Bittersweet Reunion

Disclaimer: This is an original story. All characters, concepts, names, ideas, etc. contained within belong to me and me alone. Please respect that.

A/N: Please head the warnings. They are not there as decorations. Furthermore, as this bit is a part of something much bigger, sort of a character introduction for a longer, future story, somethings may not be clear at first (but the mystery is half the fun!). Comments and constructive criticisms are always welcome.


Bittersweet Reunion


Splashes of neon washed the concrete and stone walls with pale light, reflecting off of the collages of graffiti that drowned the natural gray and brick red of the buildings with an unnatural amalgamation of colors like the display of a demented artist. Voices drifted along the cool night wind as people milled about-some low and hushed as if seeking to avoid attracting attention while others where the opposite, loud and abrasive-unspoken verbal challenges. A silent figure cut his way through the odd collection of refined and punked that mingled along the streets-his was not one of the voices twining in the wind. Pinning for all things lost. Though he sighed internally as he passed beneath flickering street lamps, strange hazel eyes fleetingly scanning the crowd. The extent of each one’s existence laid out before him at even a casual glance, their deaths clearly marked as if stamped into the very flesh.

Yet none of that held his attention. Not now. He had other more urgent matters to attend to. The dream and its sensations still lingered in the back of his mind like a bad aftertaste. Almost there. His senses so in tuned to his target there could be no mistaking the sudden shift in the feel of the air, in the way his instincts came alive as they sought to align themselves with their opposites. Long black frosted silver hair swirled around him, the black leather duster he wore, over the low riding black leather pants and tight black t-shirt, flapping around his ankles as he quickened his pace. A strange sense of urgency spurring him on….or perhaps anticipation? No. He mentally shook himself. He was not imagining this nagging feeling that something was wrong.

There! Swiftly crossing the street, he find himself ducking into one of many shabby buildings, the wooden door swinging in with a soft creak. The room behind the door was low lit and smoke-filled, curling lazily through the interior. To call the bar seedy would have been paying it an undeserved compliment. Eyes flickered past the various disreputable seeming patrons, past the rather beefy bartender and the even beefier bouncer heading his way. They flickered past everything till the landed on a metal door partial hidden in the back behind a curtain of wooden beads, and the faint trilling of metal edged music pounding against the iron. Quick as thought he was standing before the door. Pushing the beads aside he grasped the handle, swinging the door inward.

And inhaled sharply as he was flooded by sounds, by scents. The heavy, throbbing pulse of music as dark as the lighting. White, blue and violet flashing in time with the beat of gut wrenching drums clashing violently against soul-shocking guitar with all the force of thunder and lightening. A loud, primal storm of electronics and echoes. The scent of sweat and musk, of humanity at its rawest assaulted his senses, sending them reeling. Exuding from the writhing mass of slick flesh, dancing synchronized into an ancient rhythm of disjointed movements. The air was cloying and heavy with smoke, a haze of drugs and alcohol.

Staring, eyes unfocused, into the sea of a human snake pit before him, he purposefully began to make his way through the crowded dance floor, alternately weaving in between bodies, ignoring the occasional proposition and at other times pushing people aside. Several times he was forced to change directions and turn around as he allowed his instincts, his sense of the other guide him, drawing him ever nearer to that elusive presence he’d been searching for the past few months. Suddenly his heart seemed to pound to loud in his ears, the crowd around him seemed to move in slow motion while everything else went into hyper focus. As if in a dream he kept stepping forward, twisting shadowed figures slithering out of his way revealing a cluster of glass and bottle filled tables near the back of the room, where he saw…him.

A figure of pure white shinning against the darkness of the club. Hip hugging white leather jeans hanging of narrowed hips, clinging to slender muscled legs. A white leather vest barely covering a lean toned chest, stopping just short of the waist to flash hints of a smooth, flat abdomen. A vest that was halfway unzipped as that sleek, pliant body was bent backwards over a table, chest heaving slightly as flickers of artificial light bathed it in eerie illumination, shadowing sharp cheekbones. Another body, bigger and bulkier, leaned forward over the white figure, as one hand fisted in short, spiked black frosted silver hair. Full lips curved in a dangerous, provocative smile before black rimmed eyes slid to the side and strange hazel eyes, the exact reflection of the ones he saw every day in the mirror caught his, holding his gaze for an infinite time that ended all too soon.

The white clad figure returned his gaze to the larger one looming intimately above him and those smiling lips parted and spoke. What, he could not hear for the distance and noise but whatever it was the larger man evidently did not like he snarled something in reply to which the slighter man replied something calmly, a superior smirk alighting his face with a devilish glee. His answer, whatever it was, seemed only to infuriate the man even more as he reared back and jerking his hand off of that slim waist to curl the fingers together and lash out with a vicious punch, smashing into that beautifully angular face.

Red. He could see it splashing even from that distance, staining the cheek and dribbling down the chin. He didn’t have to see to know that the submissive poutiness had left the near replica of his own face to be replaced by a dark predatory look-right before kicking his assailant in the crotch and head butting him hard enough to drive him staggering a few steps back. The white clad figure then reached his hand down viper quick to grip the hunched over figure’s balls in a surprisingly strong vice and twisting, forcing them close once more, close enough for the spiky haired one to murmur something else as the larger man whole body seemed to scrunch together in pain.

So intent was the white clad one that he was unaware of the four other figures closing in, friends of the one in pain, who seeing the turn of events had decided to jump in. This movement broke his own paralysis as the black dressed watcher rushed forward just as one of the four brought an empty beer bottle smashing against a spiked head. The white clad figure staggered briefly, tottering before sinking down to one knee, an arm braced against the ground to keep him steady. He reached the fight just as the other three were moving in. A figure made of black leather and pale skin, dark and silent like smoke and shadow. The pissed off drunks didn’t even see him coming. The one wielding the bottle would be last, he thought as a sharp blow to the throat took one of the three out of commission, while a second one collapsed into unconsciousness from a hard, solid punch to the temple.

The original attacker was hunched over, still reeling from the white figures rather intimate yet painful retaliation, which left one other and the bottle breaker. Seeing aforementioned offender who had sent the small figure to the ground with a shattering of glass moving towards him, but he didn’t move to defend himself. Instead he simply tilted his head slight to the side, strands of long silken hair sliding along to reveal one star like gleaming hazel eye, pinning the drunken slob, rooting him to the spot in mid-motion. The ebon clad figure could see this one’s death-the result of too much smoking it would seem. The dark tendrils of his fate already clinging to him like insubstantial serpents, slowly drawing closer, tightening their deadly coils. It was a simple enough matter for him to reach out and touch those tendrils, to encourage them to grow, to sink their fangs deeper into flesh and marrow, icy spreading faster like poison through blood. In response the frozen man staggered back, gasping for air, a gasp which instantly turned into a near constant hacking cough. Eventually flecks of blood speckled chin and hand. Now that that one was too busy trying to breath to continue the fight, the rescuer’s gaze flickered back to the one man still standing, who suddenly did not seem to sure of himself with out his friends or leader as back up. Swallowing nervously he seemed to come to a decision and grabbed the two other conscious assailants and began to drag them off leaving one unconscious, one trying to catch his breath, and the two nearly identical looking yet opposite, leather clad men.

Glancing down he saw that the white figure was still braced on one knee, and sporting something he had not noticed until up close-a plain spiked white leather collar encircled his throat. His free arm wiping blood out of the corner of his mouth to flick it to the side while more blood dripped down the side of his face from the gash on the side of his head, plastering bits of spiked hair to his skull…and glaring rather viciously up at him. The gold flecks in those greenish-blue eyes glowing with fury. He sighed internally as he reached one hand down to offer his assistance in helping the other stand. Never breaking eye contact, the slighter figure smacked the proffered hand away.

“Fuck you. I didn’t need your help.” The white clad one rose unsteadily yet somehow gracefully to his feet. Lips pressing together tightly, the darker withdrew his hand, slipping it into his pocket.

“Imrys…” he started in a soothing, patient tone before being cut off by a more belligerent one.

“Shut up, Imralys. Just shut the fuck up.” Imrys snapped dusting his white leather pants, licking blood from his lips. The silence stretched taut between them as Imralys did just that. Facing Imralys once more, it was Imrys who broke it.

“So what the hell brings you here, brother ? Slumming?” Somehow the slightly smaller man managed to convey enough scorn and contempt in that simple sneer to tear even the most confident individual to a quivering mass of self-doubt and loathing. Imralys simply resisted the urge to sigh once more. The decades they’d been apart had been nearly enough to make him forget how it required the patience of a saint to deal with his twin, especially when said twin was in a pissy mood, which apparently he most certainly was tonight. Wonderful. And he put up with it because…because it really wasn’t Imrys’ fault. It was his.

“No.” He replied succinctly in that same quiet manner. One, which apparently tended to drive the other crazy, almost as if Imrys kept wanting him to lose his cool, to…to what? Imralys shook his head gently. To what end he didn’t know. Sometimes his own brother was as much of an enigma to him as humans were.

Imrys just snorted at the lack of clarification, showing unusual amount of restraint in doing so, crossing his arms over his chest, chin lifted defiantly.

“Feh. Whatever. You never change.” Imrys tossed his head back and shoved passed Imralys pausing only to knee his attacker in the face, “Asshole.” And continued on his way towards a back door Imralys had not noticed before. Without another word, Imralys headed after him, trench coat swirling ominously around him.

The cool night air was like a slap in the face compared to the intense humidity and heat of the clubs interior. Imrys was standing outside back to the door as if waiting for him. He was almost surprised to see that his twin hadn’t just taken off once outside. For several minutes, and Imralys found his eyes drifting across Imrys’ features, studying them, memorizing them, comparing them to the past to see if anything had changed. Eventually he found his gaze lingering on the leather chocker he had noticed earlier, entranced by the way the soft, supple material looked against the lighter alabaster of skin it was constricted around-harsh, impersonal pale light glinting off the small metal spikes. Without thinking he found himself reaching forward to finger the material, stroking its width, tracing over the metal, feeling its sharp points prick against his skin.

Imralys sensed more than saw Imrys stiffen at the contact, and dropped his hand just as the other man spun around to face him. Still glaring back at him with a mixture of fury and defiance.

“Well?” The harsh question cut through the night. Imralys blinked as if awakening from a dream.

“Well what?” He replied, although he had a feeling he knew exactly what his brother was asking. Imrys simply smirked and arched an eyebrow. No words were really needed between them; they had never really needed such verbal accoutrements to get their points across. Nodding once he headed down the street, never glancing behind to see if the other was following-he did not have to. He could feel Imrys’ presence at his back like a winter’s sun. Pale light. A warmth that froze.

The walk back to his rented apartment passed by quickly and quietly. Each locked within his own thoughts, his own world. Crispy air hinting of snow to come leeched away the excessive body heat generated inside the club, during the fight….and for Imrys during other activities as well. But Imrys would be damned before he let his always calm, always composed twin see him shiver. The gallant bastard would probably feel it was his duty to offer him his coat or some medieval shit like that. Thankfully it apparently was not much further if the slowing down of Imralys’ pace was any indicator.

Controlling the need to shiver through sheer willpower as they entered the warmer environment of the rather cozy little apartment. A plain couch with a simple coffee table were to the left of the door, kitchen to the right, a work desk against the window, a fireplace next to it and a door to the far left leading to what he could only assume was the bedroom as the bathroom was clearly visible to his immediate right. How…quaint. And spartan. He thought derisively. So like his brother. Nothing personal.

Standing in the doorway, he leaned against the frame, arms crossed, one leg casually in front of the other, and waited. Waited for the other to break the silence since he most certainly wasn’t. He wasn’t going to give his brother such a victory, no matter how small it was. So he said nothing. Content to stand there and watch as his twin shrugged out of the trench coat, tossing it onto the sofa, crossing the floor to gaze out the window.

Imralys could feel the heat of that gaze against his back, making the muscles between his shoulder blades twitch. He knew if he allowed the unspoken pissing contest continue then they could very well end up standing like that for hours. Sacrificing what little pride he had when it came to his brother, Imralys spoke up.

“What was it you said?” Evidently the question had startled the other man. It seemed whatever Imrys had been expecting that had not been it.

“What?” Eyes focused on the back of his head with an intense stare.

“Back there at the club. What was it you said that pissed him of so much?” As the question registered, Imrys seemed to relax minutely and smirked. Chuckling rather pleased with himself, Imrys sneered,

“I simply told him the truth. I told him I wasn’t interested in fucking a small prick.” Imralys made a startled choking sound torn between scolding his twin for his reckless, crude behavior and laughing at the outrageousness. He settled for hissing,

“Imrys!” The owner of which name simply snorted dismissively.

“Don’t give me that. I could have done much worse…oh wait I did.” That overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction from Imrys only grew at the words. Imralys half-turned to study him suspiciously.

“Imrys….what did you do?” The other did not look at him. Just waved his hand casually.

“Oh nothing much but that man I grabbed shouldn’t count on having any children in the future…ever.” Imralys sucked in a breath at the implication of how his twin had used his gift, and opened his mouth to retort sharply when he changed his mind, softening his features instead said,

“Why don’t you clean up? There are some clean hand towels and ice in the kitchen.” And turned his back to the white clad figure once more. As much to dismiss the man as to attempt to regain his control by ignoring the natural allure he exuded, more so than ever when dressed as he was. Dressed to kill. A slightly caustic self-deprecating smile crossed his lips at the irony of the thought.

Sitting down at the desk, he pulled some charcoal and blank piece of paper from one of the drawers and began to sketch as the faint running of water could be heard from the kitchen. All too soon he became lost in the movements of the art, the rest of the outside world fading into nothing more than background noise. So absorbed was he in his work that he was not aware of the water stopping or Imrys returning from the kitchen wiping the trail of blood from the side of his face, dabbing at the cut on his lip and scalp. Did not notice the strangely violent look twist his face as the minutes ticked by and he was continually ignored by Imralys. Did not notice him padding barefooted across the carpet, the boots having been discarded previously by the door. Noticed nothing of the world until Imrys was standing at his elbow, invading his personal space with his own electric presence. A presence that suddenly felt intrusive, making him uncomfortable.

Imrys snorted disdainfully as he saw what he’d been drawing and drawled rather viciously,

“Still seeking death?” That sensuous, living lightening presence threatened to choke him though he outwardly he remained cool and unaffected. And so he lashed out in return,

“Still denying destiny?” His words worked, as Imrys reared back with an inhuman hiss.

“You son of a…. You have no right…” Imralys turned in the chair to study his twin. The sparks of fury that flashed in his violently churning eyes. The slight hunched arch of his back. Hair bristling. Like a cornered cat. Venom spitting from his mouth in the form of words.

“You think that you can just show up in my life after decades with the same damn expectations?”

“No. I have no expectations. I never have.” He could not help the faint trace of bitterness that laced those words.

“Oh no!” Imrys snarled, pacing in front of the coffee table like a jungle cat on the prowl, hidden muscles rippling. “Don’t you dare blame this on me, you bastard.” Like the cornered cat he’d resembled before, when Imrys felt threatened he lashed out.

“This is not my fault!” And he always drew blood. “You think I fucking asked for this!” Spreading his arms in gesture and Imralys knew exactly what he meant by ‘this’. The trace of anguish and despair that broke through his twin’s brash persona causing him to wince. But he forged ahead. It was painful to watch his twin hurt, especially knowing he was the cause yet he had to. He was so tired himself. So fucking tired. And only his twin’s stubbornness was keeping him from resting.

“That’s not what I said.” He tried to sound reasonable, placating. Although he wanted to push the other man, he had not come looking for an all out fight. Actually he had not wanted to push him at all until Imrys had brought up the age-old argument between them.

“You didn’t have to, brother. I could hear the implication in your words. I know you! You petty selfish asshole! Just because you have some insane suicidal urges driving you does not give you the right drag me down into that dark misery of your life as well!”

Anger started to overtake the earlier flash of sympathy as Imrys’ words hit home. Selfish am I? He thought furiously to himself. I’ll show you selfish.

“Oh yes!” He snapped back finally losing his calm. “That’s why you’re drowning yourself in alcohol and sex. Why didn’t you continue your game back at the club when you saw me? Decide to move onto bigger and better? It certainly wasn’t shame since we both know you have none!” He found himself standing only a few inches from his brother; unable to remember when he’d gotten up. Face flushing with some unnamed emotion, Imrys took a step forward, beyond furious.

“It’s none of your goddamn business! You’re just jealous!”

“Jealous? Of what? Some Neanderthal human who couldn’t find his own dick with a road map and two hands? And your wrong! It blood well is my business! If you would just…” He never got to finish, as Imrys’ own tenuous control broke and he snapped ferociously,

“I will not whore myself for you!” The words stung. Hurt. Burned worse than salt in an open wound. A raw aching wound already bleeding out. Imralys was overcome with the need to make his twin hurt as much as he was hurting, to wound as deeply.

“No! You’ll just whore yourself to any drunk brave enough to cop a feel!” Stars exploded behind his eyes as Imrys’ right fist connected solidly with his face, sending him staggering back to collide with the table’s edge.


“Son of a….” Imrys snarled as he charged forward, left hand speeding to imitate the previous actions of his right hand. However, this time, having had warning, Imralys was fast enough to catch the fist. But that would not deter the other man for too long. Agilely, he ducked Imralys’ retaliatory punch, and dropped down to sweep black leather encased legs from ‘neath their owner. But Imralys feeling himself fall, pitched himself forward rather than backward, which would have cracked his skull; instead his move sent them both tumbling to the floor.

And the fight disintegrated into a wrestling match. For a long time the tussled on the floor-punching, kicking, clawing, biting. Till in the end Imralys had Imrys trapped beneath him. Pushing his weight back onto the slightly smaller form’s waist where he had him straddled, he leaned forward, keeping the man’s arms pinned by the wrists above his head. Chests heaving as if synchronized, Imralys briefly closed his eyes, strands of hair sliding past his face like broken waterfalls. Focused inward he tried to calm both his breathing and heart.

Opening his eyes once more he found himself trapped by Imrys’ eyes. Alive with fury and resentment. A universe being born and dying endlessly within those shimmering depths. Without conscious thought he found himself leaning down, hypnotized, to lick the fresh trial of blood leaking from the cut lower lip. Tracing its path upward, savoring the salty metallic twinge of it. In the end his lips skimmed gently across the slightly parted ones beneath his, linger above them for a heartbeat, breaths mingling, before pressing down harder, demanding.

At first sweet, too tempting flesh remained unresponsive. And just as he was about to pull away, a sigh flowed passed them to tickle the back of his throat, as those full almost pouty lips softened, yielding, widening in acceptance. Time stood still as they dueled and fought in an entirely different way, their breaths becoming one. Peace and contentment settled over them, around them, consuming Imralys.

The stillness of the moment was shattered as Imrys snapped his eyes open, eyes he had not been aware of closing, and as several realizations flooded him, mostly centered on Imralys’ victory, of how his twin had the upper hand, he bit down hard on the lip closest to his teeth, tasting blood.

Imralys jerked back at the lancing pain, panting he stared down wide-eyed at Imrys. At an Imrys who was licking blood from his lips and staring back with such pure pulsing fury and….something darker, more malevolent. Helpless as he was, Imrys still managed to somehow look far more dangerous than he had any right to.

“I hate you.” Imrys whispered softly, and in that moment he truly did, a dark bleak emotion so powerful that Imralys actually felt it radiating off of the body beneath his. His senses reeled. All previous anger and resentment and jealousy deflating into nothing. Leaving him feeling hollow and empty as he released the trapped wrists, letting go so fast he acted as if the very flesh had scalded him. Scrambling back off of his white dressed twin, he halfway collapsed onto the ground next to him, hunched forward, his arms draped across his knees.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered in reply. The glare from Imrys did not lessen in intensity as he curled his legs under him, massaging his wrists.

“Oh you’re sorry.” Imrys sneered contemptuously. “You’re not….not really. But you should be. It’s all your fault.” Imralys recoiled as if slapped, while his heart and mind agreed with Imrys. “Everything.” Dropping forward Imrys crawled…no stalked…forward on hands and knees to where Imralys had collapsed. Rising he gripped a handful of that long silken hair, yanking his brother’s head back sharply so they could look eye to eye once more. Studying downcast sorrowful eyes, he fisted the t-shirt the other man was wearing and dragged him forward, attaching his mouth once more to the other’s, attacking it brutally, viciously with no feeling other than domination behind it.

Licking, biting, sucking he made his way from those lips across the jaw line and down the throat, repeatedly bruising and drawing blood. And Imralys did nothing. Even when a particularly vicious bite that would surely scar drew a wince from him, he continued to sit there completely pliant and submissive. His brother’s ministrations, no matter how vicious they might become, were the least of what he deserved. And his twin deserved so much better. So he endured whether pain or pleasure.

Finally satisfied, Imrys drew back but did not relinquish his hold, not yet, and growled brutally,

“You seem to have forgotten, brother dearest, that I don’t belong to you. You. Belong. To. Me.” He punctuated each word with a series of sharp bites along the arched throat. “Never forget that again.” He breathed against that pale skin. “Mine.” He shook Imralys once. “Say it.” The dead words almost seductive when sighed by Imrys.

Imralys swallowed, long eyelashes swept against his cheeks as he lowered them, hoping to hide his pain filled eyes as they glimmered with unshed tears, “Yours.” He whispered softly, almost inaudibly.

Nodding in satisfaction, Imrys shoved him away and rose, turning to leave when Imralys’ voice carried to him from beneath a veil of ebon frosted silvery hair.

“I didn’t come here to fight.” A statement of fact yet it carried with it a hint of pleading.

“Oh? Then why did you come?” Imrys arched an eyebrow in question, more at easy now that he felt secure with his place in their dance. At having once more put his brother in his place. His brother, who was not immediately answering his question. Growing impatient, Imrys nearly asked again when the reply came in that same quiet tone,

“I came because….I heard your shout. Your call for help.” He paused before adding as if more to himself, “You were screaming.”

Imrys stiffened again, every muscle become so taut they looked as if his body would snap in a million pieces at the faintest sound or movement.

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He snapped defensively.

“Imrys, I…” Imralys began, but once more that night, his twin cut him off, anticipating his words.

“No. Drop it.” Imralys raised his head to protest, to force Imrys to listen when his twin added softly, almost gently but with such absolute conviction that it was like marble words,

“I really do you hate you, you know.” And with that turned around to enter the bedroom. The silent click of the door locking echoing in the empty room louder than any shouting.

Bowing his head, once more hiding behind the curtain of his long hair, Imralys curled in upon himself, arms wrapping around his body, feeling weary and too vulnerable. Imrys always did have a way of flaying him to the bone with simple words. But those last were the worst. They echoed through out his mind, through out his soul. Twisting the knife deeper into his chest as he bled invisibly with only that one single never changing truth for company: I hate you.