves him craving more.

He doesn't wear his slacks that tight, but at the moment, they're painfully snug. Gojyo's hands are there, and Hakkai makes a noise low in his throat as he presses up against them.

This could be perfect, if only he could forget why it isn't at all. But Gojyo's mouth doesn't taste of cigarettes, and Hakkai can't wipe away the image of his face, not long ago. That had been fear and revulsion, and he'd been leaning as far away as he could go without getting up to run. Gojyo has the button on his slacks open, he's leaving what's going to be a vivid mark under his lips, but --

-- he's not, Hakkai is sure, as he lets his hand slip out of Gojyo's hair and reaches down to catch his wrist before the zipper can go anywhere, going to respect himself in the morning. Or in five minutes (it's been a while, Gojyo's moving fast, and Hakkai's not going to flatter himself.)

He's probably just as drugged as Hakkai is, rushing ahead on impulse just as wildly.

Besides, a fifteen-year-old student of his could walk in on them at any moment. Hakkai catches his breath and tightens his grip.]

Gojyo.

[His voice is hoarse, hungrier than he wants it to be, and he has to close his eyes and swallow.]

Slow down.

[ Hakkai’s holding his hand (so nice, warm, fingers, yes) but then his grip tightens, and Gojyo grunts in frustration. He needs his hand. He needs to... he needs this.

Slow down, says Hakkai, and Gojyo shakes his head, mouth working against the side of Hakkai’s throat. No, he can’t slow down. If he slows down, then this won’t be happening. He needs this to happen. Otherwise he’s going to start thinking again, thinking about Hakkai. About Hakkai’s hands. About Hakkai’s hands covered in blood. About...

And then it’s gone.

He can actually feel his mood falling, like somebody pulled a plug (or slit his wrist) and all his heat simply drains away, leaving him cold and nauseated.

What is wrong with him? He almost... he was going to... He glances up, meets Hakkai’s eye, but quickly looks away in disgust. Settling back on his heels, he scrubs his palms against the thighs of his jeans, trying to erase the feeling of Hakkai’s skin beneath his hands. Trying to choke back the horror at what he’d almost done. ]

Why’d it have to be you? [ His voice is a pained rasp, cracking and barely more than a whisper. He looks up at Hakkai again, really seeing him this time. Those kiss-swollen lips, the suck marks, the tangled clothes – he did that. He did that to a man who had just confessed to murdering children. This is the afterlife he’s earned. ] Of all the people here, why’d I have to fall in love with you?

[ Because this is love, isn’t it? His body’s reaction every time Hakkai is near, the warmth he feels -- felt --just thinking about him. That he’s thinking of Hakkai constantly. This kind of obsession, this is love. This is how a thing like him loves. ]

[Gojyo pulls back -- then pulls away entirely, leaving Hakkai's hand hovering in the air. He almost reaches out. No, don't stop, just--

But that's disgust on Gojyo's face, sheer horror and nausea as he tries to wipe away the filth a murderer's skin has left on his palms. Hakkai had been wrong: he wasn't weightless at all. Just falling.

As always, it is the sudden stop at the end that hurts.

His hands feel frozen and clumsy as he sits back, dropping his gaze from Gojyo's face and fumbling to tuck his shirt back in, button his pants, his belt. He can't brush away the signs so easily. He's still aroused, despite the hollow shame that's all that's left of the desire that had fired him a few seconds ago. His throat aches, his lips are cold as the moisture there dries. He can guess what he looks like.

Why'd I have to fall in love with you?

He can't look up again; can't bear to see that disgust again. Hearing it, the twist on you in Gojyo's cracking voice, is bad enough.

Gojyo has never said love to him before, not once. He's let this go too far. Much, much too far, if Gojyo'd thought, before tonight, that Hakkai was the kind of person he could love. If it's this awful for him, learning he was wrong.

His own voice comes out even, to his surprise: high and fragile with tension, but not faltering.]

I don't know. You deserve better.

[Blood washes off, but the stain doesn't come out. He can feel it, he can almost taste it at the back of his throat, thick and metallic. He doesn't deserve forgiveness. He certainly doesn't deserve love, not ever again, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to see Gojyo sickened by his mistake.

He crosses his arms, hugging himself tightly against the chill. Had the night been so cold before? He's freezing.]

Edited 2017-11-09 20:15 (UTC)

22 - Harvest Moon Viewing

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Nsfw

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CW: encouraging self-harm

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cw: self-harm/suicidal ideation

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