Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     There can be a world of difference between a wedding and an afterparty.

     Kurogane recalls lying nestled atop a futon between his mother and father—not to chase away any nightmare, but simply for the serenity of being lulled to sleep by their beloved voices—and never tiring of hearing the exhilarating tale of their wedding day. Cicadas ring songs of yearning in the distance, the cool night air whispering over moonlit blankets and three tilted close heads of raven black hair. His father’s voice is the low rumble to his mother’s soothing stream. Together, they pull his dreams into their shared memory, bathed in a silver glow, nose tricked by the imagined scent of plum blossoms carried by a spring breeze.

     In the child’s mind, crests and patterns embroidered on thick black and white fabric become dragon scales adorning his father’s sleeves, and crane’s wings sprouted from his mother’s back. The ceremony was small, quiet—their grand audience the stars above, a rustle of bamboo applauding their union.

     Three sips of sake down, rites read, and the neighboring shogun, daimyo, and their respective soldiers gather in the wake of these quiescent formalities to kick start a... proper Suwa celebration.

     Lord Suwa and his High Priestess fell in love in one year, then waited two. It was auspicious that they marry in the year of the Monkey (or Tiger, but why wait any longer?) so they could time the reception with the greatest display of joy and vigor any Suwa citizen worth their salt could think of.

     The tearing down and re-pitching of the onbashira pillars cornering the shrines of Lake Suwa. The festival lasts several months—beginning with Lord Suwa leading an army high into the mountains, cloud line cut to fog in their march. Sixteen fir trees, tall enough to kiss the heavens themselves, are felled and sent careening down the freshly tracked slopes. Heckled to idiocy with one too many swigs of alcohol burning in their guts, warriors dare each other to mount the trunks with the confidence of any seasoned horseback rider (many sent hurtling to the River Sanzu within seconds).

     In a month’s time, the new pillars are rooted home, buried deep in the crusted earth alongside the forgotten bones of fallen soldiers and demons alike.

     The High Priestess blesses the land, a thunderous crack sounds as her kekkai barrier reseals the sanctuary of Suwa, her Lord admiring his wife’s power in the ensuing hefty sweep of his arms. Her laugh peals brightly, rivaling bonfires built high in her honor, dry lips connecting to her bared throat.

     The story is ever-changing, after that brilliant moment burned deep in the souls of Kurogane’s devoted mother and father. A haze of well-aged sake, fir wood smoke, and booming crowds give way to any which order of ecstatic cacophony. Duels, songs, dances, hunts, and robust declarations of love sear into the sky, embers trailing, petering out into stars.

     The sky of Suwa is always in embers, in Kurogane’s memory.

     The sky of Clow Country never pours, as far as Kurogane can remember.

     So, it’s a shock when the desert kingdom unfurls awash in a near flood before the warrior and his family as they touch feet upon sand soaked to mud.

     Princess Sakura flies through the torrent of rain, white dress stained and ruined, not a care in the world as she dives into Syaoran’s arms.

     The subsequent heartfelt gasp comes not from between the children, but from beside Kurogane. He turns to his partner, and sees the pained swell of a father’s eyes brought nearly to tears by a joy so great, it pulls at the heart from every direction. Fai meets his eyes, a red mirror pulled and pained just the same.

     Their son has returned home.

     Kurogane soon learns that it is Clow Country tradition to wait for the rare rainfall when hosting a royal wedding.

     Not the royal wedding that Kurogane may or may not have been anticipating since the day he first saw his kid’s soul aching gaze as he swore oaths of dedicated salvation for his dear princess—but, well, a wedding is a wedding. Weddings are nice.

     There are common threads in wedding traditions between worlds; kneeling, vows, ceremonial drinks. A penchant for nobles falling head over heels for their respective clerics.

     Prince Touya of Clow and his Priest Yukito sit face to face, knees to weathered stone. The High Priestess, Queen Nadeshiko, stands above them, giving rites blessed by the cleansing rain above the temple ceiling and the promise of rain to come.

     The couple dips their hands into the shrine’s reservoir, and Kurogane can’t help but feel an awkward stiffness as he remembers all the annoying time-bending world-warping shit that stupid weighted body of water has been responsible for.

     The mage must have gained the ability to read minds somewhere in the recovery of his magic, as Kurogane feels a sharp elbow jab into his side, stifling the wry snort building in his throat. Or perhaps (certainly), Fai just knows him a little too well.

     Touya lifts a ripple of water in cupped hands, guided by his mother’s invocations, and raises the offering to his betrothed’s lips. Yukito drinks the sacred gift down, then returns the gesture.

     Touya lowers his face into the shallow embrace of Yukito’s palm, savoring the last drop with an emboldened kiss along the crease of the priest’s heart line. Yukito inhales a startled breath, chased by an admonishing yet fond chuckle.

     Nadeshiko plants the butt of her staff against her misbehaving son’s torso, her tongue clucking between prayer passages. Touya throws his espoused a fervid wink, unashamed. Pink flushes against silver frock and frame.

     Kurogane notices a shake of brown hair to his other side, and catches a glance of Syaoran just in time to see a sight far more revered than rainfall in any drought ridden desert.

     The kid just rolled his eyes.

     The kid just rolled his fucking eyes.

     Hang on, is Syaoran—would apologize to you for having hot soup poured into his lap Syaoran—capable of… being petty?

     Kurogane recalls the kid’s stories of being bullied as a child by the princess’ older brother. The warrior had previously interpreted this dynamic with Syaoran as the defiant hero, refusing to lower himself to the ego-headed prince’s childish ways.

     Now, Kurogane gets the full picture, and his leg bounces in excitement at the chance of talking shit about someone with Syaoran. The ninja can hardly contain himself, earning another elbow jab from his blond partner, blue eyes snapping with tested patience.

     Come to think of it, Fai seems rather focused on this wedding, and the enraptured tilt of the mage’s neck settles in Kurogane’s gut.

     They’ve never talked about it. Marriage, that is. They’ve talked about the future; returning together to Japan, rebuilding Suwa, visiting the kids as frequently as their new lives would allow. The prospect of a ceremony and what that would entail, however, has never come up.

     Kurogane begins to wonder if Fai knows such a ceremony would be possible in his world. Perhaps not in the Japan of his parents’ youth, but the Japan of Empress Amaterasu’s rule is far different. The only reason she hasn’t taken the hand of her protector and lady consort is because the stuck-up bodyguard is far too emotionally useless to take a goddamn hint.

     Regardless, the pair takes residence in a rapid fire of varying worlds with widely diverse rules and restrictions on unions, religious or otherwise. If not Japan, they could get married just about anywhere, if they wanted to.

     They could get married here, if they wanted to.

     If Fai wanted to.

     Fai catches Kurogane staring, but Kurogane swells in satisfaction at the timid blush that creeps up Fai’s neck, creasing his eyes. Pay attention, the mage mouths in a voiceless scold as his chin juts in the ritual’s general direction, but his glance flickers back, revealing hints of a clinging boyish hope that Kurogane remains captivated, regardless.

     A toothy smirk turns the blush two shades deeper, then a leathery brown hand settles over pale fingers, locking in shared heat. Kurogane concedes to watching the ceremony, but his focus stays on the sweep of a scarred thumb tracing circles against his wrist.

     Husband. Kurogane balances the word inside his mouth, unspoken.

     No, that’s not quite right.

     My idiot husband.

     There it is.

     Kurogane would love to say those words, some day.

     “Should you ever fall, let my power return you to me,” Yukito’s voice echoes against sandstone, textured by the distant pattering of rain. His forehead is pressed to Touya’s, a shimmer of magic reverberating between their joined heads.

     Kurogane recalls Sakura making the same movement against Syaoran as she wished him good dreams, worlds upon worlds ago. The first Sakura, and the first Syaoran. Kurogane’s knuckles burn with the itch to knock their precious little heads, throat bubbling in a choked lecture for leaving him.

     The foreheads, right. Kurogane remembers Fai referring to this gesture as a charm. See? The ninja can totally remember this magic shit (give or take a few repeated lessons). So in this world, charms can act as vows.

     Kurogane notes the lack of referenced scripture, as Yukito and Touya exchange their vows. Perhaps, the words are brief enough to be memorized, or—

     “Should you ever doubt yourself, let my love lift you higher.” Touya's voice is resolute affection for his love, and Kurogane no longer feels inclined to talk shit about this honest, loyal, lovesick man to anyone.

     Kurogane can see by the shock that settles into Yukito’s expression, that these words are not scripted. These are vows crafted from deep within the heart. The ultimate oath to one’s beloved.

     Kurogane’s ears ring and vision swims far too intensely to focus on the remainder of the ceremony. All he knows is it takes far too long, and the tracing thumb against his wrist burns hot.

     My idiot husband, his mind repeats. My idiot husband, that I’ve sworn myself to.

     “There,” his mage murmurs, cadence lilting to teasing as guests begin to rise, drift to food and drink, the mingling beginning. “You’ve been set free.” He pats the ninja’s hand before letting it go to rise from his seat.

     Kurogane aches to be held down.

     Kurogane’s standards for a decent after party may be… unreasonable, some might say.

     But, regardless.

     This afterparty fucking blows.

     Granted, it’s not as if Clow Country has any mountains or trees to speak of, let alone climb and conquer for months on end of violent, impassioned celebration of love and the beautiful terrifying ordeal of being alive.

     So, failing that… just food, drinks, and talking? Really?

     Not that Kurogane hates sitting down and chatting with his family. It’s a welcome opportunity to catch up with the princess. Her hands flutter in exasperation as she retells how her brother finally quit dragging his feet and asked for his childhood friend’s hand, and the way her emerald irises bounce expectantly to Syaoran rumbles amusement in his diaphragm.

     The family sits in a semi-circle on stone benches, the sound of glasses chiming and outer guests’ voices rolling together surrounding them in a steady rivulet of banalities. The wine is alright, golden with the tartness of an apple. A bit too sweet for Kurogane’s tastes, but his companions seem to enjoy the rising warm bubble of atmosphere that each swig brings them, a welcome hearth of shared giddy peace that settles deep in one’s bones.

     The company is to blame for any joy that steeps into Kurogane’s spirit, and that’s a possibility regardless of setting. The party itself still fucking blows.

     “Mokona love-love-loved the wedding! But—wah, no kiss?” Mokona chimes in, perched atop Sakura’s shoulder.

     The princess blinks at the fuzzball, confused. “Kiss?” 

     The pork bun puffs up in preparation to spill the important knowledge.“Where Mokona grew up with Yuuko-san, after the couple says lovey dovey things to each other, someone says ‘You may now kiss!’ Then there’s a BIG SMOOCH on the lips!” Mokona elaborates with fervor, emphasizing their point with a hearty peck to Sakura’s cheek.

     Kurogane wrinkles his nose. “In front of everyone?”

     Sure, it’s not as if his parents were particularly private when it came to affection. His father had not a care in the world when he caressed his lips to his mother’s hair in front of shogun, daimyo, and the young empress alike. But on the lips? In front of an audience? On purpose? Why?

     “I don’t think Prince Touya would have minded,” Syaoran clucks, and Kurogane reels at the sardonic edge to his tone. What’s the deal with the kid’s attitude, today? He will fish it out of him later, one way or another.

     “Hmm, I recall kissing at weddings in Celes.” Fai leans forward with his chin in his hand. “There wasn’t a particular moment couples were meant to, however. It was a happy occasion, so they just kissed because they felt like it.”

     Sakura lights up at Fai’s description. “I would love to hear more about what weddings are like in your worlds!” she exclaims, turning to her companions.

     Fai straightens, and Kurogane knows too well the way his posture shifts into practiced placating motions, smoothing over echoes of distant nightmares in favor of digging out hidden treasures for the sake of social grace.

     “Oh, most Celes celebrations were the same. You built a bonfire the size of a house, the whole town gathered, whether you invited them or not—which led to many beautiful dramatic altercations with jilted lovers, by the way—then you whipped out all the alcohol and dried meat preserves you’d been storing just for the occasion,” Fai says, adorning his words with rehearsed gesticulation, eyes distant. “Weddings were no exception, of course. It was… a time for everyone to let go and enjoy themselves. Not a sad soul in sight.” There’s a wince in his voice, as if he knows the words to be true, but never fully lived them.

     Fai doesn’t need to say it for Kurogane to see it. The boy who thought it impossible to connect to a world unknowing of his suffering. The man who’d play the role of happiness with gallons of alcohol burning ecstasy in his throat, smiles and compliments thrown to strangers like scraps thrown to stray dogs. The court wizard winding down from his high, catching the somber disappointment in his king’s wary gaze, mustering the last reserves of energy to shield himself with one more dazzling grin to ease his savior’s conscience.

     Kurogane doesn’t have the right to so easily envision these raw images of Fai’s past, gathered from fragments stabbed ruthlessly in his unwilling mind. Far too vivid, far too intrusive, far too removed from the Fai he knows and loves now. Yes, he sees the shades that remain in the way Fai paints illustrations of joy for Sakura’s well-meaning curiosity. But he doesn’t have to know where it comes from to know that Fai is performing out of craving for acceptance, and doesn’t need to.

     Hand to knee, Kurogane anchors his cherished fool.

     Fai pauses, takes a breath. Notes how the children’s attention does not falter in his stumble, and they wait patiently for any direction the story turns, without a trace of judgment in their large, welcoming eyes.

     The smile curves to gritted teeth. “They were exhausting,” Fai admits, inflection twisting darkly.

     Syaoran nods in agreement, frown matching the slope of Fai’s fallen face. “I’m no good in situations like that,” he says. “I’d probably find a corner to hide in until it was over.”

     Sakura gives him a knowing smile. “You’d find the nearest dog or cat, and spend the whole party petting it, instead of talking to anybody!”

     Mokona hops from Sakura’s shoulder to Syaoran’s lap, beaming up at him.

     “If Syaoran-kun needs to pet something cute, leave it to Mokona!” They plop onto their rear, ears wiggling in anticipation for oncoming scritches. Syaoran laughs affectionately, gently cupping his hand over the cream puff’s rotund form.

     Fai’s mouth twitches involuntarily, Syaoran’s admission wrinkling a wry dimple into his cheek. “Syaoran-kun is brilliant, as always! If only I’d thought of that! Would have saved me from some downright dreadful conversations.”

     Fai’s hand settles over Kurogane’s, and there’s a slight tremor to it—the remains of adrenaline rushing at the prospect of being laid bare, vulnerable. The relief of unconditional compassion gradually quiets the shake.

     This idiot, Kurogane thinks. His fingers loosen, allowing the mage to weave in his own. This idiot, I swear.

     “What about Kurogane-san?” Sakura asks, those big green eyes pooling a strange saccharine sensation in the warrior’s chest. It’s stifling, the way she looks at him—cutting past the killjoy routine, zeroing in on the soft honesty of his bluntness. “What are weddings like in your world?”

     Kurogane bristles, bearing down another swig of sugary apple wine crap, before grouching, “Fucking annoying, is what they are.”

     Fai snorts, head flipping attention toward his favorite ninja. “And why is that, Kuro-puu?” His eyes gleam in wicked interest.

     Kurogane groans, raising his free hand to his head, metal fingers pressing through synthetic pads against his temple. “First of all, do not get me started on the dowries.”

     “Sounds like you already did!” Fai leans a beleaguering smirk into his space.

     Kurogane immediately dives into it. “Who needs over four hundred boxes of useless bullshit trinkets, is all I’m saying! Most of that crap’s just gonna collect dust and take up space, there’s no point!”

     The kids chuckle at Kurogane’s overblown rage, the ring of Fai’s snicker egging them on.

     Okay, they want Grumpy Kurogane? They’ll get Grumpy Kurogane.

     “The bridal kimono’s got a fuckload of padding just to keep the damn shape—Princess Tomoyo used to make me gather fabric for her little fashion experiments. She’d make one for every damn castle attendee that wanted a Tsukuyomi original for their big day,” Kurogane rattles off, the low gravel of his voice rising to a steady boom. “Then, you gotta walk in procession in the heavy ass thing, following some dipshits playing the flute.”

     A sharp, high giggle erupts from Sakura as she claps her hands at the mental image. She delights at the thought of a bored young Kurogane being dragged to some political ally’s wedding, losing his mind at the superfluous display. She’s certain the reality is far more serene and to her tastes than the ninja implies, but his bottomless chagrin makes for gratifying entertainment.

     Syaoran takes a thoughtful sip from his wine glass, eyes studious and attentive. Jotting down details in his mind, as if expecting to write a book on the subject.

     “It’s a lot of the same crap, after that—you sit in a shrine, some priest reads your rites. Oh, but the ceremonial drinking? One handful of shitty pond water ain’t nothing,” Kurogane’s teeth bare in excitement at this bit. “You gotta drink three cups of sake in a row, each one bigger than the last. One for heaven, one for earth, and one for,” Kurogane pauses to snap his fingers to remember. “Fertility? Something annoying like that.”

     Mokona chuckles into the itty bitty nubs that pass for their palms, swaying in the massage of Syaoran’s rhythmically carding fingers.

     Fai leans further into Kurogane’s field of vision. “You sure do remember quite a lot about weddings, don’t you, Ku-romantic?” His eyes skirt flirtatiously over the sudden red flush dusting Kurogane’s ears.

     Kurogane smooths over his flustered reaction with a scoff, “Yeah, well, Empress Amaterasu oversaw all marriages in the region. Princess Tomoyo insisted on playing wedding planner for most of them—the little brat—so I’ve seen my fair share of weddings.” He exaggerates his experience with the same vigor as a soldier increasing the size and fortitude of his enemies with each retelling of an old battle.

     Satisfied with the glimmer of surprise in Fai’s blue irises, Kurogane continues, “As I was saying—you don’t even get to write your own vows, just read off some prepared scripture. Another prayer after that.” His free hand counts off the steps, not to keep track, but to drive home how overly complicated he finds the whole thing to be. “Then the priest pours three cups of sake again, but now the family’s gotta drink it. It never fucking ends.”

     Fai’s gaze trails off, the twinkle dying out. “Ah, a union between families, hmm?” His voice is soft, but weighted in contemplation.

     Kurogane tilts his head, considering the perspective. “Typically, yeah, but it’s not like everyone sees it that way. Empress Amaterasu used to joke that she and Souma would drink the three cups at my wedding, even though they’ve got nothing to do with it. They’ll say shit like that just to get on my nerves but—ugh, they would, the fucking saps.”

     Syaoran blinks in fascination, completely enraptured by this new information. Yeah, the kid is definitely drafting the textbook chapter of ‘Wedding Customs of Kurogane’s Home World’ in his head.

     “Is that traditional?” Syaoran asks. “To have a figurative family stand in, when there’s a lack of—” he stops himself, face paling. The clinical researcher of his father halted by the heavy hearted young boy, suddenly aware of the hot coal he’s touching upon. “I mean—I’m so sor—”

     Kurogane puts his hand up, silencing the kid’s panic. “It’s fine.” Really, it’s fine. What has happened has happened; not like any of it is the kid’s fault.

     “I don’t really give a shit about tradition,” Kurogane carries on, once the final throes of Syaoran’s spiked anxiety dim in the relaxing of his shoulders. “Empress Amaterasu gives me a lot of crap, but what I do… prefer about her rule is...” The ninja eyes his mage when he says this part, hoping a kernel of assurance passes through, “Tradition be damned, with her. Whatever makes her people happy, she’ll do it.”

     Fai catches Kurogane’s gaze. Shades of understanding crest in his pupils, lips parting in an unvoiced desire to uncover more. The sudden, sizable mountain of possibility overwhelms Kurogane in an instant. The depths of his want exposed, soft and beating. The power in Fai’s hands to catch or crush him. It’s too much, and Kurogane’s mind blanks.

     Kurogane rips his eyes from Fai’s, turning his attention to the inquiring kids in an attempt to steer his thoughts away from idiot husband and vows of love.

     He fails.

     “Hell, you kids could drink sake for the mage at my wedding, for all I care.” The words stumble out before Kurogane can think to reel them in. Practiced indifference etches his tone, but his family knows better than to take it at face value. They’ve known that for a long, long time.

     Kurogane really needs to come up with a new routine.

     Syaoran chokes on his next sip of wine, palm squishing precariously onto Mokona’s head in a sudden need to balance himself. Sakura raises her hands to her face, covering the oh she gasps aloud.

     The fingers laced with Kurogane’s stiffen.

     Mokona bounces out of Syaoran’s hold, hopping high into the air, lap to shoulder to shoulder across each of their companions.

     “Another wedding! Another wedding!” Mokona chants, brightly announcing to the world. “Love-love is in the air! Oh, please make sure there’s a BIG KISS this time!”

     The fingers squeeze.

     Head drowning in a rush of heat, Kurogane spins in Fai’s direction, pupils blown wide and searching.

     Kurogane can only read one thought from Fai’s intense stare, a direct message.

     We need to talk.

     His stomach drops.

Chapter Text

     The sea of clinking silverware and hushed gossip subdues to static in the turn of a corner and the climb of a few flights of stairs. The silent pair arrives at the temple foyer. Kurogane has his back to a window sheered in white curtains, the muffle of rain the only melting point to the anticipatory ice in his veins.

     Fai stands before him, arms folded, head bowed in thought. Kurogane can’t get a read on I did something good or I did something bad from the crease of his love’s brow—only the turning of a stone, uprooted and buzzing with the kinetic energy to be kept or tossed. First, it revolves in the grasp, every groove felt and observed.

     “What I want to know is,” Fai begins, bangs shading his eyes. “Is this something you’ve been meaning to ask me, or...” He tugs strands of hair to his ear and raises his chin. He bores into Kurogane, confused but reaching. “Is this something you’ve already decided?”

     “I’m an idiot,” Kurogane says, and relief fills him when he sees that his clarification earns a slight quirk in the mage’s lips. “I’ve thought about it before, but… only in passing. I couldn’t get it out of my mind, today, and—well—this is what I get for letting my mouth run for too long.”

     Fai chuckles in a way that is fond, but not pacifying. “Oh, but you know Kuro-chatty is a favorite of mine.”  His voice trickles like honey. His arms unfold to run admiring fingers against his ninja’s cloak, pressing over the rise of his biceps. Kurogane shivers, a levy of tension easing in the contact. Fai continues, glance electric, “I learn all sorts of wonderful secrets, when he can’t contain himself.”

     Kurogane grumbles a reflexive shut up into his collar, but settles his hands on Fai’s hips regardless. The mage glows in predilection, but an air of concern still tugs in his features. Kurogane frowns at this, tracing thumbs along the hem of Fai’s shirt.

     “What’s wrong?” Kurogane asks, taking in every worry with significance, no matter how fleeting.

     Troubled hints surface higher in the mage’s expression, stitching unease into his tongue, “What sort of thoughts and… how passing?” The last two words break into a whisper, tight at the end.

     Kurogane considers this for a moment, searching for a recent fluttering of what if in his heart. He settles on not a specific scene, but a frequent occurrence that he once dismissed, but now nags at him to the point of plaguing.

     “I hate calling each other ‘travel companion’, or ‘friend’, or whatever cover you and the kid pick out for whatever world,” Kurogane confesses. “I want to call each other something unmistakable, so there’s no doubt what you are to me.”

     Fai smirks, inching closer, “Do you want me to call you Kuro-hubby?”

     Kurogane clicks his tongue, shoving Fai off of him in one swift motion. “Never mind, you ruined it.”

     Fai’s subsequent laughter breaks into a performative whine, reaching back to cling at the cloak, the motion traced by a wail of, “So meeean!”

     Kurogane huffs, defiant hand on his hip, rolling his eyes.

     Fai tugs pointedly at him, the taut fabric leading back to cornflower blue.

     “I’ve thought about that too.” Fai’s eyes crinkle in ardor, and the revelation catches in Kurogane’s throat. “Calling you husband in my head, the way I—we?—call the kids, you know… our kids.”

     “You know I don’t like playing… house.” Kurogane’s frown deepens. “They are our kids, and… I want you to be my husband.”

     The words cascade over Fai in a wave, breaking to foam against the shoreline, seeping into grains of sand. It’s an undeniable force sweeping through him, undoing him. Eyes wild, lungs punched out.

     “I wish,” Fai breathes, “We could skip to that part. I’m not… against certain formalities, but,” he stops, hitting a mental wall. He claws at the fabric over Kurogane’s arm. “Ceremonies can mean different things, in different worlds.” The mage manages the sentiment in vaguer terms.

     Kurogane sighs, “If you’re worried about laws, you know I don’t give a fuck what any ruler has to say about what I am, or what others are to me.” He takes Fai’s chin in his hand, piercing red. “Anyone who doesn’t recognize us—this—can go straight to hell.”

     Fai flushes in the thrill of Kurogane’s tenacity, but tilts his head in a returned challenge. “Then why have a ceremony at all?” he asks, but does not dismiss. “What would be the meaning, if we don’t need to be recognized by any world’s law?”

     Dryness latches in Kurogane’s throat, pulling at something deep. Something sacred.

     Something that needs to be unearthed, despite the fragile soil that crumbles in its wake.

     “I’ve sworn protection to Princess Tomoyo. I’ve sworn vengeance for my parents.” Kurogane’s eyes soften to scarlet embers. “I’ve sworn nothing to you.” The gravel of his voice hitches on this final admission. “It feels wrong.”

     Fai shakes his head, reaching a cool palm to Kurogane’s neck.

     “I like that you’ve sworn nothing to me.” Fai’s lips bloom with affection. “I like knowing that you’re with me because you want to be, not out of some… obligation.” The thumb tracing the line of Kurogane’s jaw presses. Not with the assurance of an anchor, but with the desperation of holding sand as it slips between one’s fingers.

     Gears fall into place, and Kurogane swells with a familiar indignation.

     “What the hell,” he growls, taking Fai’s hip in his prosthetic hand and squeezing it with forlorn prominence. “What the hell makes you say that like you’re expecting me to leave?” His voice rises to thunder, cracking in a step forward, chests colliding.

     “I’m not!” Fai insists, but his inflection wavers with fears woven tightly in his veins from long ago. “I just… want your freedom, beside mine.” There’s a fluttering sensation in the drum of Fai’s heart against Kurogane’s, wings beating, ready to take flight at the first sign of trouble.

     “I don’t want to be free,” Kurogane snarls, another step pushing the mage back, their bodies flush together in a single, unbroken line. Fai presses against a stair railing, fumbling for balance. “I choose my ties. I’ve chosen you.” The mechanical hand sinks into Fai’s waist, the flesh one against Fai’s chin, drawing a gasp from his mouth as it falls open. Kurogane’s fervent breath snakes a dare between Fai’s parted lips, “Ceremony be damned—all I ask is that you take what’s yours. I give it willingly.”

     Fai trembles, and Kurogane pulls away, searching him. Witnesses the apprehension shaking through him, digging nails into the base of the warrior’s hairline, the other hand ripping a faint seam into rain-dampened canvas. Fai drifts again, but with focus. Filing down edges encasing rooted pain.

     “Do you want to know the wedding tradition of Valeria?” he rasps.

     Kurogane does not, but listens all the same.

     “The espoused trade ceremonial knives, each engraved with their respective family crests,” Fai explains, tone shifting to wry. “The purpose is to symbolize a promise to one’s betrothed—a threat.” His gaze connects to Kurogane’s, resurfacing an old, violent possibility between them.

     “Should your house endanger mine, I will end you.”

     The hand at Fai’s chin glides across his cheek, tracing beneath his eye.

     “I think we’re well past that,” Kurogane says, a blunt rumble.

     If we were going to kill each other, we would have done it a long time ago.

     Fai barks a laugh, turning to his love’s palm, nose and lips burning in its creases. Lashes flutter, and an air of exhilarated fervor sighs into the pair’s lungs. A cat’s curiosity perks in slitted eyes, dancing on a flicked tongue.

     “What sort of vow would you swear to me, then?” Fai asks, stare lingering. “If it means so much to you, swear it now.”

     Kurogane stutters, and his neck and ears flush pink, much to Fai’s triumph.

     “Hell, mage! Give me time to think about it,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Can’t just put me on the spot…”

     Fai has a thought.

     An image in his mind.

     Oh, if this is enough to undo Kurogane? To vow in private, only to each other?

     Picture Kurogane in front of the kids, his princess, the empress.

     Swearing devotion to his beloved fool. Blustering through words, blushing head to toe.

     This, Fai needs to see.

     “Okay, okay,” Fai breaks into a giggle, moving his cheek from Kurogane’s caress to leer closer into his space. The hand at the ninja’s chest raises in a jubilant sway. “Paint the picture for me. What did you have in mind? How does big soft Kuro-puu want to marry me?”

     Kurogane continues to gape, and Fai’s giggle increases in zeal. The warrior flicks the mage’s nose in umbrage, and Fai rewards him with a neck tilted back in glee. Still not satisfied, metal fingers tickle under the blond idiot’s shirt, throwing his head back further in a torrent of giddiness.

     “Not sure I should tell you,” Kurogane chides, connecting his rough lips to Fai’s reverberating throat. “Might be having second thoughts.” the words come muttered  in between a trail of kisses, ending in a nip to Fai’s ear. The mage jolts in a pleased exhale.

     Fingers at the warrior’s neck card into bristles of black hair. A pale mouth aligns to a welcome earlobe, entreating, “Please?”

     Kurogane embosses a devilish grin into the curve of Fai’s nape, then smooths the synthetic skin of his hand to the flat of his stomach, gently carving out a startled whimper.

     “Anything you want,” Kurogane sinks the weight of his head into his love’s shoulder. “All I want is to give you one promise. One truth to shut up that idiot brain of yours, when you forget that I’m yours.”

     Fai buries his head against Kurogane’s collar, his tremble returning.

     “When it’s about what I want, it never ends,” Fai warns, breaking on a gasp when the fingers on his stomach splay wider. “I want to call you mine and mine alone, and—I want more.”

     Fai shoves the warrior across the tiles in a powerful stride, colliding with a flurry of white curtains. The sandstone corner of the window’s frame digs into Kurogane’s back, drapes swirling around their shared silhouette. Fai pushes further until they are torso to torso, head snapping up in a gust of golden locks.

     There are tears in his eyes.

     “I want everything. I want a home with you, with rooms for all of our children and—” Fai catches his breath, summoning courage.

     He breaks into a brilliant smile, finding pride in himself.

     “I want an orphanage in Suwa. I never want to stop helping children like—children like me,” the words shake out, cut like diamond from his very soul. “Syaoran-kun and Sakura-chan are… getting to the point where they don’t need us, anymore. But I can’t stop this need in me. When does it stop? When have I asked for too much?”

     Kurogane didn’t think it was possible to be any more in love, but here he is.

     “Never,” he says. “You can never ask for enough.”

     Fai beams at Kurogane, the sight of his dimples as warming as sunshine. Fai touches their foreheads together, radiating with unending gratitude and rampant desire. The hunger smolders in black circles, dilated.

     “You’ll be an old, tired grandfather without a moment’s peace in a house full of little monkeys when I’m through with you,” Fai teases. “And I’ll keep finding more and more. You’ll never sleep again.”

     The ninja’s false hand trails high into the mage’s shirt, untucking fabric and exposing his stomach to the air (Fai startles in self awareness, but the cover of cloak and curtain thrills and alleviates him in risky fortitude), then encloses over thrumming pectoral. Fai gulps for air, stunned and praying for the next sudden movement.

     “Where do you fit that big heart of yours?” Kurogane asks, a subdued quake against Fai’s waiting mouth. His own lips part, tracing them at the edges of Fai’s; an opening for a strike.

     Fai snakes his arms around Kurogane’s neck, melting into him with urgent abandon.

     “Here,” Fai replies, taking his point home to the restful bed of his warrior’s tongue.

     Kurogane drops both arms to hike beneath Fai’s thighs, hoisting him up to the hinge of his waist. The motion makes Fai hiccup out a high groan to his teeth, and Kurogane chases it with another when he spins and plants the puddle of a fool on the window sill, back to the glass pane and relentless storm.

     A steady roll of hips and tongue is about all they can manage, sixteen careful feet above a bustling, unsuspecting crowd. Kurogane’s canines branding Fai’s lips and neck makes him feel stripped and irresistible all the same. Fai hooks his eager legs around the sturdy pillar of Kurogane’s lower back, edging him closer.

     Fai can tell he’s drowning his lover in the sobering steel grip of his thighs. It’s far too easy to drive him over the edge, far too dangerous. He sighs, conceding to dousing the fire in their familiar dance of derision.

     “A lover’s tryst in the foyer of the crown prince’s royal wedding—whatever shall they say?” he mocks in a daze, leaning back to breath space and reality into their heated moment of feigned privacy.

     Kurogane takes no hesitation in catching the words from Fai’s lips again, swollen, bitten, craven.

     Fai breaks the kiss with a lightheaded smirk, jeering when they part, “You plan to sneak me off like this in Shirasagi castle, too?”

     Kurogane stills at that, and tightens his jaw. His brows knit together in a wince, and Fai nudges his nose against his cheek, pestering the thought out of him.

     “If we don’t get married in Japan, Princess Tomoyo will kill me.” He blanches, post-makeout flush draining from his face in a flash. “She’ll wanna plan the whole damn thing, too,” he groans, forehead slumping to the mage’s.

     Fai’s expression falls, reminded of the apprehension that sent him flying with Kurogane in hand up these stairs in the first place.

     “What exactly does a wedding entail, in Japan?” Fai’s hands slide down the warrior’s arms, resting over the hands at his hips. “If it’s about alliance of lineage, like in Valeria, then I don’t want it. I’ve had enough of my life used for politics.”

     There’s a heaviness to the implication, and Kurogane finally understands the source of the mage’s discomfort. He’s had his own trepidation with noble obsession over bloodlines, and ritual binding as a form of peace treaty. What he wants Fai to understand, is that they are not alone in feeling this way.

     “Like I said—typically, yes. But it’s not like that with the empress. It can be anything we want it to be. As for Princess Tomoyo… she’s gonna have a field day dressing you up. I’d say ‘that’s all’, but… it’s gonna be a lot. You’d better be prepared.”

     Fai chuckles, the remains of dread laid to rest as he remembers the nature of Kurogane’s employers. “Oh, I had a taste of that when I met her, I know.”

     Realization dawns on Kurogane, and suddenly the romantically symbolic length of Fai’s sleeves and red ribbon adorning his hair hold notably different significance in the ninja’s memory.

     Fai continues turning the possibility over in his mind. “What about the ritual sake? What do you think Amaterasu and Souma intend by drinking for you?”

     “They just—” Kurogane wants to bang his head against a wall, instead of admitting this disgusting mushy thing. He powers through it. “They like to say shit that gets on my nerves. To… show that they care. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

     Fai responds with a flurry of kisses across the expanse of his lover’s face. Lips, cheeks, jaw, nose, neck; anywhere he can reach.

     “If they annoy you as much as I do,” he muses between pecks. “They must adore you.”

     Kurogane shuts the fool up, once more, in his favorite way.

     It doesn’t last for long, of course, because Fai never shuts up.

     “Anything we want it to be, hmm?” He hums into the corner of Kurogane’s mouth. “Well, there was one Celes tradition I was rather fond of.” Fai walks his fingers up a toned bicep. “It’s customary to strip naked after the ceremony and dive into the nearest ice fishing hole.”

     Kurogane deadpans, “You’re fucking with me.”

     “Obviously. What I would really like to do is find a way to bring Sakura-chan there. My magic has grown quite a bit, I might be able to teleport her myself.”

     The warrior’s forehead creases in worry. “Doesn’t that take a lot out of you?”

     Fai soothes his concerns with another soft kiss. “Maybe so, but it’d be worth it. Sakura-chan has become very powerful herself. She might be able to help me with the return trip.”

     “We’d have to start the ceremony as soon as possible. No way of knowing when the pork bun’s earring will light up and force us to leave. Not to mention the price it’ll take to go there on purpose in the first place.”

     “So we’ll give Watanuki-kun a wedding gift, instead of the other way around. That’s fine. I don’t mind spending something to send Tomoyo-chan a message ahead of time, either. Couldn’t be too much, right? Probably some—” Fai makes a vague gesture with his hands, “—mystical item we’re fated to find in the next world, anyhow.”

     “Tch, probably. What about… after?”

     “After? Oh, you mean the honeymoon? Hmm, I’m sure we could find somewhere romantic wherever we find ourselves afterwards. I’d rather spend our time in Japan with the family.”

     “So,” Kurogane blinks. “We’re doing this?”

     For a moment, Kurogane swears the sun must have peeked through the rain clouds outside the window, because the look on Fai’s face lights up the entire room.

     “Yes, I’m going to marry you.”

     This is the aftermath, Kurogane thinks. This is the result of worlds brought to their knees, ending, then rebuilt beneath their feet.

     The chance to give Fai the happiness he deserves.

     There are no words, so Kurogane surges once again to ravish his dear fiancé, wrapping around each other until they feel as complete as can be. The promise of a treasured future spills golden from their hands, and the itch to scream it to the world builds high in their chests.

     If they ever make it out of the foyer, that is.