Scattered Pages and Blood-Ink

Title: Zodiac
Rating: M
Warnings: Smut? Nothing explicit.
Pairings: KuramaxHiei, KarasuxKurama.
Summary: Rule Number One: do not fuck bandmates or members of other bands.
Notes: Hopefully this chapter answers some questions but only raises a few more. Shorter than the last few chapters, but there's a lot going on.
Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5




“I’ll meet up with you in St. Petersburg,” Kurama murmured into his mobile, watching his lips move in the bathroom mirror before him.

Behind him he was awarded with the sight of Karasu rising from the bed and sitting on the end, head cast down and hair hanging between his knees as he picked up a pad of paper and a pencil and began scribbling something on it. The light of day pierced though the drawn curtains and cast a solid shaft of white light by his feet, small particles of dust dancing in the currents of air.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again to stare at himself in the golden light of the hollow and empty bathroom that echoed his words back to him.

On the other end of the line Botan was silent for a long moment before she sighed. “Kurama...is this about—“

“No,” he said sharply, then flinched at the harshness of his own tone. “No,” he said again, softly this time. “It’s not that.”

Karasu’s chuckle sounded behind him, along with the slap of paper falling back onto the carpet, the pencil along with it. The bed creaked and covers shifted.

“Look, I’ll get in touch with you in a couple of days. I’ll make my own way.”

With the tips of his fingers he traced the red line along his throat, ignoring the bruises on his wrists. His ass still stung pleasantly, reminding him of the recent events. His mind swam with ideas and regrets, anxious and unsure he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “What do I tell the others? Yusuke—”

“Tell them I need some time to think.”

“...Think? Kurama I thought you said this wasn’t about...about S-them.”

“...”

“I’m not just your manager okay Kurama? I’m your friend. I’m here if you need me. We all are. I won’t bother you about it until the day of the first concert but...just keep your mobile on, okay?”

...

“Thank you, Botan.”

Something about the mood of the Spirit Virtuoso on stage had changed. The fans noticed, and so did the bands. Both supporting and lead.

Kurama would disappear sometimes, no matter where in the world they were, just like he had that first time in Russia.

“He used to do it when he was Youko too,” Hiei explained on the tour bus one night. He’d known Kurama a great deal longer than they had. Yusuke had asked him if he knew what was going on with him, and the results were always the same.

Kurama was returning to his old habits. Slowly but surely.

Kurama himself still smiled and laughed at their jokes. He still played exceedingly well and with frightening intensity, but it was if his method, his reason, had changed.

In the hall on the way to their hotel rooms one night in China, Hiei had taken Kurama by the elbow and held him back as the others disappeared into Yusuke’s room for the night. They’d been out drinking, and this was one of the few times Kurama himself had come with them instead of disappearing without so much as an explanation.

Sinking into Hiei’s room, the door slammed behind them and Kurama found himself thrown against the wall beside it. Hiei stared the red head down, his expression less than pleased.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.

Kurama only laughed and sagged against the wall, looking at Hiei with a small grin and soft eyes. He placed his hands on Hiei’s shoulders and trailed his fingers up Hiei’s neck. He brought their faces together so that their noses almost touched and gazed at him past half hooded eyes. “What’s the matter Hiei? Not getting enough?” he whispered.

Hiei glared and stepped back, away from the soft clawing fingers and taunting voice. Kurama slid along the wall, his eyes tracking Hiei as he walked past him towards the bed in the centre of the room.

“Tell me.”

Kurama shook his head and flopped down onto the bed, sitting to face Hiei, his hands clutching the edge of the mattress as he stared at Hiei past the hair that fell in his eyes and framed his face in unusual disarray. Red lips parted briefly, as if he’d been about to say something, but then closed again.

“Tell me,” he demanded again, louder.

There was a silence that deemed deafening and too full of unsaid words all at once. Hiei simply waited for Kurama to speak, to explain himself. He had known this would happen, but Kurama had to understand that he belonged to Spirit Virtuoso, and as such he wouldn’t draw away from them like this.

Hiei knew of Kurama’s past, he wouldn’t allow it to repeat itself. Either directly or indirectly. Though his reasons for doing so may have been entirely selfish, he had to admit, over the years he’d gotten quite fond of Kurama.

Kurama looked up gave him the barest hint of a true smile. “I have been tempted once again. It’s all repeating itself.”

Hiei frowned. Closing the gap between them he hesitated for a moment before reaching out and combing one of his hands through Kurama’s hair. It was a tangled dry mess. Comforting words refused to come to mind. He wasn’t in the habit of consoling others, they could sort their own shit out, as he did, he figured.

But Kurama seemed to have a knack for making sure he was well and truly beaten before striking back and solving the problem itself. It made no sense. Why Kurama hesitated to end bad relationships, or solve issues promptly rather than allowing them to worsen was beyond Hiei.

Perhaps he was simply masochistic? Perhaps he thought it was Karma?

Hiei shook his head slightly, casting the thoughts away. Jumping to conclusions would do no good.

“Hiei...I’ve always known what I have wanted. I have selfishly wanted fame and all that came with it. I wanted my talent recognised and worshiped. I wanted men and women alike at my feet, begging. But...”

Hiei hooked his finger under Kurama’s chin, tipping it up so he could see his expression. Kurama was definitely drunk beyond belief, and Hiei could feel the effects of alcohol a little himself, but still Kurama was dry eyed despite the anguish in his voice and the phantom shivers that coursed through him.

“For once, I don’t know what I want. He’s sucked the life out of me.”

Hiei sighed heavily, feeling anger boiling within. His hand retreated from Kurama’s hair, the binds on his wrist pulling at the long crimson strand as he pulled his hand back to his chest.

He’d been right to assume that Karasu touring with them would be a bad idea.

“Karasu,” he growled.

When no brisk denial was forthcoming, Hiei scowled. Suspicions confirmed.

The blond looked over his shoulder briefly before continuing down the alley between the two buildings and knocking on a wooden door covered in colourful graffiti. He merely stared blankly at the goon who opened the door the slightest bit, then pushed his way past them once they’d recognised him.

“Where is Bui?” he asked, not turning to look at the goon – a young, thin girl with a stark scar over half of her face.

“Level eight, Karasu-sama.” She bowed hesitantly and made her retreat quickly.

Left within the apartment complexes empty underbelly, Karasu ran his fingers through the blond wavy hair he supported for the moment and made his way up the staircase with only his own footsteps to keep him company.

He could hear Bui long before he came into view.

Sitting shirtless on a torn couch, his friend was washing what looked like children’s clothes in a small tub of water. His arms and face were covered with blood, yet his clothes were clean. A small girl played with a puppy by his side, but they both seemed to be ignoring each other.

Bui was reciting something aloud, an old creed Karasu knew he’d learnt as a child. About loyalty and honour, even when surrounded with all of the evil within their world. Whether he was doing so for the child or for himself, Karasu wasn’t sure.

The children that Bui seemed to surround himself with were hollow shells of true children. Most of the apartment complex was used for liaisons between Yakuza and rentgirls and boys. Why Bui himself choose to live here, when he had no part in the prostitution game anyway was a curiosity to Karasu.

Perhaps it was his morals. Then again, perhaps it was his way of staying connected with his childhood. Staying bitter enough to continue to survive in his dirty lifestyle. Dealing with the dirtiest of the dirt.

Bui was a trashman, so to speak. ‘Hitman’ if you wanted to be literal.

Over the years he’d gotten good enough at his job that he was able to pick and chose his jobs. He belonged to no specific family or gang, thus he took jobs wherever they presented himself. One day he’d be hitting someone for the Mafia, the next it would be the Yakuza or even some rich bastard who had gotten sick of her husband and wanted his life insurance and no police interference.

Karasu stopped in the doorway and leant against the frame. “Did you just return?”

Bui looked up at him with mild disinterest. It took him a moment to realise who exactly he was looking at, it seemed, because recognition shone in his eyes only after Karasu blinked and began making his way over to him. He wasn’t walking as much as stalking.

The girl made a quiet little sound of terror and chased the puppy out of the room, but not before patting Bui’s knee in a silent bid goodbye. Down the hall Karasu could hear a door slam.

“What happened to your hair?” Bui asked, sitting back and toeing the tub of water and soaked clothing away from him.

“A wig. It wouldn’t do to have people recognizing me in the street. You’ve barely had a chance to shower. There’s still blood.” Karasu ran his hands through Bui’s short hair almost fondly when he was close enough to do so, tracing along the line of his solid jaw and pale scarred skin.

He pulled one of his hands back and licked the crimson liquid from his thumb with a slight smirk, keeping his eyes locked with Bui’s.

“Good day at work?” he nigh purred, placing his hand on Bui’s shoulder and crawling onto his lap with little consideration for Bui himself.

Bui’s lips curved up into a smile as he leant back to rest against the couch to accommodate Karasu. “I cannot complain.”

Karasu smiled, unable to stop the expression of utter happiness that slashed his face in two. His eyes widened, as he whispered breathlessly to his companion. “Guess what I caught...”

Large hands cupped his ass and squeezed harshly, so Karasu pulled at Bui’s hair lightly in retaliation as he lowered his lips to Bui’s own. He pushed himself closer to his larger friend, his rakish figure swallowed by the arms that wrapped around him. He felt like a twig in Bui’s hands, but then again, there was also the intoxication that came with knowing that though he was physically no match for Bui, he certainly was mentally.

The kiss they shared was slow but empty. It left the taste of ashes in Karasu’s mouth and brought memories of many meaningless trysts to his mind.

Regardless it was Bui who wrenched Karasu away when he bit too harshly at Bui’s tongue. Blood seeped from between his lips as he stared at Karasu with a slightly curious shine in his eyes. “What did you catch?”

Pushing Bui’s restraining hands away from his face, Karasu lapped at the blood leaking from Bui’s lips and shifted his hips against Bui’s stomach, sighing slightly at the pleasant tingle that coursed through him at the friction granted.

“I’ve caught myself a violinist with a masochistic streak.”

Bui blinked, leaning back as Karasu nuzzled his neck and bit at his throat with sharp teeth. Spider-like thin fingers trailed over his chest, flicking nipples and caressing bare skin, smearing the blood that Bui hadn’t bothered to wash off yet.

“You went after Kurama? I though you said you wanted my-....” Bui bit his lip and let his head fall back against the wall the couch was propped against as a hand placed itself firmly over the bulge in his jeans, stroking him through the thick material.

“I haven’t done anything yet. I want to admire him properly before I kill him. Perhaps then my sorrow at his death will be sharper. Real. Perhaps then it will be sweeter. I want to make sure I truly like him, before I take him away.”

Karasu smirked against Bui’s collarbone, feeling the laughter bubble up inside him. Eventually he simply had to let it out. He chuckled, and then laughed gleefully as Bui picked him up and carried him over to the other side of the room. He placed him in the bed hidden away through a doorway or two.

He calmed a little when Bui returned to the other side of the room to close and lock the door.

Karasu smiled at him. “But you have to help me in one small thing along the way. He is useful to me alive as well for the moment. Spirit Virtuoso need to be crushed, and he is the key more than they realise.”

Bui tilted his head as he crawled onto the bed, opposite to Karasu and rolled onto his back. He pulled at the blond hair, not surprised when Karasu only frowned in irritation instead of pain. It truly was a wig. Imitating that of Karasu’s natural hair colour, that of which he remembered from their days as children.

“Are you planning to break up Spirit Virtuoso?” he asked, curious. They were Karasu’s main competition, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Ah,” here Karasu smirked widely and straddled Bui’s hips, slipping his trench coat from his shoulders and casting it to the floor beside them, “on the contrary, old friend. You are going to break up Spirit Virtuoso.”

“And how will I do that?” he asked impassively, his eyes following Karasu hands as more and more flesh was bared.

“I need you to track down someone in Scandinavia...”