disclaimer: i dont own PoT. really i dont.

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Zero: Candlewick

It was always dark and smoky where they lived, all the three apartments they had stayed in over the years. No lights; they were too dangerous. When you took lives as easily as snapping your fingers, you started to take more care with your own. The more you killed the more careful you became; you knew better than anyone else how fragile human life could be.

There were candles though, just in case, both the normal white ones that you could easily get in bulk at any grocer's and the scented ones that came in various colours. The boy wondered idly why they had even bothered with those when the white ones worked just fine, spacing out as he watched the bright candle flame dance to his breath mere centimeters from his face. He watched, waiting patiently for his mentor to come back from yet another assignment that he could not take part in.

Flicker, flicker.

He could see the wick slowly turning black when he was this close, writhing and twisting. Sometimes he wondered if it was in pain; he had seen people burn before and they moved in the exact same way, screaming most horribly right before they died. But it had been beautiful, the grotesque contortion of the body and purest emotion stark on the face, the dying; there was nothing more sensual than the last struggle right before total oblivion. His mentor called it art; he had been the one who taught him to enjoy it. He had been the one to hold his head firmly in place, making sure he missed not a millisecond of it when he first saw it and was repulsed by it; he showed him the intoxicating and sickening beauty under all that stench and painful suffering, giving meaning to the scene before him word by word. He could still remember that sweet voice in his ear, the cold long fingers on his face, and the warm soothing breath on his exposed neck as his mentor taught his lesson. In time he came to love the pain and suffering too. In time he came to realize it was like a tease, an act of seduction; the Temptation of Death. And it was dazzlingly beautiful; it turned him on every single time, watching someone die.

Like that.

It was as if he was being tempted himself. And it was like that first time all over again, the fear, the pain, the eventual pleasure. Like every time he was with his mentor; every moment they were together he felt like he was playing with an ever-burning flame, scorching himself over and over and over again. Sometimes he felt they were the flame. Together, right at the heart, where they would stay until it was time for one of them to die.

And he realized that his breath was coming too quickly all of a sudden, his mouth too dry. Turning a fierce shade of pink that was invisible so near to the yellow glow of the candle, he forced himself to look away from the heart of the flame, mortified that he could be so… affected… by a burning wick. By what it stood for. What would his mentor say if he found out? And more importantly, what would he do when he found out? Unconsciously his tongue darted out to lick slowly at his chapped lower lip as his eyes glazed over at the possibilities. The room started to feel a lot hotter than it really was and he swallowed hard.

"You'll ruin your eyesight if you stare directly into the flame for too long, Ryoma." An all-too-familiar drawl drifted from the doorway. It made the boy tingle, as usual, in all the wrong places. He bit on his lip to hold back a gasp; he almost drew blood. He had not heard his mentor return.

"Mada mada dane, Fuji senpai," he forced out through gritted teeth levelly. He could feel his face burning and he was sure that it had absolutely nothing to do with his close proximity to the flame.

A light chuckle that filled the large room, followed by the click of a lighter. Then there was smoke. "You know what could happen if you're not careful." A pause. "You know what happened to Akutsu," silkily spoken, like flowing water. Lapping at the edge of his consciousness. "He died because he did not see…"

"I was there too, Fuji senpai. I saw how he died," Ryoma mumbled as he resolutely passed a finger through the tip of the flame. It hurt a little. "It was ugly; I will never die like that," he said emphatically as he passed the same finger through the flame again.

"That's what everyone says, Ryoma, before it's their turn to die. Akutsu died because the shot was fired from his blind side; he wouldn't be able to dodge it in time anyway. His time was up." The cool, soft voice caressed and teased. "I just don't want to see you dead before your time because you ruined your eyes of your own accord. Now that would be ugly, Ryoma." Another chuckle and Ryoma gasped at the sharp pain that shot through his finger from the heart of the flame.

It was dangerous playing with fire, but there was nothing more deadly, or more exciting than that.

"Mada mada dane," he grumbled as he turned to watch his mentor glide towards the soft leather couch before sinking into it gracefully. He threw an arm lazily over the back as he reclined languidly on the couch large enough to seat four. Resting his left heel on the arm he crossed his legs elegantly as he breathed deeply on the cigarette held delicately between his long slender fingers. His eyes were shut as he exhaled with a small drawn out sigh. Ryoma quickly averted his gaze, feeling the burn from his finger spread throughout his body like wildfire.

Fuji was topless.

"Something bothering you, Ryoma?" Fuij did not open his eyes but a smile was fast forming on his flawlessly beautiful face.

"Nothing," Ryoma lied as he resolutely looked away from his mentor who had taught him everything he knew- and he meant every single thing, determined to ignore the other's state of undress.

"Really," the older man purred as he brushed absently at the stray strands of hair that had wandered into his face. "I thought you're going to be sick again, thinking about Akutsu's death." Calm and deceptively placid said, but Ryoma was too attuned to the older man, knew him too well like how well he knew Ryoma to miss out on the taunt cleverly hidden under the simple comment. The dry sarcasm that Fuji loved so well.

Ryoma chose not to respond and Fuji smirked as he returned to his cigarette, knowing full well that he had won yet another round in the little game they had started to play the day he pinned his young protégé down on his bed and had his way with him. Ryoma knew this too and returned sulkily to the candle before him, adamantly refusing to look in the general direction of the couch anymore.

Knowing that you lost did not mean that you had to give in to the victor. No matter how much you wanted to. It would make you weaker that you already were and you could die if you were weak. That was one of the first lesson Fuji had taught to him upon taking him under his wing.

Smoke filled the room and Ryoma felt as if he was being suffocated. Or strangled; he felt himself shiver with guilty pleasure at the connotation of the word. He did not like smoke; it was too elusive for him. It was part of the intensity that was the fire, but not entirely so; it was something beyond him that he could not grasp. And Ryoma hated all things that were beyond his reach, all things about his mentor that he did not understand. Or so he thought. Because the truth remained that every enigma about his mentor just drew him a little closer to the older man whether he liked it or not. Like a helpless moth.

"Stop that," he groused as he swatted at the air about him.

"Stop what?" Fuji asked, voice dripping with innocence, from the couch which was becoming more inviting by the second.

"Smoking; I can't breathe," Ryoma complained still not looking towards anywhere near his mentor.

"I thought you like that, not being able to breathe. I don't seem to recall any complaint from you last night," Fuji drawled silkily as his smile turned just a little predatory, watching Ryoma turn a whole shade redder. He did enjoy teasing his charge awfully much; he was adorably irresistible when he was this… wanting.

And he knew full well that he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer; even the most inhuman killer was human too.

"It's not the same," Ryoma said, flustered. "I can't stand smoke," he blurted out just to realize his mistake a split second later when Fuji let out a sultry laugh that nearly pushed Ryoma over the edge. He barely had time to register what had happened before he found himself shoved roughly onto the table before him, his mentor's face looming above him. "Senpai..." he managed to say before it was lost in a long, needy moan as the older man attacked his open mouth almost savagely.

Like fire, definitely.

And they both knew neither was going to come out of this unscathed.

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A/N: ok. what am i doing here at all? bleargh! i have a physics exam at 8... and i broke the hiatus i posed for myself... exams end next tuesday, and yet here i am, writing this. and it isnt even good. am not happy with this. will probably repost this, but i want to know what people feel about this first... its an AU, definitely. and everybody's an assasin, spy, some crook or another, or some intelligence agent. yeah. and everyon'e going to get involved with one another at some time or another. i know i'm not being very helpful here, but... is there anyone interested in reading more? if there isnt then i wont bother working on this. seriously, cos i only wrote this to de-stress and to get an idea off my mind. yeah.

and for those waiting for updates on my other fics, well, expect updates by next week. after going on hiatus for this long, my creative cells have recuperated enough to get me past my writer's block. and am itching to polish everything up soon. hehez. anw, gtg. my bed beckons... XD