FanFiction: storie raccontate da fans per altri fans

The hallway is dark and cold and quiet, the lights out and the curtains drawn. In the silence Ruka can hear her own heart beat loud and strong, in perfect rhythm with Akatsuki’s as he leans closer and his fangs press sharp at the vein, at the pulse fluttering in her throat.

It’s with a savage satisfaction that she realises that theirs aren’t the only heartbeats racing.

Kuran Kaname is in his bedroom, just metres from where Akatsuki turned Ruka around and gently, without ceremony, pushed her against the wall, the wood cold against her back and the breath less in her lungs.

They’re back here because of Kaname. After the rejection of a few hours ago, Ruka was sulking, going over and over, around and around in an endless spin of hurt and desolation, until Akatsuki pointed out that she was not being herself—what had happened to the Ruka who’d be thinking of every way possible to get back at Kaname for making her cry?—and she realised that he was right.

She’d been wondering where to start when Akatsuki crossed the room and held a hand out to her like he was offering they dance, his eyes glittering dark and his lip curved back over his teeth. The image was not unnerving enough to stop Ruka from taking his hand.

And he led her here, and now his body is pressing hot against hers, the scent of his bloodlust strong and sharp in the air, and she couldn’t move if she wanted to; he’s got one of his legs between hers, and he’s strong.

She knows that Kaname is perfectly aware of what is going on just outside his door. It’d be impossible for him to miss, with the movement and the heartbeats and the unmistakable smell of pure animal instinct thick and heavy.

She’s heard his heartbeat speed up and race like hers since the minute she got here, and it gives her an awful sense of satisfaction. And that’s what she’s here for.

To some extent she is surprised that he’s not out here with murder written all over him, because he should be, because this should not be happening—but he’s staying where he is, and she doesn’t know why.

She can smell him, now; he is dark and sweet like roses in a storm. But this time she doesn’t want the scent entwined around her, bleeding into her bones, sending fire through her veins and stealing her heart; simply because the one around her now doesn’t hurt as much. This does not burn, but warms, like Akatsuki’s hands at her hips and his lips on her skin.

Ruka shifts as much as her position allows, a tilt of her head raising her chin and extending the straightened length of her neck. Akatsuki does not move with her and his fangs press more against her throat, a millimetre away from piercing her skin. But he just stands there, breathing slowly, the tension in his body about to snap; and one of the hands at Ruka’s hips moves upwards along her side and across her shoulder to her neck.

Then his hand is fisted in her hair and he pulls her head back even more. Ruka thinks it should hurt, but it doesn’t; there’s a raw possession in it which rushes through her like lightning along every nerve.

There’s one moment’s pause, and Ruka’s heart stops.

And then he bites. And as he does he moves forward, pushing her harder against the wall and harder against him, and his body is one long hard line of tension and her skin is torn and already there’s blood running down her neck.

He is less gentle than she’d expected. With the hand still on her hip he’s holding her hard enough that she’s sure she’ll bruise, the hand in her hair is pulling almost painfully, and she knows that there won’t just be pinpricks in her neck. The pain, though, is dulling with every stroke of his tongue on her skin; and as it fades the other sensations overflow. There’s the solid heat of his body, overtaking and enflaming even through layers of uniform; the satisfaction which is almost pleasure at feeling her blood flow into someone who needs it like he needs to breathe; and the scent of bloodlust, both Akatsuki’s and that belonging to the vampire on the other side of the wall.

Because that’s the whole point. When Akatsuki pushed her into the wall and brushed her hair away from her neck, Ruka realised exactly what he was doing. And if making Kaname jealous as all hell isn’t getting back at him, Ruka doesn’t know what is.

Oh, she knows he’s not jealous because Akatsuki’s drinking her blood—she knows that he’s jealous because Akatsuki’s drinking anyone’s blood full stop—but it’s good enough for her. Anyone’s blood is better than blood tablets.

The smell of the tablets is so strong that Kaname must be taking them by the handful.

And Ruka’s taking sweet vengeance, drinking it from a jewelled bowl of heavy gold, and the bowl is nothing to hold up.

Vaguely, as if from far away, clouded in mist red and hot, she can hear Kaname’s heart and smell his starvation, but she is not sorry. Somehow she knows, just knows, that were he to take her blood a thousand times and more, it would be nothing like this. Before, with him, there was cold and pain. Now there is heat and want and life; she is everything to someone, and everything else is nothing to her.

There’s a ribbon of blood she can feel running down her throat. She will remember it long after this as if it’s a tattoo, a scarlet letter she’ll display to the world, indelibly marked like Akatsuki’s teeth sharp on her neck. Without realising she’s pressing herself harder into him, almost grinding her hips into his and it’s so undignified, but then almost everything about this is.

And it’s working. Kaname is probably ready to kill everyone in the dorm and some more people after that, but still he does nothing because maybe he’s realised that she has a point—that he hurt her so she’s hurting him—it’s petty and childish but she’s pretty sure she’s right.

And eventually Akatsuki draws away, his tongue tracing the path of spilled blood along the lines of her neck, sweeping once more across the small wounds for which she knows he’ll apologise for days.

He takes a step back, and she feels cold.

Ruka stays against the wall and tries to breathe again, looking up into his eyes. In the brilliant dark copper there’s cruel satisfaction as they both hear Kaname exhale deeply, probably trying not to shatter the windows. Ruka wishes him a silent good luck and an I’m sorry which may or may not be sincere, and smiles without mirth. Akatsuki’s expression mirrors hers, and there’s an energy she doesn’t know how to name. Blood and achievement have secured them now; his scent is on her and hers is in him, she can feel him still and it’s not something she can forget.

She stands there and he kisses her forehead, gentle in apology for what he’d call savagery, for hurting her more than was due. She smiles at him and lets him take her hand and lead her away as the distant-sounding heartbeat slows; they’ve overstayed the welcome they didn’t have.

If there are consequences for this, Ruka thinks (they did break the rules, after all), she’ll take them, whatever they are; because she feels better than she has in a long time. It was worth it.

The hallway is still quiet as she and Akatsuki walk away, together in blood and melting loneliness, in counsel and comfort and hope; and she doesn’t let him go.

She can’t.