Title: Gin Without Tonic
Pairing (if applicable): None explicit; implied Sei/Sub
Status: One-shot, complete
Comments/Warnings: Alcohol. Arguments with trees. Kicked puppies.
Summary: Deanon from clampkink meme. While making their rounds to the finer places to eat/drink in Tokyo before they're destroyed, Fuuma talks Seishiro into loosening up a bit with a few cocktails...only to have this backfire badly when Seishiro can't hold his drink.
Kamui was currently at a bit of a loss as to what to make of his Dragon of Earth comrade. He liked the man well enough, certainly – they both enjoyed good food and shared an active interest in tormenting wide-eyed pretty boys – but there was something slightly off-putting about finding a skilled assasin engaged in a very vocal arguement with a tree. In the middle of a park, no less. An argument that, by the sounds of things, the Sakurazukamori was clearly losing.
Kamui debated for a moment whether to intervene, or at the very least make his presence known. It was clear that the Sakurazukamori wished to be anywhere else, doing anything other than fighting with the tree, but the Sakura itself…well, it was much harder to read. It – like all plant life – radiated something distinctly unlike human wishes (he supposed the lack of a coherent language accounted for some of this) but, while these usually fell into the categories of "sunshine" or "water" or "keep that goddamned dog away from my root system," all Kamui was able to decipher from the Sakura was vague images of a sea of gold spattered with blood. While this wasn't necessarily anunpleasant image, it was confusing as hell and Kamui wasn't really in the mood to sort out what the flowering abomination was trying to say.
It figured that Kusanagi would be off cavorting with schoolgirls (schoolgirl?) and acting so abominably human just when his talents might actually prove useful…
Kamui decided it was time to step in when Seishiro launched into a forceful tirade which included no small measure of foot-stomping and hurling of both verbal abuse and acusations of the tree being a finicky eater. It proved somewhat difficult to drag the Sakurazukmori – who continued to shout at the tree and dig his heels into the ground – away, but in the end, the sheer pig-headedness of the Kamui of the Dragons of the Earth won out and the duo shortly found themselves seated at one of the nicer sidewalk cafés in the area.
"How the hell did you get away without even a single vine-burn?" Seishiro demanded, staring at the wind-swept (well, he looked windswept, at any rate, despite the fact that the breeze was barely enough to shuffle the few stray leaves and bits of grass littering the sidewalks) teenager parked across from him.
Kamui shrugged. "Plants like me," he said casually and flagged down the waitress. "You, my dear Sakurazukamori, need a drink. It's not healthy to argue with inanimate objects. They have this terrible habit of winning through sheer force of will.
Kamui blinked politely. "Have you ever heard a tree back-pedal on its argument?"
"That's not what I…" Seishiro started, then closed his mouth. The little punk had no idea how close to the mark he was. Damned stubborn tree.
"Two gin martinis" Kamui ordered as the waitress drew nearer, "And make that the top shelf stuff – none of this Seagrams garbage," he paused as she scribbled the order onto her notepad, "And, oh…one of everything on the starter menu. That should be good."
Seishiro regarded Kamui with an arched eyebrow as the waitress scurried away from their table. "Expensive tastes for a teenager," he mumbled.
Kamui grinned. "We did agree to sample the best, did we not?"
"I suppose," Seishiro conceded, rifling through his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. "Anyway, aren't you a little young for cocktails?"
"Not that you care though, right?"
"Of course I don't care," Seishiro huffed and plucked a cigarette from amongst its brethren. He fumbled with the lighter for a moment before igniting the end and sucking in a deep, satisfying drag. The nicotine flooding his system was a welcome respite from the thwanging itch he inevitably felt between his shoulder blades whenever he'd been denied for too long (Tree-san had a terrible fear of becoming kindling before its time and Seishiro felt obligated to respect its wishes – not that he was going to admit that). "I've never cared about anything," he declared proudly.
"No," Kamui agreed with a smirk, "Not a thing."
Seishiro considered demanding an explanation for Kamui's incessant smirk that refused to fade, even as the waitress returned with their drinks and bustled about the table removing erroneous menus and dinnerware. He relented just as quickly, however, reminding himself that it was best not to dig too deep into the cryptic double talk the kid spewed, lest he once again find himself knee-deep in half-woven metaphors with no means to tie the ends into something meaningful (he decided that particular half-woven metaphor very accurately described a good portion of his life story and silently congratulated himself for his cleverness). He sighed and raised his glass instead. "What shall we drink to?"
Kamui's smirk deepened. "To love," he said simply.
"A ridiculous suggestion, for the two of us," Seishiro scoffed.
"Indeed," Kamui agreed, lifting his glass, "Let's drink to it anyway."
Seishiro narrowed his eyes. "Very well," he concurred after a moment's hesitation, "To…love."
Their glasses clinked, and Kamui proceeded to drain the entirety of his in the seconds following. Seishiro stared in awe.
"Come on," Kamui goaded, "Drink up. We're sampling the high-end tequila next."
"I…" Seishiro stared at his glass. The alcohol clung to the rim and dripped syrupy rivulets down the sides; it was good quality, potent. "It would be such a shame to waste…"
"Nonsense," Kamui assured him and tapped the base of Seishiro's glass upward with his own. "Time is winding down, and this place has a very well stocked bar."
"Point taken," Seishiro nodded curtly and lifted the glass to his lips. He paused for a second; it had been ages since he'd indulged in more than a glass of sake. Assassination was a tricky enough endeavor without having to stop every other block to regale the back-alley bums with an impromptu display of digestive pyrotechnics. Still, the world was ending, the child at the table across from them had just dropped his ice-lolly, and somewhere, somehow, he was certain that Subaru was weeping tears of ultimate sadness. If this wasn't an occasion to drink, he wasn't sure what was.
It wasn't until the second shot of tequila arrived that Kamui realized he had seriously misjudged his comrade's alcohol tolerance. He intentions had been far from pure – even the Dragon of the Earth needed a night off to drown out the incessant groaning of the Earth with a nice single-malt every now and again – but he had never imagined that the Sakurazukamori could be such a fantastic lightweight. He leaned back in his chair; the evening's entertainment was proving to be far less explosive than he'd planned, but no less amusing.
"And d'you know what that little son-of-a-bitch said t'me?" Seishiro slurred, leaning heavily against the table.
Kamui shook his head. "I can't even imagine."
"It prefers blondes," Seishiro accentuated the last word by dragging it out as far as his air supply allowed. "Blondes!" he repeated after gulping down a sizeable portion of much-needed air, "A fuckin' Sakura tree! In t'middle of fuckin' Tokyo! Where the hell," he paused to belch most of what he had just swallowed back with a startling lack of grace, "Am I s'pposed to find blondes around here? It's not like it's their natural habitat. They don' flock here for the winter or anything."
"Indeed," Kamui nodded, a small smile betraying his amusement, "It must be terribly difficult for you."
"Too right it is," Seishiro slammed his glass into the table, "Pain in my ass. I keep telling it – I got a lovely, sweet Subaru-kun that it can have once I'm done tearing him apart. An' it's jus' not good enough! Lovely, sweet, Subaru-kun…"
"Ah, yes. Subaru-kun," Kamui said knowingly, "How is your little woobie these days?"
"You'd know best," Seishiro growled, "You're the one went and plucked his eye out…"
"He wished for it," Kamui sighed, "We've been over this. Numerous times. Are you really that upset that your little bishie got his eye-cherry popped?"
"I don't care," Seishiro insisted, "I don' care 'bout anything. But it wasn't your eye to take. Wha' good's an empty socket in a relationship anyway?"
Kamui bit back several choice retorts, involving empty sockets and the types of relationships built around large doses of gross domestic violence and carefully constructed mind-fuckery that Seishiro seemed so fond of, and instead sighed into his folded hands. "Why Sei-chan, it appears you do care, after all."
"You," Seishiro stabbed an index finger into Kamui's chest, "You keep insinuating that I am not a good sociopath."
Kamui lifted an eyebrow. "And?"
"I am a masterwork in psychological degeneracy."
"No one's arguing that," Kamui smirked, "But generally sociopaths are incapable of love…so…"
"So nothin'" Seishiro stood up suddenly, "I'll prove it." He gripped Kamui's arm beneath the shoulder and tugged.
"What are you doing?" Kamui croaked in exasperation. This coat was expensive, damn it, and the Sakurazukamori was getting his sticky, ginny fingerprints all over the nice leather…
"We're dining and dashing. Come on!"
Kamui allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and followed in the Sakurazukamori's somewhat wobbly footsteps. It was all well enough; this place wouldn't be standing in a week's time anyway to enjoy their profits.
He had to admit that the gangly waiter near the entrance probably didn't deserve to have his tray knocked from his hands like that, though.
Nor did the puppy really need to be kicked, but his companion seemed to be enjoying himself, so Kamui let it slide.
Seishiro locked his arm through Kamui's and skipped down the street, dragging the other man somewhat more slowly behind him. "This is fun; isn't it, Kamui-kun?" He snuggled up closer to Kamui, "Haven't had this much fun in ages…"
"Mmm," Kamui agreed, a bit preoccupied with finding the quickest route back to the government offices. He had no idea where the Sakurazukamori called home, but he wasn't about to leave the man to pass out in the street. Good help was ridiculously hard to find when it came to the destruction of all mankind… "This way," he decided after a moment, and pulled Seishiro quickly around a corner.
"Oh my, such a dark alley you've selected, Kamui-kun. You know what goes on in dark alleys…" Seishiro stopped to giggle and lost his footing. Kamui was only just swift enough to catch him before he crumpled to the concrete. No longer trusting the man to walk on his own two feet, Kamui hefted the Sakurazukamori up and over his shoulders.
Seishiro didn't fight the arrangement, but did continue to babble. "You know, you look so much like my Subaru-kun. Did you know that, Kamui-kun? You do. You really do."
"So I've been told," Kamui admitted, a grin sneaking back onto his face.
"Who told you that?" Seishiro demanded, "I'll fuckin' kill 'em. I know what you're up to with your little look-alike act! Hide your women and your children and your empty tea cans! Kekkiai-crusher Kamui is here to slip between your sheets and rock your world till it all comes crash…ing…down…"
Kamui snorted and waited for the continuation of this little act, but received only snores for his silence. He sighed; it was a good job the offices were only a few blocks further.
Kamui deposited Seishiro in the basement – wrapped snugly in a worn blanket and well out of the reach of Beast's wires. He turned to leave, but was stopped by a soft gurgling that slowly morphed into something resembling human speech.
"S'all just so damned hard, you know?" Seishiro mumbled into the folds of the blanket. "Mommy didn't ever not-love me. It was terrible."
"I imagine so. You should sleep now."
Kamui ruffled the Sakurazukamori's hair once before turning once again to exit the basement. The man really was the worst sociopath he'd ever met. He was a skilled assassin, to be sure, and a valuable asset to the Dragons of Earth despite being unbalanced enough to render all comparisons to monkeys and nitrous-oxide null and void (Or was that the wrong metaphor…? Either way, Kamui felt certain it applied.). He just lacked the drive and follow through… What kind of sociopath got emotionally involved with his prey?
And then there was the little matter of his wish…
Kamui wondered if would be horribly tacky of him to take a leaf from the Sakurazukamori's book and will some of the more choice features of his anatomy to Kamui on the off-chance that a miracle should occur and he was prevented from stabbing the Dragon of Heaven for the next eight years…
He'd have to consult the Earth on this matter later...