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Fai paces the room, busies himself with his new old clothes, with the decoration on the walls and everything he can get his hands on. He does that even now, and I sigh when I unsheathe Ginryu. (Good sword, that one. Even if its weight in my hand's unfamiliar after the second Ginryu and Sohi. It's Ginryu, that's what matters.)
Fai doesn't have the fangs of the vampires from the stories Mokona likes to tell lately but he has made it a point not to draw my blood himself, not even with a sword. Can't tell if it's because he doesn't want to hurt me (unlikely, he can throw quite a punch when he wants to) or if he wants to remind me that this was my own choice, never his, or if that's a way of thinking he left behind in Celes Country. (Hope so.)
But the fact remains, he never does it. Good thing one of us has some common sense.
I push the sleeves up on one arm and - yeah, great. Wrong arm. Metal and blood can taste alike all they want; I doubt a metal arm will be of much use here. (Metal arm, artificial arm, not mine. Not something I care to think about right now. I'd do it again and that's that.)
The other one then. I turn my right hand palm upwards, cut beneath my wrist and offer him my sword arm.
Fai stops whatever it is he's doing, puts the ornamental doll back in its place, drops all pretence of ignoring me and flops down beside me on one of the beds.
"That one, huh," he murmurs, but if he's surprised beyond that, he doesn't show it. He smiles for a second and I'd bet it's genuine this time. (Not that I'm good at recognising stuff like that, but travelling with this guy gives you a lot of practice.) I put Ginryu aside; cleaning it will have to wait a moment.
Sure it hurts, and screw the white manju's stories in which it never does, (I've been through worse), sure it's strange to be cut when I'm not in battle, (I've never been a good patient anyway) and sure it's strange to be the one inflicting the wound on myself (I'm not doing this for the pain). But then Fai's hands are on my arm (colder than my skin but they've always been), lift it to his mouth and he licks, and that stings too but I can't complain.
Strange thing, really. I feel his fingers stroking mine as if he doesn't even realise he's doing it, one of his legs against my hip when he edges closer, and most of all his mouth on my arm, on my wound, lips and tongue and teeth and how could I complain just because it hurts?
In the manju's stories this is some kind of grand sparkling moment in which the heroine trembles with - what did he call it, "a mixture of fear and excitement"? I'd make a piss-poor heroine. For one thing, I have nothing to be afraid of. I've never feared Fai and there is no reason to start now. For another, I'm feeling more dizzy than excited by now.
Blood loss has never made me dizzy on the battlefield, but this is hardly a battle and I highly doubt it's really just the blood loss anyway.
My new arm moves just the way the real one did, which is why I brush my fingers through Fai's hair and stroke his neck and shoulder. I can't really feel anything (damn), but he still leans into the touch, even if it's just metal that's as cold as his own skin. How he manages to swallow and purr at the same time eludes me, but I like the sound.
He lifts his head when he's finished, licks his lips and that's always a nice sight, and he's the one who reaches for the bandages I carry in the pockets of my cloak. My choice, my bandages, but the one who wants him to live is no longer just myself. If wrapping the cloth around my arm is some sort of apology, he shouldn't bother. Making him a vampire and me his bait is another thing I'd do again. (Letting a man I care for drink my blood isn't exactly the highest price that Witch ever asked for.)
Dizziness is as good an excuse as any to lie down. Fai blinks and smiles again, though I'd rather call it a smirk this time 'round.
"Oh, are you tired, Kuro-tan?"
I laugh.
There's still some of my blood on his lips, and in his mouth when he leans down to kiss me, on his tongue and his teeth, but that is something else I can't complain about.
"Don't flatter yourself."
I reach up, with my own hand this time, and pull him closer to kiss him again. I swallow blood and my hand's just a little unsteady under his clothes, on his body, but at least I know one thing - the manju's stories are nothing compared to what Fai is.