Wait, what? Another request? Um...oops?

Title: Tarnished
Pairing: Cross x Komui
Rating: NC-17
For: dgmkinkmeme
Kink: Sexual Abuse, doesn't care what pairing as long as it isn't Lavi x Kanda. So I chose to do this with Cross and Komui. Not sure how well I filled said kink out, but I hope I did okay (just glad that I actually found a request to work on that wasn't on my laptop XD) Also my first (outright) attempt at this pairing. And yet again, I like the actual plot more than the smut...but I guess that's normal now.
Warning(s): Abuse (can be seen as just rough sex), dub-con, mild language, alcohol, and...I think that's it.

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He knew he should probably get out of it. His mind was screaming at him that he should, and that little voice was getting louder and louder with each step that carried him to his not-supposed-to-be destination.

But he ignored it, after all, he couldn't pass up this opportunity. Or at least that was what he told himself--It's for Science! or at least, it was supposed to be.

Why the man chose that place though, was beyond him, and he only hoped that the night would go reasonably well. Or tolerable. Or maybe at least somewhat sane. He knew he himself was notorious for it, it was practically in the job description—'insane scientist!' in big bold red print—now.

But it paled in comparison with this man.

Marian Cross.

Komui sucked in his breath, and quickened his pace, pulling his jacket just a little tighter around him as the sun set just a little lower, adding a frigid chill to the already brisk wind.

It's for science! He kept reminding himself, ducking his head, and trying not to cough as the smoke from multiple cigarettes hit him full force, And maybe for old times' sake, I really haven't seen the man in a while Not that he would admit to meeting someone so self destructive was…well…a memory.

It could be—a bad one—but…it was almost fond.

But then, back then it hadn't been so crazy. Life had been simpler, rules had been more lax (at least, in certain regards), and it might just be nice to talk about it for a while. Maybe.

If the meeting went as planned.

After all, he hadn't seen the man in a good two years or so, and as much as he wanted to believe the man hadn't changed from the good old days—his reputation more than spoke volumes.

A womanizer, gambler, sorcerer, necromancer, it had taken very careful wording, and more than a few phone calls to keep the man from getting excommunicated.

So really, even though they hadn't seen each other, Komui more than knew his record of the past three years. Some of which, he wished he could forget, while other things he wanted to question.

But it was just like Cross not to give any answers. And if they did, they were nowhere near straight. Hence why Komui almost dreaded this. Almost.

His pace slowed a little when he reached a familiar looking building, lights hazy through a perpetual cloud of smoke, and sign old and bruised, leaning precariously at an angle—
Old Bell Pub

Komui sighed. Cross always had been one for slightly classier places. Even if the pub had seen better days—at least from its outward appearance. Inhaling what he knew would be his last breath of fresh air that evening, he stepped forward—drawing his hands out and pushing against the old wooden door…

And into a throng of people.

Laughing and shouting, crowded tables and bad singing, Komui could see a few hands of poker being played…and a few of which were obviously losing. But that wasn't the main attraction, Komui noticed—the largest crowd was in the back, surrounding yet another table…
He could only guess who was sitting there.

Exhaling and holding in a cough, he maneuvered towards where the largest crowd was gathered, hoping against hoping his guess was wrong, only to hear a loud drunken laugh to answer said guess for him.

It was Cross, and when he edged a little closer, he could see the man—a woman on each side, and a wine glass in his hand, filled to the brim. Komui didn't know much about poker (he had brought it on himself never to learn, for Lenalee's sake) but if he remembered correctly, a royal straight flush laid cleanly out in front of him.

So he was playing poker too, and the man he currently beat was more than just seething rage.

"What the fuck?!" The crowd hushed at those words, as the man staggered to his feet, "You're fucking cheating aren' you?!"

Cross only grinned.

Only.

And Komui felt so out of place.

"You're willing to prove I'm not cheating?" He always admired Cross's alcohol tolerance, though, and the fact he could speak in a coherent sentence even while 'trashed', "I'd like to see you try."

"You'd like to see me—" No one tried to stop the man has he lunged across the table at the redhead. No one even had time to gasp, though, when a very familiar gun was pulled out.
And everyone ignored the gun shot, the body that fell on the cards, and the blood now seeping out onto the table.

Komui vaguely wondered if it had been an Akuma in disguise, it wouldn't have surprised him, with the amount of Akuma sightings on the rise, but he never got his answer. Cross hefted himself upward—the two women had long sense let go of his arm, horrified looks dawning each of their faces at the now dead corpse—to a standing position, and Komui knew he more than noticed him.

Putting his gun back in its holster, he confidently strolled around the table, ignoring the half-drunk wine, and the horrified faces.

Instead, smiling—which was a grin, more or less—and saying, "Ah, Komui, Komui, long time no see! How the fuck have you been?" He couldn't help but flinch at the language, or the hand that came down hard on his shoulder.

"As fine as ever," he replied smoothly, ignoring the scathing looks on his back, "I see you're just as…your usual self."

"What? You expected change?" The man laughed loudly, doing a once over of the room, before reaching for the extra cigarette he always seemed to have. His lighter came second, and soon Komui felt himself holding in a cough again, as smoke was puffed directly in his face.
And it was only then that someone cried, "MURDERER!"

"Oh fucking hell." the words were low, a bare rumble against the sudden hype of the crowd, and Komui was more than certain he had been the only one to hear those words, but it wasn't like it mattered much. Responding was out of the question when a strong hand grabbed his wrist and dragged him, harshly, through the crowd.

They barely made it, and maybe Komui was glad the man was a good bit taller (and a little more abrasive) or else he knew he would have been trampled. The man would leave him behind too, he knew, and then he would have nothing to report back to except failure.

Failure and constant reminders of the others saying 'Don't go.'

"Where the fuck is that brat?" His eyes snapped back up to the auburn haired man at those words, "Oh right." He watched the recently lit cigarette fall to the ground. Cross more than ignored it, "He's fucking. Why the fuck do I even bother?"

Komui didn't get a chance to comment on that set of words either, before he was being dragged again, this time down an alleyway, where the poor constantly glanced up at their attire—they stuck out on purpose, or at least, Cross did—but knew well enough to stay away.
After all everyone understood the sounds of footsteps following one another.

A chase.

A chase that would be no good if they got involved, and Komui almost wondered why he had come again when suddenly they stopped. Halted in front of what looked to be an abandoned building, and before he had much time to think on that as well, he was being forced ahead by big hands on his shoulders.

"Hurry, hurry," smokey words against his ear that were too warm in the cold, "They won't check here. Fuck, I hope they won't."

"Just like you hope it won't collapse on us?"

"Well we can't fucking go back to the hotel room." Komui blinked as Cross slammed the door behind them—the whole room shook at the motion—"Fuck, I shoulda brought Timcampy, need ta tell the kid about this." Another string of curse words followed, and soon the man was pacing.

…

"What?"

He didn't stop pacing.

"What kid?" He asked again, "You mean…your apprentice?"

"Yes my apprentice, who the fuck else am I talkin' about?" The man spat, "He caught a damn cold so I left 'im in the room t'night with Timcampy. Fuck, if those guys check the room…"
Another pace, back, forth, back, forth, pause.

"You're worried?" Komui tried, hesitantly, when the man ran a hand through ruffled hair dusted with the light snow that had begun falling when they left the pub. It was so unlike the man to worry that Komui almost wondered who the apprentice was. He had always been so hesitant to assign one to the man, as it had never gone well before, but if it—

"No." He could hear the denial, and almost smiled at it, "The fucking brat knows how to take care of his damn self, but they might fucking use him as bait, and since Timcampy can fucking find me—do you see the damned problem?"

"So you're worried about a Golem."

"I hope the kid knows he can break the damned thing." His hair really was a mess, Komui almost wanted to tell him to stop running his fingers through it already, but he didn't.

"And we're stuck here."

"Until they find us."

A pause fell over them for a good couple of minutes, Cross's slightly labored breathing, and shuffling footsteps the only sound. That is, until, Komui decided to break it.

"This has been an eventful night."

"An' if ya see it through, it might just get better." He didn't know what the man was implying, but it wasn't like it mattered, "Don't take your coat off. This place doesn't have any damned heating. Don't want ya freezin' to death."

"Don't worry, I won't." It was pretty pointless, "How long do you think we'll be in here?"
"Until they realize what the corpse is. Given they know what the fuck an Akuma is in the first place an' if they'll even give us enough time to damn explain."

Explain, yes, explaining would be good.

"Hopefully they will." He could only sigh, though, and tilt his head slightly, to stare out one of the fogged up windows. The snow was falling a little faster now, and he wondered faintly if it was snowing at the Order too. Or if Lenalee had been allowed to play in it, despite her recent wounds.

The thought sent a pang straight to his heart, and he frowned. If he had known it would snow, he wouldn't have left today. He would be making ridiculous snowmen, and watching Lenalee force Kanda to make snow angels. It was a sight he didn't want to miss—it was—
"I'm guessing everything's still same-old-same-old at the Order?" He jolted when Cross spoke again, turning his head to watch as the man lit another cigarette, "How's Lenalee doin'? Or do ya wanna talk about that?"

They had always talked about that before. Back in the 'Good old days' when everything had been—

He exhaled, "She's fine, actually, I could go on," he tried to smile but it didn't quite work as images of her being carried in on a stretcher hit him—each sharp and hot like a bullet—and it quickly fell, "Really, she's been so sweet since the holiday season is coming. She's learning to make coffee now too." He could feel Cross's eyes on him, and swallowed, "Not that she'll be able to carry a tray on her own for a while, she's still quite clumsy, not to mention—" his voice caught in his throat, and he sighed.

"She's still not used to her Innocence?" Cross wondered, not rudely, but.

"No." There was no point in hiding it.

"I understand that." A puff of smoke and Komui tried hard not to cough, "Fucking brat's like that too. Ya gotta understand, though, it's necessary."

"I suppose it is."

"You have to fight, or you die. And I know—"

"I know." Maybe there was a little more bitterness there. He was thankful Cross caught on quick. Because honestly? He didn't need to talk about Lenalee at a time like this, "And anyway, you called me here to tell me something important, didn't you?" The man blinked at him, slightly taken aback, "We might as well talk about it now, don't you think?" After all, what else would they do for X-amount of hours they were trapped here?
Wait certainly wasn't on the list, and though Cross seemed sober enough…no. He didn't want to think of what else the man would think of.

In fact, he'd be better off.

Very much better off.

They both would. He didn't want to relive—

"Ah, right right," thankfully the man's voice cut off that thought, "Guess I did, huh? Royally fucked it up too. Sorry 'bout that, but y'know I can't just have an Akuma runnin' around. More deaths an'…" he waved his hand to explain the rest, holding his cigarette in his free hand before sighing and placing it back between his lips, "Actually, wanted more of an exchange, y'know?"

"Exchange?" He saw the glint there. Not a good sign, "Information exchange? What could I possibly know that you don't?"

"A hell of a lot." The answer was immediate enough, "And don't fucking say you can't tell me. Not now."

"What if I really can't?"

"Will anyone know?" The man snapped back, "You know me, I won't fucking leak it anywhere else."

"Of course you won't."

"An' ya don't believe me?"

"Hope you don't blame me." He gave a mock bow, just for the sake of it, "But you know I can't. They'll find out. And if I lie to them I'll lose my position."

"Then ya won't be able ta see Lenalee again." He flinched and another billow of smoke hit him. Right. In. the. Face.

"Right." He still managed to answer, though, and how did they get back on that topic so quickly? Didn't he just say he didn't want to talk about…?

"You still will though." He outright coughed this time when the smoke filtered around the room, but Cross didn't seem to care, "I need it, an' it's not like you'll leave empty handed."

"What could you possibly know that," he coughed again, and this time Cross dropped the cigarette the floor and crushed it under his boot, "I wouldn't already?"

"Too fucking much."

"So that's somewhat fair?"

"More than fair."

Suddenly Komui found himself locked in staring contest, he didn't even have much time to ponder how that happened, he just knew that he couldn't lose. And maybe that was a little childish and more than a fair bit immature, but he couldn't find him caring when the man squinted his one visible in attempts not to blink, and he found himself copying the motion, taking an equal step back as the man took a step forward—

And

Oh

He hadn't noticed the couch he was currently trying not to fall on. Unfortunately gravity was against him, and he felt himself fall back anyway, over the arm so that when Cross deemed it necessary to lean over and stare down at him it was all very, very awkward.

"You lost." He remarked, his signature grin working its way across his lips, "I win."

"But! That doesn't count!~"

"Yeah it does." He leaned down, and maybe he was a little too close but Komui had shut his eyes again and opted for flailing childishly. After all, why not keep at it? It was fun anyway, and knowing Cross—he'd ask anything.

But when his arms were suddenly pinned to his sides he knew something was up. When he was shifted and dragged a little—and then pinned again--he knew something was very very wrong.

"Wh-a?" He wished he hadn't opened his eyes though.

Cross's face really was much too close.

"Will you tell me now?" His voice was low, a soft rumble Komui could practically feel with their close proximity. And no, it didn't make his heart rate speed up. It didn't.

So he squirmed again and took it all in stride, "No, no, no! That still doesn't count!"The hands binding his arms down squeezed just a little tighter, and he almost wondered if he'd have bruises in the morning—

But he wasn't planning on staying there that long.

"Owchie, owchie! That hurts Cro-ss!" The man's lips turned upward slightly, and at the very least it drew a chuckle out of him.

"Oh? Will you tell me, then?"

Komui tried his best to pout and pretend like it was nothing, "Tell you whaaat?"

"You know what." He visibly winced this time when the grip tightened, though interestingly enough, it seemed to work, just as the grip tightened it loosened.

"No I don't." He tried to keep his voice light as the man let him up a bit, so he was sitting, albeit with the man straddling his lap, but it was better than being pinned.

"Ah, you don't, do you?" Komui slowly shook his head but mentally grimaced at the same time. The look on Cross's face was—well—the man could be serious, couldn't he? And he was, "If I tell you, you have to answer."

"But I can't answer unless you tell me." The man scowled, "And even then you know," he paused, smiling faintly, "I really might not be able to."

"And then you'll report what I asked you."

Komui blinked at him for a moment, "Is it really that bad?" He almost wanted to reach out and touch the man, when his head turned away, but halted the movement and dropped his hand back to the cushions.

The man didn't answer immediately, but he didn't bother to mask the look of pain that crossed his face, and maybe that was just enough to make Komui concede. Maybe just a little.

"What…is it?" He wondered softly, bringing his hand up again to touch the mask that covered the right side of the man's face.

"Nevermind."

Komui jolted at the sudden response, "Wha—but—"

"I said never mind." He stressed the words this time, slapping Komui's hand away from his face, "You won't tell me anyway, will you? Stubborn fool."

That startled him just a little more, "Who's the fool?"

"You are." Potent, then a pause, "Or maybe I am." A sarcastic laugh, "Who the fuck knows anymore?" Komui's mouth opened again, to ask exactly what the man meant by that—
Didn't get a chance to, of course.

His back hit the couch with surprising force, and he smelt smoke and wine on the other's breath as it fanned over his face. The close proximity startled him just a little more, but his voice wouldn't even work. He couldn't even think of why he wanted to ask--
"I'll leave after you tell me."

What?

"And I mean leave as in…disappear for a while."

What? It was the only thing he could think to think.

"I'd like to leave as soon as possible, too," The breath wasn't just fanning over his face now, he could breathe in the smoke, liquor, everything through his mouth. It made his breath seize in his lungs, "So y'know, you should just tell me already."
But why? Not that he ever understood Cross's actions, but—and why were his eyes closed still?

"I…still can't." He tried to pry them open. It didn't quite work.

Cross made some sort of grunting sound in response, and Komui really didn't like where the man's hands were going, but it wasn't like he was given any time to protest before the man simply cut him off, "Then why don't I…rephrase…that?"

"Rephrase what?"

"I'll be leaving on a mission soon." The man stated, "But there's a particular mission…I've gotten wind of…recently…"

He can't be talking about--

"Jeez, I'm a fucking softy y'know." And he didn't like the hands again, working their way inside his coat, "Just for you. Fuck. Just—if you get any info on it. Tell me."

"Tell you?" He managed to get his eyes open when the hands underneath his jacket began fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, "What…?"

"Just tell me."

"I can't give out mission reports until—"

"Do I look like I fucking care?" He snapped, "Just make sure I know about it."

Komui wanted to say why again, but he knew from the hands running up to his shoulders that that might not be the best idea, so he swallowed the question on his tongue and instead forced the words out, "I…don't know…how much…I can tell you. You know that."
He squirmed a little under the grip, "But you might…be sent on the mission anyway, so…I don't—" the hands gripped at his shoulders, harsher now than the grip on his arms, and he couldn't help the gasp, "Wh—"

"Ah, sorry, sorry," He didn't sound apologetic, but he did move his hands again, "You won't tell them, will you?"

"As long as you maintain contact with the Order," Komui tried to force himself up again, but didn't get very far, "I don't see the issue. Can you—"

He hadn't realized the man's face was so close. Or that…slightly twitching grin…and he had almost forgot that maybe the man had been a little drunk, and that he could be just a little on the appreciative side when he deemed it necessary. Which was almost always when he either wooed the person into submission, or they didn't want it at all.

Not that anyone could ever really not want it from Cross, but honestly?

Well…it wasn't like he could think when those lips crashed against his. Much less breathe, but he wasn't focusing too much on that. Just as with his arms and shoulders, he was sure his lips would be bruised.

They hadn't done this in a while after all.

Even when his body went on auto pilot and struggled—screaming I'm not, I'm not, I'm not--he already knew it wouldn't do much good. So he wasn't quite surprised, but not necessarily compliant, when the man forced his lips open and stuck his tongue inside.

A moment later and his jacket had been pushed off and down his arms, and a leg had wormed its way between his own, spreading them a little more and pressing--

When Komui got his breather a split second later he knew more than what he wanted to say, but all that leaked out were a few phrases in Cantonese he was sure the other couldn't understand.

"Mm, mm, been a while since I heard you use your native tongue." The man hummed instead, pressing his knee harder against that spot that wasn't even half hard yet, "And as always, such the hard one to please."

"And you would know?"

"Of course." He felt his hair tie come undone, and though his hair wasn't as long or unkempt as Cross's own fiery locks, they did fall past his shoulders…and apparently had always fascinated the man. Which was strange, but then, he had his own preferred 'kinks' as well (or what the man called them) and—

Wait, wait, wait!

"I gave you the information you wanted." He tried to push against the man's chest, but he knew he wasn't really trying, "And as much as I 'enjoy' being…pinned to a couch by you…I think I should be leaving, no?~"

The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't budge, "Really?"

Komui nodded his head enthusiastically, "Yup! I should! It's snowing out, and I wanna see Lenalee—"

"Sister complex." He stiffened at the statement, "The snow'll be here for a couple of days. You'll be able to see her playing in it."

"But—but it's the first now and!"

He could say it hurt a little when the man brought his hand up and—the contact against his cheek stung more than just a little.

"I have you fuckign under me after how long?" The man leaned closer again, that feral grin in place as it had been, back—

Komui swallowed and touched his stinging cheek, "That was only once."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're good in bed?"

"Flattering me won't get me to sleep with you." Maybe there was more than just a little bitterness in his voice, because they both knew, "It was an accident. You drugged me."
"You definitely like it rough." The hands were tracing again, pressing a little roughly against his arms, before drifting down-down-down-

"I—"

The man rose off him for a moment, balancing on his knees, and leaning back. His hands had drifted down to his half-open dress shirt. When the hands reached for the buttons still in tact, and when Komui tried to stop them—

The man above him shifted, and slapped his hand away, before grabbing it and forcing it back—maneuvering each button with one hand, out of their respective holes and—

"ouch!" The grip was a little rough itself, and in the split second that he closed his eyes he could've sworn he heard fabric tearing…

And a zipper.

No…nonononon—wait!

"I said--!" he tried.

"Shut the fuck up." The man replied, "I already know what you're going to say."

"And you don't care."

"Nope."

He felt his pants begin to slide down, and the chilly air of the room was more than a little unwelcome.

"You really are hard to please." Komui turned his head away when the man uncovered what he knew he wanted.

No he didn't gasp when a warm hand encircled it. No he didn't yelp when the tug was a little harsh.

"Heh, you really do like it harsh, eh?" The man's voice rumbled low in his throat, a tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"Because thaaat's the only way you'll d-ooo!" he hated how his voice raised an octave at a particularly hard tug, "it!"

"And you've only been with me."

"Ba-sta-rd!"

He wished he hadn't said that. His fingers felt like they were being crushed, and when that grip was gone the stinging in his cheek increased ten fold. Another punch.

"Damn right."

"If you're going to agr-ee!" Again a rise in octave, he tried to muffle the sounds, "then why h-it…me?"

"Because you like it." He scowled as best he could with the hand working between his thighs, "And it's fun."

"Sadist."

"Masochist."

Suddenly his legs were being forcibly spread, and even when he dug the nails of his free hand into the side of the other man's arm—it didn't do much good. That hand was just as equally taken into the rough hold the other had been in and—

Why was he getting off on this? It was…abuse…wasn't it?
Not to mention wrong, wrong, wrong

He shut his eyes. It didn't do him any good, "Open them." Komui gasped at the sharp pain at the side of his neck, eyes opening and—

"Good, good," A grin.

"And since when did you become a vampire?" He was sure the man had drawn blood, and he hated the fact that, though it had hurt, it had felt good too. Was he really that much of a masochist?

…Did he even want to answer that?

Swallowing, he decided against it, when the man's warm tongue ran across the wound, lapping at whatever blood had been drawn, "Since it got me what I wanted." He replied a moment later, husk and warmth, pressing closer--it was almost painful.
Not that he expected the man to be gentle.

Not that he wanted to—

"Ah!" and he had been expecting that either, with another sharp tongue, but if that hadn't knocked the breath out of his already overused lungs, being flipped—violently—more than did the trick—he couldn't even breathe as the man forced his face into the dusty cushions of the couch.

So when the fingers entered him, he could do nothing but scream, and pant, those fingers weren't gentle. He half expected—no, the man…of course--he didn't dare look over his shoulder. He didn't dare try to struggle, except when another finger was added—
thrust, thrust--

"Gah!" He felt something. It felt like it was tearing. He tried to squirm his hips away, he wasn't stupid, he knew—he knew—

Nails dug, hard, into his flesh, by his hip, "Don't." The man whispered, hot and deadly, in his ear, licking the shell in a mock-gentle gesture before nipping it hard enough to draw blood.

"But~" It was a too sad attempt to remain cheerful, and it didn't do him much good either, just added another finger and--Oh God--

The hand on his hip was back around, pumping, tugging, with the full intent to cause pain, not pleasure.

He swallowed the next scream, the next choked—not sob, he wouldn't give the man that kind of sadistic pleasure—groan, as the fingers were forcibly removed, and replaced, hot, thick, pulsing—pushing in when he more than knew nothing should go there.

But that didn't matter, against gritted teeth, white knuckles, and teeth sinking down once more, to his neck. It didn't so much matter that he couldn't muffle these screams, couldn't get enough air in his lungs, couldn't let go, because maybe this felt a little more real than he had expected in the long run.

A little more than everything and a little less…well, the soreness meant he was alive, in some twisted way, didn't it? And it nearly surprised him when coherent thought was his last sanity, against the man's cock, pushing in, out, in, out, and the groans.
He never thought he—

Oh.

"Nn! it was a barely audible hiss, and those teeth were back, raking, nipping, tongue lapping at the blood there. He was no longer worried about bruises. After all—after all, his…wasn't it…? Wasn't it trying—

He gave up on thinking soon enough, because the pleasure was there, white and hot, threatening to suck him in, pull him, tug him, tie him, throw him up, drop him back, he could barely hold on, even with the man's teeth and dull nails, against his back. Against him, pressing, he could barely breathe, but that didn't so much matter, he was feeling too light headed to care all that much and—

Oh God.

And

He couldn't remember when the man finished. Or when he finished himself, against the couch, moments, minutes, seconds, later, gasping for breath that wouldn't come, and the sickening smell he hadn't known he'd hate so much.

He half expected the man to just up and leave too. Leave him sprawled on the couch, in this abandoned building, with no sense of dignity left in aching bones that refused to move anyway.

So maybe it was a bit shocking, when the man pulled out, when he felt the sticky warmness leak out down his legs, for the words to be there. Any words at all.

"Thanks for the info, Komui," His voice was raw, and maybe he could take a small comfort in that, "Not that I guess that's any consolation, but," and then fabric. His coat? What?

"At least you won't freeze to death." The man muttered, two words later, and he was vaguely aware of the movement of cloth, and then—and then the door. Closing with a creak, leaving him there, alone.

With a coat. Like that would really keep him warn enough.

But he had to get back. He had to get back to Lenalee, and Kanda, so he could see the first snow, and them playing in it, because he felt so guilty and—he should never have come to begin with. They had said it was a bad idea, didn't they? Reever, and Johnny, and—hell, even Jeryy had.

Why hadn't he listened?

Well.

Could anyone blame him for thinking things would change? But who was he kidding? Cross had been Tarnished too long ago for him to remember. Maybe it was before he even met the man.

And once something was tarnished, it could never be new again. The imperfection would never quite heal, no matter how long the time. He only wished he realized that before hand.

But of course, he hadn't, he berated himself, as he pushed back off the couch, and straightened his clothes with numb movements of fingers, adjusting his collar too, to hide the marks that were left.

So when he left the abandoned house, he made a pointed note to forgo any main streets that weren't crowded, because he could still hear the police roaming around, and the possibility of Akuma were high, not that they noticed him, not that he couldn't pretend to be careful anyway.

The Black Order's symbol burned a hole in his chest, but he ignored it. It wasn't there. He had chosen not to wear it, and—

Well.

He exhaled, breath puffing in the night air.

That was just fine, wasn't it?

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And the strange urge to add in a scene with Lavi at the end (like make it skip to a few years later), but that had nothing to do with the kink, so it didn't get past the first cut.

Review if you want. I'd like to know how I did on this pairing. *and now she goes back to working on the 100-theme challenge*