Word Count: 1,612
Warning: Um, vague spoilers for most of the series.
Timeline: Post episode 32
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money off this, please don’t sue me, thank you kindly.
A/N: I’ve only seen the anime, so all characterisations are based entirely off that. This is also my first Blood+ fic, so any and all concrit is greatly appreciated.
‘I hate Joel.’
He looks up at that. Never would he have expected to hear those words from her, but she sounds serious.
Saya stands at the window, looking out into the foggy night, so he cannot see her face, but he knows she meant the words, as he knows everything about her.
‘If he hadn’t kept Diva locked up all those years—if he hadn’t treated both of us like lab rats—’
He knows what she wants to say, and in his own darker moments, he has thought the same. If Joel hadn’t thought to isolate Diva, if she had been brought up to think of humans as family—as Saya had—would they still be fighting a war today?
But then would he still have become Saya’s chevalier? He would like to think that he would have, because to think otherwise is impossible for him, but it is equally likely that Saya would have had no need for him if she had had her sister.
And for the fact that he has been able to be with Saya these many years, he can only feel gratitude to Joel.
For her part, he knows that while she does blame Joel for what has happened to Diva, she cannot truly hate the man who had been a father to her for so long.
It is a strange thing to both hate and love someone who has been dead for more than a hundred years, so he says nothing as he hovers behind Saya, wishing impotently that he could make her feel better somehow.
She has grown stronger since the fight with Diva on the Red Shield’s ship—since Riku’s death—but it is a brittle strength. Though strong enough to fell a Chiropteran with one blow, she seems more fragile now, as if a careless blow could shatter her like glass.
After the fight and the explosion, he had only had enough time to leap away with her broken body in his arms. Diva and her chevalier—the one Saya insisted on calling Phantom—had escaped as well, and Diva’s mocking laughter had floated back to him as he had taken Saya to safety.
It had been on some anonymous rooftop that they had landed—there had been no time to go anywhere else—and he had quickly used his claws to pierce the flesh of his hand and drip his blood into her open mouth. She had been badly hurt in the battle—her skill with a sword was not yet as it should have been—and she had needed his blood to recover.
The little amount that he had dribbled into her mouth had woken her dormant hunger, though, and a moment later, she had snapped upright to throw him to the ground and sink her fangs into his neck. She had drunk and drunk and drunk, and when she had finally moved off him, he had been left gasping and shaking.
She had leaned over him then, tenderly laying one hand on his cheek as he had convulsed in her arms, and in her eyes he had seen the Saya he had first fallen in love with.
‘Haji,’ she had whispered, a tear streaking down her cheek. ‘I remember now. I remember now.’
It had been easy after that.
They had found a place in the city where he could play his cello, and she had sat next to him in his coat—her dress had been one of the first casualties in her fight with Diva the night before—and he had played and played until they had somehow gotten enough money to afford her a change of clothes and some food.
And now here they were, having tracked their enemy to London.
By day, he plays the cello while she works as a waitress in some pretentious French restaurant. Her knowledge of French—entirely due to Joel—and her experience in Omoro’s has been helpful there, though she makes no mention of either of her two ‘fathers’ if she can help it.
They make enough to afford the rent for a small, run down apartment in one of the less fashionable parts of town. They do not usually spend their nights there, though. They prowl the streets of London, investigating crime scenes that have made the day’s headlines, searching for Chiropterans.
They usually find them.
There are more and more of them now, and the knowledge makes him uneasy. Something has happened this time; this is not the usual battle between the two sisters. There is a change in the wind, and he suspects that this year will finally see the end of this century long blood feud.
And the end of Saya, too, if she forces him to honour the promise he had made to her so long ago.
But he does not think of that now, as he swings his cello case and the creature before him embeds its claws into it.
It is Saya’s voice, and he ducks, hearing the command in her voice and knowing what she wishes. Her sword makes a clean swipe through the Chiropteran male, and the blood that splatters them both blinds them temporarily. When they blink their eyes open again, the creature is already dissolving in the wind.
He feels a sudden, nameless pull, and he turns just in time to catch Saya as she topples into his arms.
‘Saya, you must drink,’ he chides her, worry leaking through his voice. He carries her to a deserted side street, her sword tip skittering against the cobble stones with every step. Her head lolls against his shoulder as he settles himself with his back to the wall, and her eyes are closed.
‘So—tired—’ she gasps, and his hands shake as he unbuttons his shirt and pulls his collar away from his neck. It has been months since she had last had his blood, her insistence that she would live on human food because she wasn’t a monster has led to this, he should have taken better care of her, he should have—
He gently supports the back of her head with his hand as he pushes her teeth to his neck, but she shakes her head, her mouth moving across his skin. The sensation makes him gasp. He is immediately ashamed of the reaction, and tries harder to make her drink.
Finally, finally, her sword clatters to the ground and her little tongue darts out and touches his skin, and he goes rigid at the feeling. It is followed by the feel of her teeth delicately tearing at his flesh, and he struggles to control the pleasure coursing through him to only a shudder.
She gasps against his skin at his movement, pushing herself closer to him, mouth still pulling at his neck, and another shudder goes through him. She shifts then, turning so that their chests meet, and her legs are on either side of his. Her hands move to his jacket, moving inside and pulling his shirt open wider to her hungry mouth.
Her mouth is still moving on him when she rocks her hips against his, and he knows the movement is involuntary, the blood hitting her system was making her convulse as it always did, he knows this—but he cannot help bucking his own hips in response.
She tears her mouth away with a gasp, and he grunts at the loss. Her eyes are reddened and wild when they meet his gaze, and then she rocks her hips again, slowly and deliberately, and he responds, he can’t help himself. Her mouth falls to his neck then, tongue moving against his skin and teeth gripping his flesh as she grinds her hips into his with frenzied jerks.
His hands come up to wrap around her form, fingers digging in, and she shivers as he grinds against her in return, his harsh pants the only sound in the still night air. His head has fallen back against the wall behind him, and her hair tickles his cheek as she laps at his neck, drinking down more and more of his blood as she moves harder against him, her breath coming faster and faster.
He is shaking now, and it takes all he has not to grip her tighter, her frantic movements against him are pushing him beyond the brink, he’s falling, he’s falling—
Her teeth tighten in his flesh when she goes rigid against him, and then her body goes limp. Her hot breath washes over him as she pants for breath in the aftermath, and it is a moment before he can speak.
He hates the tone in his voice, but he is afraid and unsure for the first time in a long, long time. Whatever he has borne these many years has been made bearable only by the thought of her, and if this were to have changed something between them…
She raises her head, and kisses his neck, where the wound is already closing. Her lips feel like a brand against his hot skin.
She gets off him without a word, leaving him to pull his shirt and jacket closed again, hiding all evidence of this encounter between them.
‘Let’s go home, Haji.’
There is nothing in her voice, no hint of regret or disgust at what has just happened, but there is no happiness or satisfaction, either.
In the days that follow, he does not refer to that night and neither does she, but he does wonder how it is that he is now closer to her than before and yet he feels farther than ever.
A/N: This started out as a short break from my NaNo, but then it just grew and grew! Damn Haji for being so irresistable. *shakes fist at him*
Couldn't really think of a title for this one—as usual—so any suggestions shall be gratefully accepted. *makes puppy eyes*
Sequel is Steady Flame.
Anyway, thanks for reading, all comment and concrit is very welcome. =)