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Ghosts In the Night	By : Meirav Category: +S to Z > X/1999 Views: 2123 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X/1999, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ghosts In the Night
- 2-Succubus
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer:
I do not own X/1999 or Tokyo Babylon.

Author's
Thanks: To Angelike Riddle from AFF.net (Thank you!
Gosh, I never had anything of mine rated 'poetic' >.<), LadyoftheBlackWings from FF.net (Eerie as it should be,
thank you!), Kakyou-chan from FF.net (Thank you! I don't know if Subaru didn't
really figure it out. I think he thinks he beat himself off during a
particularly hot dream or something), to AVARICE from FF.net, to the Anon.
reviewer from Clampesque (I'm sorry but this fic is meant to make people cry, it's bittersweet that
way), to Whitesakura my precioussss(s)
who commented on my Lj (Thank you darling, this one
isn't S/S but I still hope you'll like it), to Me_n_thee
from the SeixSub community (Thank you and for that
beta-ing correction!) and to Anavi
from the SeixSub community (I have an experience with
ghost sex writing from my Randall & Hopkirk days
so yeah, it can be hot!)

And
many, many thanks to my beta, Cait.

Author's
Notes: Y'all should go and listen to some Beatles, satisfaction
guaranteed! Also,
I'm in love with my new Windows Professional 2003 Office translator �glomps-.

**********************************************************

Succubus

Fire
burnt in Kamui since his life began, since he could
remember himself.

The
fire of life, of love, of kicking and screaming and begging to go out and play
with the Monou's.

When
he moved out to Okinawa the fire stared at the new city and blinked. What the
hell?! Where's Fuma?! Where's Kotori?! Where's aunty Saya, Uncle Kyogo?!

With
a bitter farewell's pain the fire twisted, fed into a new mutated and powerful
heat by the alienation of the new kids
around Kamui. The fire became that of a raging wounded animal fighting off its
attackers.

Kamui
fought and kicked and screamed and used his newly found powers so much he got
into enough
trouble to ground him for a year. Which actually happened.

Tohru was
very ashamed of her son's behavior. She loved him still and she knew him
so she knew the source of his pain; which made her
happy. Kamui's
ongoing pain meant that he still remembered the Monou's and remembering them meant they were
special to him. If he has a special person,
then he is bound to follow the path she wished for him.

So Tohru did nothing to quench the fire within her son; she
only punished him when the fire licked at the wrong person.

Six
years later and the fire's in Tokyo. New pains feeding it into a roaring, bloating, exploding, snarling
flame.

At
the peak of 1999 the fire was quenched
forever. A sword through the heart, and the
boy who burnt was dead.

***********************

Floating
up heavenwards, Kamui looked down at the person he suffered and fought for all
his life, and realized what was about to
happen to him.

Fuma
was himself again, holding his palm to his chest, his eyes adrift, his lips
mouthing Kamui's last words.

The
heart of a young boy broke like a glass earth. A scream shook the heavens
before the boy reached them.

Kamui
took a single look at the pearly gates and shook his head. With eyes brimful of
tears he refused heavenly tranquility. He said "No!" to the only
chance he'll ever get for blissful peace; of sleep and rest for his tormented soul.

Fuma
holding a hand to his chest.

Fuma
repeating what he said, thinking about it.

Fuma,
all alone in this world so cruel and lonely to him.

Who
does Fuma have now?

Who
will wait for him at home with a hot dinner as he returns from a basketball
game? Who will take his jacket off and hand him his slippers? Who will sit him
down to a cup of tea while the soup is reheating?

Who
will ask him, "How was your day darling?
How was school? How was work? Are you tired" Who will give him a foot
massage or a shoulder rub as the dishes soak up soapy water in the sink?

Who
will slip Fuma's shirt off with a seductive look? Who
will stick his tongue out playfully as he drags Fuma down the corridors to
their bedroom? Who will make sweet passionate love to Fuma on the end of a hard
day's work?

Who
will lie down under Fuma's panting sweaty body and
treasure the afterglow? Who will ignore Fuma's heavy
body and cherish the feel of naked flesh on naked flesh? Who will hold Fuma
tightly in his sleep and beg him, "Please
don't go away again, never again, please stay with me Fuma�.ple-he-he-se?"

Fuck
all this destiny crap! Kamui's fifteen, goddamnit. He turned sixteen this fucking year and what did he
ever do to live up to it?!

Not
even one kiss! A kiss, that's all he asked. He had his
chance but he blew it; the Dragon reared his ugly head, it wasn't Fuma he would
be kissing. After that it was far too late.

He
turned his back as
Heaven's arms reached out to him.
"Come to us," they begged, "Join us,
you've earned your rest," but Kamui shook
them off and fell down; fell to his Fuma.

Even
if you are reviled and hated for it?

"Yes."

Even
if your life becomes a hell?

"Yeah."

Even
if no one understands the path you've taken, or respects your heart's true
wish�?

"�.Yeah."

It is
time to create the future he wants.

Saya
was dead. Mother was dead.

Kyogo
was dead; Kotori too.

Even
Tokiko was
dead.

Who
is left behind for Fuma?

Smiling
happily, Kamui descended until he was able to see it clearly; the light in a
remote suburban shrine. A light at the Monou estate. A light in Fuma's window.

"Fuma! I'm
here! I'm here! See me! Fuma, I'm back, I'm not dead, Fuma!"

But
Fuma cannot hear him; Fuma is snoozing.

He is
sitting in his abandoned home's living room;
his homework fanned out before him on the short stubby living room table.

His
arms are folded on the study books and notebooks, a pen sticking out from under
his elbow like the crushed body of an earthquake's victim.

His
head is laid sideways on his left arm, his eyes are closed. His breathing is
slow and steady, he is asleep.

Clamp
Campus' ridiculous logo beams, "Sweet dreams Fuma!" at the youth who has collapsed on
the English book bearing the tactless blowfish.

The
notebook under his face is damp and the kanji are blurred as harsh ink gives in
to uncontrolled emotions.

Kamui
lands on the smooth wooden floor and floats to Fuma's
side. No one welcomed Fuma after a school's day, no
one made him a hot meal, no one asked him how he was and rubbed his shoulders.

Kamui
wraps ghastly thin arms around broad real shoulders; placing pale tiny scarred
palms atop large broad tanned ones and closes
his eyes.

Ghosts
can't sleep; they can never rest. They can only dissolve and materialize again.

For
now Kamui stays with Fuma. He will wait
for the young man to wake up into the warmest surprise he ever had, into a
loving embrace.

Kamui
has yet to fully understand what he has become.

***********************

Fuma
wakes up. He blinks away the last cobwebs of a sleep too short to sate insomnia's
drawbacks. He stares around him at the large vacant hall. Loneliness gapes at
him, exposing sharp fangs about to eat his soul away.

Once
upon a time Kyogo ordered the common rooms of this house to be made big; he had
hoped to have more children than just Fuma and
Kotori. Then he insisted the rooms weren't too big for only two children; there's
room to run rampant and play in, to have large family dinners with the Shiro's, to throw a
birthday party with Kotori and Fuma's classmates.

Now
the empty large house serves nothing but to remind Fuma of all that happiness
and domestic bliss gone forever. Great, thanks a lot, dad!

Fuma
drags himself to his feet and stumbles over to the kitchen, legs heavy and
uncooperative. Swooping through the kitchen he makes himself half a dinner,
pours himself a soft drink he allowed himself to buy since no one's here to
sulk at how he's going to ruin his teeth and health with all that excess sugar and caffeine.

He
plops down to a kitchen chair and eats his meal slowly. He thinks of his
homework and frowns; a problem in math is slowly taking
shape in
his mind's eye. The problem is solved, followed by the next and the next.

Then
there's nothing anymore and Fuma's left alone with
the void.

He
thinks of his history homework and tries to remember the march of a band of
samurai against the emperor of the time. He fails and the void leaks into his mind again.

His
meal is over; he pushes the plate away from him.

It�s
a bad habit really, pushing his finished plate away.
Once upon a time it was Kotori or mother who
would take that as a hint to clear the plate from the table and bring in the
next course.

Now
it's only him who's left here, but the habit
lingers on like a stubborn child.

Fuma
cannot get up. His body is heavy and weary, his head swirls inside. Tears break
out like a wild tide, pouring down his cheeks and onto the table underneath him
with no control.

He
places his elbow on the table and his palm on his face and bursts into violent
sobs.

The
ghost of Kamui stares at him from his stand in the living room. His own heart
is broken; he is crying too.

Since
the moment Fuma opened his eyes Kamui was screaming at him that "I'm here!
Fuma, I'm home! I'm alive! I'm alright! We're
together again!" but Fuma couldn't hear him.

A
sword through the heart is just not something you can live through, Kamui
realized, and now Fuma really has no one in the world to be there for him.

Kamui
nearly dissolves into the crushing depression settling down on him. Soon he
will become one of
the types of ghosts who roam the world
without a shape, a face or a name, gaping and wailing as they spook people with
their ungraspable grief.

Fuma
leaves for the bathroom and passes right through Kamui's
astral body. Spinning on his invisible heels, Kamui follows his loved one with
his eyes.

He
follows Fuma to the bathroom, where he watches the man urinate. Being a ghost
and invisible has its bright sides, as Kamui walks right up to Fuma and stares
down at the limb held out above the toilet seat.

Kamui
never saw this side of Fuma (not the urinating side, the not-covered-in-clothes
side), not even when they were children. He feels heat rising in his cheeks and
places his palms there; it's really hot!

Fuma has left the
toilet by now. Kamui is left behind to ponder as the lavatory cistern fills
itself with merry tunes of fulfillment.

Kamui
smiles, feeling his chest now. The fire is back; the fire
of passion, of love and devotion.

He
vowed to protect Fuma forever, even after 1999. Well Fuma's
in danger now isn't he? Sadness and loneliness hangs over Fuma's
head, swinging down on him like an Edgar Allen Poe pendulum. Who will keep him
from caving into anguish's grabbing arms if not his Kamui?

Waiting
patiently, Kamui follows Fuma around his home as he folds up his school papers
and prepares for sleep.

***********************

Fuma
sleeps again. He is sprawled out on his bed as if he landed there from a long fall.
His legs are cast each to their own sides, his right arms is placed away from
his body dangling down from the wrist, palm up, above the floor beyond the beds
edge.

The
left arm is laid on Fuma's face, covering his eyes.
His palm long ago stopped wiping away the tears which lulled him down to sleep.

His
broad muscular chest rises up and down in a steady rhythm of slumber, the belly
beyond it faintly moving.

Once
this torso bore muscles hard as stone and strong as iron. Now
basketball is beyond Fuma's interests; his limbs grow
too weak to carry his burden of mourn, so he
plays no more. A layer of fat slowly covers muscles once taut and all-powerful.

Kamui
kneels at the edge of the bed within the arch Fuma's
feet drew between them. He looks down at his Fuma and smiles. His Fuma and his alone, no one else's. Death twisted the
fire into a new type of heat and the fire twisted the ghastly body into a new
shape; new abilities.

A
tiny scarred palm reaches out and caresses Fuma's
bare chest. Past a short forest of scattered curly hairs,
past a long line of denser curls defining the middle of Fuma's
torso, deep into the thick forest at the man's crotch.

Fuma
twitches and moans in his sleep. It is not a moan of pleasure. It's
a moan of impatience; of suppressed anger. He
knows his body's needs now by heart and the time when they arise. He is
restless and angry, impatient at his member's annoying tactless demands.

Kamui
arches his eyebrows and shrugs; Fuma's
misunderstanding it all but what the heck? He is hardening and that's what
Kamui cares about. The joy of watching the man he loves rise at his presence; registering his existence and attention.

Kamui
bends down and runs the tip of his tongue on the tip of Fuma. Just a small lick to make Fuma twitch again.

Fuma
dreams of Kamui and his eyes flutter open. The arm, still on his face, obscures
Kamui from Fuma's new state of consciousness.

Sniggering
sweetly, Kamui crawls closer to Fuma; his
shoulder blades dancing up and down in a distinct feline motion.

He
buries his face in Fuma's abdomen, rubbing his cheeks
against tense skin and the forest's edge. He hums to himself and casts his body
onto Fuma's, arms splayed forward to arch up and
circle Fuma's sleeping head. He joins fingers above
the middle of Fuma's head and looks down at the half
hidden face.

Kamui
bows his head and kisses Fuma deeply, breathing in the scent of masculine musk
and sheets slept in for many nights. He inhales Fuma's
aftershave and the smell of his freshly shaved face, savoring the excited
tingles across his body and the joy of his lover's obvious masculinity. He laps
at the lips and digs his astral tongue into the mouth.

The
mouth is opening and a flesh-made tongue laps back into his mouth, twisting
erotically. Long, powerful arms encircle a space too big to contain Kamui's real body within it. It does contain Kamui, along
with too much empty air, so Kamui's satisfied.

Contact
has been made and Fuma is not alone anymore.

Soft
crimson eyes open up and look at Kamui's forehead.
They think they're looking into Kamui's eyes but
they're mistaken. Never mind, it's the thought that counts.

Kamui
digs into the hot mouth again, needy and burning now, thirsty for more from his
man.

Heat
pours all over his mouth, circling his tongue, drawing lines on his lips and
lapping at his bottom lip. Fuma wraps his arms tighter as patterns of heat on
his body makes the presence in his room's identity clear. He kisses deeper,
better, thirsty for the boy as well.

Restless,
Kamui snaps his body up. He saddles Fuma, running frantic invisible palms all
across the chest he so longed to explore.

Fondling
up air like a blind man, Fuma finds the thighs
he wanted to grab and squeeze with passion from the beginning of this damned
year. Hot thick air makes it obvious to him where Kamui is, his palms run along
the body they drove a sword through not three months ago.

The
ghost is hungry. The ghost is thirsty, lustful and impatient. It leans forward
and bites down on Fuma's left nipple, sucking
powerfully as much as a ghost of his status can.

His
lover hisses and grabs at hot air behinds, grinding the fire onto his swollen
crotch.

The
ghost moans a throaty "Oahhh" and bites down
again. This time he rocks his body along the burning flesh shaft, he builds a
frantic rhythm sure to have sent his flesh body's thighs into a good few day's cramp.

Kamui's
flesh body is lying under Kotori's tree, under a
tombstone now and slowly rots away. For now,
Kamui will ride his lover as much as the both of them can keep up the activity.

Fuma's palm
rises, searching to the heat again. Up, up, up, index and
middle finger prodding the air looking for something to penetrate, somewhere to
stay.

The
ghost wraps its mouth around the fingers and sucks, savoring the sound of the
pleased, "Mmm," below him. He does not drop the fingers as
he moans, grabbing his invisible manhood and rubbing it against Fuma's hardness.

Fuma's
other palm shoots to his body to snatch himself from the hot thick tendril
wrapping him. He holds himself upright, bucking his hips in heavenwards
thrusts.

Refusing
to let go of the fingers in his unearthly mouth, Kamui abides his loved one's
wishes and inserts the pulsing member into himself.

Ah,
but he did it too quickly, too rashly, without thought or consideration to
himself. He wanted that amazing moment of penetration to be slower, more
flowing, more meaningful. Instead, he simply slammed the other man into himself and
drew in as deep as the other man could. Foolish.

To
compensate this mistake Kamui moves up and down slowly. Very
slowly. Studying every millimeter of manhood, every
curve and every juncture of arteries and veins until he would be able to draw
them with his finger in the air, the soft and sensitive line defining the head
from the shaft. With his tongue he studies the grooves of Fuma's fingerprints.

This
is what the ancient men who wrote the western bible meant when they called
making love, 'knowing'.

Fuma grabs
hot air thighs and digs himself deep into that fiery heat around him, stabbing
powerfully into ghastly flesh.

The
ghost bites into the fingers and immediately licks them better, sucking into
them as if they were the member within him. He gives in and speeds up his
moves.

But Fuma's in control now, Fuma's
chasing down what good manners and six years of solitude deprived him of, what
the Dragon tried to claim his own. No one will stop him from going at it in the
rhythm he dictates, the moves he controls; he
won't allow it!

Ah,
giving in to your man, giving your man what he needs, serving your man's every
need. Let your man thrust deep into you as fast and hard as he wishes, give
into him as much as you can, give him everything. Kamui bursts into maddened
laughter, his body bouncing up and down frantically.

Fuma
draws deep husky breaths, hitching up whenever a new peak
of pleasure is scaled. He reaches up to grasp the hot thin waist, pushing it
down with every thrust of his.

He
claws at the heat-made body and thrusts harder. At first he is only mouthing
it, with lips wet and dripping, then he sounds the name of his loved on and the
ghost above him, "Kamui, Kamui, KamuiKamuiKamuiKamuiKamuiKamui, oh Kamui!"

Scorching
tendrils scald Fuma's chest, burning eight crescents
into Fuma's flesh, two inverted crescents burn down a
little lower on the bare skin. Fire licks at the sweat-soaked sheets in two
lines at the sides of Fuma's hips.

The
fingers slip out of the ghost's mouth as he arches his back backwards and
bounces his body again in one last dance into the purest heat, into the
brightest light. He fulfilled another secret deep wish.

The
ghost melts onto the man on the bed, his astral body exhausted and powerless.
It is over.

Suddenly
in panic, Fuma leaps to sit up on his bed, searching the air around him with
frantic blind hands. He blinks around his dark room;
the air around him cool and calm again.

Empty
is the room around him. Empty and lonely.

"Kamui?.....Kamui where are you?.....K-Kamui?" the only heat
he feels now are the lines his tears draw on his cheeks.

"Where
are you?....Kamui��I miss you��Kamui?"

No
more.

It is
time for the soul of a boy, so long tortured and punished for sins not his, to
come home to the light and bliss of heaven.

One
last, "No,"
he says as he faces the angels. "No, I wish not to stay up here, here is
for those who have nothing to linger on for. I still have something to do."

So, they send him back down to the land of the living
in a new shape with a new name.

Along
with him comes the fire, to remind his soul of what it's off to achieve, why it
refused the eternal rest.

Maybe
this time he will do good;
maybe this time he'll live it up to the fullest.

This
time he'll find his way to his Fuma and be more than
just a one night lump of heat and astral projection.

So
Fuma won't be alone anymore; so Fuma will be
happy and laughing again.

To be
with Fuma; his Fuma.

(end)
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Ghosts In the Night