5 Stages of Sexual Grief

[Levi DAmico]

Sitting at the desk within the private quarters of his office, Levi stared blankly at the tumbler of Scotch. For the life of him, he didn’t know why, but when the subject was broached, Levi was locked into an internal argument with the beverage about his very male consiglieri, Shiro.

On the one hand, he was trying to convince himself (and his Scotch) that the bulge in the man’s pants wasn’t a penis, but was… socks? Maybe Shiro just liked to have protection down there, maybe it was a precaution against pregnancy, maybe Shiro’s father couldn’t stand having a female child and brought the poor kid up as his son. It wasn’t completely irrational, it had happened in the past, he’d heard stories, read them. The rational part of him, which just so happened to be an inanimate glass full of alcohol, told him to grow some balls and accept the fact that his… err, friend… was in fact a man and stuffing socks down your pants wasn’t exactly a great way of preventing pregnancy. Levi rebuked instantaneously with a snort to himself that Shiro’s greatest contraception was his ******* attitude. The alcohol didn’t think that was very funny. Levi glared at it, mentally demanding why it dared to question his opinion on his man-lady consiglieri anyway. If Levi had decided that Shiro stored socks down his pants to imitate male genitalia, then Shiro was a God damn woman who damn well stored socks down his pants.

Regardless of how justified he felt his opinions were, the Scotch disagreed. To Levi’s slightly drunken mind, the beverage seemed to be telling him to man up and face the fact that he was completely wrong about this. Naturally, Levi didn’t take particularly well to this idea. It didn’t matter what it was, he was never wrong about anything – especially when he was drunk. Shiro was a woman – he had to be. Shiro just happened to lack the certain assets that women had, that’s all. Just because the long-haired ******** had a dick didn’t mean that he was male. Levi glared at his drink as it made a rebuttal. Even if the samurai was womanly, that didn’t mean he was a woman; he had his masculine moments. Levi smirked to himself, he couldn’t even imagine the ******** standing up to piss at this point and here his drink was trying to convince him that Shiro had masculine moments. ****, his mother had her moments too and she was definitely a woman. Again, the Scotch didn’t take kindly to Levi’s observations. Even though the samurai had womanly moments, the Scotch reasoned, Shiro could still act like a man. It referred him to the various fist fights they’d had; Shiro might not have been a heavy-weight, but he knew how to throw a man’s punch. Levi nodded in agreement, pursing his lips as he tried to think of a comeback. When none came immediately, he grimaced and added more Scotch into his glass, despite the fact that it just may magnify the drink’s reasoning abilities.

Levi grunted, leaning back further in his chair and holding the glass to his lips though not actually drinking any as acceptance slowly started to dawn on him. Maybe the Scotch was right. Maybe he really did need to man up and accept the truth about Shiro’s gender. Growling slightly, he glared at the tumbler. This whole thing was giving him too much grief and it was stirring trouble in his relationship with alcohol after he’d finally managed to build bridges with it. Since becoming Vampiri, Levi hadn’t been able to drink or eat anything without his body violently rejecting it. These days, anger and willpower forced his throat to close the doors on any regurgitation and with some practice, he’d been able to eat and drink somewhat normally again. Levi couldn’t taste anything – the food and drink remaining bland and uninspiring on his palate – but then, he never drank because he was some ******* connoisseur. Levi drank because he just needed to turn his brain off for a minute; it wasn’t easy having a mind so ******* dogged all the time. Levi was rarely in two minds about anything and the alcohol was meant to clarify things, not muddy the waters even more. Levi and his booze had never disagreed on something so much before and even though he could hardly believe he was having this argument, he wasn’t about to back down.

Sneering, Levi tried to argue with his glass once more. So what if Shiro was a man? That didn’t change anything. At least now Levi had a definite answer of what Shiro’s gender actually was. His Scotch just laughed at him.

What if, it offered, what if you’re attracted to him?

Levi paused and stared into his glass incredulously. Where the **** had that come from? Besides, that wasn’t even possible… was it? Sure, Levi had the odd weird thought when he was drunk and of course there was that time when CC had used some strange power on him, making him live through a ******* nightmare, but those didn’t count. They didn’t mean anything. Nothing had actually happened between him and Shiro and it hadn’t changed the way he treated the stupid Shark. Now, if Shiro was really a woman, that would be a different story entirely, but since he wasn’t, he was a man – a man with a dick – Levi wasn’t allowed to be attracted to him. Such a thing wasn’t possible in their line of work anyway. Homosexuality was a sin and he’d sinned enough as it was. Come to think about it, his supposed faith might have a problem with that too. Levi had never been sure if he believed all that Judaism crap, but given all the things he’d seen and experienced – and lived – he couldn’t entirely be sure that there was not some possibility that it was real. So he couldn’t be attracted to Shiro.

His Scotch laughed at him again, and again, Levi glared at his glass. Why was his alcohol mocking him? He suddenly realised that he must have had way too much to drink if his booze was talking to him for longer than a few hours. Wasn’t he normally unconscious at this rate anyway? This was ******* super weird. Naturally, Levi did what any other man in his position would do: he poured even more alcohol into his glass. He sneered as his glass of certain-hangover-doom started to mock him again. If Levi was trying so hard to convince himself that Shiro was a woman then it was probably because he wanted him to be a woman. He wanted Shiro to be a woman because he was attracted to him and was trying to hide it. Everyone must have questioned Shiro’s gender and sexuality at one point in their lives, but they all came to the conclusion that the Shark was a man. Why was Levi so adamant to prove otherwise if he wasn’t trying to hide his feelings?

Levi ground his teeth together, clenching his fist tightly around the tumbler. His Scotch needed to back the **** up and quit arguing with him about this Shiro ordeal. He wasn’t attracted to that long-haired, sword-swinging, pansy. Before his Scotch could even refute though, Levi threw the glass – still half full with his aggressor – at his office door. The force of the pitch created a significant dent in the door and the glass itself shattered, spraying its content like a burst blood vein. Levi observed the chunks of glass fanned out at the foot of the door, creating icebergs in a growing puddle of liquor that was dripping down the door’s surface. Was he pleased with himself after that? Well, it was quiet and he certainly felt a sense of satisfaction warm his gut, but now he just felt dry. He needed another glass. He needed someone to bring him another glass because he wasn’t sure if he could stand and make it across the room. He needed… Shiro to bring him another ******* glass.

Hearing a squeak of the door and a subsequent slide and crunch of the door being opened and someone stepping in, Levi turned sharply to Shiro, whose face clearly indicated that he was not impressed with Levi’s **** tonight. Levi sneered at him, but did not look away as Shiro broke into rant. Levi didn’t really know what to think when Shiro came into his office just as he’d wanted him to. Levi wasn’t really listening to anything Shiro had to say, he just looked at him and then expectantly at the dresser on the other side of the room (which, really, was closer to Shiro than Levi) and hoped the ******** would put two and two together and produce four glasses. Levi figured he’d need four: one to drink from, one to throw at Shiro as soon as he received them, and the two last glasses to throw at Shiro later if the ****** interrupted his brooding. Levi didn’t suspect for one second that Shiro would disobey his vague suggestion of an order when he’d indicated the glasses lined on the dresser with his eyes alone, but it sure took Shiro a long time to comply. He grumbled as one glass was put down in front of him with a bit of a thump – well, at least he had one to drink from...

[Levi DAmico]

Levi found himself staring at Shiro and actually considering the Scotch’s last comment. So Shiro was a little attractive for a man, Levi could accept that. He was Japanese anyway, they were effeminate by design weren’t they? Shiro had those typical, beautiful features – a youthful visage, a diamond face and soft facial features, and Levi was comfortable enough about his completely, wholly, totally, and unquestionably straight (and emphasis on the straight) sexuality to notice when another man was attractive. Besides, he thought himself God damn gorgeous, so why couldn’t he just recognise that another man might be attractive. Even if this thought was particularly rare – ok, extremely rare since he only thought it about one man in his entire life – he was allowed to think that way. It was normal. It was natural. He wasn’t attracted to a man. He wasn’t attracted to Shiro. Not at all. He wasn’t. Seriously.

He shook his head as Shiro continued to rant, and poured himself another glass – his final glass of Scotch, he’d found. He hiccupped slightly and took a long gulp, draining the liquid before turning to his drawer where he’d hidden a bottle of… whatever it was. Levi hadn’t read the label and hadn’t cared what it was at the time, he’d just stuffed it in his drawer as a ‘just in case’ measure. Like, for now, just in case the Scotch was talking nonsense. Levi filled his glass with the clear liquid and with another long gulp, drained about half the glass this time before turning back to the Shark and inspecting him. For a guy, the unidentified liquor said, he really is kind of pretty. Levi titled his head and soon found that if he tilted it far enough he could see the outline of Shiro’s *** in the reflection of a picture frame on the dresser. His lips twitched into a line of faint approval and he leant further forward, raising a brow as the view got better. Nice ***, the booze said. Levi frowned. This particular alcohol – which he found out was vodka – must have had some sort of supernatural power to it because whatever the vodka said went straight to his thoughts as if they were his own.

Meanwhile, as Levi mentally chided and throttled this new Soviet nemesis, he didn’t realise how far forward he was leaning until he felt the world wobble and then stop very suddenly. His eyes widened and he abruptly found himself wondering why the desk had experienced a growth spurt and was now up to his chin.

“Dammit Levi,” Shiro yelped, rushing over. “How much have you had to drink?”

Levi looked up to the Shark who was brushing his hair behind his ear with a pissed off expression. He frowned and shook his head, hauling Levi’s bulkier frame into his throne-like chair much like a wife. Levi really looked at Shiro then, serious consideration falling on that thought. Shiro really was like a wife. Sure, maybe, a long-lost wife seeing as how they were rarely even in the same country, but when they were together, it made sense. Their interactions weren’t particularly professional at the best of times and at the worst – usually when Levi was drunk – they were particularly improper. Levi could be a chatty drunk just as much as he could be an angry drunk, and at the end of his rants there was always someone that ended up in pain and always something that needed to be cleaned. Levi left trails of destruction in his wake, which Shiro was quick to remedy. He even stuck around to make sure Levi never choked on his own vomit in his sleep, he was even there in the morning to cook breakfast. Sure Shiro would whinge about it, but he’d do these things unquestionably. Despite his pissy attitude, Shiro was loyal – just like a wife. And if Shiro was the wife, did that make Levi the domestically violent, good-for-nothing husband? When in the hell had they even gotten married anyway?

Shut up, the vodka said. You’ve already established that Shiro wasn’t a woman, it told him, so there was no point in trekking back up denial-mountain. Levi sent a glare into the vodka and, to spite it, took another long swig to leave little over a centimetre in the glass.

“When you die of liver failure,” Shiro muttered, pacing the room again. “I’m just going to laugh over your ******* coffin.”

Levi cast him a lazy glance, marvelling over how the same strands of hair that Shiro had just tugged behind his ear had defiantly fallen back into place. His hair was pretty, the vodka told him in wonderment. Levi nodded and Shiro raised a brow at the unprovoked gesture. Shortly realising what he was agreeing to, Levi frowned and violently shook his head. He glanced at the vodka, silently threatening it not to piss him off. After all, the last booze had been chucked against the door; its corpse creating a stain in the woodwork. Levi wasn’t above becoming a serial booze killer. He drank the last centimetre of the vodka anyway and immediately filled it again, shrugging off his strange murderous fantasies and once again focusing on the samurai, who was busy talking through some report he’d found on Levi’s desk. Levi wanted to punch the nosy ******** square between the eyes, but he wasn’t sure if he could swing a punch and besides, his vodka was calling his attention again.

Maybe you’re gay, it proposed.

Levi scoffed and snuffed the suggestion. He wasn’t gay, he reasoned, he still liked women. Granted, he didn’t like them, but he enjoyed ******* them – that was basically what mattered. He couldn’t stand hearing them think. He couldn’t stand putting up with their games or their lies or their ******* traps. Most of all, Levi hated how they competed for the top spot in the relationship; didn’t they know they were bitches? Ok, so on second thought, he kind of hated women, but he did find them physically attractive. Give him a whore, a handful of condoms and three bottles of Scotch and he’d lock himself in a room for a few nights without a problem. He had done it before and if he had to prove his sexuality to his vodka, then he’d be more than glad to do it again. Also, if he was gay, then he’d be attracted to men in general right? Maybe he was attracted to Shiro, just maybe though, as in, it was only a very slight and miniscule chance, but either way, he couldn’t think of any other man that way. No. Hell no.

Maybe you’re bisexual, the vodka proposed this time.

Levi glared at his vodka with more intensity. Being bisexual wasn’t realistic either because he didn’t like men. He maybe liked Shiro. Maybe. He drew the line there. As far as he knew, the term wasn’t defined: sure, you like women – sort of – but you might also, possibly, maybe like this one guy. That didn’t seem right. Levi scratched his chin in thought, absently noticing that Shiro was still talking. Shiro was probably aware by now that Levi wasn’t listening to him in the slightest, but Levi didn’t give two shits and just continued to regard his long-haired companion. He felt like he needed a medical or psychological encyclopaedia to define this one because not knowing was driving him crazy, not to mention making the vodka talk louder.

Whatever it’s called, the vodka reasoned, you’re obviously infatuated with him.

Levi scoffed and he crossed his arms defiantly. Seriously, his booze must be drunk or something. He was not attracted to Shiro, he decided. Maybe the ****** was pretty and had a nice ***, and maybe he wasn’t a woman, but he basically was Levi’s wife. Levi could settle with that because it put Shiro in a subordinate role – a feminine role, his vodka highlighted before quickly informing him that he was clearly in denial. They had just argued a toss about Shiro being a man and that maybe Levi found him attractive, and now he was going back on it? The vodka wasn’t making it easy to disregard his own thoughts and Levi was quickly losing his temper with this ******* Soviet alcohol. With pursed lips he began to argue with his vodka – again. He tried to blink away the double-vision that was slowly multiplying. Levi was adamant now – he didn’t like Shiro. Not that way, and as a matter of fact, not any ******* way. The idiotic scumbag of a samurai was just a pawn, someone to leech off of, someone he could dump work on with no complaints, someone who would fight through hundreds of assholes with the sole purpose to getting Levi what he wanted, someone who would be his *****, his wife, without making it official.

The vodka scoffed and Levi glared. So what if Shiro was pretty much his wife; he did everything a wife and a good pawn would do. It was like the perfect arrangement. Shiro cooked, cleaned and took care of the ‘kids’ (i.e. their foot soldiers) and he was completely loyal to Levi. Shiro was his wife without actually being his wife, without the nagging, without the mind games, without the sex – which was natural in a marriage anyway, wasn’t it? Levi grimaced and lazily looked over to Shiro who’d finished with his ranting and was now cleaning the glass and Scotch off the floor and door, like a good little wife. The vodka was not having any of it though, accusing him of still being in denial because putting Shiro in a dress didn’t resolve anything and actually highlighted the fact that Levi liked him and just didn’t want to admit that he was attracted to a guy, this guy, Shirosame Hiroumi.

[Levi DAmico]

Anger was an emotion that was very familiar to the Italian. Unfortunately, it was the only emotion that remained as his vodka continued to accuse him, continued to harass him and tell him to man up and stop denying the obvious. Without so much as a growl, Levi closed his fist with a sharp snap, crushing the tumbler in his hand. Shiro jumped at the sound, turning with ninja’s speed to the source. Realising what had happened, though he couldn’t see any blood right away, just chunks of glass in Levi’s lap, sparkling down his pant legs and across the floor, Shiro made his way over with a heavy sigh.

“You’re an idiot,” Shiro told him, coming to stand directly in front of the fuming Italian.

He was looking down at Levi’s clenched fist, trying to see if there was any blood. It was at this point that Levi sobered up just enough to snatch his arm away. There was blood. Levi had felt the glass break his skin, felt the vodka make the wound burn, but he couldn’t show Shiro. There was no explaining why his blood was as dark as those obsidian eyes. Levi growled to scare the Shark off, but Shiro frowned and didn’t go anywhere. He got on his knees, brushing that same long strand behind his ear, revealing the sweet curve of his jawline and the pale flesh of a long and elegant neck.

“Just let me take a look,” Shiro said.

Levi continued to growl, burying the burning hand in his lap so Shiro wouldn’t take it.

“Come on, quit acting like a child and let me look. If you’ve got some glass in there, I have to get it out!” Shiro said, cautiously reaching for the hand. “In your state, you’d probably forget it was there and end up cutting your throat or something. I don’t want to have to deal with your Family once they figure out you’re dead so show me your hand!”

Levi was way too drunk to hear all of that. As far as he was concerned, Shiro was just kneeling at his feet, stretching an arm against his inner thigh and asking for something. That, for some incredibly odd and undisclosed reason, made Levi quite unhappy. Or, more accurately, quite angry. He bared his teeth in an attempt to be threatening, but only managed to pull off an impression of a yawning bulldog. Shiro rolled his eyes and took hold of his wrist because he was not about to intimidated by a lazy mutt.

“You’re so cold,” Shiro commented as he turned over the man’s arm, opening up his palm to inspect the damage.

Meanwhile, Levi was internally babbling to himself (and, of course, his vodka). He paid no attention to whatever Shiro was grumbling about – something being ‘weird’ – and he certainly didn’t note the look of fear and confusion that passed over the Shark’s face when he found the protruding shards of glass. There was no blood, fortunately, the glass had acted like a dam stemming the flow and what had leaked through had been diluted and dripped away with the vodka. Unfortunately though, once Shiro were to pull on those chunks in an attempt to remove them, they would reveal the dark liquid that now replaced Levi’s blood. At this point, Levi’s mind was still in a little place of its own, still confronting his vodka. He wasn’t aware of what was happening in order to put a stop it, he just focused on his growing internal argument as Shiro got to work on removing the glass from his hand.

If Levi was going to continue being in angry denial, his vodka told him, then he had a long way to go before he’d reach the other stages and find acceptance. Levi frowned, though he felt his anger start to leak away. He didn’t want to continue with this forever, he wanted it over. Now. After denial and anger came bargaining, the vodka told him, but bargaining wasn’t exactly Levi’s strong point, he pointed out to his vodka. Sure, he wanted this weird situation between him and Shiro to go away and maybe he would be willing to give a few things to make that happen, but he wouldn’t give anything. He wouldn’t give his booze, he wouldn’t give his guns, he wouldn’t give his money or his job or his livelihood either, but he’d give something. Since bargaining was being pushed out of the equation, his vodka brought to light that the next step would be depression. Levi scoffed at the notion. Maybe he was a little upset that he had to tolerate this ****, but he wasn’t depressed. He was a man after all, they didn’t get depressed and mope around – that **** was for women. Next.

With bargaining and depression off the table entirely, Levi could only move on to the last stage: Acceptance.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

Obviously Shiro was never going to be a woman, so did that mean he really was attracted to him? Levi blinked once more to snap out of his daze before looking to Shiro who had somehow managed to slip a bandage around his hand. Levi stared at it, flexing his hand almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and then he looked to Shiro again. The Shark stood and turned, carrying off the small box of medical supplies that he’d gotten from God only knows where because Levi certainly didn’t think he’d had one in his office. Looking to his hand again, Levi frowned. He was sure he should have been concerned about something, but he was too drunk to figure out what exactly and too distracted by regarding Shiro to really give it much consideration. Shiro had put the box down on the dresser and turned back around, folding his arms across his chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

He seemed to notice that Levi was staring at him with a kind of scrutinising gaze and he wasn’t particularly comfortable with it. Levi ignored the Shark’s reaction. If he was attracted to Shiro, maybe it wasn’t entirely a bad thing, he reasoned. Well, it was kind of weird, more distressing really. Just because he found the man attractive, thought he was pretty, found him tolerable, did that mean Levi had to actually do anything about it?

Kiss him, the vodka said.

Levi glared at his vodka.

Kiss him.

Levi glared some more.

If you do, you’ll know for sure, the vodka persuaded. It’s just a kiss. Hell, you kissed—

Levi stood up. He didn’t want to hear the end of that sentence even if he knew the answer. He stumbled over to Shiro and grabbed him by the shoulders. Shiro frowned, alert to the fact that something was about to happen, but whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. As soon as Levi had him in a firm enough grip, Levi leant down and crashed their lips together. It wasn’t sweet and soft, nor was it particularly passionate and lustful. Instead, it was just clumsy and a bit on the rough side. Shiro paled at the contact – if that was even possible for the porcelain doll. He mumbled against the lips ravishing his mouth, he could taste the tang of copper, vodka and Scotch all rolled up into one, and felt his lip split open as Levi bit down. Levi, on the other hand, couldn’t taste a thing and any stirring warmth he felt was set aside when he broke the kiss.

Levi pulled away and glared at Shiro as if he’d been the one to initiate it. The long-haired man was still in shock. He stepped back, hitting the wall with a soft bump before he brought a hand to his mouth, pawing at his red, swollen lips like he’d just been assaulted.

“Why…” Shiro said slowly, softly, once he’d found the words. “Why did you kiss me?”

Levi stared at him for the longest time before he spoke his very first words for the evening: “The vodka made me do it.”