One Thing

~~Warning/Disclaimer~~
This is an AU, post-apocolypse fic. Ken/Dai slash pairing, rating for the innuendo of sex. There’s bad language and evil men in the world. But basically—it’s about two boys in a world that’s insane, and no one’s left to fix things. Slightly ooc, and I’m not gonna say if either boy is sane or not…I’ll leave that up to you.

One Thing

It was dusk when I first saw him. He walked slowly along the street, clad in leather and netting and buckled straps. A punk. The trenchcoat revealed a slim and somewhat skinny torso, a ripped black shirt over black-netted stomach. Silver winked about his neck from the half-hidden chains, from the studs on the thick bracelets, the buckles of his heavy combat boots. Dark brown hair lay in tousled locks, touched here and there with a slash of bright red dye. I couldn’t make out his face very well—he had walked into the shadows of the wall. The sun had disappeared behind the buildings, but I thought it was an improvement. I wouldn’t have to look at the crappy rubble.

I snorted a half-laugh behind my cigarette, and shook my head. I took a drag, enjoying the bitter bite of the smoke, and spat to the side. Everything’s an improvement to this damn place, I thought. I watched from the corner of my eye as the guy strolled closer, then I was kicking back and leaning comfortably against the grainy brick wall behind me. The buildings around here aren’t very stable, but they provided homes. They were shelters. I knew that if necessary, I could disappear into the buildings without a trace—or at least outrun someone intending harm. For a guy who’s somewhat young and unscarred, this is actually pretty important. I wanted to remain unscarred, thankyou.

A few moments later, the time having passed in flashes of thoughtlessness, he passed in front of me. I didn’t think very much about it, not then, but I saw as he turned his head and smiled slightly. Knowingly. I looked over at his face.

It was the type of face that skinny under-nourished kids have, eyes too big and skin to pale. His was almost translucent in the dusk-light, framed by the darkness of his leather clothes and hair, white in the lowering light. As I took all of this in, I found myself smiling back without knowing why, raising the cigarette to my lips for another pull.

He paused, one hip cocking absently, and swept his trenchcoat back to rest a hand upon it. “Yo,” he said. His lips were stained with a dark color, perhaps a mulberry or black lipstick. I didn’t care—I’ve seen worse things on better looking kids. Not to say the kid in front of me wasn’t cute, he was—but he wasn’t beautiful, like the boys and girls kept up in the Business end of town.

Of course not, he’s too skinny, I thought and smiled wider. I knew my smile was too wide to be reassuring. “What’s up?”

He gave me a look, amused and cynical. “Nothin’ here. You?”

“Same for me.” Then, wondering why I offered, I waved my still-burning cigarette. “Want a drag?”

“Got room on the wall?” he replied.

“Damn right I do.”

Maybe I was just curious. Maybe I just wanted to hear another voice that wasn’t spiteful or mad with fear and anger. Maybe…well, maybe not because I was lonely. You got used to the loneliness, the absence of humanity.

We sat in silence for nearly ten minutes after he climbed up the old . B. Bricks tumbled in clatters as his boots kicked them away. It was a favorite spot, not too high and not too low, really, but enough so that if someone decided he didn’t like your face, it slowed them down enough to save your skin. That and chucking a brick at their face generally deterred them enough to run. Preservation of one’s self was a big thing now-a-days. Too many kids died because they weren’t fast enough to get away, or smart enough to know when to hide. Not in this place.

I suppose I could say I was smart—God knows that I never really had to run from anything, but maybe that was my brother’s fault. My brother had influence. He ruled these parts. He made people listen and want to believe—and he was a hard-ass, too. Our group was getting somewhere in the little way of a true life, when someone up in the Offices—someone who thought we were getting too noisy in our squalid drug-ridden street-life—decided to have my brother shot. It was the worst day of my life, seeing his blood spatter the ground. It had sent us back into hell.

That was two years ago.

I’ve gotten past it, really. Nothing else I could do but sit here, doing the things I usually do and just surviving day to day. I wasn’t left with a choice. None of us are given a choice. I leaned myd bad back, staring through lank hair, up past the broken windows and empty clotheslines trailing between the buildings. Up past the windows that had survived the rocks and other thrown objects—I remember someone throwing a doll once—and into the strange purple-orange sky. There were no clouds, there wouldn’t be clouds for a long time—it wasn’t the rainy season yet.

My brother had died because he was trying to make the lives of the people still living below the upper-building district better. He died because he was trying to make peace. Because he didn’t like what had happened after the wars, and the emptiness in the eyes of the children. Because he didn’t like living life ruled by thugs and gangs, drugs and rich people.

Because he wanted to change things.

“So what’s your name?” the boy asked softly, interrupting my pessimistic thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

“Ken.”

“Ken?” he echoed.

“Yup.” I grinned crookedly at him. “You?”

“Daisuke.”

I nodded to show my respect. Respect in these days would get you farther than money.
If you could make the right ties, the right impression, you wouldn’t die. If you could live another day, another hour, there was always a chance you could get away. Respect was something that could save your life, even when you were down in the dregs of hell and sucking up brimstone.

I swung my legs, feeling the grit of the concrete under my dirty, tattered jeans and propped one leg up. I rested an elbow on my raised knee, taking the near-gone cigarette, and took one last drag. Then I flicked it away into the darkness, watching the trailing sparks scatter like a faltering firecracker. Shadows further down the street moved—I knew the night-owls would be venturing forth soon. People that wouldn’t dare show their faces in the light would creep along the dark, looking for food or drugs or sex. People that didn’t have any other way to life, that didn’t have any other choice. Dangerous feral people.

It was habit to ignore them—I knew I could either outrun them or beat them at their own game. I turned, propping my chin into my palm and leaned. “You might as well tell me what you’re doing. I’m not stupid—so what do you want, Daisuke?”

The boy sighed dramatically, young and strained all at once. “I lied,” he said. “I’ve seen you before. I’ve actually watched you for a long time.”

“So?”

“So, I wanted to meet you,” he said, his dark eyes glancing over. He looked amused, but the emotions in those eyes could have been anything. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Not in these days,” I raised a brow. “I can’t afford to ‘meet’ people.”

“True.”

Meet me, I thought. He wanted to meet me. What is he, some kinda pervert? “So what did you want?” I asked again. “Nothing’s free around here.”

“Mmm…” Daisuke faced me, his face half-hidden in the decayed light. His eyes were hard and focused, and the shadows of sunset were growing thicker. “I want to ask you a question.”

I snorted in a disbelieving way. “A question. Really. And what else will I have to do?”

“Just answer honestly,” he said, his red-dyed hair falling into his face. He raised a hand and pushed it back, leather creaking slightly and a jingle of the metal in half-heard tones. I stared at him without saying a word for a few seconds, mind racing.

Honestly? I repeated inside. He wants honesty in a place that survives on lies… “What’s the question?” I said slowly, suspiciously.

“If you could do any one thing…what would it be?” He looked down, at my hands in their finger-less gloves, at my ripped and patched jacket and smiled a smile that made him seem half-sane. “Take your time—I want the truth.” He watched me, in my dirty clothes and smudged skin.

Any one thing, I thought, still staring at him. One thing…

I had no idea. “Um…”

“Think about it,” he said, smiling until I could see a glint of teeth. “You got any more cigs?”

Wordlessly, still staring at him suspiciously, I reached inside my jacket and snagged out the crumpled pack. “Just two left—might as well share,” I sighed. He reached forward, hands brushing mine as he pulled out a single cigarette. I shivered without knowing why, only realizing after they were gone that his hands were ice cold.

“Thanks,” he said when I held up my lighter. I lit the tip, watching his lips purse as he inhaled, and frowned.

One thing…if I could do one thing…

I took the smoking piece between my fingertips, and inhaled a drag of my own. “One thing?” I repeated guardedly when I had exhaled my plume of smoke.

“One thing,” Daisuke replied. “Just one.”

“Can I ask you why you’re asking random people questions in the dark?”

He tilted his head back and laughed, a dark and merry sound, something that I hadn’t heard in a long time. I think I was staring at him in shock when he answered playfully, “Tell me your answer, and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Jeez,” I muttered. He laughed…in a place like this, he laughed like nothing was wrong. He took the cig back, and I leaned back to look back into the ugly sky. “I dunno…one thing. I guess…” I paused, thinking hard on what exactly I would do. “There’s a lot I wanted to do before my brother died, but…I guess…”

Daisuke was watching me, still facing me, and I shrugged.

“If I could do just one thing…I guess I wish I had the power to change things.”

“Change things?”

“Yeah. Like fix things. If I could do one thing, it’d be fixing things.” I looked over, and met his gaze, almost demanding that he laugh again and point out the flaws of my reasoning.

For a long second I stared, afraid and strangely calm, and held his gaze. He smiled slowly, the cigarette held near his face. The glowing tip lent him a warmth that only the sun could duplicate. Yet, for a brief and panicking moment, that smile looked dangerous. Predatory. I shuddered, my body frozen and anxious.

“Fix things,” he said softly, breaking the spell he held me with, and gazed at the cigarette. Then he met my eyes again. “Is that your wish?”

“Yeah—so tell me yours.”

“I told you,” he began. The tip of the cig gleamed red as he inhaled again before passing it to me. “I’ve been watching you. I was curious. Besides, I ask everyone that.”

“Do you watch a lot of people, then?” I said, voice dry. “Because you don’t act like a stalker...”

“No…not really. And it’s not really watching you—just noticing. I’ve seen you in other places, like here, and down by the old river. You know, the one they cemented over?”

“You creepy motuckeucker,” I laughed, half-choking on the smoke, unable to help myself. “The river? I haven’t been down there in ages…Just how long have you been watching me, anyway?”

For some reason I couldn’t remember why I found him so funny at that moment. Why it was okay to laugh and smile, instead of regarding him with the caution of survival. I hadn’t smiled in a long time—there wasn’t ever a reason—and this kid made me laugh. Granted, it was a slightly hysterical, mostly wary disbelieving laugh, but it was laughter. Laughter was rare. It was like flowers, and flowers didn’t bloom near the cities anymore. The bombs had taken that away.

Daisuke shrugged as I was still huffing out a laugh. “Yeah, the river. I heard it’s haunted.”

“Psh,” I waved my hand, in a strangely good mood. “Not haunted—birds and bats live in the overpass. I used to climb up there and hide.”

Daisuke eyed me. “That’s not proof.”

I shook my head in exasperation, and rolled my eyes. “You know, if you wanted to go, you could just ask. I suppose I could show you, stalker-boy—as long as you promise to behave.”

“I always behave,” he said mildly, and took a drag. Then, copying my earlier movement, he flicked the dying cigarette out into the shadows.

'/~

It didn’t us very long to walk the distance to the old cemented river. We passed the shadows of other people, passed by and ignored them as they watched us. They stared at us in fear, in apathy, in everything suspicious and malicious. I barely noticed anymore—walking confidently without fear was a practice. You either did it, or you were beaten down past your fear and into nothing. My unease didn’t show—and I sure as hell couldn’t even tell you why I was going with this boy, this strange punk named Daisuke.

I don’t think I ever even realized it, but he drew me. He offered a change, and it called to me.

It was frightening when I think about it now. I wasn’t supposed to think like that, I wasn’t supposed to need things. I could survive on my own. I didn’t need his absolution, his words, his gaze.

But I guess something did, inside. In this senseless world full of hate and wars and death, I could laugh. Because of him. Because he could laugh. Because he was. Because…

Fuck, I don’t know. Because maybe I’m just a little bit insane, and don’t need a solid reason to like someone? Even if I hadn’t known him for ten minutes—did I need a reason to enjoy his company? Well, besides the small physical attraction, okay?

We smoked the last cigarette on the way there, passing it back and forth between us as we walked. Other people still stared, and I still ignored them as easily as usual. Bricks and cracked pavement made the roads, framed with grassy curbs and broken things. Glass sparkled in the gutters, swept there by the rains, shining in tiny sharp pieces. Here and there a few fires burned in old rusted barrels. People of different sizes grouped around them, clad in rags and tatters, warming their hands or holding out unidentifiable meat to roast on metal skewers. Dog, probably. People weren’t picky. Cats, now…people left cats alone. What—do you think we wanted to have rats around? Too unsanitary if you ask me.

On the last block we passed a group of men, older and dressed in shabby leather. A woman cowered on the ground between them, a leather collar around her neck. Bruises spotted the bared skin, and when she looked around, her eyes were vacant. He quivered as the men moved, one of them barking a coarse thing resembling laughter. I averted my gaze out of sheer habit before we drew their attention, but not before one of the men unbuckled his pants and yanked the woman over. I had the dying notion that we’d pass through without attracting them, but they noticed us anyway. Perhaps it was the way we shared a cigarette, the act of sharing itself strange to them, or it was our casual walking.

One of them swung himself off of the gutted car and shouted to us. “Hey, where you two boys headed, eh?” His companions—except for the one currenhumphumping at the woman—raised their heads, eyes glinting dully and pinned us with their looks.

Neither of us glanced over.

“Hey, we’s talking to you!” another called. His voice was high and scratchy, his face round and spotted with tiny scars. “Why don’t you come share some of that with us?”

“Fuck off,” I spat over my shoulder. “Go bark somewhere else.”

Daisuke threw me an amused look, as if it was all a great joke, and glanced at the men behind us. “I don’t think they liked that,” he said casually.

I shot the men a nasty look, trying to look threatening. “Screw them,” I hissed under my breath. “You wanna get gang-banged?”

“Not really.”

“Then shut your face and come on.” I tugged on his arm and pulled him past the glowering men. They were all standing now, watching us with narrow animalistic eyes and dark faces. Firelight cast their shadows into dance upon the wall behind them, giving them orange-tinted skin and ugly expressions. A few more feet and we would be pass them—

“Hey, kid—I’ve seen you around,” a low almost pleasant voice remarked. A hand grabbed at my jacket, and automatically I pushed my arm against Daisuke, cursing. The boy went stumbling into the wall, eyes dark in his head.

I found myself pulled up against an overweight man with a rancid smell. His hands were greasy as they squirmed under my jacket, pinching and grabbing at my skin. I kicked, seeing out of the corner of my eye the other men shambling forward, and twisted to the left. I didn’t yell—yelling was a sign of weakness, and dug my nails into his skin.

He laughed, a hand groping into my crotch and squeezing.

“Let. Go.” I said in a low and dangerous voice, my eyes barely able to see his face over my shoulder. “Now.”

He ignored me and traveled a few short steps, pressed me face first against the pitted bumper of an old Buick that was sprawled indecently on its side, and pushed me forward. “What for?” the man cackled lewdly. “You’re still pretty…” His hips prodded at me with bumping interest, his dick a lump that nudged my thigh. The men came closer, lust and a bestial amusement glowing on their faces.

“Pretty,” the man crooned, and began to fumble with my belt.

I made a face in disgust, heart hammering—this wasn’t something I had to deal with everyday, thank god—and yanked a broken knifeblade from inside my jacket. I scrambled over to my side in the attacker’s arms, kicking, and slashed across the man’s face.

He shrieked a warbling cry of disbelief, falling back with hands across his face. Blood was spurting out from behind his hands, his pants half-undone.

“I warned you,” I hissed, and kicked him in the groin.

Daisuke was watching with narrow eyes, something glittering in his hands—but after I glanced murder to the approaching men—it was gone, and the punk was merely waiting. His eyes were dark, his mouth a slash of anger or disgust—I couldn’t tell. I was only relieved that I still had my pants up. I stepped over the moaning would-be attacker and spat. I didn’t bother to put the knife away—it would be easier to keep it out in the open, where people could see it. Safer that way.

I kept my pace deliberately casual, linking my fingers with Daisuke when I reached his side, and bared my teeth at the men as we drew further away. One of them gave a second rude shout, mentioned something about my mother and a dead cow, and let us go.

I thought, then, People like that are the reason we live like this...

“Did you kill him?” Daisuke said. “It looked painful. Was it necessary?”

“If I hadn’t done something,” I pointed out and wiped the blade on my sleeve, then slipped it back into my jacket. “They’d be following us. Men like that enjoy fear. It’s why half the people don’t come outside anymore.”

“Because they didn’t insult them?”

“Exactly.”

“…that doesn’t make sense.”

I pulled my hand free, vaguely thinking on how cold his fingers were, and shoved them into my pockets. The wind was cold. “It doesn’t have to. Nothing does, anymore. It’s all fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Daisuke agreed. “This world sucks.”

Minutes later we stood upon the road that led to the cemented river. It was an interstate at one time, wide and still marked with faint white and yellow paint. The pavement was cracked and full of potholes. Any cars that tried to cross wouldn’t get very far. If any cars still ran, that is. I looked across, seeing more buildings that were dark and window-less. Graffiti arced in colorful derision, bright in the flickering streetlamps. A bit of brightness in the place where death ruled now.

Then I looked down, at the river and it’s covering of cement. I haven’t been here in years. It hasn’t changed much.

It used to be a river. I don’t know why people still call it that—it’s been covered in cement for over a decade. Maybe even longer—but I can’t really remember anything about it before except for the smell of water and floating pop cans. I guess I must have been really young. The older people say it had been a river before the contractors and the rich men decided to have it covered, after the war ended and the Business inherited the world. Some of them say that the water’s still there, if you can crack through the cement. No one’s ever tried—they the the water wouldn’t be worth drinking.

I looked down at it, at the overpass of the highways and roads, and then to Daisuke. He stood in a similar position with his hands in his pockets, hunched against the cold, staring down at a man-made river. His eyes were bright in the darkness, reflecting the poor sputtering street-lamps until I had to look away again, uneasy.

“So we’re here,” I said abruptly. “I’d have a cigarette, but we smoked the last one.”

“That’s okay,” the boy said, raising his eyes to mine. He smiled quietly. “I just want to go and look around.”

“What? Jeezus, you’re nuts,” I muttered. “I don’t know if there’s anyone there or not—You’ll probably get jumped.”

“I can take care of myself. Are you coming with?”

I took a moment to stare at him, then glanced around at the shadows. “You think I’m gonna stay up here by myself?”

We began the steep decline in stilted paces, leaning back against the pull of gravity. Glass tinkled as it skidded away from our shoes, unseen in the darkness. Something squeaked in the darkness, a rat most likely. Then at the bottom. Grit and sand crunched underneath as we angled for the overpass. There wasn’t anything underneath that I could hear or see, but I was nervous about entering. Even though I wasn’t alone, there was something that warned me off about entering at night. Daisuke didn’t seem to notice.

I stopped a few feet away, and shuffled. “Hey, why did you want to come here anyway?” I asked. “And don’t say because it’s haunted—I want to know the truth.” Turning half in, half out of the darkness, Daisuke regarded me solemnly. “Because,” he said. “I wanted to show you something.”

“Creepy m’fucker,” I said again, under my breath, and sighed silently. Then, louder, “Yeah? Likat?”at?”

“Your wish?” the boy said, and stepped back into the darkness.

“My what?” I could hear him walking, his footsteps slow and measured. I tracked him by sound and the faint occasional flash of silver, following him as he started up the incline. He didn’t answer. What the hell—my wish?

Then I sighed, scowling and followed him in. “What do you mean, my wish?”

For a brief moment I was blind as I walked into the pure darkness. There was no light to see by, no moon revealing itself in half-tarnished light. No stars to see through the haze of reflected sodium phosphate lighting. Pure un-altered darkness.

“Up here,” Daisuke’s voice called.

I looked up towards his voice, and began to climb. It wasn’t hard, just unstable because of the lack of sight. Loose gravel and crumbling concrete shifted under my feet until I was forced to lean forward, feeling by hand as I worked up the incline. My outstretched fingers brushed cold leather. A shoe.

“You’re slow,” Daisuke remarked. He sounded amused again, and I scowled. I gripped his foot and pulled myself up. I discovered then that he was sitting in a small and hollowed out depression in the cement. Someone had taken their time and a sharp rock, or sharp piece of steel, and chipped a nice little space for themselves.

“So?” I huffed, and scooted myself into the niche. It was large enough for two, about four feet high, and several feet deep. I sat with my legs hanging over the edge. “What now?”

“Hold this,” came his voice and something small and cold was pushed into my hands.

I examined it by fingertip, and frowned. “What’s this?”

“Candle. Wanna light it, please?”

“Um…okay.”

I did as he asked, reaching into my pocket and striking the lighter, I lit the wick and stared at it. It made a difference to the darkness, chasing it, accenting it, but completing it, somehow. I looked up from the flame and saw a smiling Daisuke.

He looks different in the candlelight, I thought foolishly. Softer. Warmer, I think. “Where should I put this?”

He took it and reached out to set it upon the girder. I followed his hand, and noticed that the girder itself had a waxy coating, drips and drabs of previous candles. He’s been here before, I noticed and looked at him again, accusing. “Hey—“

He was watching me patiently, almost expectantly. Uncomfortable and at odds with myself, I shifted and stared back. So what? He’s probably brought other guys here all the time…“What?” I said after a brief struggle. “What did you want? Why did you—”

Lips that were darker in the golden light smiled. His eyes seemed almost golden—it was then I realized they were a dark rich brown. “Just one thing—“ he started, eyes narrow.

I blinked, startled, and drew back. “Oh, hey, hold on—“

He was already moving. A hand pressed against my face, a second gripped my arm, too fast for me to respond and too strong to pull away from.

Something warm brushed my lips, and the words I heard mumbled against my mouth were, “I want you to fix things.” Then it was gone, and Daisuke was drawing back. His hand was icy against my face, a point of contact that I couldn’t ignore.

I stared at him. What kind of kiss was that? “…what the hell?” I whispered. “What—“

“I want you to fix things,” Daisuke repeated. “That was your wish. I gave it to you, Ken.” He dropped his hands, pulling them back slowly and settling them into his lap. He watched with disguised patience.

“You’re fucking crazy,” I replied. “What are you, some sort of genie?”

“Actually,” he said, and shrugged. “I’ve been called a demon.” Then he grinned at me, a child’s grin full of mischief and delight.

“Fuckin’ loonie is what you are,” I rubbed a palm over my eyes.

“I’m serious,” Daisuke said. “You don’t believe me?”

“Should I?” I said dryly.

The boy seemed a bit put out. Frowning slightly, he cocked his head and watched me without speaking. Then, the candlelight still wavering between us, he said, “You should try it out. Seriously. Fix the river, if you want.”

Fix the river? I thought incredulously. How do I fix the river? “And how would I do that? Wave my hand and say ‘Be whole, river?’”

“If that works, yeah,” he said. “But I’d get rid of the cement, first.”

For the longest time I stared at him in the waning light, surrounded by the darkness and the sounds of the city. I stared at him, thinking about what he had said, and how he had kissed me, whispering words into my mouth. I thought about how he looked, and all the silver on his outfit, and the strange gleaming way his eyes had of looking at me. As if I had something precious that only he could see.

I thought of how he scared me, and how he made me laugh at the same time, and wondered. Then I looked over, through the darkness and at the cement. A thread of disbelieving hope wavered. Did I dare?

“Like this,” Daisuke came up behind me, knees pushing pebbles into an early death down the incline, his icy hand taking mine. He held it out, palm first towards the river. “Say ‘Fix,’” he said.

I shivered again, and looked past my hand. “F-fix,” I whispered. “Fix…Fix. Fix.”

I waited without breathing, waited for something, waited and didn’t even know why—but nothing happened. Daisuke gave a soft laugh, his breath tickling my ear. He pressed a warm kiss to the skin underneath, and let go of my wrist.

“It’s okay—miracles don’t happen right away.”

I let out a breath. Nothing had happened. I knew I sounded angry. “You crazy bastard—what kind of joke was that?”

Nothing had happened. I wasn’t able to fix anything by merely saying it, and I wasn’t sitting in the dark with a demon. It was all a joke. It was all the expansive thought of a psycho-kid in leather and silver and buckled straps. It was just…I didn’t know if I was relieved or not.

Daisuke smiled at me, benign and innocent, and didn’t say a word. He reached out with one finger, tracing it over my nose and to my lips. His gaze lingered there, as my thoughts went to how he was only cute and not strikingly attractive and exhaled. My thoughts centered on the warmth of his mouth.

“Alright,” I said softly, and felt a skitter-pull of desire in my stomach. It had been a while since I had been warm, and something was whispering that Daisuke was warm tonight. Even if his hands were cold—I’d be warm at least for a little while. Something to keep in memory, I suppose.

I closed my eyes as he kissed me again, the candle guttering. A hand caught the back of my head, and a slick wet heat invaded my mouth. His tongue. I opened further, sucking lightly, and reached out. He tasted of cigarette smoke and a hint of sweetness, as if he had eaten fruit. I hooked my fingers through his belt and tugged him closer, scooting as he knelt over me. His trenchcoat was heavy against my arms, our mouths attached as I helped him shimmy out of it, and dropped it to the concrete.

“You want to?” he asked, half incredulous.

“Why not?” I said, and flicked a finger along the chain over his throat. “We both want to, right?” I looked up through my lashes, grinning slightly. “Besides, I know you’re not going to hurt me, or anything.”

Daisuke made a strange sound in his throat, a stifled laugh, and bent to kiss me again. I made a greedy noise in the back of my throat, half-out of my own jacket by the time his tongue slipped into my mouth again. When I shrugged it off I spread it onto the surface without looking, yanking off the ragged sweater I wore and dropped back. I pulled him down, wrapping legs around his waist and pushing hands against his chest. His skin was warm, almost fever-hot, as I pushed the undershirt up over his skin. He took the hint and paused long enough to wriggle out of them, taking only the slightest care to keep things upon the ledge.

Fast, huh? I thought. Fast is good. There’s plenty of time for slow later.

He paused then, braced above me on one arm, and looked down at me in the dying candle-light. “Is this what you want?” he asked again. Something flickered in his eyes.

I looked up at him, more confused, and tried to control my breathing. I wasn’t sure why he was asking again, but there wasn’t a point in getting angry. “Yeah—there something wrong?”

“No…” Daisuke said. “I just wanted to be sure.” He smiled then, a half-smile full of dark bitterness. He leaned down and kissed me with an open mouth. I felt his hands working at my jeans.

The next few moments became blurry for me. All I could recognize was the sensation of hcy hcy hands and the heat of his tongue, the scraping roughness of the concrete through the fabric of our clothes. Teeth nipped at my skin, as my hips lifted and my pants were undone. Air over my hips. A hand curled around my cock.

I gasped from the coldness, unable to decide if I wanted his hand there or not—I wasn’t sure if it felt incredibly good or just—cold. It didn’t bother me that my pants were down around my ankles, tangled about my shoes—this was sex, and sex was something relatively familiar in this stagnant world.

“Fuck,” I muttered when his hand began to move. My body decided it was apparently a good feeling, and tensed. His hand pulled slowly as his other deft hand worked on my shoes, then slid the pants off. I looked up through half-closed eyes, seeing the milky-pale areas of my skin that were clean, and the contrasting color of his darker hand. His hair was down around his face when he looked over and smiled again, that chilling predatory smile, and ran the tips of his free hand up the inside of my thigh.

I jumped, exhaling as my legs parted and he loomed over me again. His belt was undone, his own erection pushing the leather of his pants out, and his hand slowly worked my cock. I knew what I wanted, and I could tell he saw it in my face. His smile widened.

I heard a muted thump from somewhere behind him, looked to see his heavy boots kicked aside. The pressure of his hand disappeared, and I watched his hands catch upon the waistline, pushing his pants down. In the next moment they were being kicked off, and he was braced over me. I pushed up, kissing him hungrily as the pants left the area, and ran a hand over his chest again. Smooth flat muscle, warm and alive, met my palm. A heart thumped rapidly as I toyed with a nipple, licking a path from his neck to the dip of his solar plexus.

I felt his breath catch, his narrow hips dropped atop of mine. His erection pulsed hotly against my lower belly and I half-thrusted upward. Hands caught my wrists, pinning them down above my head until fingers twined with mine, a tongue doing wonderful things to my neck.

I rolled my head over, breathless and aroused and impatient, and pushed up against him again. “Do it already,” I whispered out, urging him on with body and words.

A flash of a grin, one hand vanishing until I felt the slight pressure of a finger between my legs. I tossed my head, eyes closed in the near-darkness. The candle was almost gone—I could tell by the way the light was flickering over his body—but it didn’t matter. His body was warm against mine, his knees nudging under my legs and raising them. His hands still held my arms down, giving me a strange sensation of helplessness—but at the same time it wasn’t confining.

The tip of his cock pressed against me, then into me. I heard myself groan at the feel of it, yanking at the hands that held me, and raised my hips against it. He slid into me witfainfaint murmur of sound, his hands painfully tight now, and began to thrust slowly. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath when he started—every movement he made seemed to stop me, seemed to counter-act my attempts at breathing. It felt—

He arched above me, driving harder. My legs were wrapped around his waist, knees nearly to my chin, my hands still pinned to the floor, and my eyes screwed shn thn the darkness. I didn’t need to look at him, I couldn’t see him—but every move, every sound, I could hear. It sent me reeling, the feeling of him. The sound of his breath, the faint pulse of his heartbeat through the palms of his hands.

Really fast, I thought inanely. I wanted to ask, Can you tell I haven’t got any for a while?

Dimly, I heard myself gasp, strange colors exploding against my eyelids, and bucked my body upwards. I impaled myself willingly, wantonly, hearing him make a soft moan, and felt the cold of his hands. It traveled through my body like lightening, wrapped in heat and burning chill. My skin, suddenly over-sensitive, pebbled with goosebumps.

When I came, he was still inside me and moving astoundingly fast—my world collapsed to a strange shining stab of lightening, cold and heat indistinguishable from the other. I felt, rather than heard, my voice scream out against it, with it, begging it for more. A mouth fastened over mine, tongue and lips and saliva barely registering. I cried out a second time, his body strumming a tension down into mine, and felt wetness against my belly, my own. He jerked, gasping out something I couldn’t hear, and emptied into me. The world faded, tilted, and bled away into the darkness. For a while afterward, I forgot everything. There had been no war. There was no dead brother, no city full of dying people with no soul left.

There was only me, and this boy—warm alive and still human enough to make me feel somewhat alive. When I opened my eyes, I saw the candle had gone out. In the darkness there I felt him crumble down against me, nearly sobbing for breath, still inside and pinning me down. I didn’t mind. I fought to catch my breath, dizzy and tingling pleasantly.

There was only me, and this boy—warm and still human enough to make me feel somewhat alive.

Daisuke mumbled something into my neck.

“…hmm?” I managed. I felt tired, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep. He was nice and warm and heavy. A comfort—it was strange to feel a body so close.

“…I said I’m sorry…”

I yawned. “For what?”

I felt him shift atop me, the damp sensation of him pulling free. He didn’t rise, though, and nuzzled my neck slowly. Then he whispered, “Because I lied to you before…and this, I guess.”

“Mm…you didn’t want it?”

“No, I did—it’s just…” he paused, his voice edged with some emotion. Regret, maybe. “I like you—But I don’t like lying.”

“…it’s okay. I’m fine,” I protested. My eyes were refusing to open. I mumbled, “I don’t care what you do—sex is great. Warm.”

The last thing I remember, then, was the husky laugh, the press of his mouth against my cheek… A whisper of sound.

And then darkness, where the words “I give you this,” followed me down.

'/~

He was gone when I woke. I wasn’t surprised, though, to find myself in a dirty man-made cave of concrete. There hadn’t been much to talk about, really. There wasn’t anything to say other than the small talk of the city, of what he had thought of the war. It had been vague and somewhat difficult to remember—my body was more into the sex. That, at least, had come easily, willingly, to both of us. All the same, he had left in the darkness, leaving me pillowed on my own clothing and asleep. I didn’t mind—it wasn’t really any different from previous partners. I guess I knew I wouldn’t see him again, that he had been some strange crazy kid out for a laugh and a fuck, so I dressed and left.

I went to see the cemented river a few days later. I couldn’t tell you why I went, but I did. I skidded down the incline, walking in the gray half-light until I stood in the center of the cemented river. I looked down, something catching my eye—

Something that I hadn’t noticed before. A spiderweb fissure near the center. It was about an inch wide, as I stared down at it, perplexed, and realized I could see water glinting deep within. As I watched, a small piece of concrete flaked away and disappeared within.

“Jeezus,” I whispered. I took a step back, a half-remembered fear of ice and falling in deep dark water, and shuddered in the cold wind. Without realizing it, my eyes rose to the dark shadow of the niche still secreted away under the overpass, the spot where I had sat with a boy who pretended he was a demon and whispered “Fix,” to a river of cement.

I looked at my palm, my hair waving in dark tendrils across my vision, and looked close. It didn’t look any different—it was still dirty and black under the nails and had small scars from broken glass. It was nothing more than my hand.

Fix. Fix things. No way…

…right?