babyrubysoho

Fic: 'Loyalty' 3/3 (Mugen no Juunin)

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 12:22:05 GMT

aaaaand here is the final little section of my plotless wonder. Now I'm gonna go read some textbooks in a desperate attempt to prove that I'm a good student....

Title: Loyalty (part 3 of 3)
Series: Blade of the Immortal
Pairing: Magatsu x Anotsu
Author: babyrubysoho
Rating: NC-17
Summary: More jolly shenanigans to finish up the best night of Magatsu's short life.

Anotsu watches nervously, getting that outside-himself feeling again as Magatsu spreads their kimono smoothly on the floor; he obediently settles himself on his stomach, resting his head on his arms, the silk fabric cool beneath his burning cheek. He closes his eyes, waiting for contact. Magatsu kneels there and stares at him for a long minute, drinking in the sight of this man he has spent so many years longing for, glowing like a pale flower against the black cloth, until it takes too much to restrain his adamant body. Anotsu feels the younger man lie down beside him, leaning over him, pushing the long hair off the back of his neck and bending to kiss it. Magatsu's left hand is running across his shoulders reassuringly, and he tries to relax, but the anticipation is making it difficult and he can't help gasping at each touch of Magatsu's lips.

“Calm down, danna,” Magatsu mouths in his ear, chest brushing his back. “I'm not gonna do anything yet.” He kisses his way along Anotsu's upper arms, where the marks of his tight shibari are still dark and red, a silent apology for causing him distress.

Anotsu nods distractedly, drifting on the memory of pain and his current desires, but can't stop himself tensing as Magatsu's erection juts against his thigh. Magatsu forces himself to be still, lets his head rest calmingly against his master's spine, fingers still wandering in soothing patterns across his back.

“Lift your hips up,” he suggests, placing a hand between the floor and Anotsu's belly and pushing gently, inserting a knee between his legs, giving himself room to touch the smaller man more intimately, stroking him smoothly until he begins to harden again. “Open your legs a bit,” he continues softly, nudging with his knee. Anotsu complies, his breath unsteady, and allows Magatsu's hand to slide lower down his back without complaint. He moans softly as the younger man begins to play with him, cupping his small, firm ass, kneading the flesh, all the while kissing his back hungrily. Magatsu's sly fingers slip between his buttocks again, not intruding yet but stroking the sensitive skin carefully.

“You know how damn beautiful you look like this?” Magatsu whispers suddenly, lasciviously. Anotsu turns his face away into the black of his follower's spread kimono, the scent surrounding him on all sides, not sure he can look his friend in the eye at this moment, and so doesn't see him lick his fingers speculatively. He bites his lip to stop himself crying out as a wet digit pushes its way inside him, the feeling alien and uncomfortable; his hands clutch at the fabric beneath him, trying not to betray his nervousness as the tip of another joins the first, but he is more sensitive here than he imagined, and tight, and Magatsu's fingers are rough with calluses; his tense muscles and stifled sound of distress make the younger man prick up his ears.

“Haven't you ever done this before?” Magatsu murmurs in an opaque tone, not withdrawing his fingers.

“Wh...What's that supposed to mean?” demands Anotsu through gritted teeth, not sure if he should be offended by the inflection in Magatsu's voice. “Of course I haven't!”

“...Oh.” A pause, and to his shock Anotsu feels his kenshi stiffen uncomfortably. “I was kinda hoping one of us knew what he was doing.”

“And why would you assume,” manages Anotsu, the feeling of those fingers still inside him making it hard to have an argument, “that it would be me?”

Magatsu shifts, and the older man feels him start to withdraw; he quickly reaches back and grabs Magatsu's wrist, stopping him moving at all.

“Don't...I'm getting used to it. Now, you were about to explain to me?”

The taller man's voice is quiet and embarrassed in his ear. “I dunno...Just, you being so fuckin' pretty,” he says apologetically. “Even when you were a boy, y'know, and all those old dudes hanging around the dojo, I'd kind of assumed...”

Anotsu doesn't know whether his friend deserves to be pitied for his stupidity or slapped in the face. “Are you crazy?! God, Magatsu.” He twists a little to look into his face, but the movement rubs his insides against the fingers invading him and makes him gasp and lie back down. “Is that why you always used to give Araya such filthy looks?”

“Nah, he was just a scumbag,” recalls Magatsu, more comfortable now Anotsu isn't retreating from him. “So...you're really saying you never -”

“I don't give my ketsu to just anyone,” interrupts Anotsu as haughtily as he can manage, given the position he's in.

“But you'll give it to me,” clarifies Magatsu in a low growl of arousal, his hard-on pressing urgently against his master's leg; he pushes his two fingers a little deeper, thrusting them slowly, tantalisingly in and out, relishing Anotsu's quiet moan. “Just as soon as I work out how to make it good for you.”

“Something...slippery.” Anotsu has to force the words out, hoping he's not the only one thinking logically here. “You'll have to use...oil or something if you don't want to hurt me.” He cries out quietly as Magatsu's free hand squeezes his cock and the fingers rub teasingly against the sensitive flesh inside him. “...You don't want to hurt me, right?” he asks, a little irrational panic surfacing, remembering how this started and wondering how it would have ended if he hadn't persuaded Magatsu to let him go.

“No, danna,” comes his follower's voice, guiltily, tenderly. The fingers withdraw from inside him, and even that sensation makes his head reel. Magatsu rolls away from him, and goes to dig around on the other side of the room; Anotsu feels oddly bereft at the cold air on his skin and the loss of the weight of the other man's body, and is glad when he returns quickly.

“That will do, I suppose,” he mutters when Magatsu holds up a flask of lamp oil questioningly. The younger kenshi sniffs at it gingerly, then shrugs, sitting back down beside his master. Leaning down, he begins to caress him again, re-warming the slender, nervous body before dipping the fingers of his left hand into the oil, pushing Anotsu's legs further apart and patting his right hip consolingly to try and still his trembling. The slick coating of liquid makes his fingers slide more easily, but Anotsu is anticipating the invasion this time and Magatsu has to work hard before the smaller man can relax enough for him to push past the tight ring of muscle. Once there, however, his first two fingers slip deeper quite readily.

“Slowly!” Anotsu exclaims pleadingly, a low whine escaping him, the muscles in his legs tautening to the verge of cramp; he automatically tries to shift his pelvis away from the intrusion, but Magatsu has his other arm around his hips, preventing him from escaping.

“It's gonna be ok,” the youth reassures him as his fingers begin to move in the tight space, slowly, plunging deeper and withdrawing to the sound of Anotsu's muffled groans. “I ain't gonna hurt you.” He reclines next to his shivering leader, dropping a light kiss to his damp hair and his balled fists. Looking back along Anotsu's arched spine, he adds a third finger, and Anotsu grits his teeth at the feeling, unnaturally full and yet flushed with craving that is only exacerbated by the slight pain. He shuts his eyes again, whimpering as the fingers inside him spread slightly, stretching him; Magatsu's ever-present hard-on is pressing against his hip, and his breath hitches in panic at the thought that it will soon be inside him.

“Oops, shit,” says Magatsu, who has been fiddling around with his free hand at the other end of his body, and if Anotsu had been able to think clearly at this point he would have been worried. “Spilled it.” He gazes at the smaller man's unhappy stance, at the tendons visible in the back of his white knees, and looks thoughtful.

Anotsu, who is beginning to think he might cry from the discomfort and strangeness and is devoting all his attention to preventing this, gives a sudden heavy sigh of pleasure as Magatsu warms the spilled oil in his right hand and closes it around his hesitant erection, working him over with smooth, insistent strokes. The feeling and the idea of Magatsu's fingers inside him changes as he becomes harder into something more pleasurable, and his tense muscles unwind.

Magatsu hears the change in the little sounds that are turning him on almost unbearably, and grins faintly, pushing his fingers more robustly into his master's body. He swallows hard.

“Are you ready, danna?” he asks hopefully, his low voice sounding filthy even to him. “Can I try?”

The older man is unable to speak coherently at this point, but Magatsu thinks he sees a swift nod beneath the tousled hair. He tugs lightly on the dark locks until Anotsu's face emerges, narrow eyes glazed with desire, and kisses him quickly on the mouth, before moving backwards to kneel just behind him, trying not to break the contact of his limbs with his master's flesh. He takes more oil in his hands and smooths it liberally onto his own arousal, quickly, as if he thinks anything more will send him over the edge. He rubs his hands along Anotsu's narrow hips reassuringly, then lifts them a little more so that he has better access, the smaller man's back making a pleasing arc against the black silk on which he is lying.

“Spread your legs more,” he prompts, helping his leader along when he doesn't seem to react. Frowning in concentration and curbed excitement, he spreads the round white cheeks below him with both hands, his oiled fingers making the warm flesh glisten; Anotsu's breath is coming entirely too quickly now, his slim chest heaving, and for a moment Magatsu can't really believe that he's actually here and that this isn't the by-product of another weird, injury-induced concussion. He leans forward and presses the tip of his erection against the small opening, pushing very, very slowly, although he finds it is not resisting him too much, having been well prepared.

“Oh my god...Anotsu,” he murmurs thickly, incoherently, using the name as he rarely does, though he doesn't even know if his master can hear him. With an effort he slides further in, until the tight little passage is gripping the head of his cock, almost too constrictive to bear, causing him to bite his tongue again at the feeling.

Anotsu gives a low, helpless cry as Magatsu begins to push inside him, the sensation of being filled ten times stronger; he feels the sweat break out on his back and struggles to hold himself still, not wanting Magatsu to see the weakness in his face, not when his follower is used to seeing only his strength. A long pause, during which Anotsu composes himself a little, breathing deeply and deliberately, Magatsu's hands massaging his thighs and his ass pacifyingly. Then, just as he thinks he is getting used to the feeling, the younger man begins again, pushing in further, inch by inch, this time taking no notice of Anotsu's moans other than to rub his lower back palliatively, deeper, until Anotsu has to bite down on the cloth of Magatsu's kimono to stop himself yelling.

“That's it, danna,” whispers Magatsu, his voice shaking, as he sheaths himself fully in the smaller man. Anotsu holds his breath, working through the sensation. It's not pain, not exactly, though he thinks it will be if Magatsu moves another muscle, just utterly strange.

“Please...” he manages, and can't quite form the rest of the sentence. Please don't move, is what he wants to say; he wants to get used to this, doesn't want to be beaten down by it, but doesn't think he can stand it yet. Magatsu, unfortunately, seems to interpret this as a request for something else, and takes a deep breath, leaning forward so that his torso brushes Anotsu's back, lowering them both a little so that his mouth can reach his master's shoulders. The change of angle, to Anotsu, seems to penetrate him even deeper, and he can't help writhing against it, immediately wishing he hadn't as Magatsu heaves another jerky breath and begins to move, hands gripping his hips painfully as he retreats as slowly as he had gone in, the feeling in reverse just as awful, just as incredible to the older kenshi.

“You...are so...amazing,” Magatsu mutters disconnectedly, kissing the nape of Anotsu's neck, long hair beneath his lips, before clenching his jaw and thrusting back into him in one movement.

“Aahhh...hh!” Anotsu muffles his yell with a face full of cloth, tears springing to his eyes, but the feeling does not depart. Magatsu begins to stroke his cock with slick fingers, and he turns his head to the side unthinkingly, gulping air, weeping now without even being aware that he's doing any such thing. He can feel every distinct curve of the younger man's cock, can feel the blood pulsing inside it, and has no idea how he's come to this, only that he couldn't stop if he wanted to.

Magatsu draws back and continues with some quick, shallow strokes, almost ashamed of how aroused he is by the expression of pain and terrified pleasure on Anotsu's tear-streaked face, how delicious it is to see the man without the mask of cool beauty by which everyone else knows him. He grips his master's erection harder, perfect like the rest of him, and begins to move faster, settling into his natural rhythm, deeper and more forceful, the sensitive flesh of the hot, moist passage retreating before him and gripping him with each thrust, until it seems like this is the only place he has ever been happy, as though he'll be here forever.

“You still ok?” he asks hazily after a while, half noting the convulsive grip of Anotsu's hands on the cloth, the rhythmic sound of his moans and the deep flush at the base of his spine. No answer for a long time, no sign that his master can even hear him.

“Nn...aaahh, god -” Anotsu bites down on a curse, the blood rushing to his head and his arousal as Magatsu hits a spot inside him that makes him lose his vision, combining with his follower's skilled hand on his erection to create a pleasure that makes the muscles in his limbs turn to water. Magatsu makes a perplexed, astonished face, trying to work out what he had done to cause such a reaction, hearing Anotsu groan in frustration at the loss of the feeling. After a few careful thrusts he finds it again, judging by the smaller man's cry as he flings his head back in a curtain of long hair that hits Magatsu in the face.

“Right...there...” Anotsu forces out, remarkably articulate, leaning up on his forearm and reaching back with one small hand to cover Magatsu's, moving both their fingers over his hard-on, guiding the younger man until it is perfect. He spreads his legs wider and this time Magatsu locates the spot more easily, his cock brushing against it with each thrust and drawing a strangled sob from his master's throat.

Anotsu thinks he might die from this unheard-of, at least to him, delight, and believes it wouldn't be a bad way to go; he braces his slim legs against Magatsu's renewed enthusiasm, taking each stroke harder; the young kenshi has wrapped his long hair around one hand and is drawing his head back, biting lightly at his shoulders, not letting him stifle his moans but revelling in each sound of helpless pleasure he is creating with the exquisitely brutal mixture of his cock and his hands and his mouth. The pressure builds for what seems an appallingly long time, until he wants to smash his fist on the ground and make it be over; Magatsu tugs his head round and kisses him, open-mouthed, heatedly; he feels the taller man, who is panting like crazy above him, speed up yet again and the delicious friction is too much; he squeezes the hand that grips his arousal and as the youth thrusts deeply into him he screws his eyes shut and gives a breathless yell of climax, all his muscles spasming unbearably and his seed spattering warm and white like petals onto his stomach. He doesn't breathe for what seems like ten seconds, but dimly hears Magatsu let out a hoarse growl above him as his ass grips the younger man's hard-on even tighter; Magatsu's fingernails stab deep into the flesh of his hips, and with a dozen more powerful strokes he also climaxes, biting down on some indistinct nonsense word. Anotsu's eyes open wide as he feels the spurt of hot, sticky liquid inside him, another alien feeling but one that he welcomes as a sign of his complete victory.

Magatsu collapses onto his back, knocking him down to the floor and the breath from his lungs. He wraps his arms around his master's waist, kissing the back of his neck again and again, until he has to stop and do some intensive breathing of his own. Anotsu raises his hand, unseeing, and cups Magatsu's bruised cheek behind him, stroking it wordlessly; the younger man quickly intakes enough oxygen and begins kissing him once more; Anotsu leans up and catches his mouth exhaustedly, satiated. Reluctantly Magatsu pulls out of him, and the emptiness hits his body like a loss, though he is now able to relax. He wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand, unsure now why he was crying at all.

“Are you planning to let me up, or what?” he asks his prone follower after a time, having no strength left to push him off and feeling crushed beneath Magatsu's limp weight.

“Ehhh...if I must,” mutters Magatsu in a lazy, complaining but really delighted tone. He rolls over onto his back, tugging Anotsu with him to lie sore and drowsy against his chest. “Y'know, danna,” he murmurs with an exhausted grin, holding the smaller man to him covetously, “that was prob'ly the most worthwhile thing I've ever done in my life.” He yawns hugely.

“Very sincere, Magatsu.” Anotsu wriggles a little, draping one leg across him, trying to find a position that doesn't make him ache. “I think your kimono will need a wash,” he remarks, trying to find small things to say because he can think of nothing to express the bizarre concoction of slight regret and unaccustomed content that hangs on his heart with a pleasant weight; but thinks that if he stops talking he will immediately fall asleep against Magatsu's warmth, and doesn't want to seem rude by doing so.

Magatsu turns his head to the side and inhales the scents on the now somewhat sticky black cloth. “Nah, I'll leave it. Smells like you. Knowing my luck it'll only get ripped up anyway sooner or later.” He runs one hand dreamily through Anotsu's long hair, and with the other stretches out to grab his white underrobe and drag it over their bodies against the chill of the night air; Anotsu doesn't think he will ever be cold again, with the memory of this encounter to heat him.

“What was it like?” Magatsu asks curiously, idly, “me fucking you?”

Anotsu's mouth curls in a tired, speculative smile. “You want to find out?” he murmurs aggressively, teasingly.

“Er, nah, that's fine, danna,” Magatsu says quickly, waving his hands. “It's plenty enough just givin' it to you.”

“Well then.”

Magatsu pipes down and embarks on a mild crisis of masculinity by himself at the thought of it, clutching the smaller man to him all the while. Anotsu drifts.

“Magatsu...how do we go on?” he whispers, the vast complications of his own life, their violent goals breaking upon his mind like a silent wave. No answer. He tilts his head, and sees that Magatsu's eyes have dropped closed; a minute after that he begins snoring. Anotsu rolls his eyes, envying him his priorities, and holds him tightly as an hour slips by.

“You want to go again?” Anotsu gapes at his kenshi, who has just woken up after what is, to him, a refreshing nap, and to the older man is barely time to stop stinging. “What is wrong with you, Magatsu, you start complaining if you have to climb two hills in a row!”

“Danna, I'm nineteen. Y'know what they say about that.” Magatsu raises his eyebrows hopefully, suggestively, and pounces, dragging Anotsu into a sleepy sitting position and tugging at him until he is straddling the younger man's hips.

“Well thank god you're almost twenty, that's all I can say.”

Magatsu looks up at him, pale and naked and perfect, and smiles as if every one of his hopes for life has been fulfilled.

Later, Anotsu repeats his question, leaning back against Magatsu's chest. Magatsu furrows his eyebrows and pushes a hand through his hair.

“Go on? What d'you mean? We just...get up and keep fighting the good fight. For as long as we can.”

“But...this...” Anotsu waves a white hand to indicate the events of the day. “What does it mean? I know what you feel, now. But what does it mean?”

“Shit, danna,” sighs Magatsu, resting his chin on the top of his master's head contemplatively. “Why do you make your life so hard?”

“I didn't think it was until tonight,” Anotsu retorts quietly, wondering if they have been as selfish as he thinks they have been, or whether he really is overreacting. He thinks of Makie, and feels a twinge of guilt. “But...in the future, will we ever -”

“The future!” exclaims Magatsu, raising his legs to enfold his leader even tighter in his embrace. “Who was it who said he couldn't see a future, huh? Who knows what'll happen! I might not live to see next week, danna, but even if I don't, or even if I hang on 'till I'm fifty, I'll always know you're mine, 'cause of this one night; and you'll know what it really means for me to be loyal. Am I right, or what?”

Anotsu kisses the muscular forearm that holds him close, a gesture of gratitude, almost. He knows that tomorrow they will leave this behind, on their way to the Mito and the winter, and with it will come his own coldness, his own painful logic and ambition, and Magatsu will be his uncomplaining follower again. But for this night, he will let himself be held, and hold onto a future, something, somewhere, where he might feel such simplicity again.

**********

Cheeesy! Oh well, that's that, now Magatsu can go off and get himself stabbed again as he seems to do every five minutes.

Fic - 'Loyalty' 2/3 (Mugen no Juunin)

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 12:06:02 GMT

OK, I've got past the plot (such as it is, or is not), so now onto the pointless nookie. Hurrah for laziness!

Title: Loyalty (part 2 of 3)
Series: Blade of the Immortal
Pairing: Anotsu x Magatsu
Author: babyrubysoho
Rating: NC-17 (I think)
Summary: Having got over his little spate of angst, Magatsu shows his boss exactly what he's been missing...

Magatsu wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and pushes himself upright. Both men sit for a while, reflectively, a little distance apart, both thinking that to say anything else just now would be an irreparable mistake. Magatsu prods interrogatively at his bruising cheek and winces; Anotsu leans his arms on his raised knees, observing the dark ligature marks that still indent his skin from his biceps to his wrists with a thoughtful, slightly nauseated gaze.

“What would you have done to me?” he asks after a while, not turning his head, cautiously, as if probing a wound. “Fucked me?”

Magatsu makes a face, as though the coarse word in in Anotsu's usually well-spoken mouth offends him as much as the question discomfits him.

“...I dunno,” he says eventually. “I wanted to.”

“And after that?” Anotsu's voice is quite calm; he might almost be talking about someone else, someone wholly unconnected to him. He wonders why he's even asking, wonders if in fact he is gathering weapons to hurt his follower further.

“I don't know, danna.” Magatsu fiddles with the hem of his kimono. “I hadn't thought about it. Figured maybe you'd kill me anyway. And...” His jaw tightens with the memory, though whether he is trying to suppress contrition or arousal Anotsu can't tell. “Just now, when I was doing...that...Felt like I could do you all night.”

Anotsu takes a sharp hiss of breath, lightheaded.

“Why?” he asks again, the same question as when this began, hoping for a less complicated answer this time.

Magatsu turns to look at him, guiltily, and Anotsu reads the same signs of desire, this expression he has never bothered to interpret before, and realises with an affronted shock that the other man still wants him, and that he will read those signs forever in Magatsu's young face.

“You really wanna get into this now?” questions Magatsu suspiciously, uncomfortably. Anotsu supposes he shouldn't; but now that he is no longer tied he knows he has nothing much to fear from his friend, quite secure in his superior combative skill, and Magatsu's discomfort soothes some of his own outrage.

“I want to. And you have to tell me, oh, you owe me, Magatsu Taito, and you will regret it before I'm done with you.” Anotsu knows he is being spiteful, and malicious, and doesn't care. “So why?”

Magatsu runs his eyes over his master, a quick glance to refresh his memory. “You mean apart from the fact that every damn inch of you is perfect? That your face is so fuckin' beautiful it's like looking at God?”

“...Apart from that.” Anotsu turns and stares scathingly at his earnest, resentful follower. “Where on earth did that pile of poetic rubbish spring from?”

“You wanted to know!” Magatsu blushes indignantly. “How shameful d'you think this is for me, danna? This is fucking serious! Ain't like I'm just pulling this stuff out my ass.”

“Very shallow of you, Magatsu.” The young man snorts and Anotsu shakes his head. “That's the same reason every piece of human trash gives when he violates a woman: she was hot, I wanted her.” Anotsu looks down at his slender body, pale skin. He has never been entirely comfortable with his own beauty, though his deceptively small form and lovely face have thrown his enemies on a number of occasions, and in general have been more useful than not. He remembers, though, getting some pretty pressing invitations before he grew up and learned how to use his strength and natural reserve as a warning sign to keep away.

“I'm not like that!” growls Magatsu virulently, interrupting his thought.

“...I know. You're a man of honour. So explain how you love me enough to do this to me.” Anotsu gestures at himself, naked, bruised, on edge.

“I...” The other man glares up at the ceiling, rubbing his hands against his kimono as if he despises what they've been doing. “Ugh. Where do I start? ...Everything. I love every single thing you are. There's plenty of stuff I don't like,” he qualifies. “Shit, it'd be too creepy if there wasn't, right? I just...love you. There's nothing you could possibly do to make me not.”

Anotsu feels himself tense again, a light flush suffusing his white skin. He has heard confessions of love from Makie, and while they only technically moved him, it was more...appropriate, sounded less disturbing than coming from a man, especially one as blunt and pragmatic and stoically masculine as Magatsu.

“There's only one thing I hate.” Magatsu continues awkwardly, impervious to his master's silence. “And that's when you don't notice me at all. Is it 'cause I'm always there for you? Would you notice me better if I was more like her, wavering back and forth, making you unhappy?” The note of jealousy is plain in his raised voice, and this time Anotsu picks up on it.

“No,” he says unobtrusively. “That's not what I wanted, not from her, not from you. I always wanted you with me, just as you were.”

“Well now's a fine fuckin' time to tell me, isn't it.” Magatsu gives a dolorous sigh.

“Since when have you loved me?” demands Anotsu, the word feeling ungainly on his tongue. “Was it after Kaga? You went all that way to find me.”

Magatsu gives a resigned, tired chuckle. “Shit, you really are as clueless as I thought. It goes back way further than Kaga, danna. Hell, I've known I was in love with you since I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” Over five years. Anotsu shakes his head disbelievingly.

“Yup.”

“You never let on!”

“Oh, right.” Magatsu lets out a bark of ironic laughter. “Yeah, a teenage boy, a peasant, fuckin' horny as hell and thinking he's a total jerk for feeling it? He's really gonna tell the leader of the Ittō-ryū that he dreams of nailing him to the mattress all night long!”

Anotsu grimaces, a shiver running over his bare legs. “Must you be so -”

“Ahh, sorry, danna. Guess that was a little coarse for you.” Magatsu scratches his neck. “Was never just that, anyway. It's like you used to say about Makie – you knew she'd walk ahead of you your whole life. I knew it from the first day, when you beat me down outside your own gate: it had to be you. 'Cause I never met anyone else who was worth following, worth loving. But you're worth every damn wound I've taken in your name, Anotsu Kagehisa, and don't think it pleases me to say it right now.” He flings out a hand heatedly as if to illustrate his displeasure. “God you piss me off!”

At the same moment his gesture widens and his fingers brush Anotsu's right forearm. Magatsu continues to proclaim his disgust at his master's faults vehemently, voice acerbic and bitter, but Anotsu doesn't hear another word. He draws himself close, arms wrapped around his knees, and sits in silence, face very pale and narrow eyes very wide. Every bit of his focus is concentrated on suppressing the violent shakes washing over him, and Magatsu could be talking about the weather, as far as he is concerned. Because that one insignificant touch has re-awoken every feeling this experience has forced upon him, every sensation that Magatsu made him suffer in the name of anger, and to his revulsion the remembrance of it stirs something deep in his belly, waves of irrepressible heat and abhorrent yearning slamming into him. A series of images flashes through his mind, overturning the cool, re-established order: Magatsu kissing him, knees nudging his legs apart, fingers digging bruisingly into his flesh: passionate words and cruel gestures of desire.

Anotsu thinks this might break him, one way or the other; he shoots a fevered glance at Magatsu's hands, tanned, callused, invasive and always there to hold him, and the breath catches in his throat. He screws his eyes shut against the terrible inclination to either hurt the man next to him or to give in and beg him for something he knows he has never wanted.

“Hey.” Magatsu pauses mid-flow, aware that he no longer has an audience. “You feelin' ok?”

Anotsu turns his head away quickly, letting his forelocks fall over his face before his kenshi can see what burns there.

“Danna?” asks the younger man in some concern, leaning forward and trying to peer around Anotsu's knees, acting very wary of the distance between them. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” manages Anotsu quickly, through gritted teeth, the soft voice raising goose-bumps on his arms.

“Don't gimme that,” says Magatsu, displaying his cursed newly-hatched and untimely sensitivity, raising his eyebrows. “I told you I know you, remember?” Quickly, before he can think better of it, he takes Anotsu's forearm and tugs his master around to face him; he sneaks a look at the smaller man's expression and then lets go of him as if he were red hot, leaning backwards to get some space between them as fast as he can. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times before managing to get the words out.

“You want me, don't you?!” Magatsu exclaims, appalled. “What the fuck, danna!”

“...Wishful thinking, Magatsu,” whispers Anotsu shakily, the heat welling in his cheeks.

“The hell it is!” Magatsu points an accusing finger at his master, looking angrier than ever. “You're blushing like a fuckin' housewife in heat!”

“Shut up,” mutters Anotsu desperately, furiously. Magatsu backs away further, eyes flashing.

“It's not fair, danna!” He sounds scared now. “You...you gotta let me go, please, you got no idea...”

“I...” What can he say, Anotsu wonders? He doesn't know what's causing it, is being pressed flat by the weight of the shame that he has never had any care for before now, but he can tell his friend is almost at the end of his rope, and it's really no wonder. Anotsu, with a flash of awful insight, wonders if Magatsu feels like this all the time? He thinks back to the thousand occasions the two of them have bathed together, dressed together, slept alongside one another, and doesn't know how Magatsu could have stood it this long, if this piercing desire is anything like what the younger man experiences.

What had he said earlier, when he still had a mind to think with? Anotsu riffles feverishly through the declarations, accusations, pacifications...He had said that they were coming to the end, hadn't he? That he could no longer see the future beyond Habaki Kagimura, and that everything they did was bent on this final war. Anotsu shakes his head despairingly. What the hell does it matter, then, what he feels or doesn't feel, what ramifications this liaison would have beyond their little universe of bloodshed? In dismay it dawns on him that even pride has no meaning here, in this yet more contracted world that contains only the two of them; pride has been one of the linchpins of his existence, a constant code upon which his logic can draw; but in this place, at this time, what significance does it have for Magatsu, or for him?

Anotsu draws a long breath, and holds it, until he thinks time has slowed to a standstill and he can stop thinking, stop feeling. And in these long seconds he sees how simple everything is. He exhales slowly, and finds it is still simple when he opens his eyes. His mouth curls in a tiny smile.

“Magatsu.” He turns to face the angry, trembling youth. “You're really talking up a storm tonight, but enough is enough.” With honour and pride and other ridiculous considerations pinned tight and screaming behind the strange wall of desire, he gives a little shrug and the kimono falls away from his shoulders. “If this is the only way you can be with me now...show me what it means.”

Magatsu stares incredulously at him, making a conspicuous effort not to gaze lasciviously at the neat, flushed little body. He clears his throat, but when he speaks his voice is strained.

“You...gotta be kidding me, right?” He swallows, and his breathing is harsh, painful. “If you are, then you better stop, danna, 'cause I -”

Anotsu leans back on his hands, no longer hiding, allowing Magatsu's guilty stare to ignite him all along his body.

“This is an order now,” he says softly, and the last ten years and the last ten minutes have taught him that Magatsu won't dare refuse. “Show me how you would love me if you had the chance.”

Magatsu gapes at him for approximately one-tenth of a second, but that is all it takes. The black-clad youth sets his jaw determinedly; he unties his sword from his side, finally, and very deliberately sets it down a little way away, as if to show that he means to do no harm this time. He turns to Anotsu, who is biting his lip, eyes heavy lidded with apprehension and anticipation.

“This is...what you want?” Magatsu asks one more time.

Anotsu nods, slowly, carefully. Magatsu sighs, crawls over to him, and swings one knee over his thighs, straddling his vulnerably naked body. He kneels like that, gazing down at his master, not touching him, though Anotsu can feel his warmth and waits for him to make another move, to ease this frustration before one of them snaps. Magatsu, however, keeps his fists resting on his own knees, disciplining himself with a visible effort, letting the tension that pulses between them ripen.

“What are you just sitting there for?” demands Anotsu eventually, every part of him alive to the possibility of Magatsu's touch. He raises his chin so that he is speaking not far from Magatsu's lips, and hears an answering inhalation of breath, but doesn't think he can be the one to initiate this even after demanding it.

“Show a little fortitude,” whispers Magatsu, shifting his weight forward and allowing the rough silk of his kimono to brush against Anotsu's torso, eliciting a sigh from the smaller man. “I waited years to have you. I ain't gonna screw it up this time. You want to know how I'd love you?” He bends to murmur into his master's ear, his lips tickling the sensitive edge of it. “All fucking night.” But Anotsu's gasp of arousal will not allow him to delay much more, not when by turning his head just a little he can catch the corner of that delicate mouth, skin barely meeting skin before he moves away. Anotsu inclines his head towards him, gazes up at him demandingly, angling for something more, and at last Magatsu gives in; he holds back as much as he dares, kissing the older man carefully, lightly, until Anotsu's pelvis rocks up against his and he can no longer do it: he grabs his leader's beautiful face in both hands and kisses him passionately.

Anotsu feels it, the exact moment when love becomes recognisable over lustfulness in that kiss, and leans up, pressing their mouths together harder, tasting iron, parting his legs a little to feel Magatsu's thighs against his own. His arms slip around Magatsu's strong back without him telling them to do any such thing, and for the first time experiences what it is like to hold him.

“Touch me!” he orders when Magatsu gasps for breath, wanting to feel those hands move over him again, this time with his consent, though he can't imagine how it could feel any more pleasurable.

“Slow down,” cautions Magatsu, shooting him a breathless half-smile. “I'm s'posed to be the one with no endurance.”

Anotsu gives a little low growl in the back of his throat, not particularly used to waiting for gratification, and Magatsu laughs, pushing him down onto his back, the smooth, pale blue of his kimono beneath him. The taller man adjusts himself so he can lean over his slender master without crushing him, and settles between Anotsu's slim legs.

“Now just...take it easy,” he says, letting his lips run lightly along the line of Anotsu's fine jaw. Raising himself on one elbow he trails his left hand slowly over the familiar, girlish face below him, memorising what each smooth contour feels like beneath his fingers; his thumb brushes over Anotsu's lower lip musingly, and the man's heart begins to slow under the tender, unhurried caress. Anotsu's left hand rises to gently grip the finer hair on the back of his neck, clever fingers dipping beneath the black cloth garment he wears under his kimono with a touch that seems more intimate than anything he has done before.

Dreamily, still half frustrated but more temperate, Anotsu darts out his pink tongue to touch Magatsu's thumb softly, not expecting the shiver that passes to him from the other man; he raises a lazy eyebrow and licks it again, angling his head a little so that the tip of the digit slips between his lips, and bites down gently. With a thrill of uneasy gratification he feels a hardness pressing against his thigh; Magatsu is blushing like a furnace. Anotsu is amazed for a moment that the smallest caress from him can cause such a swift reaction, and a corner of his mouth crooks up in a smile.

“It feels damn good, danna,” Magatsu explains in a reprimanding tone, backing off a little as Anotsu shifts his narrow hips teasingly against his erection. The older man still looks amused, so Magatsu demonstrates pointedly by grabbing his master's wrist and drawing it down, pressing a kiss to the palm of the small hand before entwining their fingers together firmly. Anotsu has as many calluses as he does himself from the weapons he wields, but the shape of his fingers is different, slender and sensitive, a musician's hand more than a warrior's; Magatsu kisses them one by one, feeling the ridge of each knuckle as he draws the index finger into his mouth. The speed of Anotsu's breathing has increased, rapid and shallow, and Magatsu smirks.

“Told ya,” he murmurs throatily, pinning his master's hand to the floor beside his head and kissing his mouth again, deep and slow, Anotsu's tightly strung body relaxing once more under the leisurely pace. Magatsu nudges the soft lips apart, allowing his tongue to brush slowly against the smaller man's until Anotsu shuts his eyes and returns it with a nonchalant skill that makes the younger kenshi jealous to know just who he learned it from.

To Anotsu the kissing seems to last an hour, the frantic eagerness of before fading to a gentle simmer in the background that rises and falls depending on where Magatsu decides to put his hands; for the moment they are resting comfortably against his shoulder blades, protecting him from the hard floor, encircling him loosely. Anotsu has hooked one arm around Magatsu's neck, not exactly holding him down but preventing him from effectively ending the kiss; he likes this, he has decided, and is quite surprised at himself: lingering dalliance being something he has always considered a waste of time and, often, money. But this...Maybe it's Magatsu's warm weight over him, he thinks languidly, trapping him between two layers of silk, the lightly muscled body pressing him down, suggestive and protective simultaneously. No woman Anotsu has ever been with has provided such an experience.

“Hey, danna,” Magatsu is saying softly, now nuzzling his neck gently, his mouth closing over the white skin to leave marks that Anotsu would normally be displeased about, although at the moment he no longer cares. “Can I take your hair down? It's real pretty.”

Anotsu makes a little noise of assent, not exactly sure what his friend is going to get out of it; his hair is his hair, but he raises his head when prompted anyway. Magatsu fiddles with the leather tie, then pulls it away in one smooth motion, eyeing the cool brown fall of poker-straight hair with appreciation. He runs his fingers through it, lifting a smooth handful of tresses and catching their scent. Anotsu sighs comfortably; it feels nice, nothing spine-tingling, just an added frisson of sensation, though Magatsu seems to be enjoying it a lot more, if his hard-on is anything to go by.

“Always loved your hair,” the young man explains unabashedly. “Always wanted to touch it. 'Specially down at Edo Castle, you were a fuckin' work of art then, all that hair flowing, blood flying...” He grins at the memory and aims a sharp, affectionate nip at Anotsu's ear.

“No wonder you were so worn out,” Anotsu replies, frowning in disapproval and stroking the back of Magatsu's neck until the coarse hair spikes up even more than it is wont to do. “If you had to worry about killing people and being a wretched filthy pervert.”

“Sticks and stones, danna,” says Magatsu happily. “I don't see you complaining.”

Anotsu narrows his eyes, wondering if Magatsu has forgotten just how much he had been complaining a short hour before, and how much cause he had for complaint. He tugs Magatsu's head down and kisses him roughly, biting down on his follower's lower lip, enough for it to hurt a little, and then running his canines cruelly over the exploratory tongue. To his astonishment Magatsu yelps and jerks away; Anotsu gets a faint aftertaste of blood, and stares at the younger man blankly.

“I bit my tongue, remember?” explains Magatsu with some chagrin, touching it tentatively with one finger and wincing. “When you socked me in the face.” Anotsu smiles a cruel little smile of satisfaction. “Don't look so damn pleased,” Magatsu continues, scowling at his master and running both hands possessively over his hips. “You gotta take better care of this tongue, danna, considering what it's gonna do for you.”

Anotsu sucks in a breath at the suggestive comment and the smouldering look in Magatsu's black eyes. Arousal hits him again, deep in his gut and more urgent than before, though Magatsu does not seem about to give him any concrete examples imminently but rather returns to playing with his hair, mouth dropping light kisses onto his shoulders and the hollow of his throat. Anotsu raises his left leg to press harder against the other man's hip and runs one hand swiftly over his chest, down past his obi to teasingly stroke the most insistent sign of Magatsu's excitement through cloth.

Magatsu gives a little groan, half way between irritation and pleasure, his face buried in Anotsu's neck.

“Don't, danna,” he warns huskily, trapping Anotsu's hand and moving it back up his body to rest against his muscled stomach. “Else we ain't gonna be here five minutes, and that's not much of a first impression, is it?”

“Then...do something for me.” Anotsu's expression forbids any idea of begging, but the tone of his voice makes it very clear. He tugs at the white collar of Magatsu's kimono.

“Damn, you're hot.” Magatsu kisses him again, clumsily, as if he has a very precarious hold on his patience, then shrugs out of his kimono so that it falls away to his waist, the thin black undergarment clinging to his wiry, muscled torso. He repeats the path of his previous kisses, over Anotsu's neck, his shoulders, down his slim chest, nibbling at the pale skin to the soft rise and fall of his master's breathing, reaching between his legs to inflict occasional taunting caresses on the smaller man's growing arousal. Anotsu's hands rub across the back of his shoulders distractedly, grabbing a handful of cloth as Magatsu's teeth bite down lightly on his nipple, hand pressing against his arching back to push him into the sensation; the young kenshi grins at the sound of pleasure coming through gritted teeth, and laps tenderly at the reddened flesh, eliciting a string of stifled gasps.

Anotsu wonders dimly what in the world is taking so long, what satisfaction Magatsu can possibly be getting from restraining himself in this way that is so out of character for his impetuous young follower. Magatsu is inching slowly down his body to the flat planes of his stomach, strong hands clamped on his hips and holding him down. Raising his head momentarily to look down at him, Anotsu sees a pattern of red marks glowing on his own torso like brands, and scowls half-heartedly; but Magatsu's open face is so bright with pure, sweet enjoyment that he can't bring himself to reprimand him, and probably couldn't find the words if he tried.

“Not long to wait,” comes Magatsu's amused voice in a tone of anticipation, muffled as he tastes the flesh of Anotsu's quivering stomach, salt with slick sweat. “I'll let ya have fun in a minute.” He runs his hands lingeringly down his master's slim legs, fingernails light and teasing on the back of his thighs; Anotsu obediently bends his knees upwards, letting the younger man rub his face against his smooth calf affectionately, spiky hair tickling him as Magatsu's mouth begins to kiss along the top of his right thigh.

“Why not...now?” Anotsu manages, inclining his leg towards Magatsu's torso to try and direct him towards his neglected hard-on. Magatsu laughs, warm breath tormenting him, but refuses to comply, returning to press his mouth to the crook of Anotsu's white knee.

This is ridiculous, thinks Anotsu hazily, almost ready to reach down and sort it out for himself if his friend doesn't speed it up. He has never been made to wait so long, and finds it almost painful; he wonders if Magatsu is getting a kick out of this; he feels as much controlled as when he was bound hand and foot, but believes it would be too humiliating to demand something he should have the fortitude to go without. He suffers instead, floating on rough waves of frustrated desire.

A gentle slap to the inside of his leg brings him back to himself, and he glares down at his kenshi, who is gazing up as if everything he ever prayed for has just landed on him.

“Ok, danna,” says Magatsu softly, cheek against his inner thigh. “Quit drifting off, and I'll give you what you want.” And without waiting for a reply he leans forward, licking the length of the smaller man's erection with a slow sweep of his tongue, hearing the stifled groan and feeling Anotsu's slender leg tense against his side.

Anotsu's vision goes white for a moment and he has to fight to stop himself crying aloud. He struggles for some semblance of speech before it is too late.

“Have you done...this before?” he enquires breathlessly, unsure how this is going to be.

“Hell no.” Magatsu flicks the tip of his tongue over the head of Anotsu's cock experimentally, gauging the sound of his whimper. “Ya think I'm some fuckin' samurai boy?” He wraps one arm around Anotsu's bent leg to stop the older man moving. “I'd rather die before I did this to anyone but you, danna. But you're a guy, I'm a guy...I reckon I know what works.”

Without waiting for another word he frowns in concentration, inhales deeply and takes his master into his mouth. Anotsu's hands come down immediately to tangle in the long spikes of his hair, clutching viciously, and Magatsu lets out a muffled growl of annoyance, not that his leader is going to pay any attention at this juncture. Anotsu hisses as the younger man closes his lips around the head of his hard-on, engulfing him in almost unbearable warmth, probing around it with his tongue in an exploratory manner until he finds a spot that makes Anotsu yank sharply on his hair.

“Ahh...!” Anotsu, barely capable of thinking, jerks his hips upwards involuntarily despite Magatsu's restraining arm, trying for more. Magatsu coughs, pulling back for a moment, then makes a philosophical face and dives in again, taking more of the shaft into his mouth and beginning to move in long, gentle strokes. This time Anotsu's heel kicks him hard in the back of the shoulder.

“Goddammit, danna,” he complains, lifting his head and glowering impatiently at the smaller man, who is looking utterly aghast at the interruption. “Will ya keep still already!”

“I...am trying.” Anotsu's head falls back against the floor with a thud. “But it feels good...”

“Should be,” grumbles Magatsu, who is apparently finding the act a lot harder than he had imagined it looked. “I spent a long time imagining how I'd do you if I ever...” He readjusts his arm to a firmer grip and sets his free hand on Anotsu's stomach, holding him down pre-emptively; he takes another preparatory breath and tries again.

This time is more successful, almost exponentially so. Anotsu makes a sincere effort not to damage the man creating the most intense sensations he has ever felt in anyone's bed, forcing his hands to his sides and gripping the pale silk of his cushioning kimono convulsively; Magatsu takes him deeper, hands tense on his master's body, doing his utmost to stifle his gag reflex at the unfamiliar feeling. After a while he grows accustomed to the invasive sensation and begins to find a rhythm, listening closely to the various moans of the smaller man, feeling the shudders that cause his muscles to vibrate, and quickening or slowing his movements in answer. Magatsu is astute, and finds out quickly what actions of his lips or his tongue will drive his master to distraction. He makes a thoughtful little noise in the back of his throat, and to his surprise the subtle vibration makes Anotsu cry out in earnest.

Perhaps Magatsu thinks that this is getting too far too fast, because he pauses, and Anotsu, who is so close to the edge that he could fall with a single step, gives a tearful groan of disbelief. Magatsu looks up at him, wrapping his right hand around the base of his erection possessively, panting, and lets a singularly wicked grin suffuse his spare features.

“Don't you dare stop,” orders Anotsu in a weak, furious voice.

“You taste fuckin' sweet,” states Magatsu predatorily, hungrily, “now you've had the chill taken off...”

Anotsu feels giddy with pure and selfish lust. He thinks this may be the filthiest thing anyone has ever said to him, and turns his head away so his follower cannot see the mindless, shameless, overwhelming desire that must surely show even in his face.

Magatsu takes pity on him and begins again, taking a gamble and letting the older man's leg free so that he can run his left hand greedily over the damp white skin. For Anotsu, the combination of his friend's mouth and fingers creates an airless vacuum of ecstasy in which Magatsu might as well be the only thing that exists, his tongue immobilising his master far more effectively than his constraining arms had. Magatsu confidently increases the pace and Anotsu's toes curl with the immanence of release; he prays to whatever is listening that the younger man won't leave him hanging again, doesn't think he could bear it, and for once is not disappointed as Magatsu takes him completely into his mouth. His hands come down to grip the black hair once again, though now they are trembling, with no strength to hurt the other man even if he wanted to. Anotsu feels Magatsu's injured tongue press insistently against the underside of his shaft and realises this is it, and then loses all thought in the perilously delicious pleasure of his climax.

Magatsu hears his master's moans abruptly cease and go silent, because there is no noise Anotsu can make that is remotely sufficient to expressing it. The young kenshi's eyes open wide as the muscles beneath the pale skin tense convulsively, then relax, and his throat is filled with hot liquid; it takes all his concentration not to pull back, to wait until Anotsu becomes loose and languid in his grip before he slowly draws his mouth away.

Anotsu opens his eyes halfway, sees Magatsu push himself up on his elbows, coughing and wrinkling his nose at the unfamiliar taste, chest heaving but wearing an expression of incorrigible smugness and self-satisfaction.

“You ok, danna?” he asks, looking surprised for a moment at his own hoarse voice, crawling up Anotsu's body to get a look at his beautiful face before the ecstatic expression completely fades.

“I...” Anotsu doesn't know, for the moment, whether he is or not. He is sated, and the terrible, shameful physical need that led him to this has been satisfied; now the cold air raises shivers on his damp skin. He doesn't know how to feel, has no precedent for this, and the chilly logic that is his habit raises its cool head for a moment, feeding him unwelcome thoughts of self-loathing.

“Ahh, quit thinking for five seconds,” comes Magatsu's soft voice, and then his arms are around Anotsu, nudging him over so his back is cradled against his follower's black-clad chest, and Anotsu feels it again but far less violently, the gentle throb of comfort, of warm pleasure, and the cold has no place to enter in. Magatsu pushes the long hair away from his face, slowly nuzzling the back of his neck, taking in the scent of him luxuriously, his hands running happily, absently over his sensitised flesh. Anotsu gives in to it: while Magatsu is holding him like this, he can't even consider anything else, and instead reflects drowsily on the fingers pushing through his hair, the warm breath on his cheek, the silk-clad thigh between his knees.

“That was awesome,” remarks Magatsu, still sounding complacent but not at all worn out. “Was I good?”

“I'm not going to lie here and stoke your ego, Magatsu Taito.” Anotsu stretches lazily, the ever-present hands not letting him rest or drift away. “But...” He turns his head and kisses the taller man lingeringly, catching the odd taste of himself on his lips. “You were ok.”

“Huh!” Magatsu's fingers slip lower, to the back of Anotsu's legs, rubbing small, light circles that don't seem much calculated to soothe him. “Guess that's high praise coming from you.”

“How's your tongue?” asks Anotsu drily. Magatsu licks his ear teasingly.

“Sore. But seeing your face like that was worth it.” He bites the nape of Anotsu's slender neck gently. “And if you wanna make it up to me...”

“Already?!” Anotsu sighs incredulously; Magatsu pulls him closer pointedly, and he feels the hard length of his friend's arousal against his hip. “Ah.” He endures a little ripple of apprehension and rising desire at that, though his tired body protests. “Just...give me a while, can you?”

“I guess.” Magatsu gives him a long-suffering look, not stilling his hands but continuing to tease his master, hoping to inflame him once more. “I waited five years already without a word. I can wait another half hour.” He leans forward and kisses Anotsu passionately. “I love you so damn much, danna.”

Anotsu submits to his caresses, lying in the half-dark as Magatsu's own heat makes him begin to burn again. At first the touches to his already satiated body cause an ache, not entirely pleasant, even the gentlest strokes almost too intent and forceful on his skin. He is young, however, and after a while Magatsu's persistence stirs him back to life, a deeper, slower arousal than the desperation he had felt before. Magatsu sits up, turning Anotsu's pliant body to face him and drawing him between his legs, his own tanned face flushed with high colour.

“Undress me,” he says gutturally, black eyes not leaving the small body that kneels so close to him, a perfectly formed combination of softness and light muscle that he has never allowed himself to watch openly before.

“Undress yourself!” retorts Anotsu, squirming slightly under the intent stare. “I'm not your maid.”

“C'mon,” urges Magatsu, his hands running slowly, lustfully up his master's hips. “I want you touching me. Haven't you ever undressed a woman before?”

“No.” Anotsu looks blank. “What for?”

“Because...she might have liked it? It'd be real sexy if it was you doing it.”

Anotsu raises an eyebrow; his own amorous transactions have never been of that nature, not even with Makie, not reaching that level of comfortable intimacy, though he has never had any complaints.

“Well if she wanted it, she could ask me, couldn't she?”

Magatsu shakes his head fondly, wistfully. “No offence, danna, but you ain't exactly the most approachable guy. Besides, I'm asking you.” He slides a hand beneath Anotsu's long, straight hair and draws him in, kissing him protractedly, appealingly.

Anotsu's scalp tingles. Without breaking the languorous contact he draws his hands inch by inch down Magatsu's back, feeling muscle shift beneath the thin cloth, until they reach the black obi. Magatsu wears it unusually high and wide, and uses quite a complicated knot to keep all the fabric in place. Anotsu fiddles with it blind for a minute, then gives up, kissing his way along Magatsu's jaw and down the side of his neck, pushing back the coarse hair with his temple, until he can see down his back and work out how to untie the knot. The rough, heavy silk eventually comes loose in his hands, and he begins to unwind it slowly, his fingers brushing Magatsu's stomach and spine, lower and lower, making the younger man shiver at the unintentional touches.

Anotsu throws it aside and turns his attention to the short-sleeved, clinging garment that covers Magatsu's upper body and that the kenshi uses to form his mask. Before he can do anything about it Magatsu engages him in another libidinous kiss, as if having his master do this fires his arousal to a curious degree; fingers pinch goadingly at Anotsu's tender skin, over his ribcage where Magatsu's mouth has left marks, his small nipples that cause darts of sweet pain and make him whimper into the kiss.

Forcing himself back on track, Anotsu dips his fingers beneath the kimono that still loosely wraps Magatsu's waist, locating the hem of the black garment, resting his hand for a moment against the younger man's taut stomach and feeling the muscles twitch at his touch. Magatsu obligingly leaves off taunting his leader long enough to raise his arms and allow Anotsu to pull the cloth over his head and fling it into a corner.

About to reach for the cord that is the only thing holding Magatsu's kimono together, Anotsu finds himself pausing: he sits back on his heels, staring at his follower's naked upper body; Magatsu's arms are around him impatiently but for a moment he doesn't notice.

“Yeah, it's my body, danna,” puts in Magatsu at the sudden silence, incredibly turned on and obviously not wanting to slow down. “You've seen it before.”

Anotsu reaches out and touches his shoulder thoughtfully. “I'm just...looking.”

Magatsu's torso, his chest, his stomach, is a network of scars, pale against the dark glow of his skin. Anotsu knows very well his follower's propensity for injury, his doggedness in the face of pain, but has never stopped to consider the symbolic manifestation that these wounds entail, what they might stand for. Anotsu has made many mistakes, though it doesn't show: they are deep, lasting, difficult to admit and tucked away behind his cold front. Magatsu's are simple, writ clear on his much-abused flesh, with no concern for hiding them. To Anotsu they speak of everything that makes him who he is: loyalty, bravery, tenacity, occasional idiocy, and the sight of them this close moves him more than anything Magatsu has let slip tonight in words.

“How many of these scars,” he asks carefully, his hand sliding curiously over them, “were got because you follow me?”

“Plenty,” says Magatsu wryly, capturing his master's hand and kissing it urgently. “But they were mostly my own fault.”

Anotsu leans down, narrow eyes ambiguous, and kisses his chest, tongue flicking out to follow the rough track of a scar downwards. Running his hand across Magatsu's back he finds evidence of many wounds there too, a stark contrast beneath his fingers to the normal skin. Magatsu lets out a sharp exhalation above him as his fingers swiftly untie the cord and push the dark kimono and underrobe off his kenshi's legs. Anotsu feels Magatsu's hands bury themselves in his hair and another pang of arousal hits him gently; he hurriedly removes the fundoshi, leaving the younger man naked and blushing bright red, though he cannot see this gratified embarrassment himself. He leans against Magatsu's leg and kisses his toned, rigidly tense stomach.

“Shit...” Anotsu hears Magatsu curse softly, shakily, above him as he brushes the tips of his fingers enquiringly over the taller man's erection, then makes a warm hollow of his hand to slide briefly down the length of it, catching a moan. “Don't...you're driving me fuckin' crazy...”

Anotsu kisses him again, lower, smirking slightly at the dismay in his friend's voice, and continues his examination with a pleasurable, nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach. Magatsu's cock is bigger than his own, but then Magatsu is bigger all over; it twitches as though it has a life of its own as he blows a gentle stream of warm air over it, and the young kenshi's hand clamps down harder in his hair, his abdominal muscles heaving close to Anotsu's face as he gasps for breath. The smaller man wonders briefly what it would be like to do what Magatsu just did to him, though he can't imagine having all that in his mouth. He darts out his pink tongue quickly to satisfy his curiosity a little, and tastes salt; Magatsu's fingers dig into his scalp painfully.

“Fuck!” The youth's hands are trembling, as if unsure whether to pull his master's head away or force him in closer. “You don't have to do that for me, danna.”

“Good.” Anotsu gracefully rises back up, pressing his body hard against Magatsu's until he's at a level where he can look him in the eyes. “I'm not going to.” He lets his right thigh rub briefly against Magatsu's erection to see the look on his face, then furrows his slender brows. “You don't deserve it after what you did to me this afternoon.”

His expression makes the younger man realise just how angry he still is. Magatsu reaches up hesitantly and takes his pretty face in both hands.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, looking so distraught that Anotsu can't help but cave in once more, though his own resentment is still turning gently, somewhere in the back of his mind.

“You're not that sorry,” Anotsu states, reaching between them to stroke his follower's insistent hard-on meaningfully. All in all he considers Magatsu to be a pretty fortunate bastard to be in the position he is at the moment and not lying somewhere in a ditch with Anotsu's sword in his gut.

Magatsu can't come up with an answer for that, words not being his forte, and so replies by kissing him again contritely, delicately, his tongue dancing slowly against his leader's. He puts his arms around Anotsu, pulling him closer, caressing his back in supplication.

“You're not just gonna...leave me like this?” he murmurs beseechingly. Anotsu considers the possibility, but only for a fraction of a second, because the meandering throb of desire is sharpening in his own body once more. He places one hand on Magatsu's cheek, a little rough beneath his fingers, and kisses the tight jaw, as much of an answer as he feels like giving. It seems to be enough for Magatsu, who releases a shuddering sigh against his ear. Magatsu's left hand holds him close, while the other slides lingeringly down his smooth back slowly, slowly, taking care not to startle him; he sucks gently at Anotsu's damp neck as his fingers slip tentatively between the round globes of his buttocks.

“Then...can I put it in you?” Magatsu whispers hoarsely, pressing a little deeper to find the tight opening between his legs.

Anotsu stiffens uncomfortably, both at the touch and the crude choice of phrase; but Magatsu's hand is very soothing on his back and his expression is loving if not his words. He wraps one arm around Magatsu's neck, runs his other hand over his cock again, testing the shape of it, the length, trying to imagine it inside him; he turns a little pale, with both apprehension and an arousal he cannot articulate, even to himself, but which subsumes any other considerations in its low-burning intensity.

“You are going to owe me the rest of your life for this,” he whispers, a thrill of nervousness plucking him as Magatsu takes a harsh breath and tugs him even harder against himself.

“That ain't much of a sacrifice.” Magatsu holds him so close that he can no longer see anything else. “If I live a week, if I live thirty years...my life's already yours.”

*********

Argh, I cannot hold back on the cheese! No matter how hard I try it always ends up so corny!

Fic - 'Loyalty' 1/3 (Mugen no Juunin)

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 11:27:48 GMT

I finally seem to have got out of my creative rut, and I'm deep in the throes of Blade obsession again. Hence another fic, which is basically just smut. Well, a bit of grumpiness, a bit of tying up Anotsu, and then smut.
Actually, I don't think Magatsu would ever really do what he does in this chapter, nor do I think Anotsu would let him do it, but what the hey, it's not real!

Title: Loyalty (part 1 of 3)
Series: Blade of the Immortal
Pairing: Magatsu x Anotsu
Author: babyrubysoho
Ratings/Warnings: R (will be NC-17 later), slight bondage
Summary: Magatsu goes slightly overboard in making a confession.

I own none of these characters, wish I did, etc etc...

An ache.

Anotsu Kagehisa awakes, and has no idea where he is, or what has woken him. For that matter, he can't remember going to sleep. Warily, with a sense of apprehension, he opens his eyes, and once he has done so his pale, aristocratic face sets coldly, while his mind races: What...the hell...is this?
His narrow eyes flicker across a small room, dirt floor, rough walls, a high window with sparse leaves blocking any view but lit by the red light of either a sunrise or sunset. He looks down at himself once more, as if to check he hasn't made a mistake. He hasn't.

What anyone else would see, if they were looking, and Anotsu very much hopes they are not, is a tiny hut tucked into the base of a heavily wooded winter hillside. And in that single room they would see a kneeling figure: a cold, girlish, strikingly beautiful face atop a slender body, white skin naked and intersected with lines of dark rope that bind it in deceptively elegant curves.

Anotsu carefully keeps his features immobile: he doesn't know how he got here, or who might be watching him for a sign of weakness, but he just bets it has something to do with Habaki Kagimura. He tests the extent of his bonds and swears softly under his breath, trying to peer down his own back; he can't see much, but can feel that someone has tied his arms behind him from shoulder to wrist, elbows almost meeting in the small of his back, and that whoever did this has done it extremely well. Twisting round like that sends ominous darts of pain through his limbs, enough to tell him that he has been like this for quite a long time; turning back, he surveys the shibari that he can see more closely: ropes around his ribcage and across his breastbone, ropes keeping his legs folded under him. His discarded kimono is spread beneath him, his own insignia uppermost, though whether it is supposed to give him confidence or mock him is anyone's guess.

So much for getting out of this.

It's several minutes before he hears any noise, although his finely tuned hearing is straining for it, his unmatchable senses on full alert. When he does catch something, though, he bites his lip to hide a grin of relief, because he recognises that step; it has followed him obligingly for the past ten years.

The black-clad form of Magatsu Taito appears from behind him, as welcome a sight, at this moment, as anything Anotsu has ever seen. The teenager pads around him barefooted, then comes to a standstill in front of him and raises an eyebrow.

“Well. Here's another fine mess we're in,” he says calmly, and doesn't move.

“What happened, Magatsu?” demands Anotsu urgently, hoping that his companion isn't angling for a familiar or sarcastic exchange just now. “How did we get here? Who caught us? Why am I still tied up when you're standing right in front of me?”

The younger man pushes a hand through his intractably spiky hair, looking as though he wants to laugh; Anotsu himself is so far from amused that he couldn't touch it with a long pole. He narrows his eyes.

“Just tell me, please...What in the hell is going on?”

Magatsu sighs oddly, but seems disinclined to offer anything further. To Anotsu's astonishment, he sits down some feet away; not in his usual comfortable sprawl but a pensive, cross-legged position. Even so, Anotsu feels himself beginning to lose his temper, something very rare for him, that has not happened since the night at Edo Castle, and that was a very mild incidence.

“Magatsu Taito -” he begins, in the tones of aggravated leadership that he seldom has to use on his most loyal follower because he has always been a friend as well.

“You really don't remember anything, do you?” interrupts the other kenshi, carefully, eyes not leaving his master's irate figure.

Anotsu takes a deep breath and puts his brain in order, as he's accustomed to it, and tries to ignore the pressingly disturbing factors of his immobility; what had they been doing before...this? He tries to think, but it's surprisingly hard under Magatsu's flat stare. Let's see...The last thing he remembers is walking, but that could have been any one of these days. With a start he recalls the bright flash of a furisode sleeve, a note of colour in the winter woodland.

That's right. He had been striding along ahead of Magatsu, who as usual was complaining in a litany under his breath as he fought to keep up, in between their inconsequential chatter. Then around a bend in the path up ahead of them had come a young woman, a sedge hat covering her face. Her kimono was slightly too bright to be refined, Anotsu had thought: most likely a girl from the last village wearing what she thought was the height of sophistication, a little bit of a coquette at that; ah, yes, the hat tilted as she passed them and a pretty, assertive, coarse face peeked out to appraise them before she moved on.

Anotsu had turned to look after her for a moment, marvelling at how brave and foolhardy some girls could be, to walk alone in these troubled times; for a brief second he thought of Asano Rin, and his mouth curled in an amused, rueful little smile. He blinked, and realised he had stopped walking, and that Magatsu had caught him up. The younger kenshi had been giving him a look, somehow sharp for Magatsu, and then had stopped and stared at the girl as she trotted out of sight, his tanned cheeks glowing pink, though Anotsu couldn't tell whether it was from exertion or something else.

“Magatsu.” He'd had to say his name twice before the other man noticed, and by that time Anotsu was walking away, irritated at the hold up and at his friend's lack of focus. When Magatsu caught him again, the Ittō-ryū leader had scowled and hit him lightly on the chest.

“How about you keep your mind on the road, Magatsu?” Anotsu had scolded, teasing, as was their way, but half annoyed. “If you're as horny as all that you can just go out in disguise tonight and bang some yotaka; but we've got a long way to go yet.”

Magatsu's lips had thinned at that; he hadn't replied, though he flushed red again. They had continued and Anotsu had soon forgotten the whole incident, although now he thinks about it the younger man had been uncharacteristically quiet all that afternoon.

The sun wasn't close to setting when they stopped, but they had found a useful hollow where a fire would go unnoticed, and Magatsu was complaining that his stomach was eating itself. Anotsu had let the younger man boil water and some kind of barley-based concoction infused with woodland plants.

“Eat, danna,” Magatsu had said, holding out the bowl.

And that was all. Until the moment he had woken up, everything was a blank void.

Anotsu blinks. He is not stupid; he knows, in fact, that he is one of the most intelligent people of his acquaintance, but he is really struggling with this one.

“Is there something you need to explain to me?” he asks Magatsu quietly. The other man has kept silent, patiently waiting for him to finish his flashback. Now Magatsu, who is at this moment somewhat pale beneath his dark skin, leans forward.

“I think you should know, danna,” he begins, without the frequent nagging-wife-like inflection on the title that no-one uses for Anotsu but him, “that I'm not gonna change because of this. I'm loyal to you for the rest of my life: whatever you want me to be, whatever you want me to do, you just got to ask.”

Anotsu furrows his eyebrows at this. Magatsu is not usually given to vocal demonstrations of loyalty; he only gives them when he feels he needs to, and then in an embarrassed grumble. This sounds...different.

“Magatsu,” the Ittō-ryū leader says in a low voice, a strange pang of foreboding infiltrating his perplexity, “...did you do this to me?” The younger man looks away, and Anotsu has his answer. He can't think what to say. He feels that he ought to be giving his follower a sharp dressing-down at this moment, but the situation is too strange: Magatsu tends to be impulsive, he knows this, but not to the point of hurting him; and his bound limbs are in pain.

His pale face immediately shuts down into the beautiful, so frequently deadly mask that he can raise at will to hide his thoughts, his fear. He uses it quite often, but has only had to do it with Magatsu once: the day he made his mistake, when he agreed to side with the Bakufu and when, inevitably, Magatsu left him. He had been more hurt by that than he liked to let on, though of course Magatsu had turned out to be right, and more glad to see him again in Kaga, although being on his last legs and bleeding at the time had made the need to conceal his feelings somewhat superfluous. He regrets having to use it now, but something like this has never happened before.

He searches for a probing question, and can only think of the most simple.

“Why?” he demands. Magatsu looks back at him, and Anotsu senses he won't be getting a satisfactory answer in a few words: the man's unmasked face, usually so open and amiable, is a complex map of concealed emotion, the kind Anotsu has never been any good at reading.

“I want to know!” he presses, a threatened little snarl suddenly tugging at the corners of his delicate mouth. He doesn't know where it came from, but he doesn't ignore his own intuition. This is not going to be simple, or safe.

“Then let me beg another question,” Anotsu continues acidly, glancing down quickly at his white skin with its intersections of dark rope. “Why am I naked?”

Magatsu shrugs ambivalently, and the Ittō-ryū leader feels his smooth cheeks flush with anger.

“If it's intended to make me feel stupid, it won't work,” he states flatly, though he is generally an unusually private person when it comes to his own body.

“Stupid!” Magatsu exclaims, and shakes his head. “There's somethin' I need to talk to you about, is all.”

“And...you can only do it like this,” Anotsu states, sarcasm rising, though it's hardly appropriate at this point. Magatsu, to his surprise, nods briefly, and stands up. The kneeling man notices that his unconventional sword is still hanging comfortably from his obi, which means that Magatsu is not feeling very safe at this moment, either. The young kenshi takes a deep breath, almost meditative, steeling himself for a difficult confrontation; as if stripping and tying up his master wasn't difficult enough.

Anotsu, watching him warily, sees a layer of unhappiness, covered by what looks like resignation, and other, more complicated things moving beneath Magatsu's expression. He suddenly strides forward, and Anotsu flinches intuitively; but his friend passes right by without touching him, circling behind him, as though he can't talk while his master's eyes are on him.

“Are you listening, danna?” asks Magatsu, out of sight. Not being able to see his face means that Anotsu's strained attention is now on his voice, and the sound of that voice sends a ripple of unease up his spine: it's as though it's coming from far away, not physically, but in its tone; Magatsu sounds detached, as if he is deliberately distancing himself from something that must be done, but that he doesn't want to get too close to. And Anotsu knows with complete certainty that whatever is going to be done will be done to him. The nerves on his back fire up, waiting for contact; he can almost sense where Magatsu is by the air alone. Silence draws out for a horribly long time before he hears another soft step.

“I'm quite proud of this one, actually,” Magatsu confides detachedly; Anotsu can feel the young man's dark eyes roving over his back. “Looks kinda artistic.”

“I wouldn't know,” replies Anotsu witheringly, quite willing now to put off whatever Magatsu has to say, because he can tell it will bring more discomfort. “Who taught you these knots?”

“Baro,” comes the studiedly casual voice again, and Anotsu grimaces to himself. They would be good. Another step, closer, and the fine hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“Don't you touch me, Magatsu Taito, unless you're planning to untie me,” Anotsu snaps. Somewhat to his surprise the other man doesn't, but he can feel the uneven tremors in the air as Magatsu kneels down behind him, ripples of misery running from the young kenshi to his own skin.

“Once we've had this discussion,” Magatsu tells him, still in that calm, distant voice. Anotsu wriggles impatiently, but the knots are intricate and tight and the movement does nothing but chafe his fair skin.

“Don't you think this has gone far enough?”

“Nah.” Magatsu sounds rueful now, as if he might be regretting it, though not enough to actually stop. “It's gone too far already. That's why I gotta finish it.”

“If you've got some problem with what we've been doing,” Anotsu sighs, “we could have talked about it while we were walking.”

“It's not that,” the voice behind him states. “You know I'd follow you anywhere.”

“Then what?!” Anotsu exclaims, more than irritated now; he knows Magatsu understands their priorities, has always appreciated that he never has to justify himself or his plans. “What else is there? This is it, Magatsu, this is all that matters: us against the Bakufu. Is that the problem?” he continues, slightly mollified. “That I don't see a future any more?” He turns his head and tries to see his follower, seeking confirmation from his expression; but Magatsu is invisible, in his blind spot. “There's no way out of this for us now,” Anotsu apologises coolly, thoughts drifting off to Mito and Kagimura.

“Oh, tell it to someone who doesn't know!” cuts in Magatsu, losing the cold edge to his voice and replacing it with an aggrieved one that Anotsu finds even more troubling because as a rule he tries to have nothing to do with passion. Before he can answer such a specious exclamation, however, he feels a sharp pressure on his bound arms that makes him cry out softly in pain and surprise: Magatsu has grabbed the ropes and is dragging them backwards, forcing his arms away from his body the wrong way until his joints protest. It lasts only a second before the youth lets him go, but is enough to shake his composure, which he has so carefully clung to and distilled since waking up and realising what has happened to him.

“I know you, danna,” Magatsu says hotly, getting to his feet and stalking back to face him again, breathing hard through his nose as though the contact with his master has thrown him. “I know what's important to you better than anyone else!”

“Then why -”

“I know what you feel,” he continues, ignoring Anotsu's exasperated interjection, “as far as you have any damn feelings at all.”

“Excuse me,” Anotsu cuts in coldly, wondering if he's hearing right, “are you saying Magatsu Taito tied me up here and is wasting hours of our time so he can talk about feelings?”

Magatsu curls his lip at the blank expression on that cool face and speaks up spitefully.
“Why not? If you have any limits, danna, it's that you don't have a clue what people are feeling, and even if you did, you wouldn't think it was important! And one day that's gonna get you into a worse mess than the one you're in now!”

“I know people have feelings,” says Anotsu quietly, trying to work out where his kenshi is going with this, not understanding the volatile compound of anger and frustration on the flushed unmasked face.

“Do you!” Magatsu exclaims loudly, in a way that is pushing sarcastic, in Anotsu's opinion. He begins to walk, pacing an irregular, distracted line back and forth in front of the kneeling man. “So, the people whose lives you weigh on, you understand them, you appreciate them? The Asano girl, a damn samurai, but the woman knows how to feel, I’ll give her that! And that poor idiot you married as a bargain, I never even met her but I'll bet I know more about what she felt than you.”

Anotsu watches his friend pace and furrows his slender brows, reaching for some point of connection where he might have a flash of insight or understanding; it seems to him that Magatsu is rambling.

“Or Makie,” Magatsu continues with a peculiar grimace that Anotsu has noticed on his face before when he talks about the swordswoman but has never known how to interpret, and still doesn't. “Have you ever -”

“Don't talk to me about my cousin,” Anotsu interrupts, on firmer ground here. “I know what she feels.”

“Only because she keeps throwing it in your face!” replies Magatsu instantly, almost shouting. “And even then, what have you done about it?” His demand has a strange, almost accusing inflection.

“Done?” Anotsu repeats. The other man's patchy tread is beginning to grate on his nerves. “I haven't done anything. What would I do it for?”

Magatsu makes a despairing little noise, almost a laugh, and stops his incessant pacing.

“Then what about me?” he asks quietly. “Have you ever thought that I feel things, as well as her?”

“No,” says Anotsu neutrally, truthfully.

“No, you wouldn't,” Magatsu murmurs reflectively, two patches of sharp red on his high cheekbones, volume rising as he continues to speak. “Why is it? Because I'm a guy, because I'm young, because I never talk about it, I just follow you, so what I feel means less than nothing!”

Anotsu is silent; those words are barbed, worse than the pain in his constricted limbs, but the significance of it is still escaping him; he gropes desperately for it, aware that something in his lack of understanding is tearing his friend apart.

“You know why I wear this mask?” Magatsu suddenly asks, apropos of nothing, apparently, tugging at the black cloth that usually covers his face. Anotsu shrugs, then winces at the sharp pins of pain that ripple across his shoulders.

“It's because people say I give myself away too easily,” Magatsu explains. “That my face can't hide what needs to be hidden. Look at me, danna,” he orders, stepping closer. Anotsu stares into the familiar face, the earnest, furious black eyes and the ambiguous flush under tanned skin.

“Do you even see me?” The demand, almost a plea, makes Anotsu narrow his eyes further in perplexity. Of course he does, but what he's supposed to be seeing is a mystery. And he's getting tired of this game. He sighs.

“You can stop, Magatsu. I already know what you feel,” he lies smoothly, hoping it's the right thing to say, to pacify the younger man and bring an end to this.

Magatsu stiffens, his expression freezing, and the Ittō-ryū leader experiences a warning dart of approaching danger, something he is very good at discerning.

“...You knew?” asks Magatsu, very softly, the colour leaving his face, and suddenly Anotsu feels, for the first time, hazardously out of his depth. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even nod, but somehow Magatsu takes this as an affirmative anyway. In an instant, during which Anotsu remembers just how quick his friend is, with a click the slim second blade of his sword is out and pointed unwaveringly at his master's throat.

Anotsu swallows, very carefully. His eyes travel from the tip of the steel, over Magatsu's white-knuckled hand, up his body until they reach his face, where they see pure, unadulterated hurt. He doesn't know what to do with that, so he puts it aside as he always does, and finds himself in familiar territory; a man pointing a sword at him is nothing he hasn't faced a thousand times before, and obscurely he feels safer. He glares up steadily.

“Danna...” Magatsu abruptly drops to his knees in front of Anotsu, blade still raised, and the bound man's composure is jolted once more: now that they are in close proximity Magatsu's hand is no longer steady; the slim sword moves towards his chest, trembling so that it occasionally brushes his skin. Anotsu finds himself holding his breath, eyes fixed on the tip of the weapon, bright steel that has hitherto only existed to protect him. As it touches his ribcage he gasps, the sudden rush of oxygen and adrenaline giddying him; when he blinks and looks up, he sees that Magatsu's dark eyes are damp, something quite unprecedented in Anotsu's experience.

As if he doesn't want it to be seen, Magatsu leans in closer; he's a good deal taller than Anotsu, who loses sight of him as his jaw presses against Anotsu's pale temple. His breath is coming in shudders, stirring his master's long hair, and with an awful thrill of shock the smaller man gets an inkling of what is inside his follower's heart, though he can't quite bring himself to believe what he's thinking.

Anotsu badly wants to lean away at this point, because if he's right, which he isn't at all sure about, then all the rational explanation and cold calculation in the world will not be enough to calm the trembling young man who is close enough to embrace him. He hears the hitch in his own breath, and knows that he ought to say something, because while Magatsu can be cool and deadly at the same time, he's not exactly known for his restraint.

“Taito...” he whispers, and is displeased by the waver in his own voice, and the distress. But for Magatsu the reaction is even stronger: he hisses in a breath and flinches at the sound of his real name, and in that moment of discomposure Anotsu feels the blade score an unintentional line of light, piercing pain down the side of his flat stomach. He bites his lip, holding in what might be a curse but feels dangerously to him like a sob.

“Shit!” Magatsu jerks away, staring wide-eyed at the thin trickle of red on his master's pale flesh; it has only just broken the skin, and anyone could see it was slight, but the sight is enough for him to fling the sword aside convulsively, adding a note of dismay to his already crowded expression. He stares down at his own hand as if it didn't belong to him, chest heaving.

Anotsu blocks out the sting with ease, aided by practice and his own consternation, and kneels up straighter, though he still can't get level with the other man's eyes. So Magatsu didn't actually intend to hurt him; normally he would take this as a given, as one of life's basic facts, but for a moment there he wasn't sure. This could go on forever, he senses, if they don't get to the root of it, and he doesn't think his limbs or his head can take it.

“If you could just clarify, Magatsu,” he says, as levelly as he can manage, abandoning all pretence of understanding his follower after all, “what exactly is it you're trying to make me see?”

Magatsu bites his lip, looking very young. He spends a few moments in silence, and Anotsu thinks maybe he's trying to work out how to admit...whatever it is without actually saying it. But the consideration seems only to make him angry again; he gives his master a furious, passionate look and a gesture of futility, grappling with metaphors that are unfamiliar to him.

“You...You're like a...” He waves his hands about, searching for words. “You're like a koi under ice, danna,” he states bitterly, and now that he has started the accusations flow easily; Anotsu can feel the irate heat of his body and wonders why it burns. “There you are, shining, so fucking beautiful,” Magatsu spits, “and people try and touch you, but when they do all they get is frostbite because you are so damn cold, and here I am, spending my life protecting that perfect silver skin, that ice...!” He takes a deep breath, jaw clenched, “when all I wanna do is smash it!”

Anotsu twitches as Magatsu smacks a fist into his palm as if to illustrate his desires. Then he looks up stonily at the enraged, almost weeping kenshi, though inside his heart is sinking because he finally begins to understand what it is Magatsu thinks he wants. What can he possibly say, he wonders, that won't hurt him right now?

Gaze still locked on him accusingly, Magatsu reaches out, unable to help himself when his master's face is inches from him, so pale and still and lovely. Anotsu doesn't think that he can stand to be touched at this moment, and speaks up hurriedly before the familiarly callused hand meets his own smooth skin.

“Ok. I understand!” He tries to sound reasonable, and as the words come out of his mouth he knows that he's failed. “I see you, Magatsu Taito.” The other man's face takes on the awful glow of hope rising, and he can't bear to look at it. He continues hurriedly. “But what do you expect me to do about it?”

Magatsu looks as though he hadn't anticipated that one, and pauses, considering all the connotations of what his master could mean. Anotsu sees that he has settled on the most pessimistic interpretation, which was in fact the one that he intended. Magatsu runs a hand through his untameable hair, the same hand that would have touched the older man. He gives a sad little smile that isn't really a smile at all.

“You don't have to do anything, danna,” he says, and Anotsu feels the skin prickle on the back of his neck. “But I'm going to.”

And without another word his arm slips behind Anotsu's back and he draws the slender man closer, kissing him full on the mouth, deep and soft and sweet, and in that kiss Anotsu wildly reads pain, utter devotion and, to his horror, something like love. As the brief seconds stretch out Anotsu stares wide-eyed and unfocused at Magatsu's ear and the beams of the roof, which are all he can see, and finds himself mortally offended. Isn't it presumption? he wonders bitterly. He has never asked for such a deep attachment, and beneath the fire in his cheeks and Magatsu's hot, uncomfortable kiss, he finds the cold lake of resentment and clings to it.

Magatsu, as if stung by the frozen stillness, abruptly pulls away, and evidently reads all he needs to in the chilly, hateful beauty of Anotsu's face. His expression, clear after that longed-for touch to the point of wonder, contorts bitterly with the realisation and turns ugly, and before Anotsu can even open his mouth Magatsu hits him, an open-handed slap that rocks his head to the side.

“Anotsu, I -” Magatsu begins contritely, but the bound man cuts him off, the slap having done wonders for his perspective, bringing him back to himself after the bewildering racing of his heart even amid his shock.

“Kiss me like that again, Magatsu Taito,” Anotsu warns, in control of himself for the moment and words dripping poison, “and you will find yourself without a tongue.”

Magatsu doesn't look at him now, but turns his head to the side as if weighing something up or having an internal argument with himself. He takes a long, shuddering breath, and when he exhales it's calm and resigned.

“All right, danna,” he acknowledges, and his voice has taken on that distant tone again that Anotsu heard after he woke and that makes his skin tighten nastily. “I won't kiss you like that.” But his hand rises, slowly; Anotsu wonders if Magatsu will hit him again and supposes he can bear it if it makes him feel better and stops this. The sleeve of Magatsu's black kimono slips back, revealing the tense muscles of his forearm as he fights to keep his hand steady; then his skin meets Anotsu's, and the Ittō-ryū leader winces in surprise and finds himself baring his teeth as the backs of Magatsu's fingers trail softly over his temple, down his cheek, along his fine jaw. The younger man's breath is catching in his throat, his black eyes full of feeling, as his hand, shaking slightly now, slides down Anotsu's pale, slender neck and along the smooth planes of his chest.

“Magatsu.” Anotsu shudders at the touch, so unwelcome and reverent, and finds he can't speak above a whisper. “Don't...”

Magatsu's eyes meet his for a fraction of a second, and they burn.

“Please don't do this,” he repeats more urgently, a soft exhalation of breath escaping him as his follower's fingers brush over his left nipple, repeating the action at the sound and sending the blood to his face. Magatsu's right arm encircles his back loosely, drawing him forward, and now Anotsu can feel the tremors that rock the young kenshi's whole frame as his hands move tentatively, worshipfully; when he looks down he sees how dark they are against his own pale skin, and a sharp pang of misery cuts him, mingling with the strange little darts of heat that Magatsu's fingers are sending to his stomach. No, Anotsu does not like this at all.

“I love you, danna,” is Magatsu's only answer to his plea, speaking simply into his ear as if it hadn't taken a doped meal, thirty feet of rope and several hours to make his master aware of this fact. He holds Anotsu's chin firmly in one hand to stop him turning his head, kissing the smaller man's neck softly, just below his ear; evidently he has taken Anotsu's venomous threat to heart. His other hand is still moving over his master's flesh, along his left hipbone and down to circle his navel with careful fingertips that still shake as if he can't really believe what he's doing.

“Is there anything I can say,” asks Anotsu, finding his voice oddly tremulous and hating it, “...that will make you stop?” He's starting to feel the faint edge of panic, something he remembers vaguely from when he was a child but has not experienced for many years; Magatsu's breath is very warm in his ear, and for a moment the kenshi's body presses closely against him, heating his bare skin in the same way that his fingers are doing. Anotsu feels sick, though he believes it is directed mostly at himself.

“No, danna,” Magatsu whispers regretfully, kissing his throat again; the coarse spikes of his black hair tickle Anotsu's chin, and both his long-fingered hands, so skilled with and without a weapon, it seems, slide covetously down his narrow waist and over his belly to touch him more intimately. His mouth moves to Anotsu's shoulder, to the single scar that speaks of his master's mistakes in Kaga.

Anotsu grits his teeth and stifles a whimper as his friend's hands caress him, slipping between his bound legs gingerly. He shuts his eyes against the despised prickle of tears but that only makes the sensations stronger, more appalling, Magatsu's eager fingers, his lips, the brush of his rough hair, the silk of his kimono. He can't remember the last time he was touched like this, or if he ever has been, with such ardor, with such reverence. He has always been in a position to dictate exactly what he wants, but now, with Magatsu paying attention to his voice only in order to determine how most effectively to torment him, he's helpless to ask for anything except the futile stop.

After a while he loses all concept of time, his tense, pained muscles having no choice but to relax, and he might have been there forever, nothing existing but his own unfortunate body and Magatsu's. He turns his head away bleakly from his friend's loving touch, but cannot help responding physically to the endless impassioned caresses; Magatsu seems determined to learn every inch of his flesh a hundred times over and Anotsu remembers, through the unwelcome haze of sensation, that the young man always did like to do a job to the letter of thoroughness. For a second he wishes that Magatsu would just fuck him and get it over with, no matter how degrading; surely anything would be better than this slow, agonising pleasure.

He clings to his outrage, at this violation and what Magatsu is needlessly spoiling between them, but that only makes it worse: with his mind locked in the cold box of disbelief, everything seems far away, almost outside, and with a start he notices that he is weeping despite himself. Holding his mind separate like this he can consider things logically, but when he tries to do so he finds himself nauseated, shocked by the sound of his own ragged breathing, the way Magatsu has parted his legs with barely any resistance. No, his body is in a bad way right now, and it needs his mind working with it; for what might be the first time ever, he realises, cold dispassion is not going to work.

When his intellect is fully united with his flesh again it seems even harder: the full force of sensation hits him like a blow and he cries out quietly. Magatsu, whose mouth is trailing scandalously down his breastbone between the ropes, raises his head in surprise. He shoots a wry glance at his captive's horrified, aroused face, at the narrow eyes half closed and smooth white skin flushed; then returns to caressing what he has yearned so long to have. His tongue flicks over a pale nipple, and Anotsu gasps, then makes a little noise of serious distress as Magatsu's fingers reach further between his thighs and part him gently, slipping carefully just inside him. His free hand presses possessively against the smaller man's lower back, preventing him from trying to move away.

“If you don't let me go, now,” comes Anotsu's voice, finally echoing the feelings of misery and fervour that Magatsu has felt all this time, “I will hate you forever, Magatsu Taito.”

“No you won't,” Magatsu replies after a minute, distant again and distracted as he touches his master more forcefully and Anotsu arches his back involuntarily, pressing up against him with a hiss of discomfort. “Because you've got such a limited capacity for emotion, as I think I already explained to you, right?” He kisses Anotsu's finely made clavicle and bites down lightly on the fair skin, catching the repressed moan before the smaller man speaks again.

“But I...can hate very well,” Anotsu reminds him between uneven breaths, forehead leaning unwillingly against his shoulder as exhaustion and the pain in his arms increase. “Otherwise we would not be here at all, for you to do this to me.” His voice cracks in a low sob.

“True.” Magatsu settles himself more comfortably, kneeling between Anotsu's slim thighs and running a hand soothingly over his back beneath his bound limbs. “As far as feelings go, hate is certainly what you do best.” He kisses his jaw, which clenches under his touch, and he can taste sweat and tears and uncertainty. “But remember, yours is all caught up with the Bakufu already. Now me, I can hate a lot of things, including you, danna, sometimes, and I still got no problem loving you more than anything else I ever laid eyes on. But you...you just haven't got room.”

Anotsu cries quietly as Magatsu's fingers press deeper and stroke him faster, and finds the tears a surprisingly pleasant release from many things: from responsibility, from the cold, from the terrible, now impossible pressure of trying to look strong in the face of all this. The younger man, not looking particularly stable himself, murmurs comfortingly to him, words that he doesn't catch at all as Magatsu's mouth moves over his hair, his cheek, his neck. He thinks he might die from the pleasure, or maybe it's from shame, as Magatsu cruelly slows his touches and he has to bite back a whimper of frustration.

“If you loved me, you wouldn't do this,” he mutters hoarsely in a final attempt to stop his besotted kenshi, to stop himself, although in all honesty he has no idea about what love makes people do; but surely this anger, this forced desire isn't right.

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” confesses Magatsu hopelessly, his short thumbnail digging into Anotsu's small nipple and making him squirm, taut stomach slick with sweat, painfully hard in Magatsu's grip. “But I do.”

The young man's cheek is pressed against his, with as much affection as carnal intimacy, and Anotsu dimly realises that he has two choices. He's bound to the point of agony, but he still has a mouth free with two even rows of sharp little white teeth that can maybe inflict enough pain to wake his follower up, turn his desire into plain violence, which Anotsu would take over this in a heartbeat. He can either fight this in earnest, then...or he cannot.

Magatsu squeezes his arousal gently, sending a ripple of heat up his spine, and even as he draws his head back he doesn't know which he will choose. But Magatsu's face, when he catches sight of it, is so earnest, so miserable, so dreamy with adoration that the choice is made for him: by the next beat of his heart his lips have caught Magatsu's, forgetting entirely his former threat at the feeling. He curses himself roundly but finds himself dizzied as his friend gets over his momentary shock and kisses him back with unpractised, uncalculated need, tongue pressing between his lips to taste him. Anotsu feels the upsurge of desire as Magatsu's kiss becomes rougher, thoughtless, and he wonders how this odd act can be accompanied by so much pleasure; maybe it has something to do with the taller man's hands, the mixture of provocation and pain they are currently inciting even as the kiss becomes more intimate.

“Hate away then, danna,” Magatsu whispers unsteadily as Anotsu's mouth leaves his to take a swift, harsh breath. “If this is your hate, then I think I can bear it.”

Anotsu kisses him again, not skilfully, because the hands between his legs and sliding down his back are too intense.

“...I don't hate you,” he admits, dragging in another gulp of air as Magatsu's lips move to his throat, and pressing up against the younger man to feel the delicious friction on his skin, trying not to think about how he's acting because it makes him feel dirty. “I just hate what you're doing.”

“...Shall I stop?” asks Magatsu suddenly, unexpectedly, removing his hands with an effort but not his mouth, as if he wants to read the answer through the shudder of his master's skin. There is a long pause, then,

“Fuck you, Magatsu,” Anotsu swears furiously, round face streaked with tears and eyes gleaming with rage. “You could have said that before now, couldn't you?! When I was begging you to let me go!” He snarls at the guilty, zealous expression on his follower's young face. If he had offered those words thirty seconds ago, he might have forgiven him, might have forgotten that his body was burning for this, through no fault of its own. But the imprint of Magatsu's touch, he thinks despairingly, will stain him forever.

“Then stop,” he says quietly, through his rapid breathing. He draws away from that treacherous warmth, feels the cold air on his damp, thrilled flesh. Magatsu is staring at him as though the words have come as a shock, as if this is some kind of betrayal, and Anotsu wants to laugh ironically but wisely doesn't.

“You just kissed me,” accuses Magatsu, face still flushed with desire, “and now you want me to let you go?!”

For a long moment they glare at one another, both disbelieving, both disgusted and breathing unsteadily. Anotsu makes a conscious effort to look non-threatening.

“Please,” he says softly, and the hurt calm of his voice makes the other man swallow hard. “You have to untie me, now.”

“...And then?” asks Magatsu faintly, helplessly. Anotsu doesn't say anything, just stares ahead, and the taller man gives a forlorn laugh that changes halfway into a sob through gritted teeth. Magatsu nods jerkily, but doesn't move for the ropes, and the Ittō-ryū leader finds himself caught up in an embrace so tight he can barely breathe; Magatsu is clinging to him as if they will never see each other again, his arms a perfect incongruity of threat and protection, his face buried in his master's naked shoulder. Anotsu submits easily to being held, wondering why people allow themselves to love if it causes such anguish, until the constricting hug sets his arms buzzing with pain, until it's too much.

“Magatsu.”

With a grimace Magatsu tears himself away, kneeling once more behind his danna. Anotsu feels each knot, each coil of rope come undone so slowly that it's almost sensual in itself; or at least it would be if it hadn't turned out that his limbs have in fact been numb, and what he thought was pain was actually a pathetic forerunner to the waves of agony that hit him as the blood flows back to his arms. Teeth gritted, he lets out a low groan but doesn't try to fight it, knowing that will make it worse; he accepts it instead, gets lost in it.

As his balance shifts he realises those overtasked limbs will not support him; but two strong hands catch him before he falls flat on the floor, as they would have done before any of this started. Anotsu fervently wishes it never had, as Magatsu's fingers rub life briskly back into his arms, wishes he could feel the simple reassurance of Magatsu's constant support again, but knows he cannot because the touch of those hands kindles him now instead. He forces compliance on his disobedient limbs and then lets them be still. He doesn't try to stand, although he imagines he could if he brought his considerable will to bear.

“What're you doing?” asks Magatsu from behind him, deep unhappiness mixing with surprise in his voice. Anotsu wriggles his toes and winces, not looking back.

“Trying to work out whether or not to hurt you,” he says coldly. He knows Magatsu would let him, too.

“If you like,” comes the miserable voice, which Anotsu thinks is intensely unjustified, given the circumstances.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he orders dully, “I'm not going to. I just...don't care.”

Magatsu doesn't say anything to that, which is probably sensible. The younger man tugs the edge of the turquoise kimono out from beneath Anotsu's freed legs, and solicitously drapes it over his shoulders, hiding the rope burns that his master inflicted on himself with his struggling. He is biting his lip so hard it bleeds.

Anotsu, for some reason, finds this hypocritically caring act extremely, even hysterically funny, and begins to laugh to himself, narrow shoulders shaking, on and on in a way that has nothing to do with humour, which he has never had much of a sense of anyway. He thinks, as it drags out, that maybe he won't be able to stop, though it sounds ugly to his ears; but over the laughter he hears Magatsu get to his feet; he twists round to see the back of the room for the first time. Magatsu bends to retrieve the sword he had flung away and slides it into its sheath with a gesture of disgust. Anotsu stops laughing. He sees his friend pause, close his eyes for a long moment, then stride towards the low door with a finality that makes Anotsu's breath stop.

“You!” he snaps viciously as Magatsu's hand reaches for the latch. “Where do you think you're going?” He leans forward, narrow, reddened eyes glittering, and Magatsu turns to stare at him, shocked. “I'm not nearly finished with you yet!”

The look Magatsu gives him then is a picture, incredulity, adoration, resentment all combined in one face that isn't designed to feel so much or so deeply. His lips press together until they're white and he remains where he is, looking faintly sick as if he would like nothing better than to run. Anotsu meets his gaze, raising his chin and staring at him with the cool fury of a leader rather than a victim's glance. He wonders how Magatsu will choose, and then why he is proposing such a choice in the first place.

In the end old habits win out: Magatsu's shoulders sag, as though this choice comes with too heavy a burden of guilt; but he returns to his master's side as he has always done eventually, kneeling in front of the pale kenshi with both sincerity and unwillingness.

“All right, danna,” he says in a low voice, a world of affection and loathing loading the honorific. “You got me. I'm your fucking dog; I can't leave you. So what do you want?”

The two of them stare at one another bitterly. Anotsu doesn't know what he can possibly do to express it, how Magatsu has damaged them, doesn't know how they can ever have a meeting of minds again, but he can think of something to get the process under way.

“This is for starters,” he hisses at Magatsu, and hits him, pleased to discover that his arm is working again: his deceptive strength knocks the taller man to the floor, the blow standing for every second he wanted to hurt him that night and couldn't. Magatsu coughs, and spits out blood, looking dazed: he has bitten his tongue. Anotsu rubs his aching knuckles. He feels slightly better.

**********

I know that's kind of a weird place to have a chapter ending. I wrote it as a one-shot, but it turned out to be way too long to fit it all into one entry, so I split it into three.

'Follower' - Mugen no Juunin fic

Sat, 17 Jan 2009 22:13:12 GMT

Finally (as in after a year, embarrassingly), have broken out of studying and butt-lazying to be a fan again - all thanks to the last few volumes of Blade of the Immortal. So in honour of that most marvellous of mangas, here's a few chapters of kinda cheesy Magatsu x Anotsu introspection.

Title: Follower (Magatsu POV)
Author: babyrubysoho
Rating/warnings: M-ish
Spoilers: slight, for volumes 21-23
Summary: Magatsu somewhat reluctantly comes to terms with just how far he's prepared to follow his boss, in a rather rambling style.

Shell

I'm minding my own business, sitting close to the brazier and eating my lunch in this dark little room, with the rain hammering onto the wreckage of the dojo above me, when I hear the door slide open. Someone comes in, but I don't bother looking round because after ten years I know the sound of his steps as well as my own. He sits down just behind me, as if he didn't want to be seen, which means there's something on his mind.

“Magatsu.” I prick up my ears, because there's an ache in that sound that I don't remember hearing from my boss before. He's been doing this more and more often lately; he tells Abayama and the Doc what we need to know: about what's coming next, what enemies are up ahead; but it's me alone that witnesses his anger, his disappointment, his frustration; sometimes I think he talks to me like he would a dog, not expecting an answer, because he knows I'll never judge him or pity him. Yeah, it's me he talks to, and I've gotten to like it. Well. Me and one other; and this time it's about her; because what I'm getting from his voice is pain, and I can imagine what his face would look like if I was insensitive enough to turn round right now. Her. Otono-Tachibana Makie. I sigh silently.

“I think she's going to die...”

And at that my eyes open wide and I do want to turn around, at the depth of the hurt in those words, but he puts one cold hand on my cheek quickly and stops me, as if he can only say these things to my back. I shake my head slowly, and he continues, almost talking to himself.

“This sickness, she...she's not fighting it. Because of me.”

Ah. This again. The eternal sticking point of what could be the most brilliantly matched pair of kenshi in the country: she wants him to want her, not her power, but as a woman. And maybe he does, but that awe and thirst for what she can do with a sword overpowers everything else for him. I get why he has so much trouble with this; women are damn complicated, and the last thing Anotsu Kagehisa needs, now that we're nearing the end, is more complication. I like Makie, as far as it goes, though I only see the cold face of her talent, none of the softness and emotion that my boss regards as weakness. But if she can't fight this for herself, whatever it is, then maybe she's right.

“It makes me so angry!” he continues, and I can tell he really is, his unseen gestures getting wilder as his hand accidentally knocks my back. “We need – I mean, I need her.”

I don't think he understands this woman at all, despite how she loves him, despite the shared blood in their veins. When he talks like this I want to tell him that he and I get each other a lot better than he and she ever will. But because I do know him, I keep quiet.

“But...what can I do?” I hear him whisper. I carry on shovelling rice, 'cos I can't think what to say, even though I can sense the bafflement and raw misery in his voice, something that falls on my ears uncomfortably. He must take my silence to mean 'nothing,' because he lets out a little sigh of frustration.

“If I let her go again...well, how can I? The waste!”

I take this to be a rhetorical question, and nod with my mouth full, trying to follow my boss's complex train of thought. I think I get it, I've been around them long enough to see what they do to each other: he's looked up to her his whole life as the strongest, chasing her skill. And every time she throws away the sword, he's cut with it; because if she's weak, something in his head is telling him that he must be weaker, and that's one thing he'll never come to terms with. Never mind waste, never mind her desires; this is all about Anotsu Kagehisa. Not that I'm gonna tell him that.

I become aware of an expectant silence behind me, and realise it wasn't a rhetorical question. I swallow a mouthful of fish, bite the bullet, and speak up, not looking back at him.

“Someday you're gonna have to. She's never going to be what you want. And you're never going to give her what she wants.” I think I'm coming off pretty irritable, which I didn't intend. If I was talking to a woman I'd probably be in line for a slap right about now; but the boss is getting used to hearing stuff he doesn't want to hear, so there's just another sigh and the rustle of cloth brushing my back as he shifts position.

“Then I have to shoulder this alone,” he whispers, and his tone of voice is saying, do you have any idea how hard that is? Another silence; he's gonna start sinking into one of his deep, self-critical reveries any minute, I can feel it, and we have stuff to do this afternoon, so I'd better nip this one in the bud.

I put down my chopsticks, an irritated growl escaping me that I didn't mean to let out. Not at him, not really, though the complex tangles of his heart have always been a tricky area for me; but for the fact that we're having this conversation at all. I stare at the wall in front of me, and hear myself start talking.

“Danna.” The sharp edge to my voice makes him start; he must have been well away. “I'm only ever gonna say this once, so listen good.” What am I about to say? The connection between my brain and my mouth is getting lost again. I sigh through my nose.

“I would do anything for you.” Oh god, it's gonna be an embarrassing one this time. “I slipped up not long ago, I know it, but I came back to you. So from now on, no matter how crazy, no matter how cruel...I will do anything you ask me.” I sound pissed off, which doesn't really go with my sappy speech, but that silence is growing behind me and I can't stop trying to fill it up. I take a deep breath. “Everything I can do; everything I can be; it's yours.”

My face is glowing scarlet and I'm glad he can't see me; hell, I don't even get half the stuff I just said. But I do know that whatever it means to me, or to him, it's the truth; and I wonder for a moment how we got to this point, from that first day ten years ago when this kid knocked on the Itto-ryu's door and saw him, a cold, hurt, brilliant boy that I thought I would never get close to; maybe I knew it from that second: that I would follow him my whole life, even if my life ends up a damn sight shorter because of it.

Still no reaction behind me, and I might think there was no-one there at all if it wasn't for the frisson of tension in the air between my back and his body. I shrug and go back to my lunch; what the hell is he supposed to say to all that, anyway? Maybe it's enough that I've said it. But no.

“Magatsu,” he murmurs, voice quiet and cracking under the weight of everything he's holding up. Then I jump as a slender arm slides around my shoulder, the first time someone has touched me in this familiar way since o-Ren.

“Danna,” I say softly, enquiringly. His arm tightens, fingers digging into me as he clutches my kimono, and I feel his smooth cheek against the back of my neck as he rests his forehead on my shoulder. I think I'm gonna panic a little now, but I won't let it show; if he needs to let go, so be it. He's leaning lightly against my back, and I feel the horrible tension slowly soften, and when it does he begins to cry, but silently, so that I only know it from the tremors of his body and the dampness on my neck.

I close my eyes, breathing slow and deep. I don't know if I can take this. And I get an inkling of what it must have been like for her, the terrible pressure of being this man's support. But I just told him that I'd do anything. And I'm not as skilled as her, but I'm still strong, strong enough for Anotsu Kagehisa to lean on if he needs to. I cling onto that thought, and I'd damn well better remember it, because the sensations of this moment are making me tremble, with fear, with something else, I don't know.

His breathing and the pace of his heart gradually slow to match mine, and for a few minutes that feel like forever we just sit here, leaning comfortably against one another; I'm still holding my rice bowl uselessly. Then I hear the unmistakable tread of that geezer Abayama in the hall outside, followed by my boss's determined sigh. A cold breeze on my back, and the door opens and shuts; and he's gone without my ever seeing his face.

Complications

We arrive in the dead of night after a couple of hours' run through the woods away from the castle, and when we finally spot the hut, half buried in undergrowth in the hillside, I could just cry with relief.

“There,” Anotsu says, pointing, his narrow chest heaving and the fires of adrenaline still burning in his eyes. I skid to a halt.

“Fuckin'...about time!” I kick the little door open with some difficulty, wrinkling my nose at the musty smell; but they won't find us here tonight. He stalks in ahead of me and I elbow it shut again, plunging us into semi-darkness even on this moonlit night.

I plonk myself down on the dusty boards before my legs give out, and slowly fight to get my breath back, which I'm used to. Maybe I do get royally knackered trying to keep up with my boss each time, but at least I'm consistent. From behind me come the sounds of his tired breathing and rustling cloth as he takes off his bloody outer kimono. I rotate my right arm gingerly; feels like something's jammed in my back, probably from when I tumbled out of that net, and that's just typical of me, isn't it – I can get out of most scrapes, but it always ends up being in the most painful way possible, unlike Anotsu, who could probably fall out of a tree gracefully.

“God dammit.” I keep up a litany of complaints under my breath, exhilaration still racing through me. He laughs softly, and I hear a genuine satisfaction in his voice that's been absent for a long time. I look round as he kneels down behind me in his white underrobe, and his old smile of complicated triumph makes me grin back at him, because I haven't seen it for so long.

“You hurt?” he asks lightly, cutting into my muttering, and I grunt non-committally. Then his fingers are on my arms, running down my back briskly, thumbs probing around my joints and down my spine, making me squirm with discomfort. He leans forward to catch my expression as I swear lightly at him, and raises an eyebrow, pressing his temple against mine for a moment in a gesture of familiarity that I guess is meant to distract me as he manages to get a finger under my right scapula, finding the very spot the waves of pain are coming from. His hands and face are still stained with blood, but that doesn't matter because this kimono has had it in any case.

I yelp and he hooks one arm around my neck, holding me still; it feels like he's trying to pull my shoulder-blade out, but once he's done I realise the pain is gone and I can move my arm freely again. The boss certainly knows his anatomy, as well as he knows my long catalogue of injuries.

“Ahh...that's much better.” I sigh with relief and he makes a satisfied little noise, but doesn't shift away, settling himself comfortably instead and moving his small hands more gently over my back. I recline a little into his touch; I like these rare moments of relaxation, the unencumbered intimacy that's the closest thing to affection either of us is likely to get these days.

“Tonight was fun, wasn't it?” he says gleefully.

“Uh-huh.” I can't remember the last time we really cut loose, or the last time I saw that phenomenal skill in action. It was fun, despite him making me learn that long string of damn complex kanji, the four of us together, the young heart of the Itto-ryu. But now it's just us two, and I can't help wondering about the others' chances, and whether they'll find us in Mito.

I wonder if he knows, somehow, what I'm thinking; he's stopped talking. He winds his arms around me familiarly, his cheek against my neck. Out of the corner of my eye I see the smile on his pretty face soften and sadden. I click my tongue disparagingly.

“We all did the best we could, Boss. No point dwelling on it, right?” His expression doesn't change, and I cover his hands with mine reassuringly.

“Every day...seems like there's less of us. Isaku and Doa, Baro...” He leans forward absently and I turn my head towards him; his elation is slipping away. “And I can't help thinking – what could I have done differently?”

My heart skips and I feel a pleasant little wave of giddiness as he speaks, his delicate mouth an inch from mine. This is what we've come to, in the last few weeks, this light intimacy that would border dangerously on flirting if I didn't know how fixated he is on Makie, if I didn't accept that for both of us this is just a substitute for something we don't have. It's always friendly, playful, the odd caress, his hands casually in my hair or around my neck when he has nothing more pressing to do. But we've been through a lot tonight, and it's only gonna get worse up ahead; and this wistful mood of his is doing something strange to me.

I reach up and touch his cheek softly, then untangle myself from his grip and heave myself to my feet, hearing him sigh behind me.

“We've got a few hours; I'm going to sleep. You should too.” I dig in a corner and pull out the clean haori I stashed there after we'd planned this escapade, then flop down on my back and pull it over me, shutting my eyes determinedly. Then there's silence, except the noises of the night-time woods around us and my own breath. I don't know if we'll ever be so peaceful again.

I'm on the edge of sleep when I feel the air move above me, but I don't open my eyes, just sigh to myself inwardly. A second later my haori is pulled aside; a soft weight settles on my torso, and an arm and a slim leg curl themselves around me. A sudden, sharp pang of something like desire shoots through me, and I open my eyes wide uncomfortably. My boss is lying with his head on my chest, looking completely unconcerned and quietly drowsy. I raise my head.

“Danna. I'm trying to sleep.”

He yawns peremptorily. “I'm not stopping you.” Then it's all quiet again, but I'm hardly peaceful any more. His palm slides absently over the thin cloth that covers my chest. I wonder if he has any idea what he's doing; probably not, but I'm treading very close to the edge of a line that I didn't even know was there, and that for my own peace of mind I shouldn't want to cross. And with a shock I realise suddenly that I do want to as, without me telling it to, my arm wraps companionably around his waist and draws him close.

Lifting his head, his fine, straight hair tickling my neck, he gives me a sleepy smile.

“I love this,” he murmurs simply, narrow eyes for once clear and content. Shit. Shit, this is bad, he's speaking against my lips and for just an instant I know what Makie feels, what he makes her feel without intending it, through this thoughtlessness, and I don't ever want to end up like her but right now I can't help myself: I lean up the fraction of an inch it takes, my pulse hammering; and I kiss him.

For a long moment we're both motionless, he frozen in shock and me unable to move from the awful wanting that has just slammed into me.

“Magatsu,” he whispers after what seems forever, and every movement of his mouth against mine sends a shudder of desire through my body, stronger than I've ever felt for a woman, and I have to let my head fall back to be able to think at all. When I look into his eyes the simplicity is gone, and I see a flash of bitterness that echoes the day I told him I was out of the Itto-ryu; but also a lingering, melancholy need. I'm mostly appalled at what I've just done, that I would do something to make him anything but happy; but a tiny part of me is exulting, because I made him feel something that has nothing to do with anyone else, that has focused his attention entirely on me.

“Magatsu...” He bites his lip, and I can feel his heart racing. “If you do this...it won't be a game anymore.” There's regret in his quiet voice, and passion. “Do you understand?”

I never realised I was so selfish. My hand rises to tangle in his hair, still dirtied with someone else's blood. “I don't want to hurt you,” I tell him earnestly. “I don't expect anything of you. No obligations. But...whatever you give me...I want it.”

The slow burn of relief and doubt on his pale face, and he smiles, and is suddenly so damn beautiful that I can't do anything but kiss him again. He responds this time, and his lithe body presses against mine tantalisingly, no longer the placid closeness of comfort but something much more risky.

I've only been thinking about this for the last five minutes of my life, but for those five minutes I had assumed that kissing Anotsu Kagehisa would be a battle. It's not. To my surprise and slight panic he lets go completely, letting me roll him over, my weight pinning him down as his soft mouth moves beneath mine. What do I do? He opens his arms to me expectantly. Shit. He wants me to lead this, and it comes home to me as never before how much he needs it, something to lean on, someone to shoulder the responsibility for even a moment.

“What're you waiting for?” he demands, a touch of the humorous irritability that we tend to use with each other resurfacing.

“Sorry, danna,” I murmur, blushing stupidly as he reaches up to push my kimono away from my shoulders. I wrap my arms around his slender waist, struggling with the knot of his obi and running my lips over his white skin, smooth and shivering and heavy with the intoxicating scents of sweat and blood and him.

“A-ha.” I let out a triumphant exclamation as I free the long strip of cloth and pull it from around his waist, my hands and mouth moving eagerly of their own accord to touch this man who has owned me for so long.

I undress him in that dark little room, still half unbelieving that we've come to this and that he's letting me do it. When I forget myself and call him by his given name he shudders, his tongue, his teeth nipping hungrily at my neck, his legs wrapped around my hips and clinging to me, so I say it again and he holds me tighter.

“Kagehisa...”

When I finally enter him he grits his teeth with the pain; neither of us really has a clue what we're doing, I was as careful as I could be to make it easy for him, but I understand, as I gaze at his pale face all flushed and pleading, that I'm out of my depth. His narrow eyes are now wide, teeth biting down on his lower lip; a little whine of mixed apprehension and expectancy escapes him and he swears gently, shifting his narrow hips against my supporting hand. The tiny lift of his slender brows urges me forward; I push deeper and he grabs my face with both hands, kissing me roughly to suppress his moan. Running my hand up his back I feel him tremble, waiting for me to move further.

“You ok?” I mutter. My head's spinning with nerves and the utterly bizarre feeling of being so close to him. He nods quickly, his breathing rapid and shallow. I guess I've never been all that sensitive or anything, but I know my boss: he's afraid, and I could kick myself because I should have known it, should never have started this.

“I...I'm ok,” he assures me again, finely boned jaw clenched with the determination that marks a true leader. He flashes me one more complicated little smile, then gasps as I start to move, awkwardly at first because I'm scared of hurting him; until I remember just who it is I've got in my arms, and that he's stronger and more resilient than I could ever hope to be. He tugs me down and holds me close as I finally figure out what's working for him, and now the abandoned glow of pleasure suffuses his aristocratically pale skin, my own limbs dark and unrefined against his slender arms and legs.

“Faster,” he demands, giving me a crooked grin at my laboured breathing; I really gotta work on my stamina. I obey him, as I always have done, and he lets out an exhilarated little laugh that's half way between pain and delight and clings to me tighter, his fingers slipping against the sheen of sweat on my back until he digs his nails into my shoulders. I grimace in discomfort and reach up to grab his hands, pinning his wrists above his head before he does me some real damage; he's so perfect that I can't believe I never noticed it before, his hair, his face, his body all flawless except for the single solitary scar on his shoulder from his mishap in Kaga, the one sign that Anotsu Kagehisa has made mistakes. But I put all those dark associations from my mind, insofar as I still have a mind at all right now, and submerge myself in the preposterous pleasure of this hitherto unthinkable act.

When he climaxes he's completely silent, something I've never encountered before and that would make me worry if it wasn't for the expression on his face, for an instant so intense and vulnerable that it almost doesn't look like him, and I know that later I'll probably think I imagined it. But that one look sends me right over the edge, and as I finally get my release he drags me down and kisses me hard, and just as well because I was about to say something stupid at this ecstatic sensation that I never dreamed he could make me feel; and I understand that it's too late, as I kiss his damp face and pull away from him.

Too late for what? I wonder as the silence drags out, the two of us lying side by side under my haori. That single, bright second of insight has gone, and the gravity of whatever I was feeling is ebbing away in the usual afterglow of physical pleasure; but something ominous remains. He hasn't spoken at all since I let him go. I turn my head to stare into that strong little face.

“Danna.” He slides his gaze towards me and gives me a raised eyebrow, and I can't work out if he's disapproving or just sleepy. “...You regretting this?” I ask awkwardly. He sighs, and really looks at me.

“It would have been better if you hadn't,” he says eventually, his quiet voice satiated and regretful, and I feel a quick stab of guilt. “But since you did, Magatsu...” He makes a face and opens his arms in a gesture that's somehow helpless. “...Hold me. Just for now.”

I shift over without hesitation and draw him into an embrace, and he clings tightly to me, but his touch now is full of complicated significance that makes me feel like I've lost something. I don't know what to say. My haori is slipping off his white shoulders, the dark fabric with his own insignia emblazoned on it, a sign of my enduring loyalty; and as I look at it I remember what's important; I remember my own convictions, and I immediately understand what he needs to hear.

“Danna,” I say again, and he raises his head from my chest at the earnest tone of my voice. “Just listen for a minute, will ya?” He gives me his habitual frown. “You don't have to say anything,” I reassure him lightly, “but we gotta sort this out.” He turns over so that he can lean his forearms on my chest and look me in the face.

“I'm listening.”

“Good.” I scratch my head, and wonder how to phrase this. “Look. I'm never gonna ask you for anything,” I state. The frown deepens, puzzled, and I manage to flash a little grin. “I mean I don't expect anything from you. I know I said I was only gonna say this once, but here it comes again: I'll do anything for you, Boss, I'll follow you anywhere. I don't need a return.” His face is kind of a picture right now, relieved and perplexed and slightly incredulous, so I plough on. “Let's face it, I've been yours since I was a kid.”

“You never said,” he murmurs, slightly suspiciously. I shrug casually and brush the hair back from his face like I used to, as if it was an act of no significance.

“Yeah, well. I never had to. But you kinda look like you're worrying, so best to set you straight right now. Whatever you want to do with me, I'm good with it: no strings, pure relaxation and recreation, right?”

He looks at me hard, for a long moment, and I blush a little from the scrutiny but otherwise contrive to look nonchalant. And all the while I'm wondering if he'll ever appreciate it, the difference between me and her, between what she's asking of him and what I'm determinedly giving up even as I think this. Probably not. I resign myself to it gracefully.

My boss finally chuckles softly, a most welcome sound right about now, and shakes his head. He leans down and kisses me firmly, ruffling my untameable hair, which he knows I find annoying but right now I don't care because I'm so relieved.

“Thanks,” he says simply.

“Welcome,” I mutter. He lies back down then and covers us once more. I take him loosely in my arms and he sighs drowsily, and that sound of returned confidence and comfort swells my heart. I know that in a few short hours we'll be on the move again, chased or chasing, I can't quite figure out which any more but it doesn't matter. I've put myself in this man's hands, I've given myself up to him more than he's ever gonna realise, and that doesn't matter, either, or the fact that he's falling in love with somebody else; none of it matters. Before my eyes close in sleep I take one last look at him, silent and warm and peaceful in my arms.

It's enough. It has to be.

Frost

He doesn't relax in sleep, either. Even lying in my arms he's tense, listening, though he's gathered safely to me as I watch the quiet woods that cradle us in this hollow. His feline eyes flicker behind their stripes of black lashes with every rustle of the bracken and I sigh, letting my back relax against the roots of this tree. It's not that he doesn't trust me, I don't think; we've been through enough together by now that he trusts I'll do my best. But he thinks, he knows - and to my annoyance I know it as well as he does – that once in a while my best isn't good enough.

It was since the Bakufu's treachery, since his illness, that he's got like this, on a constant exquisite knife-edge of tension; sure, he got some release the other day down in Edo – and there's nothing so captivating, not even the most graceful dancer in the capital, as watching Anotsu Kagehisa fight – but now we're back into it.

He moves sleepily as I shift, the increasingly ragged fabric of his travelling kimono making me very aware of what I'm doing, in its friction beneath my hands. But hell, I don't even know what I'm doing, really, out in the wilds with my boss on our way North to god knows what end. Never thought he'd let me come to this, not while he's still raw from the pain of leaving Makie behind. But after everything that's gone on – him taking up with Kagimura, me leaving, finding him again, his crazy marriage, his illness, and then this betrayal by those government scum – the easy familiarity between us has intensified into something else.

“Magatsu.” He speaks without opening his eyes, and I twitch. “Stop staring at me.”

How can he tell? I wonder as I look away determinedly at the treetops. But these days, so many eyes are searching out the leader of the Itto-ryu that he must have gotten ultra sensitive to each distinct gaze. And he knows me better than anyone.

He rolls away from me onto his side, his slim arms curled around his body, and I sigh ruefully. I'm tired, and I'm bored, and yet I still go on, though it's his fault we're out here instead of under a roof, even one of such dubious comforts as the flophouse we passed a few miles back.

“We can't stay there,” he'd said implacably, striding stoically past while I grumbled under my breath. “It's too close to the main road, too dangerous. And I'm not going to be the one to pick the fleas out of your hair.”

So here we are instead, and it's beginning to rain, warm and miserable, flattening my hair as the heavy drops increase. I curb my indignation with difficulty; but this is his fault, and I deserve some kind of payback, right? Warily I lean down, registering how he tenses, and kiss him summarily where his smooth jaw meets the curve of his neck.

“Stop it,” he commands, quiet voice level and unamused as ever.

“No,” I say, taking his arm, but very gently, because I remember what happened between he and his cousin, though he never mentions it, and I can't predict how he'll react even though we've been through this lately a dozen times. He seems even more deceptively delicate in my grip than before, his limbs so slender, the graceful line of his neck as he turns his head away just like a woman's. To me, since everything went down in Kaga, my boss has become like an icicle: cold, beautiful, sharp enough to pierce you through if the time ever comes when he breaks and falls from that lofty ambition he's got going. And fragile, so I'm afraid that any attempt to melt him might make him shatter before me instead.

Shit. When did I start thinking this kind of high-flown crap? It's just him, this man I've known for years, just a guy with a lot of complications. I can deal with that. I've got none myself and I have the good luck to know it, I'm as simple as old Manji, really. And now I know what I want.

I turn him towards me and those narrow eyes open in annoyance and ambiguity as I kiss his closed mouth and wait to see how he's gonna play it this time.

“Magatsu,” he warns, speaking my name in his low voice that can command me so easily in everything but this.

“This is what I want.” I sound like a stubborn kid, which to him, genius leader of a desperate rebellion, I guess I am. He sighs wearily and I kiss him again, his long hair full of pine needles and catching in my hands.

“I should never have let you start this,” he says coldly when I let him speak. His hands are by his sides, doing nothing.

“Well, Boss, you did.” It's starting to rain harder now, and though we're partially sheltered by the branches of this tree the water falls on both of us, dampening his pale face, and I remember his angry tears on the day this all began: something I know he'll never let me see again.

I lean down to him once more and, after a while, what with the quiet and the dark, he begins to melt the way he always does, reluctantly, softening into pliable fluidity with the raindrops. Hah. I knew he'd come round in the end. His lips and his limbs part resignedly and I have a hard time engaging him, though I can feel myself blushing like an idiot at what I'm being permitted to do. But when I speak his given name it's as if something's snapped, I'm overwhelmed by him and kind of pained, his mouth and strong little hands almost vicious with passion. Sometimes I feel like the only reason I'm allowed to do this is so he can vent his frustrations and his stifled fury at the world on my dogged, much-injured body; he knows there'll be no repercussions, no questions or explanations from me.

Because I get why he's hurting; he thinks I don't but it's not hard to figure out, even for me. It's not just his physical injuries – I can feel the raised skin of the scar on his shoulder beneath my fingers, the wound he allowed that stuttering sonofabitch to give him, but that doesn't bother him much – it's something else that he won't put in words.

Fact is, we used to have different dreams, he and I: getting one over on those craven, ineffectual, murdering samurai, that was all I cared about. And the boss did the same, but it was because he wanted back into the hierarchy, just on his terms. The gap between us just got wider after he met Kagimura, he was close, so close to getting his dream, his long-pondered ambition; I know what he planned, to become part of that aristocratic society again and change it for the better coldly, ruthlessly, and he was willing to lose me to do it. He knew I couldn't knuckle under to the Bakufu.

And then suddenly this fucking nightmare of betrayal! I could've warned him it would end up like this, but I doubt things would have turned out any different. He's not the kind of guy to let something like that, hell, anything stop him, that's why I follow him, that's why...But it woke him up from that dream, and he didn't like it. And now he's on the edge, no more stopping the decline of the samurai, no more calculation; just rage, he's teetering on the very brink of letting go and exploding into furious, righteous revenge, and I'll go along gladly. I guess it was a bitter awakening, though, that he needs to cling to me to endure it.

“Magatsu,” he snaps, his small, sharp teeth digging into my neck and making me yelp, “stop thinking.” Not really one of my strong points, to him.

Kagehisa disapproves of kissing, at least that's what he keeps saying. I think he sees it as some odd, foreign, slightly distasteful peculiarity. Me, I'm a farmer, I'm not proud about stuff like that, especially given what some of the other Itto-ryu get up to in their spare time. He says he doesn't care for it. But you'd never know it now, his mouth slipping commandingly against mine, his hands cradling my face, cool against my skin in a way that gives me the shivers. Then his arms are around me, tightly and painfully as ever they were, and this is what I can't get enough of more than anything else, this closeness, and I don't give a shit how weird it is, he's intoxicating.

“Magatsu, Magatsu...” he whispers, letting go of thought himself, a soft song of dismay and awkward pleasure as my hands wander more audaciously. His breath shudders in my ear and his fingers slide beneath my kimono to brush the nape of my neck, one slender leg rising to press against my hip. I'm cold, I'm very close to soaking, something in the undergrowth is prickling me and my ribs are aching from my fall off that damn bridge a while back; but even if someone wandered up the hill and saw us right now I wouldn't want to stop.

I don't know what's gonna become of us, all of us, with Kagehisa the way he is now, so brilliant and enraged. It didn't use to bother me, so long as I could do my thing to the best of my abilities. He's been a marked man as long as he's been on this path, I know it and he knows it, and I used to accept it. But the more he's in my arms the more I'm afraid for what might happen to him, as if I could do anything about it.

Thinking of it, unable to stop thinking after all, I pull him to me and hold him convulsively, more tender than I've ever been with a woman, knowing he'll be angry but I don't care. His breath is warm against my neck for a moment and then he's shoving me away, so strong he is in that small frame.

“Enough,” he mutters, panting, his narrow eyes gleaming and his pretty, aristocratic face flushed in a way that makes me want to jump him again.

“Danna, I -”

“No.” His hand is resting on my chest, holding me off, and even that simple touch sets my pulse hammering. I squirm uncomfortably. “Go to sleep, Magatsu. I'll watch.”

I snort dismally. As if I'll sleep. I look up at him from the flat of my back, his profile dimming in the gathering dark. He's looking away at the trees, his fine jaw clenched; but the line of his body is softer now, less tense, as if I've taken it all into myself. I sigh resentfully, and shut my eyes.

I do sleep, in the end. When I wake up the morning sun is rising above the hill, shining palely through the skeletal trees. The weather's turned and I taste the tang of winter; my damp clothes are shimmering and crisp with a light covering of frost. But I'm warm. His limbs are curled around me peacefully, his face set in sleepy neutrality, poker-straight hair falling softly across his cheek. I look down and groan to myself as it finally hits me. Fuck. Fuck. I love this man. I love a man who can't even cope with the adoration of a beautiful woman; what the hell do I do with this?! He opens his eyes, the colour of dark honey in the sunlight, and for a moment there's no reserve, just his naked, bitter, idealistic self.

Then I hear the crack of a branch and a far-off cough beneath the birdsong, quickly stifled, and warning bells go off in my head and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. He blinks, in an instant is on his feet, every nerve alight, and once more my leader stands before me and I feel that awe again, smothering my other ill-considered emotions. He jerks his head and I follow like the dog I am, yearning, my hackles raised.

Fic: Versus II (Ni x Saki sequel)

Mon, 22 Oct 2007 13:35:15 GMT

Unlooked-for sequel to plotless supposed oneshot Versus (see 5/18/06 post). Because Ni-ya just gets hotter. (sorry, can't type his name right, my sister's laptop has lost the ability to write a squiggly line!) Incidentally, I wrote this bloody ages ago, so the outfit Sakito is wearing is actually that white one from last summer.

Title: Versus II (oooh, where do I come up with these names??)
Band: Naito
Pairing: Ni x Saki
Rating: R
Genre: no-plot, sleaze, mild violence

Enjoy!

Remember the other week? That drunken and very enlightening encounter I had with Sakito, late at night in the studio? Yeah, me too. Oh yes.

I gotta say, I wasn’t sure the next morning if I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing: ice-princess Sakito, naked in my arms begging for me to hurt him? Yeah, very likely.

But at practice the next day I watched him closer than usual, and after catching one flash of those dark, uneasy, amorous eyes of his and the faint outline of a bruise well hidden under makeup, I knew it was true.

And I remember what he promised me, after I gave him what he wanted, I remember the reason this whole thing started in the first place; and there is the reason, sitting cross-legged opposite Yomi and scoffing down noodle cup like it was going out of fashion. I look speculatively at our youngest member, at his earnest face and sweet, sweet smile even if it is made by a mouthful of metal, and know he’ll never get Sakito by himself, not now I know what it is that Sakito needs. And he’s so in love with Sakito it only seems fair… What a great person I am.

I’ve been watching Sakito all the time since then, to see if he’s been doing what I told him. And, after a fashion, he has. No-one can turn on the charm like him, it seems, and he’s been exercising it on Hitsu at every opportunity, sharing his lunch, sharing his seat, making as much body contact as possible and in general being nice as pie.

Doesn’t seem to have made much difference though to tell the truth, even though every time I catch Sakito alone I slam him up against a wall and reiterate my instructions into his pretty ear over his unsteady, excited breathing.

I sigh to myself. Looks like we’ll have to try something else. I move up behind Sakito, who is standing there looking like he just fell from heaven and nibbling something calorie-free. His skin goosebumps as he registers my proximity. I lean one arm companionably on his slender shoulder and with the other I run my nails lightly down his back.

“When we finish the photoshoot we’re going back to the studio, right?” I ask brightly. He nods apprehensively.

“Fine. Next break we have, go and wait in that one room down the corridor.”

“Why?” he whispers nervously.

“Never mind why”, I hiss back, jabbing him in the hip. “Just be there.”

Later, when Yomi and Hitsugi are engaged in tea and biscuits and Ruka’s sitting there looking as unresponsive and out of it as usual, I slip out of the room and down the corridor to the adjacent studio. I can’t recall who usually uses it, but apparently they’re on tour now and it’s empty, half-dark and silent.

When I get in there I see Sakito standing near the back wall, slim arms wrapped around his scantily clad self. Immediate tension as he registers me and freezes, giving me that rabbit-in-the-headlights stare that I’m getting to like more and more. Well it’s very flattering, to think that I’m the only guy that little mister perfect has ever looked at with real desire.

I advance on him slowly and he doesn’t back away this time, just starts to shiver imperceptibly. I stop a foot away from him, letting my eyes run up and down his willowy frame, his white skin shimmering faintly under the dimmed lights. Honestly, I think the wardrobe girls spend about three seconds thinking up Sakito’s costumes these days: two tiny tea-towels and a sliver of PVC, that pretty much sums it up. Not that any of us are complaining.

“Well. How’s it coming along?” I ask, loving the way he flinches at the sound of my voice, the faint worried crease between his feathery eyebrows. I know he knows what I’m talking about, but he just drops his gaze in pretended confusion, onyx eyes hidden behind a long veil of dark lashes.

“It’s, I mean, I -”

“Have you got him yet?” Is he deliberately trying to antagonise me? Probably. I take another step forward, now I can feel the heat coming off him, his bare skin almost brushing my shirt. “You’ve been very sweet to Hitsu this last week. I’ve been watching you. So, has it worked?”

He shakes his pretty head, luxurious braided hair extensions cascading like a black river down his back.

“I didn’t think so.”

“He doesn’t seem to be able to take a hint!” he protests softly, his low, quiet voice vibrating with apprehension just on the edge of hearing. I grin inwardly; Sakito is so easy to steer now I have the key, as it were. I reach out and run my fingers gently down his neck, feeling the pulse skip under his skin. He still doesn’t look at me.

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough”, I suggest conversationally. “Don’t you think?”

Now he meets my eyes and I see a mutinous little spark in his gaze that tells me I’m right.

“Maybe because it’s not what I want.”

That won’t do at all, I think to myself. Swiftly I backhand him across the face, not viciously but hard enough that he stumbles backwards against the wall. Then he lets out a yelp of pained surprise and pushes himself upright, quick as a shot as the backs of his slim thighs come into contact with the radiator. I raise an eyebrow, lean forward and touch it gingerly for a couple of seconds. It’s uncomfortably hot but not scalding; trust Sakito to be bloody super-sensitive.

“Stay where you’re put”, I purr at him, fake anger but it seems to convince him. I press up against him, my body airless-tight against his, pushing him back to the soundproofed wall, my hands capturing his delicate wrists. He doesn’t cry out this time, just inhales a sharp, pained breath; and now his eerily beautiful face, inches away from mine, holds an expression of tremulous, uneasy pleasure.

“Does it hurt?” I whisper; he nods and I press my cheek against his, rubbing my mouth across the fine skin of his neck, pale as milk, tasting the faint tang of fear and arousal. Sakito really is one peculiar guy.

“I don’t get you”, I murmur between kisses. “Didn’t it hurt just then, too? Why do you like it now?”

“I… I just…”

“Hmm?” I release one of his wrists to tug on his dark, shining fall of hair.

“Let me up”, he pleads, whispering. “I can’t think…”

I wrap an arm around his tiny waist and pull him forwards. He sighs, relieved, and steadies himself against me; I let my hand caress the back of his thigh, feeling the pliant flesh flicker with red heat beneath my fingers. He lets out another sigh, this time one of satisfaction, and seems to move even closer if that were possible. Dammit. I’m getting turned on again and I distinctly remember telling myself that this would be a strictly philanthropic encounter. I wonder if he’s being deliberately manipulative; maybe I should stop it now, but I’m actually kind of interested in exactly what makes him tick.

“So what is it with you?” I continue, trying to sound objective and in control. “I know pain’s your thing.”

Amazingly he appears to contradict me, shaking his head, although he seems a little dazed and I’m not a hundred percent sure he knows what I’m asking.

“You’re wrong”, he manages. “Pain like that doesn’t get me off”.

I stare at him sceptically and then he stares right back, his voice dropping to a low, sure whisper.

“It’s taking pain because you want me to feel it. That’s what I love.”

His eyes are stupid with yearning, and at his words I figure screw it; I deserve to play a little for being such a great guy; and besides, I can’t help it. I lean down and kiss him deeply, loving the way he yields so desperately, his mouth slipping against mine in fevered craving as I run my hands over his abundance of bare skin. He parts his perfect lips obediently at a nudge from my tongue and I taste him again, I don’t think I could ever get enough of this; but I’m sure I had some point to make.

When I tear my mouth away from his he moans quietly, a little soft song of protest that makes me want to kiss him again, lose myself in the contact but I don’t. Instead I drag my hands bruisingly over his gently curving hips and rip away the sheer white fabric, the flimsy buckle giving under the force and leaving him practically naked in his tiny shorts. I tug him against me, resting my chin on his shoulder so I can see down his back, and yank his arms up behind him, using the fabric to tie each wrist to the opposite elbow. A pretty gasp of pleasure and he presses himself harder against me as if we were fused together.

“Stop it”, I mutter into his neck, the feeling of his hip against my groin very distracting. I tug hard to make sure he’s bound securely, smiling faintly as I note the gentle dip where the fabric bites into his taut flesh.

With that I step back, half relieved to be removed from that intoxicatingly subservient body; I caress his graceful neck with one hand, feeling myself being gazed at rapturously, an unusual but pleasant feeling. I pull myself together.

“You’re really going to have to try harder, Sakito.”

Again that pretty furrowing of his brow. I have no idea why Sakito persists in acting like a brainless beauty at moments like this; there’s a quick intellect in there somewhere, though you wouldn’t think it from the half-glazed, dumbly begging look he’s giving me. It’s absolutely infuriating. I still my soothing fingers and press my thumb lightly into the hollow at the base of his soft throat. As I increase the pressure he lets out a tiny, hitching whine and his bewitching eyes flutter closed, he leans into the breathless pain hopefully. Looks like I was way off the mark if I expected this to get his attention, he looks more spaced out than ever.

I breathe a short, irritated sigh through my nose. I hope I get some gratitude from someone for all this trouble I‘m going to. Abruptly I score a sharp line down his breastbone with one long nail, no longer caring if I mark him, just wanting his attention back on me. There’s that famous self-centredness again; Sakito takes it for granted that the world revolves around him, but just because it’s true doesn’t mean he can get uppity about it.

“Ahh!” That got his attention at least. The eyes are open again and fixed on me, his smooth skin beginning to slick with sweat at the intensity of the sensations he’s been feeling. I fold my arms.

“I’ll agree with you that nice probably isn’t going to cut it with Hitsu. He’s so nice himself that he’ll just think you’re a lovely person, and we both know that isn’t true by now, right?”

Sakito wisely maintains silence at this point, waiting like a superb piece of sculpture for me to get where I’m going. Where was I going? Oh yeah.

“So if you can’t make nice work, let’s try nasty.”

“What?”

“Come on Sakito, you’re band leader. I’ve heard you nag Ruka, I know you can be a bitch when you want to.”

Hah. Band leader. Who’d believe it if they saw us now. He’s looking delightfully perplexed still. How the hell am I supposed to keep cool in the face of so much shattering beauty? I close the distance between us instantly and kiss him again roughly and he returns it ravenously. He understands that, anyway. I twist my hand into his black locks, pulling forcefully but steadily until he has to break away from my mouth and either kneel or lose a fistful of hair. I keep my hold on it, tilting his head back so I can see his face.

“It’ll be easy. You know how fine the line is between anger and desire. For you it doesn’t even seem to fucking exist. Make him angry enough to hurt you and he’s yours.”

He looks unsure about this leap of logic so I slap him sharply across the left cheek, twice in quick succession and add, “See? Desire.”

He nods, the mark of my hand glowing red across his high cheekbone, leans forward tentatively as though he’s unbalanced by his tied hands, and presses his elegant mouth to my stomach, the small strip of skin where the bottom of my shirt is unbuttoned. His lips are warm and silky, and I know I shouldn’t have let him get this far because it’s going to be impossible to back away from him now. He lowers his head to kiss my growing arousal through cloth and my fingers dig into his scalp involuntarily; I pull his head back sharply enough to make him wince.

“So, will you try it my way?” I ask, determined to get something productive out of this before he touches me again and I kiss coherent thought goodbye. He raises those dark eyes to me again with a mixture of demand and naivety.

“I will, if…”

“Fine, fine”, I butt in, as though this were a tedious chore. I loosen my grip on his hair and watch with mixed amusement and impatience as his mouth makes contact again, his small white teeth tugging at the button of my trousers. A small, frustrated sound from deep in his throat. I’m pretty sure he won’t be able to do it, not without his hands free, especially since I’m guessing he has little practice, not aloof, unavailable Sakito.

I help him out with my left hand, a little tingle running up my spine as he delicately covers one of my fingers with his mouth, muted, earnest touch. Then my underwear is down around my thighs and I know I’ll look incredibly and immensely stupid if anyone walks in right now, but who the hell cares. An anxious glance from his mahogany eyes, then his pink tongue flicks out to meet the tip of my arousal and I really wish I had something to lean against right now. He looks up at me for approbation and seems to see it, because now his lashes hide those beautiful eyes sultrily and his refined mouth covers the head of my erection, tongue stroking the underside deliciously. I can’t help it, my nails dig into his skin where I’m holding onto his hair, the spiralling, visceral sensation of it too delightful, and I tug his lovely head forward till I’m deeply inside him.

He makes a little panicked sound and his throat tightens; I realise he has no idea what he’s doing and let him pull himself back, even though it feels so good it’s a wrench to leave the warmth of his mouth. He coughs lightly once or twice, waiting to see whether or not I’ll hit him. I just twine my hand more tightly in his dishevelled hair, guiding him back to my dick.

“Slow down”, I tell him, and he nods and begins again, skin flushed faintly and his cheekbone beginning to bruise. I guide the pace for him, relishing the little sounds that issue from his throat and the feeling of his lips moving over my sensitised skin. I always knew Sakito was smart… after some practice he’ll be phenomenal, most likely. I begin to thrust gently into his mouth, moving faster; he spreads his knees further to balance, I hear a surprised, muffled gasp and I can’t think clearly at all now, completely lost in the physical.

“Sakito…”

I never thought I’d say his name with such desire and I guess he never thought so either, because he finds some reserve of energy somewhere, taking me deeper and deeper until I think my knees might collapse; my stamina is no match for his inexperienced fervour and I bite my lip to stop myself yelling out loud as I climax, feeling him freeze, trying to fight his gag reflex.

I blink down at him stupidly but eventually manage to unclench my hands and release his hair, panting like I’ve run a race. I’m so bloody unfit. He sinks down, gulping in warm air in between coughs. I make myself decent again and crouch down in front of him, taking hold of his chin gently and tilting his head up to face me. He’s never looked more exquisite, large eyes wide and damp, fine skin blushing like a sunrise through porcelain, struggling to relax his breathing.

“You did want this”, I remind him, not wanting him to regret it too much. He nods tremulously, waiting for the slap and when I deliver it he smiles for the first time.

“Good.” It’s still unfathomable to me as I look at Sakito that I’m the first person to be so intimate with him. How lucky can you get?! I untie him and then give him a long, slow stare, taking in the scratches on his chest, the hot red mark on the back of his long leg, the bruising along his cheekbone. Unlikely as it is, he blossoms further with every wound I deal him and now looks so lovely it’s hard to stick to my great plan. But I didn’t go to all this effort for nothing.

I stand up and straighten my clothing.

“Sort yourself out”, I tell him brusquely. “And then we’ll see how cruel you can be.”

I leave him looking half satisfied and half agitated, and walk purposefully out of the room. Then I shut the door behind me and run to sit in the bathroom until I’m calm enough to go back to work.

*************************************
Not sure if this is really going anywhere. It's not exactly plausible. Still, thanks for putting up with it all the way to the bottom!

The Luckiest - Chapter Seven final chapter!!

Tue, 25 Sep 2007 16:12:59 GMT

Well. Who would have thought it would come to this? That I'd actually finish a fic. After a mere year-long procrastination.
Dedicated to my sister, and my lovely supportive Sabacat, for wanting this to be finished and giving me the proverbial fighting spirit!

Here it is then, and pardon the lack of plot and the rampant cheesiness!

Chapter Seven

Ni~ya-chan wiggles his door key in the lock fruitlessly, swearing fluently and creatively under his breath at the general injustices of snow, frostbite and unhelpful boyfriends.

“Just take your damn gloves off and hurry up,” I complain, peering over his shoulder impatiently, my breath crystallising in the freezing air.

“Well - if you’d put down that garden centre for two seconds and - help - me,” he mutters, struggling to push the frost-sealed door open.

“Hell no.” I’ve been hanging on to Yomi’s ridiculously oversized bouquet all through dinner in the anticipation of romantic manoeuvres in the dark, and it’s coming apart; I’ll be damned if I drop it now.

Ni~ya-chan snarls in exasperation and slams his shoulder against the door, finally bursting it open and allowing a wave of warmth to hit us. I follow him into the hall, gratefully shutting out the night air, and watch him appreciatively as he strides moodily ahead of me, gracefully and thoughtlessly stripping off his coat, scarf and gloves. I pick them up with one hand from the floor where he’s dumped them (I don’t care how domestic and prissy it is, I cannot stand mess!), and reflect on how embarrassingly teenage-boy horny it makes me just to watch one man take off his outerwear.

As I stand there, gawking at him and trying to curb the stoned-zombie expression that he says I always wear at critical moments, I feel the tastelessly gargantuan heap of roses start to slip from their cellophane out of my arms. Bugger bugger. I dart through into the bedroom and dump them on the quilt before they slice up my arms any more. Huh. Looks pretty classy, though I do say so myself.

I dim the lights romantically and poke my head back out into the hall. Ni~ya-chan is in front of the mirror, making a variety of macho expressions and talking to himself.

“I think I might go platinum next, what d’you reckon?” he asks, flicking his inky hair around in a sweeping halo like a Pantene advert. I smirk.

“Do as you please, Ni~ya-chan. Couldn’t make you any more vain than you are now.”

“Hmph. Well, I don’t hear any complaints coming from you,” he reasons, that crookedly seductive smile appearing on his pale face as he advances towards me. I gulp. Why, why is this man so damn attractive? How am I supposed to keep my cool as the super-sexy disinterested dominant type while he’s sliding his arms around me, making my pulse skip so over-excitedly? I hear my breathing pick up speed shamefully and he kisses me with perfect assurance, the spike of metal in his lip brushing my mouth. I need to do something about this, and right now.

I grab hold of his necktie and glare down at him in a hopefully no-nonsense manner. His grin widens and I yank him forward into the bedroom, where he stops short at the oh-so-tasteful and amorous spectacle that I’ve conjured up on the bed. One dark eyebrow shoots up.

“Romantic, eh?” I boast, still holding onto his tie like a lead.

“Ruka, you are so lame.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.” I push him backwards towards the bed, or at least I intend to. He doesn’t actually move an inch. It’s at times like this that I regret how strong he is; I have the nagging feeling it makes me look like a damn fool.

“You have got to be joking,” he declaims loudly, breaking the mood quite successfully and folding his arms in his quintessentially stubborn way.

“Come on, Ni~ya-chan,” I coax, sounding sadly like my father trying to get the family dog into the bath. “It’ll be cute.”

“That’s fine for you to say,” he contends, still not budging, “you’re not the one who’ll be picking spikes out of his butt for the next week!”

I sigh. “Ni~ya-chan, you are going to get on that bed right now and be ravished.”

An amused glare. “Make me, Ruka-san.” Oh. So that’s what he wants.

“Fine.” I lunge at him and he skips backwards out of the way. A thoroughly enjoyable wrestling match ensues, though possibly with more groping than would be considered acceptable as standard. I’m slightly afraid he’s gonna kick my ass at one point, Ni~ya-chan’s pretty quick, and just as I catch him he wriggles out of his shirt and elbows me in the side, making me lose my breath disconcertingly. However. Eventually I manage to pin his arms behind his back, and while he’s trying valiantly to kick me in the head I pick him up bodily and dump him (gently - I’m not a total bastard) on the rose-strewn bed.

He yowls at an ear-piercing volume as his body connects, and tries to hit me. I lean back and he glares at me like a perfect little demon. I hold my questionable temper in check admirably.

“Move, Ni~ya-chan, and you’ll make it a whole lot worse for yourself”, I tell him smugly. He seems to see the sense in that and lies still, giving me the evil eye all the while. I carefully move some of the stems out of the way to make room for my knees, then crawl predatorily up the bed until I’m kneeling above him. His muscles tense beneath his smooth skin as my shadow falls over him, and his black eyes meet mine with the flash of apprehension that I’ve been waiting for before his thick lashes cover them. I lean down then and kiss him, letting my weight press him down into the flowers, releasing their dizzyingly strong scent, catching his gasp as the bare flesh of his back meets thorns. For a long moment he doesn’t move, just breathes very deliberately. Then he kisses me back, a slight tremor in his mouth the only sign that he feels anything.

“Ni~ya-chan, are you ok?” I murmur, stroking the side of his face tentatively in case he tries to bite me or something. I feel him nod then gasp again more sharply.

I lean up on one elbow in a small patch of clear duvet, the fabric of my shirt catching irritatingly on stems. Ni~ya-chan lies motionless beneath me, his pitch-dark hair caught amidst the flowers, his pale skin shimmering with sweat, carefully regulating each pained exhalation. He is beautiful. He’s so beautiful that I get lost in it for a minute, forgetting even to touch him, forgetting almost to breathe in the seditiously erotic juxtaposition of his body against mine. I snap myself out of it and slide my hand lightly down his chest, captivated by the shiver of skin beneath my fingers.

“If you want to stop, I won’t mind,” I reassure him, hoping he’s taking this in. He opens one coal-black eye and focuses on me.

“If I wanted to stop, believe me, you’d know about it,” he whispers, and manages a pale ghost of his radiant smile. I lean down again to kiss his throat, feverishly hot beneath my lips, and he lifts one hand to cradle the back of my neck, a tiny suppressed moan escaping him at the movement of his bicep against the thorns.

I work my way down his torso, soft caresses and sharp nips, the taste of his damp skin a powerful stimulant to my already over-eager body, my hands blindly removing his clothes and pushing aside flowers as I go. He’s as hard as I am, and as I start to touch him he kisses me forcefully on the mouth, hand grabbing my hair, torn between pleasure and the pain that motion causes him. I pause until he’s almost squirming beneath me in frustration.

“Please.” His grip on my hair tightens painfully, but his voice is fragile and splintering, tremulous. A sudden stab of guilt rocks me. Shit. I never want to hear Ni~ya-chan that close to tears again, not after what happened at the onsen. I stroke his hair gently, the flowers’ short spines abrasive through my clothing.

“Please... what, Ni~ya-chan?”

He shakes his head distractedly.

“Just... do something,” he manages, fair skin flushed and trembling wherever my lips touch it. He looks up at me and once again his black eyes capture me and hold me, reminding me like a blow to the chest just how much he owns me, how little point there is trying to deny him anything.

“Ok, Ni~ya-chan, just... stay there a sec,” I say in a moment of terminal idiocy.

He raises an eyebrow at me.
“You sure? Thought I might pop out for some ramen,” he mutters between laboured breaths. Sarcastic to the last, that’s my Ni~ya-chan.

I shuffle backwards ungracefully and he breathes a sigh of relief as the removal of my weight takes some of the pressure off his bare form. Hanging off the end of the bed, I peer underneath it (tentatively, in case of a nasty shock of the arachnid kind) and, after a period of un-erotic upside-down scrabbling, extract the lube that invariably gets lost under there. Hauling myself back up I push aside as much vegetation as possible; while I have no intention of removing all my clothes, I still don’t fancy being scratched all to hell for the sake of getting us off. Ni~ya-chan lifts himself up on his elbows to let me brush away roses from underneath him, co-incidentally pressing himself against me at the same time.

“Have some fortitude,” I scold him hypocritically as he undoes my pants with practiced expertise. I bite down gently on his perfect pale neck and push two lubed fingers into him; he squirms delightedly, ignoring the remaining thorns, and lets out an unashamedly gratified cry. Guess Ni~ya-chan cares even less for his neighbours’ peace and welfare than I ever did.

“Keep quiet, please,” I mutter, intent on my mission to turn him into a ball of quivering, helpless hunger. When I think he won’t hold on any longer and he’s murmuring incoherent threatening epithets into my ear, I enter him slowly, slowly. Ni~ya-chan hates to go slow, he says it overtakes his senses so badly that he can’t even think, and he digs his nails into my shoulders pleadingly. I don’t want to move too fast because I’m scared for his skin against those plants, but he drags my head down and kisses me ravenously, wrapping himself around me like I’m the only solid thing in his world, and I forget what I thought. I forget everything and let him dictate the pace, aware of nothing but him, his mouth against mine, until it feels like I’ve never touched anything but him and never want to again. One of his hands is buried in my hair, the other tangled in the sheets and thorns, grasping them convulsively as we get closer to the edge; and from somewhere at a distance I hear myself telling him that I love him, I love him, only him, Ni~ya-chan, and then his triumphant, ecstatic laugh pushes me over and I climax, a shattering orgasm that slams through my body and makes me wave coherent thought goodbye.

Ni~ya-chan kisses me and he’s still laughing, his slim chest heaving as his breathing slows, and now it’s a sated laugh that curls around my senses like liqueur. He looks up at me, his gaze more familiar than my own.
“You are all mine.”

****

An hour later and I’m back in my housewifely role. Somehow it’s impossible to feel suitably manly while brandishing a dustpan and brush, even if one has just screwed one’s lover senseless in the most raunchy, nosebleed-inducing manner since 9 1/2 Weeks. I suck the side of my thumb ruefully, having managed to pierce myself quite successfully on these damn flowers during my room-cleaning odyssey.

I hear some more disgruntled splashing and stick my head around the bathroom door.. Ni~ya-chan is still in the tub, still complaining at the top of his voice and still wearing an expression of incorrigibly possessive smugness. He brushes wet hair out of his face and wriggles further down into the warm water.

“I am lacerated,” he moans despondently, craning to see over his shoulder. I wince at the sight of his perfect back covered with fine pink lines. “I shan’t be able to have sex for a month.”

“Don’t worry, Ni~ya-chan,” I reassure him as I return to my cleaning, “you’re just as good on your knees.” A wet projectile sponge hurtles past me and I snigger.

“I hope we screwed up Yomi’s plan enough for it to be a success,” muses Ni~ya-chan cryptically. I lean on the hoover speculatively.

“Huh. I wonder what they’re doing?”

Ni~ya-chan splashes happily.
“I expect it’s suitably warped. A dwarf and a sex siren, it’s an ideal situation, right?”

“Right...”

*******************************************

I can’t believe this is happening to me. Seriously. Let’s take a look at me: I’m pretty blameless in the general scheme of things; I’m a great role model for several thousand teenage girls; I’m not completely socially inept. So why, why, does every attempt I make at romancing my best friend turn into an absolute farce from beginning to end? Please, God, just tell me.

I hunch despairingly in one corner of the taxi, feeling the burning blush of embarrassment and general failure spread across my face in the silence. I shoot a quick glance at Sakito as he lounges stylishly opposite me; he’s looking absently at the road, his face in the scattered light ghostly beautiful, if sooty. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I doubt whether tonight, after this whole debacle, is going to feature high up on his list of Top Ten Dates, but his expression is as inscrutable as usual.

As we arrive in the quiet suburb where he lives, Saki shakes himself awake and pays the driver with perfect poise and composure, sparing me one quick come-hither glance from his onyx eyes. I drag myself out and trail him up to his door. He makes to step inside and I dither behind him, unnerved by his silence; sighing unreadably, he sets one finger between my shoulder blades and propels me through the door. This is freaking me out. I hike off my shoes and sneak a look at Saki: his eyebrows are locked in a slight frown, delicate mouth set determinedly, and with misgiving I notice that one of his eyes is twitching slightly. What is going on?! He was being so nice to me before!

“Saki... are you... mad at me or something?” I ask tentatively. He doesn’t answer me, just narrows his eyes and points me towards the living room. I obey with alacrity, visions of bizarre revenge-movie retributions playing out insistently in my head. Am I gonna get paid back now for the way I treated him before?

I sit myself down on Saki’s super-duper Arabian Nights-style couch and steel myself for my day of reckoning. And then, as I tense up, I hear from the kitchen the unmistakable sound of someone unsuccessfully trying to muffle a fit of giggles with a tea-towel. Huh? Is this some kind of practical joke? Am I gonna be punk’d? After all the stress I’ve just gone through?!

Perplexed, indignation rising, I leap off the sofa and march down the hallway, about to lift my swearing ban in order to bawl him out.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” I yell. Another shriek of laughter. I enter the kitchen. Sakito is leaning against the worktop for support, not even bothering to hide his hilarity anymore, tears of mirth streaming down his face and slim shoulders shaking.

“Sakito!” is all I can blurt out at this point, baffled and outraged. He splutters incoherently, trying to get himself under control.
“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that!” I say, mustering all the dashing irony I can.

“Oh, god... Yomi... I’m so, so sorry,” he manages. My face must be a picture at this point. I meet his eyes and that sends him off again into peals of uncontrollable laughter. I am flabbergasted. I’ve never seen Saki this discomposed (or insensitive) in my life. What could possibly be so funny?! I wisely decide to play the waiting game and stand there with my arms akimbo, waiting for him to turn back into a rational human being. He takes some deep, steadying breaths and stands up straight, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again, sounding genuinely contrite. “It’s just...” He reaches out to stroke my hair affectionately, apparently oblivious to my death-ray glare. “That was the funniest night of my life.”

Oh. That’s just perfect. So all that silence, all those foreboding expressions, were just his desperate attempt to keep from breaking down with mirth in public, from laughing at my cataclysmic social disaster? My cooking, my flowers, my near towering inferno... all wrapped up as Sakito’s comedy event of the year. I feel my shoulders slump dejectedly. Why do I bother? Why am I carrying on this perpetual competition with the ghosts of Saki’s past lovers? Why can’t I give up?

As this is running through my brain, Sakito’s perfect eyes widen. Presumably he’s noticed my stricken expression; he moves closer and sets his hands on my shoulders firmly.

“Yomi.” I meet his suddenly understanding gaze. He gives me the slightest of familiar shakes, a small, more acceptable smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I am sorry. For laughing. But I’m not sorry for tonight.” Huh? “You promised me fun, remember? And it was. Maybe not in the way you were intending; but honestly, Yomi, I’ve had so many dinner dates I can’t even count them. This, though. This was totally, one hundred per cent you. And I love you. Not whatever romantic ideal you think you should live up to. Do you understand?”

As Saki comes to the end of this speech, I realise my mouth is hanging open gormlessly. What he’s saying... it makes precious little sense to me, and one could take it as an insult. Sakito’s mind runs deeper than mine, it seems. But, but, but, insists my hindbrain, just accept this peace offering and run with it!
I groan. The things I’ll go through for him.
“Okay, okay... I guess it was kind of funny. In a way. A mortifying way.”

Saki nods at me firmly as if I’m a bright kindergartener who’s worked out a tricky maths problem. Still holding onto my shoulders, he steers me carefully back in the direction I came, until I’m in the living room once more and stumbling down into the embracing softness of the couch. Saki sinks down beside me, leaning over me and pushing me backwards inexorably, all gently tumbling hair and dark velvet. A smile that I’ve never seen before blossoms on his delicate mouth, so subtly sensual that it sends a ripple of prickling shivers up my back. He reaches for me, and the smudges of soot on his face and the faint scent of smoke that still clings to him dredge up the word ‘incubus’: an exquisite demon sent from the depths to drag me down with him. Pardon the corny allusion, but you can’t imagine what it’s like for me at this moment, seeing this expression on Sakito’s hitherto frustratingly innocent face.

“Saki...” I whisper, feeling that insufferable mixture of yielding softness and insistent desire that torments me when I dream about him. I remember the last time we were this close, in this room, and his impassioned speech about taking things slowly, wanting it to be different with me.

“This is my choice,” he murmurs, that fiery smile still on his lips, apparently divining exactly what I’m thinking. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

I nod automatically, it must look as though I’ve been hypnotised but I can’t do anything else now that I’m pinned under the blazing sweetness of his gaze. His smile fades as he pulls me closer. I remember myself long enough to take one breath, and then he kisses me.

Remember the first time Sakito kissed me? On the roof, in the pouring rain? No, it’s not the sort of thing I’d forget, either. This is one hundred, one thousand times more than that. I’m aware of thinking, for one fleeting nanosecond, that it’s a good job I’m lying down because my limbs have stopped working, and that’s as far as I get.

I estimate that my brain kicks back in about five seconds later, and physical sensation returns with the force of a thunderclap. I’m shivering as though I’m sick, even as my arm slides around Saki’s neck and I cling desperately to the thick velvet of his jacket. I’m acutely aware of his slight weight against my body, his hand moving skilfully through my hair as he kisses me harder, pressing me back against the warm silk drapes of the sofa. One arm slides unobtrusively under me, and he tugs me closer with a fierce possessiveness I’ve never encountered in him before, his lips now trailing kisses down my throat. Then he stops, and even though my mouth is free to speak, I’m incapable of saying anything; I clutch him desperately, thinking I’ll die if he lets me go now. He grabs hold of my chin and takes an appraising look at my face. I manage to focus in on him: his ivory skin is glowing with a faint flush, but other than that he looks utterly in control. His dark eyes flash mischievously.

“Are you ok, Yomi? Should I stop?” he asks, and I want to scream but I can’t, I can barely even shake my head, just press myself tighter against him pleadingly. I never even knew it was possible to feel this aroused. That explosive smile spreads across his face again and I distractedly play a litany of unsexy images across my brain in a heroic effort to prevent an unfortunate and premature turn of events occurring.

Saki starts to slowly move backwards, climbing smoothly to his feet, and I follow him like a puppet on a string with my hands fumbling at his jacket buttons and his eyes still locked on mine. His grin takes on an amused edge as he backs away, weaving between the furniture, and I step where he steps, a little glaze-eyed robot. He draws me into his bedroom and I say a quick thank-you to any gods that are listening for letting it get this far; and as I’m offering up this silent little prayer Saki spins us around one hundred and eighty degrees and sets one elegant hand on my chest, pushing me over into an ungainly sprawl on the preposterously expansive bed. Thank you, thank you, lord!

“Hey. Yomi,” Saki breathes darkly, so incandescently beautiful in the dim light that I catch my breath. “Get ready.”

I feel like weeping with gratitude that my life has finally amounted to this. Then I decide that it would be a waste of valuable time, and instead settle for ripping off my sweater and t-shirt in one go, not even bothering to try and look in control. I’m struggling with my socks in an ungainly manner when my eye catches a movement. I look up. Sakito is languidly removing his clothing, refined and graceful and looking for all the world like there isn’t a rampantly turned-on half-naked midget sitting in front of him. I freeze, one foot up in the air, and watch raptly as pale skin is revealed inch by inch, a mind-numbingly seductive unveiling that has nothing cheap or tawdry about it whatsoever. Can Saki help it that just the normal act of taking his clothes off would put the world’s classiest strip-artist to shame?

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen Sakito naked before. I dare say half of Japan has, he’s not exactly shy. But at this moment, as he stands here like a male, Asian, much-hotter version of the Venus de Milo, I can’t conceive how there could be anything more beautiful in the entire world. And I’m not ashamed of my body, but in the face of such utter perfection I want to curl up and hide. Luckily for me, this feeling is outweighed by the desire to jump on him right now.

Before I can take a flying leap, however, Saki has let the last item of clothing drop to the floor, and without so much as a pause sinks regally down beside me, calmly reaching for me and engaging me in another mind-melting kiss. I close my eyes and happily go with it, the sensation of my skin against his a sweet torment of friction. His hand is trailing down my back in soothing motions that are somehow pure torture; I hear myself emit a faint moan of impatient pleasure, and feel his satisfied smile under my kiss before he pulls back. He takes a long, amused, loving look at me.

“You are so cute,” he says at last, stroking my nose affectionately. In anyone else this would be a certified passion-killer. But Saki just lowers his head and begins to kiss his way down my body, agonizingly slowly, his expert hands sliding over my waist. His tongue brushes fastidiously over a nipple and I gasp; he repeats the action and moves on, playing my body like a maestro, attuned to every breath I take, every sound I let escape. Leisurely he unbuttons my trousers, somehow managing to remove the remainder of my clothes without checking the movement of his mouth in its cruelly pleasurable path down my stomach. I’m almost giddy with excitement by now, my body singing in every place he’s touching me; his fingertips brush my arousal and my hands move by themselves to tangle in the sheets.

“Please,” I hear myself whisper, blatantly begging but I don’t care. He shoots me one last, lascivious smile, cheeks flushed delicately, before closing his mouth over me. I grit my teeth as a wave of bliss hits me, trying not to cry aloud with the sheer, provoking brilliance of this feeling. Saki does this like he does everything else, delicately, precisely and with earth-shattering skill. My breath is coming fast, in unsteady gulps, and yet I can’t seem to get enough air to balance my spiralling dizziness; I try desperately to hold on, not give in too soon to this toe-curling ecstasy. And I’m approximately three seconds away from doing so when Saki stops and sits up, flicking his cinnamon hair back from his face, and I want to scream with disappointment but can only manage an embarrassingly needy whimper.

“Do you want more?” he asks pointlessly, one hand whispering light touches along my thigh, making me wriggle beneath him in fruitless desire.

“Sakito,” I moan faintly, “don’t play games with me!”

“Just checking,” he reassures me, dark-chocolate eyes smiling down at me playfully. Very fine time to be amusing, Sakito! I refrain from tearing my hair out and instead assume a soulful expression, using my very best bambi eyes to make him get the hell on with it before I spontaneously combust.

He smirks and kisses me again, and this time I retain enough self-awareness to touch him every place I can, luxuriating in the sensation of his pearl-smooth skin beneath my fingers. I lower one hand daringly to his erection, and with infinite satisfaction hear him stifle a low moan, a light shiver running over him, and he presses harder against me. Then I lose the upper hand once again when he nudges one slim leg between my thighs, opening me like a flower, his willowy weight resting over me. Dimly I’m aware of him dipping into the drawer by my head, one skilful hand leaving me; he bites down on my lip with subtle pressure, and the soft pain distracts me so I don’t even have time to tense as one smoothly lubed finger slides inside me. His other hand cups my face tenderly as he begins to stretch me, the sensations of just his fingers almost too much to bear. I slide my arms around the graceful arc of his back and he gasps at the yearning grip of my fingertips. I manage to tear my mouth away from his for an instant.

“Do it,” I implore, feeling that this might be my last chance for coherent speech. “I love you, do it...”

He smiles again, his pulse coming faster finally. He nods, breathless. Then slowly he enters me and I cry out softly, the pain is nothing, nothing, compared to the essential rightness of this, this thing that I’ve been waiting so long for. I find that I’ve screwed my eyes shut, and open them in time to see his white teeth catch his lower lip as he begins to move inside me. The feeling is indescribable, and perfect, so utterly perfect I’m almost crying, never thinking it would come to this. Saki’s liquid eyes are half-closed, their composure rapidly leaving them to be replaced with quietly smouldering desire, his fine, polished skin suffused with the palest rosy flush. And now, thank god, he has no need for games, for teasing. Gradually, gradually we increase the intensity, and for the first time I don’t feel that I’m being controlled but that I’m an equal partner in this, even as I’m gently pushed, kneaded and cajoled into rapture, wrapped in Sakito’s arms. He moves faster, drawing me to the edge of my capabilities, challenging me to meet them; every place we touch is an electric flash of pleasure, the fine hairs standing up on the back of my neck, my body moving slickly against his. I tug his head down and my mouth meets his again, expressing everything I’ve ever wanted to say to him but found it impossible to do; I feel myself wavering on the brink of a culmination, and this time I don’t even try to prolong it but let him lead me into it, my short nails digging into his back as all my muscles seem to tense at once and I shake with the force of the sweetness in this climax. I can feel Saki’s body shaking above me as he follows me silently, burying his face in my neck.

After what seems a long time I sense his gaze on me. I perform the tremendous feat of opening my eyes, my entire frame tingling. My vision steadies and I see Saki looking at me: he’s propped on one elbow in his usual elegant, statuesque attitude, but his fine eyes are wide and his breathing is too careful to be natural. I take one of his hands and twine his clever, slender fingers with mine. I can’t actually think of anything to say at this moment, just enjoy the luxury of staring at him raptly. Eventually I manage to come up with the incredibly pertinent,
“Er... well... Saki, was it ok?” and then wish that I hadn’t.

A moment of silence, and then a wide, lazily satisfied smile spreads itself over Saki’s achingly lovely features.

“Ok? Come on, Yomi,” he grins. I mentally smack myself upside the head. As if anything Sakito does could ever be only ‘ok’. I gloat quietly to myself at the thought that some of his magic might necessarily rub off on me through some kind of osmosis. Meanwhile Saki has reclined against the headboard, slim arms tucked behind his head, looking for once like any normal, hot-blooded, smug male after sex, only about five hundred times prettier.

“Well, was it worth the wait?” he enquires breezily. Hahaha. As if he didn’t know what my answer would be to that. I punch him lightly on his worshipfully flat stomach and find myself grinning back at him. I mean to say something devilishly cool and clever, but instead find myself coming out with, “Saki, I love you.”

His pinball smile gets even wider.
“Do you love me enough to phone up for takeout? I think tonight’s been eventful enough to indulge for once.”

I grumble at him as I clamber off the bed, aching slightly and wanting to drop into a little puddle of well-being.

“Unless you’re intending to cook,” he calls after me, suppressing an unbecoming snigger.

“Shut it, Sakito.”

By the time I get back from the phone Sakito is in the shower, looking eerily like an advert for Herbal Essences amid the steam. I grump at the edge of the sink for a while, and then a shapely hand grabs me and drags me in with him, and for once I’m not comparing my puny self with the god-touched wonders of Saki’s form. Hot water gushes over me as he backs me up against the wall.

“Time for one more before takeaway?” he murmurs over the shower. I gape for one second and then let him envelop me gleefully.

Once again, thank you, mysterious unseen force of nature. Now please, can you send me some stamina?

*******************************************

Not even a day later, and we’re back at band practice. I have mixed feelings here. On one hand, I want to show everyone (namely Ruka and bloody Ni~ya), through my suffused glow of physical satisfaction, that I am finally engaged in a full-on, passionate relationship. On the other, Saki has found time to regale the others with the hilarious tale of my dinner party attempt, to their utmost enjoyment. Ni~ya is almost having a fit, clutching his stomach and moaning with laughter as he sits with Ruka’s arm curled possessively around his waist. I pout. I sulk. Saki slides his fingers through my hair and looks into my eyes. I get over it.

Hitsugi-kun is looking mildly disgusted with the couply-couple atmosphere, although he was the only one with the grace not to laugh at my culinary misfortunes. He folds his arms and glowers with fake menace as I defend my cooking skills.

“Hitsu,” butts in Ni~ya rudely, “don’t look like that. D’you want us to find you a date?”

“No, thank you,” answers Hitsugi-kun primly. “My cat is worth three of you guys.”

“I can set you up with Ayumi Hamasaki,” lies Ni~ya confidentially. “That’d loosen you up.”

Hitsugi-kun reaches out and kicks him smartly in the shins, then stands up threateningly.
“Screw you guys. I’m going home.”

He makes it approximately two steps before, in a surprisingly macho moment of like-mindedness, all four of us have jumped out of our seats and leapt at him, colliding mid-air and tumbling into one giant, wriggling, giggling monster. I find myself lying on top of Ni~ya, with Ruka’s elbow in my ear and Saki’s weight pushing me down towards the floor. After a few seconds of writhing confusion, Hitsugi-kun’s voice emerges weakly from his prostrate position beneath us.

“You utter, utter retards.”

I wiggle my way to the top of the pile. Hitsugi-kun’s opinion seems to be shared by the guitar techs, who have appeared in the doorway at the almighty crash and are looking on in consternation for any sign of instrument breakage. A sense of enormous well-being invades me. Finally. Finally we’re all back to the way we should be.
“Guys.” The Nightmare-pile stills itself. “I love you guys.”

In unconscious, perfectly-timed unison, four voices come groaning out of the heap.
“Shut the hell up, Yomi.”

I close my eyes.

Ahhhhh. Bliss.

THE END

*heaves massive sigh of relief* Hurrah! Hurray! Well, whaddya think?

Bleh, new job

Fri, 01 Sep 2006 16:50:48 GMT

Finally, I have finished the bloody dissertation and given it in. Hardest bit was choosing the best pictures of Saki and co to illustrate my brilliant theorisation...
Today I started my new job and it was boring as hell. Still, making the most of it before the kids arrive next week... bloody kids...

In other news, halfway through a new short fic, and got some pics of the Fool in his new suit. Looks manly! Well, no, but still...

The Luckiest - Chapter Six

Sat, 29 Jul 2006 13:31:29 GMT

MORE UPDATING!

I swear, the effort is killing me. Anyway, here's the latest update to The Luckiest. It's mostly buffoonery and bad jokes. No, it's not finished yet. But nearly! So close!

Enjoy, if Yomi's increasing dorkiness doesn't put you off ^^

Ni~ya-chan grabs me by the arm and tugs me down a side street. Since agreeing to come and sleuth Yomi with me, he’s been acting very bumptious. Anyone would think I’m too dozy to track someone through a shopping centre.

“Are you nuts? Just wandering along like that, he’ll see you!”
Ni~ya-chan sticks his head around the corner and peers after Yomi’s retreating back. “Now come on.”

I follow him, grumbling to myself and trying to look inconspicuous as the midget spends what seems an age in a posh grocery store full of weird foreign vegetables.
“What’s he up to?” I wonder aloud as he emerges with his arms full of paper bags. Ni~ya-chan raises his pretty eyes heavenward as if to say ‘what am I doing with this bozo?’

“It’s pretty obvious. He’s trying to charm Saki, of course.”

“With onions?” I say doubtfully. He shakes his head at me slowly.

“He’s gonna try the old candlelit dinner and roses move”.

“How do you know?”

“Partly because I know he doesn’t have much of an imagination for this stuff, and partly because of what he’s been buying”. He eyeballs me dolefully. “As you would realise if you had a speck of romance in you”. Huh. Ni~ya-chan is really getting uppity.

“I am romantic!” I snap as we duck into a shop entrance. Yomi is looking around in fierce concentration, loaded down like a pack donkey with mysterious packages.

Ni~ya-chan laughs heartily in a terribly sarcastic manner.
“You’re as romantic as a Valentine’s card that plays a tune”, he hisses in my ear, eyes fixed on the little singer.

“Oh, that was below the belt! When we get home I’m going to spank you!”

He leans back against me briefly, grinning. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Oh look, he’s dropping stuff!”
I look. A small potato rolls in my direction. Ni~ya-chan shakes his head, tutting.
“He should have brought a proper shopping bag.” He picks up the potato, weighs it thoughtfully and chucks it with reasonable accuracy. It wings past Yomi’s left ear; he looks around wildly and Ni~ya-chan pushes me back behind a pillar, giggling helplessly.

“How mature.”

“Come on, this is priceless.” We carry on following him, Ni~ya-chan trying to stifle his laughter as more items fall out of the bags. Ni~ya-chan picks them up and tucks them away in his voluminous coat pockets. I have to say, looking at him he’s not the most inconspicuous of people, with his shining hair and stylish outfit and perfect, biteable figure- Anyway. Yes.

Ni~ya-chan nudges me in the ribs.
“See? He’s going in the flower shop!” So he is. Ni~ya-chan scampers up and peers in at the window.
“I told you! Hah, it’s almost as big as he is!”

I nod. Seems a fair plan to me, but Ni~ya-chan is shaking his head.
“That’s not the way to get Saki. If he was interested in fine cuisine and expensive flowers, he could take his pick from about fifty millionaires. He needs to be Yomi.”

“What… a short pervert?”

Ni~ya-chan throws me another look.
“You know what I mean. Come on. We have to do something about this.”

“Why are you so interested in matchmaking all of a sudden?” I enquire as I tail him down the road. He cocks an eyebrow, still looking at Yomi.

“I’ve got good reasons. Now hurry up.”

****************************************************

I struggle my way down the street, fighting to keep a grip on my shopping bags and leaving a trail of miscellaneous vegetable items in my wake. What is it about carrier bags nowadays? Flimsy, that’s what they are. In my day - arrgh, I’m turning into my grandfather! (oh well, at least that entitles me to one of those old-people shopping carts…)
I grip my shopping list firmly in my teeth and try vainly not to shed petals around me like a disorganised version of a flower fairy (no height comparisons, thank you very much!). It’s no good. Maybe I should have asked for this thing to be delivered, it’s at least as big as me. But what’s a meaningful bouquet if you can’t present it in person?

“Ow… monkeys…” I try out Hitsugi’s new suggested regime of not swearing like a b- like a sailor as a thorn pokes me in the chin. Not very satisfying, I must say. People are looking at me. Argh. Lots of people are looking! Also, I think someone’s following me; I keep hearing sniggers behind me, and I swear someone just threw an escaped potato at my head. It’s enough to make a guy paranoid, and I need my full wits about me if I’m gonna charm Sakito in the manner to which he is accustomed!

I try to read my list without taking it out of my mouth, and in my subsequent cross-eyed state am unable to defend myself as a lanky arm reaches out and whips the bouquet out of my hands. I let out a muffled howl as I’m pricked mercilessly, but I’m unwilling to relinquish my shopping bags until I assess the nature of the problem.

“Oi, Chibi”.

I uncross my eyes and close them despairingly.
“Mmmph!”

“Say what?” Ni~ya leans down and removes the sheet of paper from my mouth. I open my eyes to see Ruka leaning on a low wall behind him, inspecting my flowers critically and dropping ash from his cigarette all over them.

“This is not the time!” I yell, finally able to speak. “Give me that back!”

“Er, nope”. Ruka continues his examination. I clench my fists as best I can.

“You b- you f-” Ugh, this is harder than I thought. “You bounder!”

Ruka seems puzzled, although I admit it’s hard to tell with him.
“What’s a bounder?”

“Ah”. Ni~ya nods wisely. “I see Hitsu’s got you going down the polite route”.

I mumble something non-committal.

“It won’t work”, Ni~ya continues matter-of-factly. “It works for him because he’s a naturally nice, polite guy”.

“Are you saying I’m not?!”

“Yes”. He winks at me infuriatingly.

I resist the urge to stamp my foot and throw a fit.
“At least give me back my flowers then, you git!”

“That’s better”. He slings an arm round my shoulders and proceeds to impart some fatherly advice. “Now Yomi. Do you really think flowers are going to win over a beauty like Sakito?”

“It’s always worked before!” I mutter defensively, wondering if it actually has.

“Ok, fine, for any random girl I admit it’s a winner. But… our Saki has had bouquets bigger than your house. You can’t top it!”

I notice Ruka raise his eyebrows sceptically and tuck the bouquet behind him after thoughtfully prodding at the thorns.

“You need the personal touch”, Ni~ya continues as if he’s a world expert in seduction. “Try to be witty and approachable”.

“Are you getting this stuff out of a book?” I ask suspiciously.

Here Ruka chimes in hurriedly with “just don’t use that old aeroplane joke of his!”

“What joke?!”

Ni~ya grins proudly. I can tell this one is gonna be certifiable. “You know, treat your aeroplane like you treat your woman”.

“Huh?”

Ruka rolls his eyes and explains in a sing-song voice: “‘Get inside her five times a day and take her to heaven and back’. Bloody hell, that is ancient, Ni~ya-chan!”

I groan. How am I supposed to have presence of mind with stuff like this getting thrown at me?!
“Ni~ya, has that line ever seduced someone?”

“Well no, but it amuses me”.

“Please”, I beg. “Please, leave me alone! Don’t make it worse than it already is!”
They look at me blankly. I turn around and trudge away. An onion spills from a bag but I can’t find the heart to rescue it.

As I leave I hear Ruka murmur “d’you think that was enough?” and Ni~ya laughs in a way that sounds horribly like a snigger. “Oh, I should think so. Trust me on this. Now let’s go play.”

*************************************************

I speed dial Saki’s number and let it ring, clamping the phone between my ear and my shoulder and lurching like a crab around the kitchen.

A crackle.

“Yomi?”

“Saki!” Bump, scuffle, thud. “Saki, can you hear me?”

“Er… yes?”

“Will you come over tonight?” I’m praying he’s not too pissed at me to say no.

A pause, in which I hop up and down mouthing pleasepleaseplease…
“I guess. What time?”

“Um, before dinner. Don’t eat dinner. Very important.” Well done genius, give away your master plan!

Another crackle. I hear Hitsugi-kun mutter something in the background, and Saki comes back on the line.
“Yeah, ok. Um… should I bring overnight stuff?”

“If you like”, I say casually, putting on my best act of a person completely disinterested in Sakito’s body.

“Right. Well. See you later.”

“Yep.”

“Well.”

“Bye then.”

“Bye, Yomi.”

Well, that was awkward. But no time to think of that now!

Okay. I rub my hands together, grab the scissors out of the drawer, drop them on my foot and hop around the room for a few moments, gritting my teeth in sheer agony and trying not to swear at the top of my voice. I pull myself together and set out to woo the one I love, armed with stationery, the kids’ Craft TV channel and the beginner’s version of Cook Your Way to Romantic Success.

*************************************************

Sakito waited in the entrance of Yomi’s apartment block, stamping his feet, watching his breath hang in the chilly air. In deference to what Yomi had made sound very much like a dinner date he was wearing a very fitted velvet suit and was, not to put too fine a point on it, bloody freezing. He’d been to so many romantic dinners in the past that it was no longer a big excitement for him; but any attempt Yomi made to cook had to be worth seeing, although possibly not actually eating.

He pressed the buzzer with one chilly finger and waited. It was true that he’d been on the point of refusing the invitation and indulging in some rare sulking, but Hitsugi had growled at him to go, and the stoic guitarist usually knew what he was talking about. Sakito hoped it would be worth it.

“Hurry up”, he muttered under his breath, tucking his hands under his arms to stop the wind rubbing them raw.
Eventually there came a fizzle of electricity from the intercom, a faint crash and the muffled sound of someone doing the most interesting swearing Sakito had heard in some time.

“ --- ow! Dang it, you f- ow - you sonofanelephant… Sakito? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here”, Sakito said pointedly. “And this wine will be frozen in a minute.”

“Wine, great, bring it up.” The buzzer sounded and Sakito pushed open the door, marvelling at the general… uniqueness of his lover.

Yomi met him at the door wearing an apron and a sheepish expression. Sakito kissed him absentmindedly on the cheek and peered past him, looking for any signs of culinary carnage.

“Everything’s going fine, Saki”, Yomi reassured him hurriedly, taking him by the hand and leading him into the living room, which was lit dimly and romantically by means of whatever item of red clothing Yomi had found suitable to throw over the lampshades.

“Nice, er, ambience”, Sakito commented, not knowing whether to laugh.

“Thanks!” countered Yomi, completely deadpan. Sakito settled for an expression of polite interest and made himself elegantly comfortable on the sofa, brushing his windswept hair back into place and wishing he had a mirror.
Yomi shuffled his small feet.

“I, er, got you some flowers.”

“Yes?” Sakito was unsurprised. Clearly the singer was doing this by a very traditional book. “And…?” he prompted after nothing was forthcoming.

“Huh?”

“At this point the done thing would be to give me the flowers.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Wait a minute, then”. Yomi looked around wildly, then trotted off down the hall. Sakito chuckled to himself resignedly.

“Er. They might not be quite what you’re hoping for”, came Yomi’s muffled voice from inside the hall cupboard.

“I’m sure I’m not hoping for anything”, Sakito replied patiently. Yomi shuffled back in with something hidden with difficulty behind his back. He pulled out a bouquet with a flourish, held it out at arm’s length, then sighed.

“Sorry.” When Sakito made no move to take them, just sat and stared at them, he drooped. “I know they’re… kind of rubbish.” As Sakito started to open his mouth he carried on in a rush, “but Ruka and Ni~ya stole the proper flowers, and they were really pretty, honestly, but they wouldn’t give them back, and I didn’t have any more money, so-”

Sakito interrupted him by reaching out to touch one of the petals inquisitively.
“Paper?”

Yomi looked embarrassed.
“Well I couldn’t think what to do and I saw this kids’ art programme last week where they showed you how to make origami flowers and I know they always repeat it on Fridays”, he took a breath, “not that I make a habit of watching it you know, ahaha, so I thought it might look ok and I still had this paper my aunt gave me two years ago, she thinks I’m still five I swear, and -”

Sakito held up a hand.
“Stop, I get it!”

Yomi sighed glumly and sat down cross-legged on the floor.
“But… they’re not beautiful, you should have the most beautiful things.”

Taking the bouquet from him, Sakito turned it around, examined the lovely paper and the neat shapes.
“It must have taken ages”.

“Pretty much.” He wiggled his plaster-tipped fingers gloomily. “These aren’t for show, y’know. Paper cuts hurt like a b- like a bad thing.”

“You’re such an idiot”, Sakito chided, his pretty face splitting into a wide smile of genuine pleasure. “No-one’s ever given me anything like this before.”

“I bet”, said Yomi darkly.

“I mean they’re wonderful! I can’t believe you spent so much time on me…”
As the little singer looked at him incredulously, Sakito grabbed him daintily by the front of his apron and pulled him upwards, leaning down to kiss him firmly on the mouth. Yomi hesitated for an instant, then reached out to stroke Sakito’s feathered hair, kissing him back slowly. Sakito wrapped his arms around Yomi’s waist, losing himself in the first kiss without resentment they’d shared for he couldn’t remember how long. As he was becoming breathless, however, Yomi broke the kiss and pulled back, hand resting on Sakito’s cheek. Sakito met his eyes questioningly, but he just smiled easily.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Um… yes?”

Yomi nodded, disentangled himself gently from Sakito’s arms and wandered off into the kitchen, grinning to himself at the remembered sensations of the beautiful guitarist’s mouth on his.
Sakito sat looking after him, unable to work out quite where this was going. Technically it was proceeding according to accepted standard: flowers, kissing, wine; but it certainly had the Yomi stamp all over it and it was anyone’s guess what was coming next.
Sakito picked up his flowers again, carefully inspecting each delicate stem and blossom. They really were pretty. And, of course, they wouldn’t shed petals everywhere. He unbuttoned his jacket and arranged himself more attractively over the sofa.

Yomi returned safely with two brimming glasses of wine. Sakito reflected wryly that when it came to alcohol Yomi became miraculously less clumsy, a trait he shared with Hitsugi.

“Budge up!” said Yomi cheerfully, handing Sakito a glass and taking a large swig from his own.

“Charming. So”, continued Sakito, shifting along the sofa to make room for his partner, “what are you going to surprise me with next?”

Yomi winked, looking pixyish. “Well-kept secret.” Sakito stroked the chestnut hair at the nape of his neck fondly.

“What is all this in aid of, Yomi?” he asked, knowing by now that tactful questions were a waste of breath when it came to the vocalist.

“I told you I’d make you have fun, didn’t I?”

“Huh. Yeah. Actually you did.”

“So, this is it! You are having fun, aren’t you?” asked Yomi anxiously. Sakito just smiled expansively, moving closer. “I just wanted to show you that I love you.”

“You are so cute”, murmured Sakito, narrowing his eyes playfully and darting in to kiss Yomi on the mouth again.

“I’ve got a film we could watch later”, continued Yomi, determined to show just how uninterested he was in giving in to Sakito’s caresses.

“It’s not porn, is it?”

“No it is most certainly not porn! What kind of guy do you take me for?!”

Sakito was unable to suppress a delicate snort. “Yomi. I do know you.”

“Actually”, said Yomi with an air of injured pride, “ it’s The Hills Have Eyes”.

“Oh, romantic.”

Yomi poked Sakito in his flat stomach, giggling his high pitched giggle as the guitarist gasped indignantly and grabbed him, pinning him down amongst the sofa cushions and kissing him on the neck.

Two minutes and one minor fit resulting from tickling later, Sakito lifted his head and sniffed the air daintily.
“Yomi, what are you cooking tonight?”

“Chicken”, said Yomi proudly.

“Well… can’t you smell something odd?”

They both looked unwillingly towards the closed kitchen door.
“Is it me… or is that smoke?”

Yomi stared for three seconds, leapt up and skidded down the hallway. He pressed both hands against the door, then flung it open.

“HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD!!!”

Evidently he was breaking the swearing ban for emergencies, thought Sakito as he skidded to a halt, looking rapidly around him. Grey smoke was pouring from the cooker, little tongues of flame visible in the heart of it. It billowed into Sakito’s face, making him cough.

“Yomi -”

“JESUS CHRIST MONKEYBALLS!!”

“Yomi!”

“Huh?!”

“Get out of the way you moron!” yelled Sakito, who in his presence of mind had grabbed the fire extinguisher. He brandished it. “It’s only a little fire!” He elbowed Yomi aside, pulled open the oven door with his foot and aimed the extinguisher at it. There was a loud hiss, a flurry of foam and the flames disappeared.
Sakito exhaled in relief.

“Ok, I think we’re -”
The rest of his sentenced was drowned out by the piercing sound of the overhead alarm.

“-!-”

“WHAT?”

“I said, bugger!” shouted Sakito over the din. “They’ll call the fire crew out now.”

“Oh whoops.”

Some time later they sat outside on the back of the fire engine, wrapped in yellow jackets donated most generously to Sakito by admiring firemen.

“It’ll be fine, they said”, Yomi commented at length. “It’ll just smell of smoke till I get it cleaned.”

“Uhuh.”

Yomi swung his legs absently. Sakito coughed once or twice, then spoke up thoughtfully.

“Yomi… you know when I asked you what the next surprise was going to be?”

“Well?”

“It wasn’t that, was it?”

“Oh har har.”

The last of the fire crew trudged out of the building. Sakito hopped off the back of the truck and they smiled at him reassuringly while he thanked them very politely. They took a look at Yomi, shook their heads among themselves, then drove off.

Sakito felt so sorry for his dejected little lover, but was somehow unshocked by the turn the evening had taken. He pulled Yomi to his feet and wrapped his arms around him, oblivious to the curious glances of various neighbours. Yomi leaned his head against Sakito’s slim shoulder and huffed out a resigned sigh.

“Why does nothing ever go the way I want?”

Sakito ruffled his hair comfortingly.
“You can’t stay here tonight. Come back with me.”

“If it’s what you want…”

“It is. Come on.”

*********************************************

Fic - Beauty

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 14:05:58 GMT

Whoa, it's been ages since I updated. Since then I've been to France, been to my sister's graduation (congrats Ab!) and been to see Pirates thrice so far...
So, will now upload a story I actually finished ages ago and has been up on jrockyaoi for weeks, I've just been too lazy to put it up here. Here ya go! It's weird.

Title: Beauty
Author: babyrubysoho
Band: Nightmare
Pairing: Hitsugi x Sakito
Rating: R
Genre: AU... odd and cheesy!
Disclaimer: Nobody belongs to me. Except me.

Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three

He’s alive.

It was touch and go for a while. If I’d come an hour later… but it hurts to think about it, and besides, everything will be all right now.
We stayed in that glasshouse for days: I only left to bring him food and to catch a few hours’ sleep in the dead darkness of the early morning. He couldn’t stand, could barely raise his shaggy head to eat what I brought him. The sight of his rough, dull fur made my eyes prick with anger and guilt but I stayed, sitting on the warm soil while he slept with his head pillowed in my lap. Around us the flowers began to bloom again.

Every morning I would stand in the middle of the kitchen and scream at the spirits like a harpy until they started working. I couldn’t care less now that he’d killed them all, and I took control of them as if I had a right to their service, not caring how cruel it was to keep them chained to the house so long as they did what I needed to make him well again.

After a week he managed to stand up and make his way shakily to the warm living room that opened onto the gardens, not with much elegance but determinedly. I sighed with relief. After that he lived in there with the fine French windows open so that he could prowl around outside at night. He wouldn’t let me near him after it was dark then, weak as he was, no argument about it. I wondered if he was prolonging the time before he had to talk to me, whether he was afraid he’d speak to me angrily, accusingly.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve spoken in a month. I personally don’t care if I never speak again, although of course there are questions I want answers to. I miss the sound of his voice though, sometimes so acutely I start imagining it in all the dark corners of the house.

These days we spend most of the time outside, after I’ve done my spell of shouting at the ghosts before breakfast. It’s coming into early summer and warm breezes blow softly through the plants. The cat lies on the sunny grass while I wrestle with the garden. It had died almost completely during the time I was away, but now it’s beginning to be beautiful again. He watches me with an approving eye as I work, my growing hair tied back from my face, wrapped up in long sleeves to stop my fair skin burning.

Still, a lazy mood pervades the house, though recently the cat has got back a lot of his energy and is starting to become playful again. I’m so happy I think I could burst with it on these hot days, my arms around the Beast’s neck, my fingers tangled in his once more sleek mane, the sound of his low, continuous purr in my ears.

This morning I wake up later than usual. I clamber out of bed and to my amazement the curtains pull themselves back for me. They’re finally working properly! I wonder if this means the Beast is completely better. Maybe I can stop yelling at them now.

I look out of the window. A perfect, balmy morning. It will be hot today; I can already hear the myriad sounds of insects in the long grass. I throw on some clothes, cool white cotton, and make my way downstairs, the carpet sinking warmly beneath my bare feet. As I’m eating breakfast on the ivy-covered terrace the cat slinks sinuously up to me and rubs against my leg like a housecat, which given his size almost knocks me off my chair.

We go down by the stream today and I begin to prop up the roses that are trailing along the banks, not the freezing white flowers that he gave me once but deep red blooms that look like velvet. The flowers are so heavy that they’re weighing the stems down and they dip precariously towards the water. I fight them back upright using bamboo and twine; each movement releases a cloud of scent that hangs in the still air, so rich that it makes you giddy.

The cat lazes on the opposite bank, watching me with half-closed eyes, his golden coat dappled with shade from the willow trees. When he’s tired of lying still he hangs one paw over the edge of the bank, claws rippling the water, and tries to hook out the silver fish that dart past. It never works, and then he yawns, pretending he wasn’t interested in the first place. I remember how the sight of those teeth used to freeze me with odd fear, but now I only feel a pleasant little shiver.

In the afternoon I stop to rest; the sun is quite fierce and it’s making me drowsy. The cat sits in the grass and I lean back against his furry chest, my bare feet in the gently bubbling water. I never even knew it was possible to feel this contented; I’m sure it’s not normal.

“Beast… do you think it’s right to be this happy?” I ask lazily. A rumble that sounds a little like his human laugh. I grin to myself; stupid question. As if a cat has anything to do with morals.

Without even thinking about it I murmur the words that I never would have believed could pass my lips if you’d asked me in the winter:

“Beast. I love you.” I shut my eyes in contentment.

There’s a sudden fizz of freezing air behind me, feels like sparks shooting up my back. My eyes slam open again. I twist around to see what’s caused it and find myself staring into a stranger’s face. I yell, and then he yells, and before I know it I’ve fallen off the bank and am up to my neck in cold water. I sputter, feeling as though my heart’s about to give out with shock, half blinded by my wet hair. As I’m trying to work out where I am and what’s happened I hear a voice and I know this must be a dream.

“Beauty!”

A sharp-nailed hand grabs my arm, a hand as familiar as my own, and tugs me bodily out of the water. I struggle at the edge of the bank and then collapse forward, landing heavily and knocking the breath out of my rescuer.

I brush my hair out of my face and open my eyes, but they’re still blurry with river water. I shake my head like a dog and try again. I stare down at the stunned face beneath me, my eyes playing tricks on me. There must be something in them still, because I recognise this face although I’m equally sure I’ve never seen it before in my life. My face must look a picture because the stranger suddenly exclaims,

“Beauty! Beauty, are you all right?!”

I’ve been dreaming about that voice every night, yearning to hear it so badly. I gape, my mouth hanging open unflatteringly. Maybe he thinks I’m concussed or something, because he lifts his hands to gently cup my face, pushing the wet hair out of my eyes.

“It’s me. Don’t you know me?” I want to shake my head but oh, I know that voice! I’m shaking as I cover his hand with my cold fingers.

“You… Beast?!”
He nods and then smiles like sunshine. I take a long, proper, befuddled look at the man beneath me. It’s difficult, because the cat’s features seem to slip over his face if I look at it from a certain angle. He looks young, as young as me, and almost completely human so that it would be hard to tell the difference. But I can see the stamp of the cat in his mane of chocolate and honey-coloured hair which stands up in a luxurious frill around his pale face. And in his elegant, feline nose and his sharp white teeth as he smiles encouragingly, but most of all in his large, peculiar eyes which are the cat’s to a tee, the irises shot with shifting colours and ringed widely with black. And it’s when I look into those eyes and find myself wanting to sink into his gaze, to burn myself up in it, that I finally know him.

“Beast!” I gasp, still flabbergasted, and thump my fist excitedly against his chest. “What’s happening?!” He winces, breathing fast, and I realise I’m lying spread-eagled on top of him. My treacherously fine skin flushes up and I try to climb off him and let him breathe, but he quickly winds one arm around my waist and pulls me closer until our faces almost touch. He stops, staring into my eyes as though he could eat me up, but enough of this, I think, and lean down and kiss him hard on the mouth, and yes, I recognise this, too, a sensation I thought I’d never feel again. His heart is beating faster against me and I cradle his sweet face in my hands, still half disbelieving, my wet clothes soaking into his but not wanting to stop even if this is a dream.

When I run out of breath I lift my head again, my pulse fluttering unsteadily, and sit up. I clamber up, then reach down and pull him to his feet. He looks thoroughly flustered, a shy blush spreading across his cheeks, and I notice that I’m a little taller than him although far slighter. He’s dressed in odd, old-fashioned clothes, velvet and tulle and brocade, now damp and ruined.

I’ve never known him to be at such a loss for words. He looks so sweetly confused as he tries to speak.
“What… I don’t… Beauty, will you please tell me what’s happening?”

All of a sudden I have a pretty good idea what’s happened, but now is not the time for explanations: desire is pushing through me unstoppably as I look at his sharp teeth, see his beautiful eyes fixed upon me, hear his voice.

“Later”, I tell him firmly. Where has all this power I’m feeling come from? He stands there looking lost, so I grab him by the collar and kiss him again, then drag him across the lawns and into the house.

It’s dark inside; looks like the spirits are striking again, but I don’t have time for them. I lead him by the hand up the showy staircase, knowing what I want for the first time in my life, no ambiguity about it now.
When we reach my bedroom he stops and looks into my eyes, and whatever he sees there makes him blush even deeper.

“What are you doing?” he asks quietly.

“Keep on talking”, I whisper, pulling him close to brush my mouth over his. “You have no idea how every word you speak makes me want you”.

“You don’t know what you want”, he tells me, a low growl creeping into his voice that makes my knees weak with craving. I look him in the eye.

“I do.” And then he kisses me, unasked, for the first time ever, lustfully, and suddenly I feel deliciously and dangerously trapped. He grabs my damp shoulders and pushes me into the room, I’m walking backwards blindly, and then I tumble onto the bed. He catches me swiftly just before I hit the covers, surprisingly strong for his build, and lowers me gently onto the linen. He smiles a loving, predatory smile as his eyes run over me and I swear I’ve never felt so innocent, so naïve as to think I could lead this.

“Do you still know what you want, Beauty?” he murmurs in a voice that sends rills of desire along my spine and I give myself up for lost gladly. As he leans over me I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down until my mouth meets his again, not slowly this time but ravenously, feeling the edges of his sharp canines on my tongue. His arms slide around my narrow waist and I feel the pinpricks of his short, sharp nails on my back, making me arch up into his embrace in a fever of hunger.

When my breathing grows dangerously fast he lifts his head, looking like a cat that’s got the cream, as it were, and smiling so seductively that I can’t meet his gaze. Instead I reach up and presumptuously tear off his cravat of gauze and lace, my fingers already on the buttons of his jacket. He sits up so that he’s out of reach, tantalisingly, and I find myself making a little moue of frustration.

“Be careful, Beauty”, he purrs. He pushes me back until I’m lying amid the pillows. His fingers trail down the side of my cheek, an echo of that fevered encounter before I’d even seen his face. They run over my neck, thrilling me with precarious sensation; he taps one fingernail in the hollow of my throat and I feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Infinitesimally slowly he slides his hand down my white skin, unbuttoning my sodden shirt, unwrapping me as though I were an expensive gift, until I want to shout in frustration but I can’t seem to speak. Off come my clothes, dropped into a little pile on the carpet, the sunny breeze from the open window whispering over my skin.

I begin to shiver, my damp skin chilling in the air, until he covers me with his body, luxuriously warm. He sets his lips to my throat, kissing me gently, almost reverently, his hands running the length of my legs, silky touch against my smooth skin. I let out a low moan, not able to stop myself, and his mouth moves teasingly lower, his mane of hair tickling my chest. He flicks his clever tongue over my left nipple and then I have to gasp as I feel the soft jab of his teeth over my heart, not even breaking the skin but making me faint with pleasurable apprehension nevertheless.

He seems to spend so long teasing me unbearably, kissing me all over my body, playing with me like a cat plays with its prey until I’m wrapped in a hopeless cycle of desire and frustration that I think will never be satisfied, not that I’m thinking very clearly at all at this point.

“Please…” I beg, ready to do anything if he’ll just end this sweet torture. He looks up at me, mouth dangerously close to the skin of my stomach, and is finally serious, his wide-ringed eyes dilated with hunger. His smooth skin glows faintly with heat as I pull him up by his hair, as he lets me remove his clothes with inexperienced, fumbling, passionate fingers. Now it’s my turn to grin as I sit up and embrace him, skin on damp skin, and I hear the catch in his breath as I touch him delicately; I let him hide his face in my neck so I don’t have to see his expression. I twist my fingers softly in his rich hair, his breath hot against my shoulder. This is what power feels like! In giving myself up to him, he’s becoming mine.

My smile turns to a sharp inhalation of breath as he brings his teeth to meet lightly in the nape of my neck; it’s as though he can tell what I’m thinking and is playfully chiding me. Hand on my back he lowers me to the bed once again and kisses me deeply, his caresses more insistent; I curl my legs around his hips, needing desperately to draw breath but unwilling to part my mouth from his, trying to press myself closer to him.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice compelling me to more insistent desire.

“I want it”, I protest as my eyes meet his, so deep under the spell of his voice that I don’t think I’ll be able to survive if he stops now.
The smothering scent of roses is intoxicating in the room, making me feel as though I’m floating, my eyes fluttering closed under its ponderous weight. His fingers are slick as they slip between my legs and I let out a tiny whimper at the alien feeling. He pauses but I kiss him abruptly, tacit permission to continue one of the most intense sensations I’ve ever felt.

When he enters me I can’t help crying out, the pain is a shock, but the sound is muffled by his mouth over mine, kissing me tenderly, almost apologetically. My hands twist in the bed sheets, I’ve never felt anything like it, my breath short and jerky as he begins to move slowly, his hands stroking my back soothingly as if I were made of precious china. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as I begin to lose all my coherence in his loving embrace.

“Beauty?” His voice is unsteady with suppressed pleasure and concern. He strokes the hair back from my damp brow.

“Don’t you stop!” I hiss, burning with helpless ardour as he speaks my name. When he looks at me askance I cling to him tighter. “Beast… I love you! Don’t stop…”

I moan softly with gratified happiness at his renewed movement and tangle my hands in his dishevelled mane, my own silken hair spread around me on the pillow, my eyes closing as it becomes more intense, feeling the piercing edges of his nails as he crushes me closer to him, his teeth resting deliciously against the frail skin of my throat. I don’t think he even knows what he’s doing now but the pleasure with its sugaring of delicate pain is as mesmerising as his rapid breathing, I can feel a hitherto unknown feeling rushing up from inside me and I can’t stop myself, I cling to my Beast as I climax and now I know why they say when you’re in love it’s magic. He finishes a moment after, muffling a low growl in my throat and setting my sensitised skin all aquiver with mixed pleasure and emotion.

I open my eyes. The first thing I see is his beloved gaze, limpid eyes wide and dilated and loving. He carefully lifts his soft weight off me and I’m able to breathe freely again. I’m reeling from a perplexing mixture of feelings: I feel shockingly empty, not just physically but as though something has gone out of myself, but at the same time so contented, so radiant with reciprocated love that I can’t stop smiling as he pulls me to him. I rest my head on his pale chest, half expecting to hear the rumble of his satisfied purr.

“I’m so in love with you”, he tells me, beautiful voice dazed with amazement and affection. It sends a ripple of warmth through me. The summer breeze blows in, dispersing the smell of roses and cooling the sweat on my skin.

“My Beast”, I say smugly, looking up at him to see his fantastic eyes. They soften at my words.

“My name is Hitsugi”, he says with the air of a man imparting a great secret. “It means ‘coffin’.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

He shakes his head, smiling wryly.

“I like Beast better”, I decide.

“Whatever you want me to be, Beauty”, he says softly. “But… what happened?”

I roll over and lean my arms on his chest familiarly.
“Isn’t it obvious? I thought you would have guessed by now.”

“I haven’t exactly had a lot of time to think about things”, he retorts.

“It was there in all those stories. You even told me the reason yourself. It was you who pointed out what I am… what I was until just now.” I wink at him and he blushes, so pretty. “A person like me has power, that’s what you said. But in all those stories the power was in a kiss. I don’t know why that didn’t apply here. But when I told you I loved you… you changed.”

He raises an eyebrow lazily, the cat characteristics resurfacing. “You know what I think of the frog theory.”

I hit him lightly on the shoulder.
“All the same. I don’t think stories care what you think, Beast. In that moment I had power, and that’s that.”

“And now… you’ve given it up”, he murmurs. “All that power”.

“I love you”, I repeat calmly. “What else would I have done?” I settle down against him. “Besides. Virgin or not, I have it. You’re mine. Forever.”

He acknowledges the truth of it. We kiss and I fall back happily under his spell.

******************

I live in a house whose inside is bigger than its outside, magic twined around all its twisting staircases.

The spirits are gone. I sent them off firmly the very next day, and my Beast had to learn how to cook his own dinner. I don’t miss them.

I’ve never been outside the grounds since then. They seem to expand endlessly in any case, to fit to my imagination. I haven’t seen another person in all this time.

I’ve been here for more than fifty years now. I still look the same as the first day I came. When I look in the mirror the same beautiful face stares back at me. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to me if I’d never come back, if I’d never come here at all. I might have been happy. It doesn’t matter.

I live with a Beast, and he loves me. Without meaning to, I’ve become part of a fairytale. We live in the proverbial happy ever after, and the roses bloom around us.

THE END

*Ahhh, finally. 'Scuse the cheesy ending ^^ Hope you enjoyed it!*

More fics to come before too long! Just have to perv over Captain Jack a little more...

Sendai fun!

Tue, 23 May 2006 10:36:14 GMT

It's the London Expo this Saturday and I'm gonna take Hitsu, so I decided that he should have a halfway exciting cosplay to wear. So made Fullface's outfit from the oh-so-legendary Sendai Kamotsu Gaylympic dvd. And since the Fool was hanging around doing nothing on my desk this morning, he was made to dress up as Satty to keep Hitsu company while I took their pictures. And here they are!

Yeah, I know Satty doesn't have white hair but it was the only short wig around at the time.

Yay more Hitsu

Sun, 21 May 2006 21:32:48 GMT

Ahh, finally got Hitsu's Tokyo Shounen pv outfit done, so took him and Ruki to Westminster and Lord_Ros took pics with her posh camera ^_^

Working on The Luckiest and a new fic at the moment, shouldn't be long before I get something posted...

One-shot fic: "Versus"

Thu, 18 May 2006 12:26:45 GMT

Well, it's been a shockingly long time since I updated, mostly the fault of my horrible Gender Theory exam. Still, now that's out the way and it's only Japanese to go, so I can relax a bit.

Right. Yes. As we all know it's almost summer, which means 'tis the season for Sakito to start taking his clothes off. Rejoicing, etc. So last night I wrote this short plotless fic in order to drain off some of the unbridled lust I felt when I saw him in his latest outfit ^_^ , so that it doesn't spill over into The Luckiest which I am currently recommencing. Don't expect a masterpiece, is the point I'm trying to make! Er. And it's not very funny. Never mind.

Title: Versus
Band: Naito
Pairing: Ni~ya x Sakito (Ni~ya pov)
Rating: R (probably)
Notes: Do not own characters, blah blah. Mild violence.

VERSUS

I come to the studio late at night, fresh from another long session of drinking with Hitsugi. As usual, the theme ran along the lines of Sakito, at least after Hitsu had enough alcohol inside him.
Hitsugi isn’t my best friend, but he’s close. And I know he’s a good person, and kind, and sweet, and loyal, and all the things that I probably am not. So I knew as I let him pour out his frustrations that he would never put into practice my suggestions to just jump on Sakito and see what happened.

In case you’re not right alongside this yet, Hitsugi is in love with Sakito. Not like the countless other poor saps that are in love with him. Hitsu is in love with all the depth that comes from years of being as close as family, with all the single-mindedness of a man who has never, and most likely will never, love anyone else. Which makes it too bad that Sakito looks right through him as though he were any other bedazzled idiot who’s too afraid to approach him.

I wondered, as I walked Hitsugi home, whether Sakito even knows what he does to people. Maybe they never even get to the stage of asking him out.
Let’s get this straight: Sakito is beautiful. But not in the curvy, vivacious, inviting way of movie star actresses or idol singers that most guys stick at the top of the ‘want to get in bed with’ list.
No. Sakito is beautiful in a way that doesn’t seem quite normal, and certainly isn’t touchable. It looks so delicate that it could shatter any second if you even breathed on it, absolutely perfect, serene, and unattainable. And that expression he has, that calm, lovely acceptance of what he is! See, for most people, before they know him enough to see past that to the trekkie-style geek behind, that expression is enough to stop them from ever saying what they feel. It says that he knows how perfect he is, and that of course they would be inferior, what’s the point in trying, might as well go home now!

And Hitsu, even though he knows Sakito better than anyone in the world, most likely, will never say anything either, partly because of that look but partly because Sakito never gives him any encouragement. He never gives anyone encouragement, which leads me to wonder what it is he actually wants. He must know Hitsugi well enough by now to see how in love he is. Is Sakito really such an icicle to ignore such a wonderful person in every way?

I huff drunkenly to myself as I walk up the steps, shaking my head, and raise my eyebrow at finding the door unlocked.
I step in and see him. I shouldn’t be surprised, I know he had a late photoshoot, and I know he often comes back here to practice by himself because, for reasons I mentioned just now, apart from the four of us Sakito is fundamentally alone.
He turns towards me and even though I’ve known him for years I still find myself drawing in my breath at his beauty. He’s wearing a stage outfit which, as usual, consists of practically nothing, just a wisp of sheer cloth jacket and satin trousers that barely reach his hips. And as Hitsugi once remarked after a trip to the hot-springs, in terms of the male ego Sakito barely clothed is about five hundred times worse than Sakito naked.

“Hey Ni~ya”, he says calmly, clearly not noticing my stare. I wonder as I gaze at him whether anyone has ever looked at Sakito with passion. He sure doesn’t seem to recognise it now. I can’t believe how blind, how self-centred he is. I narrow my eyes, and feel incredibly sorry for Hitsu. In my mildly drunken state the way to resolve this seems to be by argument.

“How’re you doing, Sakito?” I ask carefully.

“A little tired. You?”

“Can’t you tell?” I ask, watching closely for any sign of apprehension or recognition. Nothing, just a beautiful, blank stare.

“You seem fine.” He sniffs delicately and smiles. “A bit on the drunk side?”
I shrug and walk over to him, simmering quietly. I slide my arm around his bare, slender shoulders companionably. He looks at me sideways, accepting this as part of inebriated Ni~ya.

“Let’s talk about Hitsugi”.

He furrows his brow in a frown that completely fails to spoil the perfection of his face. “Is there something wrong with him?”

“There could be”, I say carefully. “You haven’t noticed?”

“No. Should I have?”

I tighten my grip on his shoulder in frustration. “Yes. You should have”. I can’t work out if this is a very good bluff or genuine cluelessness, his face is such a perfect mask. He winces at my grasp.

“I… don’t get what you’re talking about!”

At these pathetic words of excuse I decide to have fun and let my anger take control. I never pretended to be as nice as Hitsu, even if I do respect him. I grab Sakito’s right arm with my free hand and twist it up behind his back before he has a chance to realise what’s happening. His wrist is very slim, his bones very delicate; it feels good within my grip. He gasps in surprise; I’m not holding tight enough for there to be pain yet.

“If you come out with one more mealy-mouthed excuse like that, Sakito…”
My brain is telling me I should possibly shut up and not bully the band leader any more, but the rest of me is right alongside the idea. I tweak his arm a little higher to see what he’ll do next.

“Stop it, Ni~ya!” he snaps, and then I snap, spinning forty-five degrees to shove him face-first against the wall, grabbing his other arm while I’m about it. He doesn’t struggle, he’s still so sure I’ll release him.

“So, let’s talk about you and Hitsugi”, I murmur, my mouth close to his pretty ear. He tries to turn around and glare at me, but I won’t let him. I bang his head lightly against the brickwork for good measure and feel him pause.

“What about me and Hitsu?” he questions breathlessly, the pulse suddenly speeding up under the frail skin of his wrist.

“Hmph”. I shake my head disapprovingly. “That is not a good answer, Sakito”.

I press my knee into the base of his spine, pushing him harder against the wall, and jerk one slender arm further up his back. He whimpers, his forehead against the cold white bricks, and tries to twist away; the movement exposes the pale skin of his neck, rich hair spilling across his collar.

“Well?” I ask in his ear, “don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He flinches at the whisper of air over his skin and his breathing becomes more laboured. He manages to turn his head to the side and I notice his slim white shoulders tremble; his skin is flushed, an angry blush above his delicate cheekbones. Something unexpected is going on here.
A sudden suspicion strikes me.

“Are you excited?” I whisper. He doesn’t answer. I tug on one elegant wrist and he lets out a soft moan in his low voice. Eyebrow raised, I pin both his arms in one hand and snake the other down over his flat belly, feeling the skin shiver under my touch, beneath the barely-there waistband of his scandalously low cut trousers. I grin, amazed, eyeing his exquisite face as his eyes flutter closed and the breath catches in his throat. No wonder I’ve never seen anyone get anywhere with Sakito before! People treat him like a glass princess because of his shocking beauty, and then assume his disinterest is down to their inferior manners anyway! Hah. He always acts so cold… Sakito doesn’t want to give love to anyone. He wants it to be taken.

Abruptly I let go of his arms. He presses his hands against the wall in front of him, it looks as though he’s trying to sink into it. I take a fistful of perfectly styled hair and yank his head back and force my body flush against his, feeling the heat of his skin through my shirt. He’s trembling fiercely now, nails digging into the plaster, dark eyes wide and incredulous.

“What are you doing…? Let me go!” he begs, very unconvincingly.

“Is this why you’ve been ignoring Hitsugi?” I ask, sure that it is but wanting to know if he even realises it.

“What… what do you mean?”

I smile and push the wispy fabric of his jacket aside, running my hands hard down the gentle curves of his tiny waist, digging my thumbs into his pale hips and pulling him tighter against me. I hear the expected gasp of pleasure, but his hands still come up and try to push mine away.

“You know he loves you, don’t you?” I whisper, nipping him hard on the earlobe to make sure he’s listening. “But you can’t get interested because you know how sweet he is, you know he’d make sure you never get hurt…”

He shakes his head dumbly, still amazing me with his beauty. “I don’t -”

“Don’t lie”.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he asks miserably, ineffectual hands still resting on mine.

“Well up until just now I was angry that you’ve just been ignoring how Hitsu feels”, I say conversationally. “To be honest, I thought you were a cold bitch”. He makes a protesting noise and I begin to kiss his neck softly, smooth skin and silky hair beneath my mouth. “But now… I’m doing it because I can”.

“But… but… what about him?” he blurts out.

I grin between my kisses and shrug. “I’m not like him. Because I’m not a nice person, and I don’t care about keeping you safe. I want to see that calm look wiped off your pretty face for once. See?” I bite down hard, sharp teeth digging into the nape of his neck, slamming my hand over his mouth to muffle his cry of pain and surprise.

Before he can work out what’s happening I spin him round to face me and kiss him, pushing a knee between his slim legs to keep him still. His head bangs back against the wall but he ignores it, kissing me back almost frantically, pressing his flat stomach against mine hard enough for me to feel the faint bump of the diamond in his navel. Is he really this easily swayed? Has anyone else ever seen this deep into Sakito’s desires? He must be weak at the knees; his legs are shaking as I drag my hands up the back of his willowy thighs, the silky fabric slipping under my touch.

Abruptly I pull back and slap him across his face, dragging a pleased whimper from him and leaving a red palm print on one cheek. As I stop supporting him he falls to his knees in front of me, that serenely angelic face coming undone with pain and yearning. He looks up at me, houri eyes meeting mine questioningly. I let him keep staring without answering, trying to get my breathing back to normal speed. There’s no question that I could fall right under his spell if I let him have his way.

I tangle one hand in his thick cinnamon hair, stroking it roughly, and he leans into the movement like a cat, dark eyes still gazing up at me longingly as I run my nails down his cheek, thumb rubbing across his delicate lower lip. I don’t know whether he can read something in my stare, but he kneels up, slim hands running over the outside of my legs, and leans forward to kiss my stomach through the fabric of my shirt. I shut my eyes momentarily to get my bearings back, and when I open them his clever fingers are reaching for my belt buckle.

“No.”
I shake my head firmly and push him back. I lean down and kiss him, hard, then grab the front of his clothes and yank him upright. He looks disappointed so I hit him again, a swift backhander across the face that couldn’t hurt much but seems to please him. It feels so good it’s almost sickening, and he still burns with ridiculous beauty.

I set my hand on his slender chest and shove him backwards, walking him across the room until he falls onto the sofa, still managing to look graceful as he sprawls below me. Without preamble I climb on top of him, straddling his lithe hips, relishing the contact. I take my hands to the impractical fabric of his jacket and with a few calculated rips it’s gone, leaving him pale and half naked below me.

“Ni~ya -” He’s trembling, body taut as a bowstring, arching up into my touch at every point I caress or pinch him. When I pull his hair he sighs and leans into my kiss passionately; he tries to undress me, not knowing what else to do with his hands, so I grab a discarded strip of fabric and turn him over roughly, tying them behind him. I scrape my nails down his wonderfully smooth back and hear him moan deliciously into the sofa cushions.

Really, now I know the key, for someone like me having Sakito is as easy as snapping my fingers. But someone like Hitsu would never figure it out in a hundred years; and if he did happen to stumble across it he probably wouldn’t believe it in any case. It’s all very difficult.

“You want this, don’t you, Sakito?” I ask calmly. “Just nod”. He does so emphatically, not even trying to hide it. “You want it from me? Just nod”. Again. “You know how beautiful you are, right? Don’t lie.” A moment’s hesitation, then a faint nod. I reward him with a series of nibbles along his spine that have him wriggling pleasurably beneath me.

“Right then.” I clamber off him and tug him onto his back again, leaning down to kiss his flat stomach gently. “You’ll do what I say, yes?”
He nods again, almost impatiently. I smile and touch him teasingly between the legs. I take the jewel in his belly button between my teeth and tug on it, gently, then harder, until I hear him give an inarticulate whimper of pain.

Not wanting to be thought too forward, I spend a few minutes kissing him, our bodies pressed together without a gap. When I pull back his perfect features are flushed and pleading. I swiftly unbutton his insufficient trousers and tug them off his legs until he is naked beneath me, running my hands up the length of his smooth calves. He’s so lovely and I want him so badly now that it’s all I can do to hold myself back from him. Honestly, the things I do for some people.

“Sit up.” He gazes at me blankly so I slap him and drag him by his thick hair into a sitting position, pulling him onto my lap. He shifts against me luxuriously and I find myself unable to suppress my own hard-on. So much for being cool, calm and collected. He tips his head back against my shoulder, leaving exposed his long, elegant neck. I push his legs apart and begin to touch him, kissing his white throat while my other hand travels over his torso, alternately caressing and pinching to draw little sounds of pleasure from his pretty lips. He’s already so hard that I don’t think he’ll last much longer. I wonder when he last did it. I wonder if he ever has?

I stop touching him and just sit there. He moans softly but I ignore it. “Please…” he whispers. I entwine my fingers in his hair and yank his head back further till his ear is level with my mouth.
“Remember. You said you’d do anything.”

“Yes.” He tilts his head towards me so that his lips graze mine as he speaks, and I can’t help kissing him again, softly. I return my ministrating hand to his hard-on and he sighs into my mouth. Letting one hand trace randomly over his chest I sink a long fingernail into his left nipple. He jerks beneath me and I move my other hand faster, my mouth leaving his so I can bite down in the soft flesh of his narrow shoulder, hearing his cry of pent up pleasure. I sink my teeth deeper, tasting blood, and at that instant he climaxes, his sounds muffled as he bites down on his lower lip and his slender body tensing uncontrollably.

I sit there, one hand warm and wet, feeling him tremble against me, his breathing erratic and rapid. I wait until he can open his eyes, damp with tears, then reach behind him to untie him, wiping my hands on the scrap of fabric. He winces as I move his arms round in front of him, his wrists raw and pink. His shoulder is bleeding a little, a thin line of red running down his slim chest.

“Are you happy, Sakito?”
He nods breathlessly. I wait for him to get off me, but he doesn’t move. I raise an eyebrow. He wriggles suggestively against my own erection. “Hurt me”, he breathes yearningly.
Ah. Yes. It’s very, very tempting. But I did start this for a reason.

“I will.”
He tenses expectantly, waiting for pain that doesn’t arrive. I smile.

“Go away.”

“…What?” He looks at me uncomprehendingly out of those sloe eyes.

“Fine, then I’ll go away.” I dump him off my lap onto the floor and stand up, exercising all the willpower I have to calm my body down.
“I did what you wanted. Now you do what I want.”

“What is it you want?” he whispers.

“Go and find Hitsugi.”
His fine brow wrinkles in confusion.

“Don’t you remember anything I’ve been saying?” I demand, exasperated. “You belong to him now.” He looks betrayed, like I’ve broken some promise. “That’s my condition”, I continue. “If you ever want me again, you have to get him.”

“But… he won’t have me”, he says miserably. “He’ll never admit anything like that to me.”

“Then make him take you”, I retort, still amazed that someone so lovely can be so dumb. “You’re the most beautiful person any of us has ever seen, and you know you are. If you can’t do it, there’s something wrong with the world.”

“And if I do…” he whispers questioningly, his eyes fixed on mine. I smack him hard enough to bruise.

“If you do… I’ll see.” I turn around and walk firmly for the door, resisting every temptation to go back to him, leaving him naked on the floor and looking so astronomically gorgeous that half of me (the bad half) is telling me I must be crazy.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it, drawing in a deep breath of chilly air gratefully. Well I never said I was an immoral guy. I’m just as capable of good deeds as the next man. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m sure I’m an ok kind of person deep inside. Yes I am.

Well, screw it anyway. I walk home and sleep soundly.

Hurrah! End of hard work

Wed, 26 Apr 2006 22:31:32 GMT

*relaxing*
Handed in my essays today. 9500 words in a week and a half, go me! My dissertation won't give me any trouble at this rate. Although, had slightly scary exam revision session today in Gender, makes me think I haven't been paying attention all year! No, surely not...
Did my Japanese exam yesterday, was mostly ok except a bit of English to Japanese translation, not helped by the builders outside listening to Magic FM and bellowing out Total Eclipse Of The Heart full blast. Dear dear.

Oh yeah. Drew Sakito the other day... or week... my sister said he looks smug or mean or something along those lines. I didn't think so at the time!

I changed the layout to see what it looked like. I'm not sure, I still think pink is cuter ^_^
Well, that's about that. Will celebrate tomorrow by going to Camden, see if they have any mini parasols. Oh yeah, went to see Take the Lead last night and expected it to be totally cheesy. And it was. But it was also great! A very sexy 3-way tango. So yeah, pleasantly surprised there.

argh

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 21:48:13 GMT

Well, I haven't updated for a long time... because, er, I haven't done anything. lol. Am currently in the middle of essay hell, although is v. jolly one about the homosocial in yakuza films. Well, I'll be done by Tuesday, and then can start revising, hooray! eheh.

Took some pics of the Fool and Hitsu in kimono the other day, they turned out quite well!

There we are. Will listen to 'Let's Build a Snowman' and then go to bed!

The Luckiest - chapter five

Sun, 02 Apr 2006 20:43:01 GMT

UPDATE!!

All hail me! Have finally updated The Luckiest, with a very dull chapter in which nothing will happen and no-one will have sex, dammit. Sorry about that! Still, I did something!

Enjoy! (if at all possible)

The next morning, after a night of the most sweet and exhausted sleep he’d enjoyed for several weeks, Ni~ya ordered his once-more enthusiastic lover to make breakfast and then bundled him off to the supermarket with a wry smile on his face.

Eleven a.m. saw him riding the elevator up to Hitsugi’s apartment. He was in a mood to talk, and with the only person who did not appear to be personally involved in Nightmare’s near-catastrophic romantic relationships. He rang the bell, hoping he wasn’t interrupting one of the guitarist’s snooze-fests - he had no desire to have his head bitten clean off by Morning Monster Hitsugi.

The door cracked open and an eye was applied to the gap, which widened as Hitsugi recognised Ni~ya.

“Good morning”.

“Morning!” returned Ni~ya cheerfully. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Nope. Come on in”. Hitsugi flung the door open and stepped back, letting Ni~ya see the small cat perched on his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows at what was presumably the guitarist’s new fad, and stepped in, taking a seat on one of the comfortable floor cushions in Hitsugi’s surprisingly tidy living room. Hitsugi followed him and sank down into the biggest armchair, which, Ni~ya noticed, had a knitting basket by its feet. A red and black basket covered in spikes to be sure, but a knitting basket just the same. He refrained from comment.

Hitsugi lifted the cat up into his lap.
“Meet Nancy”.

Ni~ya cracked a smile.
“From Elm Street?”

“Of course from Elm Street”. Hitsugi leant his face down to snuggle against the black fur. “Who’s a widdle cutey-pie, den?”

Ni~ya shook his head surreptitiously. People could be really strange about cats.

“Well, how are things?” asked Hitsugi solicitously, leaning back and relaxing. He liked Ni~ya a lot as the second most sensible after himself, and was genuinely interested to know how he was coping with recent events, and was quite willing to give him advice.

Ni~ya gave a bizarre shrug. Hitsugi was looking at him intently whilst stroking the cat on his lap; he looked fairly diabolic, thought Ni~ya, like some ‘60s super-villain, and refrained from blurting out the numerous terrible pussy jokes that had just swamped his pretty, perverted head.

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Yomi around, would you?” he asked instead, and leaned back in surprise as Hitsugi gave a loud groan at the mention of the vocalist’s name and clapped one hand to his forehead.

“I’ve seen quite enough of Yomi to last me a week, thank you!”.

“Huh?”

“I’ve only just managed to get him out of my house; I sent him home to do some serious thinking”.

“Oh. I guess I’ll go there, then…I really need to talk to him”.

“Er… how are things going with you two…you know who I mean…?” asked Hitsugi awkwardly.

Ni~ya sighed and pushed his shining hair back from his face. A little smile flickered over his mouth at the memory of the previous day.
“Better than they have been. Much better in fact. But I want to make sure they stay that way, and so I have to talk to Yomi”.

“Well, I guess you know best what you need…unlike some others I could mention”, mused Hitsugi out loud. The cat purred at the sound of his voice. “He’s really sorry, y’know”.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’ve had to hear just how sorry for the last twelve hours…”

“Is…is he happy?”

“Eh?”

“I mean, is he happy with Saki? Saki seems to be head over heels for him”.

Hitsugi shrugged expressively.
“Why are you so worried?”

“Because. Because my happiness depends on Yomi being happy”. He noted Hitsugi staring at him blankly and sighed. “It’s complicated…it’s about what Ruka needs and what he thinks he wants”.

“Hmph”.

“So, if Yomi’s happy with Sakito then I think I can be -”

“Well if he wasn’t, I imagine he pretty soon will be”, interrupted Hitsugi smoothly. “I made it pretty clear that he’d better be, anyway”. He glowered.

“Er…ok. Well in that case, I’ll be off”. Ni~ya stood up.

“One more thing!” Ni~ya turned round at the urgent tone of voice. Hitsugi was holding up the cat in both hands.
“Do you think she’d look cute in a skirt?”

***********************************************

I sit in yesterday’s clothes, drinking coffee and eating re-heated lasagne (which Saki made, by the way). I’m in two minds right now: one of them is nervous and impatient, counting the hours until I can reasonably expect Sakito to be in a mood to listen to my apology; the other is dully despairing because he’s ignoring my calls and all my messages. At least, I assume he’s ignoring me. I don’t have the energy to do anything this morning, not after the sleepless night I got at Hitsugi’s. I can’t get his words out of my head, I can’t forget about how much he cares for Saki, and the sweet way he shows it. I should be doing the same thing…

Ah. Doorbell!
Could it be…?

I swing open the door enthusiastically, ready to show just how caring and understanding I can be…

…And Ni~ya appears on my doorstep, arms folded, looking fresh-faced and a lot more healthy than I feel right now. What the hell can he be doing here?! We haven’t had a meaningful interaction since that day…

“Er…N-Ni~ya!” I stutter guiltily. The corner of his mouth flicks upward momentarily at my stumbling voice, I’m not sure whether nicely or nastily.

“Is now a good time to have a little talk?” he asks politely, his dark eyes telling me that ‘no’ is not an option.

“S-sure. Um…come in”.

He follows me to the kitchen and sits himself down at the table, hands folded primly in front of him.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I ask, trying to fill up the silence that’s threatening to blossom in the room. He nods, and I hurry over to the stove and put the kettle on. I stand with my back to him while I make the tea and he doesn’t say anything. I hand him a cup and sit down opposite him. And wait.

And wait.

He’s observing me coolly but doesn’t seem in a great hurry to say anything.

After a while I start to wonder if this is some subtle kind of torture. I fidget under his stare. He sips his tea calmly. I notice an angry-looking red stripe on his wrist.

I wait some more.

“Why did you come here?!” I blurt out, unable to take this horrible weirdness and his coolness any more.

He looks at me.

“Didn’t I hurt you? Why would you want anything to do with me?!”

He continues to stare at me neutrally for some moments, then suddenly slams his cup down hard on the table top, the only sign of just how angry he really is.

“Of course I’m hurt”, he whispers viciously, half to himself. “I couldn’t believe that the two of you would do this to me”.

I bite my lip hard to try and stop my now-familiar guilty tears, but can’t suppress a sniffle. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“STOP CRYING!!” he yells abruptly, his control broken for just one second before he continues quietly, “Please, stop”.

I manage to command myself eventually, and find that the anger in his black eyes has receded to pity.

“But I can forgive him…so I can forgive you too”. I gawp at him in amazement. “We’ve been through a lot together, huh, Yomi”, he says wistfully. “We’ve been so close…and I care for you…and I don’t want to lose it”.

Now I’m getting the urge to burst into tears again; how can Ni~ya be so good?

“So…how are you and Saki getting along?” he asks more brightly, leaning back in his chair. Is this some kind of dig at me or is he genuinely interested? I droop metaphorically at my behaviour to him last night.

“Well…we’re…we could be better, I guess”, I admit.

“Saki loves you a lot”, Ni~ya tells me mildly, swirling the tea around his mug.

“You think so?” I ask hopefully.

“I know so. I can tell; he loves you as much as I love Ruka”.

I cringe guiltily at this.

“I want you to be happy, Yomi”, he says earnestly, astoundingly, resting his pale hand tentatively on top of mine. I don’t pull it back.

“You…do?”

“Yes. My happiness depends on yours, Yomi. That’s why I’ve come to ask you to be happy with Sakito - please help me”.

“I don’t understand”, I whisper in confusion.

“I mean, please don’t cry anymore, please be the cute little bright Yomi you used to be: let Saki love you and just be happy with him”. He’s leaning forward now, looking imploringly at me. “It’s so difficult for me”, he says tentatively, dropping his gaze. “I know it’s not your fault - you can do absolutely nothing and he loves you without even trying. But I have to work so hard. Please - don’t make it even harder for him to love me”.

It’s true. Ni~ya is insightful, he knows Ruka so well. I’ve been thinking about this, too: it seems so difficult, such a struggle at the moment to love Sakito and have him love me, and it’s the same for Ruka. And if we stop struggling we gravitate to one another effortlessly and it seems the most natural thing in the world, and at times I’ve thought it would be easier to just stop fighting it...

But I do love Sakito, and he does love Ni~ya. And the struggle has to be worth it; if I can succeed then everyone will have what they want. So of course I won’t stop trying.

“You’ll get what you want, Ni~ya”, I promise him in a whisper, he’s looking so sorrowful I don’t want to intrude on his misery. He looks up and smiles at me, a small but genuine smile.

“And so will you”, he tells me, squeezing my hand fondly. He stands up and buttons his coat. “I’ll see you at practice on Monday”.

“Bye, Ni~ya”. He’s gone. And it’s such a relief to have him be my friend again; I know now that the desire I feel for Ruka is not worth losing Ni~ya or anybody else. Now I can be purposeful of mind again: I will get Saki back, and we will be happy!

***********************************************

I pluck up my courage, fidgeting on the doorstep, and eventually ring the bell. No-one answers. I wait for a minute, my heart sinking, and then ring again. Is he ignoring me? Still? It’s not like him at all. I mean god knows I deserve it, but Saki’s not usually coldly angry.

I’m about to give up and am turning round disconsolately to walk home, when I hear the rattle of the safety chain on the door. I freeze and it swings open to reveal Sakito, in his dressing gown and with mussed hair, looking pale, sleepy and depressed.

“Saki!”

I shiver in nervous delight as his beautiful eyes light up in recognition, a smile spreading across his delicate mouth, and the next thing I know he throws his arms wide, beaming down at me.

“Yomi! Thank god!”
At his inviting gesture I’m overcome with remorse and throw myself into his arms, almost knocking him over in my enthusiasm.

“Saki, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry”, I blurt out indistinctly, my face buried in his slim chest. He disentangles himself from my grip and takes my hand, leading me into the house and sitting me down on the couch beside him, the same couch that I made such a fool of myself on last night.
He looks like he’s drinking me up with his eyes, still holding my hand and stroking my hair, looking earnest, worried and happy all at the same time. His face is so radiant I feel like I could burn up under his gaze like a moth to a light, and I grin back at him inanely.

“I’m so glad you came back”, he whispers shyly. I frown a little.

“I…I didn’t know if you wanted me”, I admit. “You were ignoring my calls, so I didn’t come earlier…but I just couldn’t stay away, I had to come and apologise to you -”

His face is now a study in perplexity. Then he digs around underneath him, pulls out his keitai (which no doubt contains at least twenty messages in various forms from me) and stares at it bashfully.

“Oh…oh!” He bites his lip unconsciously. “I’m so sorry I made you think that! I…was a bit upset last night and I couldn’t relax. So I took a sleeping tablet, and I didn’t even wake up till you rang the bell just now”.

I almost laugh at the misunderstandings we’ve been having, but then remember that it was me who made him upset in the first place…just like it was me who went behind his back when he was completely innocent. Hitsugi-kun sternly warned me yesterday that Saki doesn’t know anything about it, and promised that if he found out and was hurt then he, Hitsugi, would kill me slowly and inventively.

I pull myself together and manage to look as contrite as I feel.
“Sakito…I’m sorry”. I focus on his long, slender fingers twisting themselves together over and over in his lap. “I shouldn’t have got mad last night.” I flick my gaze up momentarily to his face and see him bite down on his delicate bottom lip, his eyes searching for contact with mine.

“Don’t be”. Huh?

He folds his pyjama-clad legs up underneath him gracefully and leans back as I stare, trying to push down the almost physical sensations of yearning I feel at the smooth movement of his limbs.
“I’m just being irrational”. He tries a little laugh that breaks into nothingness halfway through. “It’s just…I was kind of really enjoying dating you, and -”

“We didn’t date”, I interject (and then mentally kick myself - my stupidity is reaching near-majestic heights). A fine line appears between his feathery eyebrows.

“Well. I guess. Anyway, I was going to say it was different. It was fun, cooking with someone I like and that kind of stuff”. Riiight. He does appear to be serious. I try to fit my head around the idea of cooking as any kind of fun and fail.

“You cook with Hitsugi-kun all the time”, I object.

“That doesn’t count, he doesn’t like me like you do”. He settles back even further, squirming his way into the corner of the sofa, then begins the obsessive fiddling with his hair. “The point is, it always goes the same way with me. I meet a guy, he fucks me, he buys me a car”.

“Sakito -!” I’m appalled at his bleak cynicism. He shrugs.

“No point saying ‘oh Sakito’. That’s how it happens. I don’t see why I should try and defend it. All I’m saying is that spending time with you makes me happy. I was looking forward to taking things slowly, doing it the romantic way for once, like Ni~ya gets to”.

“There’s nothing romantic about Ruka and Ni~ya”, I mutter, trying to cover up my sudden feeling of being the world’s biggest git. Is this what Hitsugi-kun meant? How come he seems to know every nuance of Saki’s feelings when they’re such a mystery to me?

He looks up at me and his liquid eyes are as sad as I’ve ever seen them.
“I should have known it wasn’t fair to expect you to wait. I tried so hard to make it fun for you but I’ve spoilt everything, haven’t I?” I feel a frisson of pity as he wipes his eyes roughly on the back of his sleeve, realising that I’ve never seen Saki’s emotions so strong that they manage to push past his wall of composed, elegant beauty.

“Don’t be stupid, Saki”, I hear myself say at the same time as I reach out and pull his hand away from his face. Noticing his shocked expression, I try to clarify what I’m saying.
“You haven’t spoiled anything! I’ve had the best time in my life with you”.

He stares at me.
“Is that true?”

“Pretty much”. I stand up, suddenly feeling full of righteous determination, as it were. “I’m gonna do something about this”.

“Yomi -”

I ignore his soft, interrupting voice and squeeze his cool hand tightly while he gazes up at me like some beautiful princess in need of rescue, making me feel for one second like a saviour in armour instead of a rambling midget with a guilty conscience.
“You’re gonna have fun, Sakito, if it’s the last thing I do!”

I lean in abruptly and kiss him on the cheek, then release his hand and stride heroically over to the door where I struggle into my shoes.
“Meet me at rehearsal tomorrow, Sakito!” I order (knowing perfectly well that he doesn’t have a choice and will undoubtedly be there an hour before me anyway).

“But -”

I ignore his protest and scoot out the door, trying to think up some kind of plan to show Saki a good time which doesn’t involve taking my clothes off. I have to prove to him (and myself, and everybody else that’s interested) that I’m worthy of being loved by him. Somehow. Dammit.

***********************************************

Today’s practice has been weird as hell, I reflect to myself as we break for lunch. Am I really the only person who has his mind on the job? I take a look around me, just to make sure: Ni~ya-chan is wandering the studio trying to find a comfortable place to sit down, hissing with discomfort whenever the back of his thighs touch something and throwing me filthy looks. I smirk back at him, blushing slightly at the memory of playtime last night. No wonder he can’t concentrate.

Hitsugi, although his playing is impeccable as usual, has not looked once at his guitar strings all rehearsal because he doesn’t seem to be able to unglue his eyes from the odd couple in front of him. Now he’s ensconced himself in the most comfortable chair underneath the window, interminable knitting out as usual, occasionally looking down momentarily at his work and scratching his feline nose delicately.

Sakito, on the other hand, has had his pretty eyes firmly fixed on his shoes, only breaking off to shoot doubtful-yet-attractive glances at our mini singer, and I can tell why. Yomi is up to something. It’s always easy to spot; he’s chewing on the side of his thumb, his little face screwed up in concentration, sneaking sly looks at Saki. I wonder what he’s up to.

Ni~ya-chan goes to buy chocolate, leaving me with nothing to do; so I sit and watch Hitsugi watching Sakito and Yomi, his face like a placid cat’s basking in the winter sun, narrowed eyes blinking slowly. Yomi seems to have warmed up towards Saki again lately, although Sakito still retains that prettily puzzled expression he’s been wearing for the last few weeks. They begin to speak and I continue to stare at Hitsugi while I tune in to their conversation.

“Sakitoooo”, Yomi croons in the instantly suspicious way he uses when he wants something, “you promised we’d have the afternoon off, right?” He hooks his little hand through the crook of Sakito’s arm. Hey yeah, he did promise us that! I grin inwardly as I think of all the things Ni~ya-chan and I can do to fill up the time, then remember I told him that I’d sort out the blocked sink two days ago. Dammit. How did I get relegated to the role of house-husband?

Sakito looks at him levelly.
“You know I did. So keen to get away, are you?”

Yomi cuddles his arm in an even more dubiously ingratiating manner and gives him the patented cute expression, although how he can expect that to work on Sakito, master of seductive arts, I really don’t know.
“Don’t be silly, Saki. I’ve just got some… stuff to do this afternoon.” I lean forward; he really has got some plan on the go, Yomi’s terrible at making up excuses and hiding secrets. I wonder if Ni~ya-chan’s in a good enough mood to do some light espionage…

Sakito looks rightly suspicious, and a little unhappy. I don’t think anyone ever told him about… what happened at the onsen, so I wonder what it is? As I flick my eyes back to Hitsugi in an effort not to look like a blatant eavesdropper, I see Yomi out of the corner of my eye leaning in to whisper in Saki’s ear. But before I can try and figure out what he’s saying, the door slams open. Ni~ya-chan sashays in, flinging his wet scarf in my face, and perches on the arm of the chair beside Hitsugi, who is worriedly chewing his lip ring and still watching Yomi with one narrow eyebrow raised.

“Hey Hitsu”, pipes up Ni~ya-chan, who is also watching Hitsugi closely, “bum a cigarette?”
Hitsugi snaps out of it and nods; they both get up and wander out the back door, Ni~ya-chan shutting it firmly behind him.

***************************************************

I continue trying to smarm my way back into Sakito’s good books in the hope of getting this afternoon off. He looks pretty pissed, I know he thinks I’m trying to avoid him. I stroke his arm ingratiatingly and try to think through the details of the cunning idea that has just sprung to mind, relieved that Ni~ya has taken Hitsugi-kun outside so I’m no longer the object of his obsessive staring.

Ruka is scrumming jaffa cakes and looking immensely bored, as usual, but I’m very determined not to go and talk to him.
Just as well: Ni~ya comes back in, looking exasperated and shaking his head. I assume it’s nicotine craving, as he’s in a chain-smoking phase just now and starts wanting a cigarette even while he’s actually smoking one. He cocks one eyebrow at me moodily and I nod back, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of his tempers.

“Ruka! Are you eating my lunch?!”

I see Ruka jump guiltily. Ni~ya swipes the offending jaffa cakes from his hand and plonks himself down in the drummer’s lap, folding his arms as if daring Ruka to cuddle him. Ruka wisely refrains. Damn, I’m glad not everyone’s as volatile as these two!

As I think this, however, Hitsugi-kun finally re-enters the building. I twitch as he slams the door behind him as though he bears it a personal grudge, wearing a scowl that I’ve hardly ever seen on him before. Guess I spoke too soon. Everyone’s in a lousy mood. It must be… the moon, or something.
Sakito, who had gloomily disentangled himself from my grip just a minute ago, turns from packing up his guitar to look concernedly at his friend.

“Hitsu, are you ok?”

At his words, Hitsugi-kun’s expression changes from thunderous to calm, and he nods levelly.
“Yup. Are we done for the day?”

Sakito nods, sighing through his nose and throwing me an unreadable look. He zips his cardigan up across his slim chest.
“Wanna come shopping?”

Hitsugi-kun nods shortly, going along with whatever Saki says, as usual. Maybe that’s why he seems to know him better than I do; but clothes shopping with Sakito is so depressing, I don’t know how Hitsugi-kun stands it, Saki being one of those people who is guaranteed to look fabulous in everything he tries on yet takes hours over it, drawing admiring comments from all and sundry while the hapless companion (i.e. me) is still struggling to find a pair of jeans that don’t make himself look like he’s five years old.

Hitsugi-kun slings his guitar case over his shoulder and picks up his coat. I catch Ni~ya giving him an appraising glance, and see the immensely bad-tempered, warning look Hitsu throws back, before he turns to Sakito, smiling genuinely.

Saki looks at me.
“Call me, will you? I…”

“Oh, I will”, I reassure him, feeling Ruka and Ni~ya’s curious glances on the back of my neck. But not before I… prepare a few things, I think to myself, grinning.

As some famous thespian once said: I’ve got a plan. And it’s as hot - as my pants!!

***************************************************

Will Ruka ever stop looking gormless?
Will Yomi ever get laid?
Stay tuned!!

(oh, p.s. If anyone wants to know why Hitsugi is in such a bad mood, I'll send you the little side-conversation he and Ni~ya were having outside ^_^ And added caveat - don't read if you don't want to see Hitsu being upset)

more Mini Ruki

Sun, 02 Apr 2006 08:20:18 GMT

Here's some more outfits for mini Ruki...

Outfit from Shiikureta Haru, Kawaneru Haru (kinda)

From No.666

Ruder... sort of.

Dear me. I have too much time on my hands!

Fic - HIbiya II

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 16:56:41 GMT

Bored bored bored. There's nothing to do here. Shall watch I'm Alan Partridge again.
OK, continuing to upload fic archive, here is the sequel to Hibiya.

Title: Hibiya II
Group: Naito
Pairing: Hitsugi x Sakito
Rating: PG-13?
Genre: cheesy wussy fluffy

It was late. Drink had happened.

Ni~ya stifled a yawn and nuzzled closer into Yomi’s shoulder, trying to walk his feet up the side of the bed and underneath Sakito’s covers. He opened his eyes momentarily as a square of chocolate hit him on the ear.

“And as I was saying”, continued Sakito, glaring tipsily at him, “minor details not withstanding, that was a fine performance. It’ll be a great dvd.”

“Yeah, we know why you two thought it was great”, retorted Ni~ya snarkily, raising an eyebrow in the direction of Hitsugi, who blushed and looked out of the window.

“Look, can we go to sleep now Saki?” begged Ruka, who was getting a terrible cramp in his leg from supporting both Ni~ya and a slumbering Yomi. They were all gathered on Sakito’s bed for the traditional post-live minute by minute dissection; Sakito still in half his stage clothes, bright eyes glowing with success and alcohol, and the others slumped around him in various stages of snooze; except Hitsugi, who was perched on the end of the bed and staring very intently at the floor and the ceiling, alternately.

Sakito raised his eyes to heaven, but nodded.
“Go on then. Ruka, please leave Yomi alone tonight, he has a lot to do tomorrow.”

Ruka looked pointedly at his snoring little companion. “You’ve no worries there.” He grabbed both of his sleeping friends by the ear. “Come on you bastards.” They stood up amidst complaints and grumbles.
“See you two tomorrow”, grinned Ruka as they exited. Ni~ya managed an unsubtle, sleepy wink at them.

Sakito watched them go with a fond, exasperated expression. Then, as usual, it was just the two of them. Sakito normally liked Hitsugi to stay longer, as it gave him someone to nitpick to and Hitsugi was the only one who would stand it for a decent amount of time, in Sakito’s opinion.
Now he watched Hitsugi’s tense, uncomfortable stance with both desire and pity. Normally the younger guitarist would loll across the bed and listen placidly, able to drape himself anywhere like the cat he so closely resembled sometimes. At present, however, Hitsugi was sitting primly on the edge of the bed like a Victorian school-mistress, apparently oblivious to Sakito’s hungry expression.

What’s he so frightened of? wondered Sakito musingly. It wasn’t as though Hitsugi had never had a girlfriend before. He reached out slowly and softly stroked his fingers along the nape of Hitsugi’s neck.
The general reaction to this normally led Sakito to expect a knowing smile, a returning caress, or even a quick pounce. What he did not expect was for Hitsugi to leap into the air as though he’d been electrified, stumble to his feet and stammer,

“I’m, um, really tired now Saki, I think I drank too much. Let’s talk about the live in the morning”, then back out of the room so fast you’d think there was a prize at the other end. Yet this is just what he did.

“Hey…!” called Sakito after him. When Hitsugi did not reappear as normal, Sakito flowed upright and stared out the door at the empty hallway. He stood there, perplexed, then slid the door shut and went back to bed to wait. He waited while he changed into his pyjamas. He waited while he removed his makeup. He waited while he brushed his teeth. He turned off the light and lay down, and tried waiting like that, but it wasn’t any better. He sat up indignantly.

He can’t have changed his mind, he thought firmly. He had felt how Hitsugi had reacted to his kisses, sure that he had felt the same jolt of attraction and emotion. But… Sakito had never experienced rejection before, yet there had to be a first time for everything. He bit his perfect lip worriedly.
He must be just nervous, he told himself. He was aware how childlike the youngest member of his band could be in certain odd situations. He sighed. That must be it. And in that case, a firm hand was needed. His dark eyes narrowed. When Sakito set his sights on a target, it didn’t stand a chance.

He picked up the phone receiver, then put it down, fumbled in his trouser pocket till he found Hitsugi’s extension and picked it up again. Then he put it down and tried to figure out what he was going to say. He picked it up and got so far as dialling the number before he put it down again.
Screw this, he thought as the image of rejection flitted through his mind. He mentally slapped himself, picked up the receiver and firmly dialled the number. He heard it begin to ring and gripped the phone until his knuckles whitened.

Hitsugi groaned, gathered his energy, and without opening his eyes flopped over to the other side of the bed. He flailed in the general direction of the bedside table until his hand connected with the receiver, and fumbled it up to his ear.
“Mmph?”

“Hitsugi.” The guitarist’s eyes snapped open, pulse increasing noticeably. “Get in here.”

“Wha? But -”

“No buts. Now.” Hitsugi winced as Sakito slammed the phone down in his ear, then concentrated on trying to stop his knees knocking together. He sat up and chewed on his thumb for a minute, half wishing he was sharing a room with Yomi again, incessant chattering notwithstanding, so that he’d have an excuse not to go.
Still, any number of excuses weren’t enough to ignore a summons from Sakito. Obeying years of subconscious habit and yearning, Hitsugi swung his legs out of bed, pulled his socks up and shuffled out of his room and off down the corridor.

He counted down the doors, goosebumps raising on his arms from cold and nervousness, finally stopping. He took a breath and steeled himself, knocking firmly. There was some muffled grumbling, then the door was pulled back.

“Do you have any idea what t - who the hell are you?!” A handsome middle-aged woman glared out, long hair braided and wearing a yukata and an expression of sleepy annoyance.

“Ahh! Oh god, I, er, I, sorry! I mean… sorry!” Hitsugi flapped his hands frantically at her in confusion and bowed profusely before setting back off down the hall at a near-run.
This is impossible, he thought to himself, nerves strung out on a wire. I should have just pretended to be asleep. He carried on walking, now meticulously checking the room numbers, heart going at what he felt sure must be an unhealthy speed.

He hovered outside Sakito’s room in the dark, biting his nails, until the door slid open and a shapely hand stuck out, latching on to his t-shirt and pulling him into the room. The door slammed behind him, leaving nowhere to go but forward into Sakito’s arms. He was tugged further into the room until Sakito’s face became visible, ethereally beautiful in the dim light.
“Well? Were you just going to wait out there all night?” murmured Sakito, releasing Hitsugi and prodding him in the chest with a slim finger.

“Er… er…what?” blustered the shorter guitarist, still with a niggling feeling that he might be misunderstanding the entire situation.

“Don’t you ‘what’ me”, whispered Sakito, emphasising each word with a stab of his finger. He raised his hand and fondly stroked Hitsugi’s still crazy hair, while the younger man looked down at his feet, blushing inanely. Suddenly impatient with Hitsugi’s shilly-shallying, Sakito swept him into a kiss. Hitsugi, of course, immediately caved in and lost himself in the soft sensations of his friend’s advance, until he smashed his head inadvertently on the doorframe, bringing him back to reality. He grabbed Sakito’s perfect shoulders and pushed him away to arm’s length, at the same time revelling in the smooth loveliness of Sakito’s skin beneath his hands.

“Stop, stop, ok?!”

Sakito looked at him doubtfully out of unbearably beautiful, hurt eyes.

“This isn’t going to work!” Hitsugi told him earnestly, trying desperately to concentrate on what he was saying.

“What?” asked Sakito in a small, upset voice that Hitsugi was almost sure was fake.

“All this!” Hitsugi waved one arm around emphatically, incidentally keeping his grip on Sakito with the other. “You! Me! This sort of thing isn’t meant to happen!”

Sakito frowned his small frown, looking so delightfully attractive that Hitsugi could barely keep himself from smothering him with kisses.
“Why not? I do love you.”

Hitsugi almost swooned at this admission, but managed to retain his sense of deep foreboding.
“Saki, people like me aren’t supposed to be able to get someone like you. It goes against all the laws of nature!”

Raising one delicate eyebrow, Sakito looked at him quizzically.
“You’re being paranoid now, Hitsu. Stop it.”

Hitsugi shook his head solemnly, and with an expression of deeply confidential doom intoned,
“Something’s going to go horribly wrong.”

Sakito rolled his lovely eyes and batted his friend’s hand away before sliding in to his personal space and grabbing his chin firmly, not letting him look away.
“If I can’t have you…don’t look at the floor when I’m talking to you!… If I can’t have you, I shan’t have anybody”, he told Hitsugi firmly, murmuring the final words against his lips. He could feel the desire and fear coming off him in waves, how he shifted to meet Sakito’s mouth but pulled back at the final second.

“You’re making mountains out of molehills again, Hitsu”, he told the feline man. He took Hitsugi by the hand and pulled him over to the bed. Hitsugi glumly watched his friend walking gracefully ahead of him, pyjama trousers slung low on his hips, hems bagging around his feet, and tried to figure out whether Sakito had been listening to a word he was saying.

“Now you have a sit down and don’t worry about a thing”, Sakito continued in a motherly tone, pushing Hitsugi down onto the covers, reclining luxuriously against the headboard himself.
Hitsugi sat there, looking down at his hands, unsure if he’d be able to put up with five more minutes of this kind of behaviour before all his moral defences crumbled. What are you talking about? he thought. You don’t have any moral issues, this is pure fear of rejection. He continued to sit quietly, darting little glances at Sakito, afraid to meet his hypnotic gaze.
Sakito waited patiently for the flame-haired man to work through whatever was bothering him. After a while he wondered if Hitsugi had actually gone back to sleep before he noticed movement.

“Hitsu?” The slender guitarist could feel the bed shiver imperceptibly beneath him. He laid a hand gently on Hitsugi’s. “You’re trembling”, he murmured, moving his lips closer to Hitsugi’s ear and feeling him start back.

“I -” Hitsugi broke off, dark eyes opening wide as Sakito’s delicate mouth brushed his skin before slim fingers grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down over the bed. By the time he had panicked enough to tug himself back so that he wasn’t lying sprawled over Sakito, Sakito’s eyes had locked firmly with his. He felt the familiar, terrifying impact of the beautiful guitarist’s gaze, exacerbated by the fingernails softly caressing the back of his neck.

“Er - but - I -”, he gibbered.

“Don’t start again”, Sakito whispered fiercely, not about to let his friend dither his way out another time; he leaned up and kissed Hitsugi hard on the mouth, suddenly breathless as he felt the stab of cold metal against his lower lip. After a moment of tense stillness the other man began to kiss him back, and he felt the pressure increase until it was almost pain. He tangled his hands in Hitsugi’s wild hair, letting out a quiet sigh of pleasure.

“Sakito”, Hitsugi breathed against his friend’s exquisite mouth, fingers tracing wonderingly along his cheekbone, “I - don’t want to hurt you”. Sakito yanked Hitsugi’s head up, licking his lips impatiently as the young guitarist winced.

“You’re not hurting me”, he informed Hitsugi tersely, pulling him down again and kissing him, but gently, mouth barely brushing his.
Hitsugi, beginning to realise that this was real and that he wasn’t about to be ambushed by a Candid Camera presenter, finally de-tensed and allowed himself to slide his arms around Sakito tentatively. Sakito relaxed into his embrace, slim legs wrapping around his hips, and tilted his head back happily, allowing Hitsugi to kiss his throat. He drew in his breath sharply as a spike left a dent in his pale skin, and shut his eyes, wriggling downwards until he was lying back comfortably amid the pillows.
Hitsugi, who was somewhat lost in the delights of having Sakito resting so closely against him, jumped at his friend’s movement, which was suddenly causing some rather pressing urges throughout his body. He sat up abruptly and began to crawl backwards down the bed.

“Hey!” exclaimed Sakito, justifiably irritated and breathing a good deal faster than normal. “Where are you going?!”

Hitsugi darted back down momentarily and kissed him firmly, almost giddy at his own daring, then continued his reverse journey over the covers.
“Nowhere”.
He planted himself firmly between Sakito’s knees and anxiously set one hand on his perfectly flat stomach. Sakito gave a satisfied little smirk, covering the hand with his own and sliding it beneath his cotton tank top, pushing the soft fabric up and exposing his willowy torso. Hitsugi gulped as his friend’s dark eyes smiled up into his, then pulled himself together, leaned down and set his lips gently against Sakito’s collarbone, feeling Sakito shiver as he began to kiss his way experimentally across the guitarist’s chest, and hoped he wasn’t going too spectacularly wrong.

Apparently divining what he was thinking by way of some amazing psychic talent, Sakito tugged his head up and fixed him with an amused glare.
“Hitsugi. You’re doing good. Stop worrying.”
Hitsugi nodded and went back to work, hands sliding along Sakito’s tiny waist covetously, mouth tasting the faint salt tang of his pale skin. He was still slightly unsure that this was actually happening, and half expected to be rudely awakened by Yomi any moment with a pillow in the face; but decided to make the most of it while it lasted.

Sakito, eyes closed blissfully at his friend’s unhurried exploration of his body, gasped and tightened his grip on Hitsugi’s hair as what felt like a ball of metal rolled across one nipple, and suddenly remembered Hitsugi’s tongue piercing. Hitsugi, evidently taking this to be a good thing, repeated the action. Sakito took a fraction of a second to wonder how Hitsugi, who was reduced to terrified trembling at the mere mention of a flu jab, could stand to have at least nine bits of metal inserted in his face; then completely lost the thought as the younger man moved downwards and pressed his mouth lovingly against Sakito’s stomach.

“Saki”, Hitsugi murmured, voice muffled slightly by Sakito’s smooth skin, “how long… have you known that I love you?”

The other man smiled breathlessly, only listening vaguely.
“About… a month. You know you can’t hide things from me, Hitsu”. He stroked his hair absently.

“Oh.” Hitsugi reflected that he shouldn’t be surprised. He took Sakito’s navel piercing between his teeth and tugged on it gently. Sakito let out a tiny moan and Hitsugi grinned, the diamond cold and smooth on his tongue.
“You shouldn’t wear this, you know”, he stated as he released it. “It’s not fair to have to sit there and watch you looking so beautiful and know that I can’t have you…”

Sakito leaned up on his elbows, trying to clear his head.
“But you can have me”.

“Don’t split hairs”, Hitsugi whispered, crawling back up Sakito’s body to kiss him again, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as Sakito rolled his eyes and pushed him away playfully, yanking his own tank top off in one smooth movement. Finally seeing a spark in his friend’s eye, Sakito fixed him with his most seductive gaze, hands slipping under his own waistband and slowly, slowly sliding his pyjama trousers down his hips. He watched as Hitsugi turned white, then, apparently deciding that he liked where this was going, tugged Sakito towards him and kissed him fiercely, piercing scraping deliciously against Sakito’s tongue. Sakito wrapped one arm around his neck and clung to him.

Some relatively undignified squirming ensued as Sakito tried to remove his trousers with one hand and his eyes closed, but eventually he managed it and triumphantly flung them across the room. He looked sideways at Hitsugi, and was unsurprised to see him blushing furiously.
“Oh, come on, how old are you?!” he whispered, an irrepressible grin spreading across his features.

Hitsugi fidgeted uncomfortably but didn’t let him go, Sakito noticed.
“You know I can’t help it. I can’t control it!”

Sakito nodded in mock concern, then pulled his friend into a tight hug, pressing their bodies together. He rested his head on Hitsugi’s shoulder, murmuring soothingly into his ear, and slyly slid one hand over his chest and down past his stomach. He couldn’t see Hitsugi’s face, but was fairly sure he was creating the intended reaction when the younger man let out a faint yelp of surprise and stiffened up, in all meanings of the word, thought Sakito, sniggering to himself.

Nibbling thoughtfully on Hitsugi’s ear, Sakito noticed after a while that he seemed to be frozen. He hoped his friend wasn’t too nervous to be enjoying himself.
“Oh Hitsu…” he sang into his ear, and shivered with both relief and pleasure as Hitsugi came back to life and began to kiss the nape of his neck. Sakito sighed at the sensation of metal on his sensitive skin.
“Well you’re not going to get very far with all those clothes on, now are you”, he whispered, embarrassed at the excited tremor in his voice.

At these words, Hitsugi pulled away from him and stared at him very hard, hands cupping his cheeks. Sakito felt himself start to blush slightly under the intensity of the gaze, and dropped his eyes from Hitsugi’s, unable to remember an occasion when anyone had looked at him like that before.

“Sakito”, said Hitsugi seriously, trying to form a coherent sentence and not just throw himself at his friend like some throwback to Prehistoric Man, “do you really mean this? ‘Cause… if you don’t…” He fidgeted nervously, trying to articulate what he meant, “well, that would… really, er, suck.”

Sakito raised his gaze and smiled reassuringly.
“Is that all?” He reached out and stroked Hitsugi’s face fondly. “Honestly, you are such a worry-wart, Hitsu”. Hitsugi opened his mouth to object, but Sakito cut him off.
“I. Love. You. How can I make it any clearer?”

Hitsugi nodded, ducking his head and smiling adorably.
“I get it.”

“Good. Now get on with it.”

Hitsugi raised a drawn-on eyebrow at Sakito’s emphatic tone, but got on with it.
He allowed Sakito to yank off his t-shirt impatiently and push him down on the bed, pressing heated kisses along his shoulder and down his chest. He bit his lip and didn’t object when Sakito’s assured fingers undid his shorts and pulled them off rapidly, not giving him a chance to act embarrassed.
And once they were separated by nothing but skin, Hitsugi felt his inhibitions (such as they were) slip away at the feel of Sakito in his arms, felt that he could never get enough of the taste of Sakito’s skin, the sound of his pleased whimpers. Sakito whispered to him reassuringly, leading him forward into a state of semi-confidence and complete arousal, and when he finally entered Sakito he thought he might just pass out from the overwhelming mixture of pleasure and adoration he felt for the slender man beneath him.

Sakito squeezed his eyes shut and dug his perfectly even nails into Hitsugi’s shoulders, unable to make a sound as they kissed, tantalised by his friend’s gentle movements. Hitsugi’s soft weight pushed him down into the covers, his slim legs curled around Hitsugi’s waist, suddenly unsure how they’d got there, unable to count all the places they touched; utterly unable to think straight, it felt as though his brain had packed up and gone on holiday, and when the other man pulled away from his mouth to kiss his neck, steel stabbing gently into damp skin, he thought he would lose it completely.

“Hitsugi… please…” he managed, arching himself up into the young guitarist’s caress, the sensations almost too much to bear.
Hitsugi peeled Sakito’s hands away from his shoulders, barely noticing the deep red marks they left, and entwined their fingers together.

“Calm down”, he chided breathlessly, words vibrating against Sakito’s skin and causing the beautiful guitarist to let out a low moan of frustration.
“I love you so much”, he confided and, unable to deny Sakito anything as ever, increased the pace slightly and heard him gasp sharply in response.
Sakito wrapped his arms around Hitsugi’s neck and held on, eyes beginning to water with the frustration of not getting what he wanted immediately. As they began to move more intensely he pulled Hitsugi down to meet his mouth again, not letting either of them take a breath until he was dizzy and the dark ceiling was spinning above him, until he felt the climax build up inside him and tugged his friend even closer, kissing him passionately to muffle the sounds, until it was finished. Then he broke away from Hitsugi’s lips, breathing heavily, feeling Hitsugi sink down beside him, shivering.

Pulse slowing, he took the younger man gently in his arms, face buried in his fiery hair. They lay there for a long time, until eventually Sakito felt moisture against his neck. He chuckled tiredly, too sated to move.
“Haven’t you had enough crying for one night, Hitsu?”
He heard a low rumble of laughter from Hitsugi, and held him closer.
“You’ll stay?”

“You know I will”. Hitsugi lay against his lover’s warm frame, mind swimming with disbelieving happiness. Sakito kissed him softly, then disentangled himself from the sheets and padded - somehow still elegantly - towards the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, skin faintly luminescent in the dim moonlight, hair mussed and damp. He grinned.

“Better get to sleep, now.”

Hitsugi looked enquiringly at him, and the beautiful smile deepened into one of amusement.
“You know perfectly well you’ll be expected to give a horrifyingly graphic, blow-by-blow account to Ni~ya tomorrow, little pervert that he is. Better make up some suave lies!”

Hitsugi groaned at the thought, then turned over and dropped into blissful sleep.

Sakito watched him from the doorway. He congratulated himself silently. My plans are truly first rate. Then he limped off to leap into a cold cold bath.

Best live ever.

Thu, 30 Mar 2006 19:43:30 GMT

meh. I'm bored (although, Mastermind! Great show).

Well, here's some pics of my mini Ruki in the Cockroach outfit I made him.

hurrah, holidays!

Thu, 30 Mar 2006 12:19:08 GMT

Well, it's the start of Easter and I'm already bored, though not bored enough to do any work. Went jamming last night with the guys, did oh so special renditions of all Lizzie's most troubling songs i.e. Orc Love. Have just noticed I start almost all my posts with 'well'. Gotta work on that.

In other news, gave Hitsu a haircut, now there is fluff everywhere. Annoyingly, his piercings keeps falling off everywhere. Will have to invest in some better glue!

fun and games

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 16:43:50 GMT

Well, it's been a day full of not going to the library, which was the only reason I came up to London this week. Ah well. I had legitimate reasons.

Who's this then Ab?!

Well, I haven't given him a haircut yet and he's a bit too slim and needs some more piercings but you get the general gist!

Rahaha. In other news, have got some Carte d'Or icecream. My thrilling life!

Hibiya - again

Sun, 26 Mar 2006 19:46:52 GMT

Well, haven't done that much today indeed. Had band outing to pub before rehearsal(minus Chris, who was 'tidying his room') and ate phenomenal amount of crisps between us. Wrote set list for RMA gig and played right through it, so now my throat is slightly knackered.
Polly made me a Bou mug! Go me! Ordered some super cool boots from Dollheart, yay.
Then cooked dinner for Mother's Day, was surprisingly successful (Ab you owe me six quid and don't forget it!).

Right, more updating to fic archive, even though everyone has read this already at jrockyaoi. Well, not EVERYBODY. Doubtless there are as-yet undiscovered tribes in the depths of the Amazon who haven't had the pleasure of my plotless fics.

Anyway, here it is.

Title: Hibiya
Group: Naito
Pairing: Hitsugi x Sakito (Ni~ya POV)
Rating: PG-ish
Genre: wussy fluff

Ruka struts back into the dressing room, hair plastered to his face, as I towel myself off and shrug back into my shirt.
“What are you lot doing out there?”

Ruka grabs Yomi, who is beaming from ear to ear, and swings him round familiarly.
“Hitsugi’s crying”.

I blink. “He’s what now?”

“Yup.” He wraps his arms round our panting little singer, who struggles half-heartedly. “Don’t worry, he’s fine. Too much adrenaline.”

I’m about to object to this - Hitsugi has certainly been known to have a weep, being the type of softy mcwuss to rescue bees from drowning and shed a tear at weddings, but he doesn’t usually do it in public - when Sakito breezes in, blowing his still-immaculate up-do out of his eyes. I’m about to get annoyed that he hasn’t even broken a sweat when he tugs me into a flusteringly arousing embrace, then lets me go just as quickly. I shake my head rapidly to clear it, irritated that he still manages to get the jump on people and turn them on when they’re defenceless, then realise that the object of conversation is still missing.

“Where is he then?”

Sakito rolls his bright eyes at the mention of our youngest member, but his expression softens into one of pseudo-maternal concern.
“Keisuke’s got him.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“Or rather”, Sakito continues, resting his slender frame on the edge of the table and ignoring Ruka and Yomi who are engaged in a minor wrestling match beside him, “he latched onto Keisuke and now he’s attached like an octopus”.

“An octopus?” Sakito can be so strange at times. He purses his delicate lips for a moment and folds his arms.

I shrug and wait for Hitsugi to put in an appearance, and as I do so I recall the last time I went out drinking with him. I don’t know why Hitsugi is such a lightweight, or why he ploughs determinedly into nomihoudai nevertheless, but he was plastered enough to have at least 50% less memory of the night than I do.
Unlike his normal drunken manner, Hitsugi had been getting quieter and quieter as the evening progressed. We were tucked into a little back-booth in a decidedly un-trendy place down a side street, full to the brim with ojiisans cackling over their beers. Hitsu didn’t seem to care how out of place he looked as he lolled on a cushion next to me, piercings strangely incongruous in his sweet face without stage make-up.

“Dude”, I exclaimed drunkenly, elbowing him in the knee and almost losing my balance, “what is up with you lately?”

Hitsugi levelled a pitying look at me before reaching out for a new bottle of sake and upending it straight down his throat.

“Slow down! You know what happened last time!”

He ignored my comment and hiccupped slightly.
“You know that thing Ruka always says?”, he commented, apropos of nothing, apparently.

I thought about this. Ruka has a few choice stock phrases. “ ‘Shut the hell up Ni~ya’? ‘Pass the cigarettes’? ‘Yomi come and sit on my lap’?”

Hitsugi shook his head rather more vehemently than necessary, then looked slightly motion sick.
“No. Not those. That thing he says about how you can know someone for ages and then one day you suddenly meet their eyes and it’s like an electric shock, and after that you can never look at them again without hoping they felt it too?”

“Oh, that. I thought that was just drunken babbling.” Sounds like it from you, too, I thought. “That never happened to Ruka, did it?”

Hitsugi gave a kind of one-shoulder uni-shrug.

“Well it certainly didn’t happen this time, did it!” I continued, snorting amusedly to myself. “He’d only just met Yomi and he practically jumped on him”.

Hitsugi pushed moodily at the underside of the low table with his socked foot, and I realised that this wasn’t being a good listener, Ni~ya.
“What about it, anyway?” I asked. He sighed and leaned back on the wall, fiddling with his glass.

“It happened to me a while ago.”

“Oho! Anyone cute?”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, and I thought he might not have heard me. I nudged him in the ribs lecherously, and then stared slack-jawed as he nodded heavily and replied,

“You might say that. It was Sakito.”

“Sorry, I think I must have misheard you there.”

He smiled sarcastically at me and put his feet up on the table, then continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“It was so weird. We were just going over lyrics and both staring at the same bit of paper, and when his keitai rang we just looked up at the same time and -” He sighed deeply and tugged on one of the rings through his lip. “And the moment our eyes met I felt like I couldn’t breathe, it was like I’d never seen him before.”

“Aren’t you over-dramatising slightly?” I asked probingly, remembering some of the highly embarrassing occasions when one misplaced gaze from Saki at his most exquisite has practically sent me running for a prostitute.

“No! I wish I wish I was.” He looked miserable as he sat there hugging his knees, one long sock slipping down his calf. “I just… wish I could forget it, but whenever I see him now I get the feeling that I’ll never ever have that feeling looking at anyone else.”

Huh. I reflected that it wasn’t like Hitsugi to be melodramatic.
“It doesn’t show.”

“Of course it doesn’t!” He looked quite angry. “I’m not crass enough to go around drooling over him because of one glance that has no significance for him at all. Why do you think I’m out drinking with you tonight instead of him?”

“Thanks very much!” I interjected.

“You think I don’t know how bad I get when I’m drunk, don’t you. I do know. I can’t possibly trust myself not to blurt all this out to him!” He flung his arm out in a sweeping gesture, knocking over his cup.

I couldn’t believe it, not even after this spiel. How could the most romantically impervious man I knew be wrong-footed by Sakito after all this time?!

“I mean, it makes no sense”, he was complaining, starting to slur slightly. “I’ve known Sakito for…for… anyway, a long time. Doesn’t make sense.”

I nodded sagely, realising I was in for a long night.

“It would help if he wasn’t so beautiful”, he whined.

“I never thought you used to notice”. I raised my eyebrows and handed him another drink.

“I’ve got eyes, haven’t I?” he countered, spilling most of it over my sleeve. “You’d have to be blind not to see it. It just never used to bother me. But now every time he looks at me it’s like I’ve been punched in the stomach.” He leaned his head on my shoulder and smiled whimsically at the ceiling, seeming to have finished his speech which, for Hitsugi, was more than he usually spoke in public in a week.

I sat pondering this revelation. It would be funny if it were anyone but Hitsu, who is naive in an oblique way but whose attachments run deep. He closed his eyes, his eyebrow spike digging into my skin.

“Hey! Don’t go to sleep on me, Hitsu.” No answer. “Do you love him?” I murmured.

He opened his eyes a crack and looked sideways at me disbelievingly. “Love him? You think I’d be acting this way if I didn’t love him? C’mon…Ni~ya…”

“Right”.

“Love, love…”

“Hitsugi?”

He began to snore gently on my shoulder.

I come back to myself as Yomi rebounds into me, bounces off and darts to the relatively safe place of behind the sofa.
“Guys!” I complain to no avail, “take it easy will ya?”
I get an overwhelming need to smoke, and look around for Ruka’s cigarettes, at which point I notice that Sakito has slipped out of the room.

I wander through the intricate and immensely confusing passages backstage, trying to light up as I walk. I can still feel adrenaline washing through me from the live, though it’s starting to ebb now, and I know if I don’t start drinking soon I’ll be asleep. Maybe we should -

I stop and pull back around the corner, peering out. In the next corridor, Hitsugi is standing with his back against the wall, head bowed, hand over his mouth, and in front of him is Sakito. Looks like Hitsu is still crying, and after my initial surprise I begin to feel sorry for him, as the last person I’d want comforting me in my distress would be Saki, who means well but is awkward with other peoples’ emotions.
Still, as I watch, Sakito sets his slim hands on the other man’s shoulders. I can barely hear him as he murmurs,

“Hey hey. Come on, what’s the matter?” Hitsugi shakes his head and draws in his breath, and to my further surprise Sakito draws him into a hug, hand cradling the back of his head. Not a well-done-you-did-good-work hug, or an I’m-going-to-trouble-your-sexuality hug, but the unhesitant and comfortable embrace of two people who’ve known each other forever. Which I suppose they have. Guess Sakito does have some feelings in there after all.
Hitsugi buries his face in Saki’s shoulder and clings to him, and Saki strokes his hair and whispers to him.
“Don’t cry, Hitsu. Please, stop it, huh?”

I lose the scene for a moment as ash from my forgotten cigarette drops down my shirt. I curse under my breath and frantically brush it off me, and when I look back Hitsugi is indeed calming down, breathing in that jerky way you do when you want to pretend you weren’t crying into your mother’s rhododendron bush because that hot girl in the year above you saw you fall into a puddle (what? Ahem, personal memories coming back. Pay attention, Ni~ya).

Sakito doesn’t let him go, but continues holding him. Hitsugi sniffles into his shoulder, the toy cat still on his own shoulder shaking gently. Hitsugi can be so very young at times.

“Better now?” breathes Saki. Hitsugi nods, but nevertheless shows no sign of letting go. They stand like that a while longer, and I’m debating going and sorting out the burn hole in my shirt. Then Sakito pulls his head back infinitesimally and sets his hands to either side of Hitsugi’s face, whose makeup has held up quite well, considering. He looks searchingly at Hitsugi, who as we know is trying anything these days rather than meet Saki’s gaze. Sakito frowns prettily, and then as I watch he presses his lips gently against Hitsugi’s, closed-mouthed and chaste. I raise one eyebrow and see Hitsugi’s eyes slam open in shock. He doesn’t move. Move, move! I urge him silently. Clueless boy.

Sakito begins to draw back, looking doubtful, and I roll my eyes, but Hitsugi suddenly reaches for him and they meet in this kiss, and as I watch I’m gloomily sure that I’ll never get a kiss like that, one that looks like everything clicking into place. Saki gently removes his hands from Hitsugi’s still-wet face and slides them around his neck. Hitsu, who had grabbed hold of Saki’s hair to prevent him leaving (brilliant, Hitsugi, well done), caresses his perfect face with one trembling hand, looking most disbelieving. Sakito pushes him back against the wall and kisses him harder, an inch or two taller than Hitsugi even in sandals, and Hitsu wraps his arms around Saki’s miniscule waist, pulling him about as close as you can get with all your clothes on.
Sakito makes a small noise of discomfort, and I wonder what it’s like to kiss someone with so many piercings. Hitsugi attempts to slow down, looking concerned, but Sakito grabs his collar and won’t let him go.

I’m getting somewhat hot under the collar just watching this most intimate moment, and I’m wondering if I should leave them to it when I hear the other two coming up the corridor behind me, making about as much noise as the elephant Yomi is so fond of impersonating.
“Shut up, you retards!!” I hiss at them.

“Why, what’s going on?” asks Yomi, with all the quiet and tact of a foghorn. Then he stops as he and Ruka peer round the corner. Their mouths drop open. Then after a few moments of suspense,

“Hey, even I don’t do that at work!” Ruka complains at the top of his voice. I clap my hand to my forehead.

Saki and Hitsugi’s heads whip round and they spot us, lined up along the wall guiltily like the monthly meeting of the Voyeurs Club. Hitsugi immediately turns scarlet, but Sakito keeps a hold on him, looking even more radiant than usual, and with relief I know they’re in for the long haul.

Yomi lets out an ear-splitting wolf whistle before Ruka picks him up, slings him easily over his shoulder and marches him back down the hall. Hitsugi wipes his eyes and smiles his most adorable smile. I turn around and go back to the dressing room, lamenting over my shirt. Where’s my action, that’s what I want to know!

Well. It must be my turn next. Hurrah.

Sad times, sad times

Thu, 23 Mar 2006 20:47:39 GMT

*sigh* Today was our last ever Japanese Cinema lecture. Turns out we did watch BRII for a reason after all. All in all, very very sad to finish them. Also, Isolde Standish said I was a work of art, lol. Not sure whether because I was dressing Fruits today (sunny day, why not), or whether because I had handcuffs attached to my skirt. Because if there's one thing Isolde likes nearly as much as Homosocial, it's S&M. What a lecturer. I hope she'll be my PhD supervisor one day.
So, class went for a drink afterwards, and discussing getting her a stalkerish present for her to remember us by. We shall see.

After that, met Lord_Rosiel in Covent Garden with Fitz. She brought her Husky and we provided gawping material for scores of tourists, which is always fun.

Fitz next to a thoroughly appropriate sign

Husky looking thrilled.

What a full day

Wed, 22 Mar 2006 21:13:15 GMT

Whoof. I am knackered. There's been far too much learning going on today for my liking!
Although, last night we went to see The Hills Have Eyes. That was great, all-American gore at its most freaky. Well, I was scared anyway.

Last ever gender theory class today *sighs*. It's getting waaaay too close to the end now. Then watched final film in Japanese Cinema course *weep*, Battle Royale II. I mean why?! We could have watched the first one and had a nice time, but nooo, we have to sit there for two hours and watch Nanahara dress up as a hobbit (badly). I can't work out why my lecturer chose this one, it has no homosocial content at all! Will look forward to how she twists the subject round to mention Brokeback Mountain in class tomorrow.

After that, went to a seminar held by Laura Mulvey, goddess of feminist film criticism. Which was nice, although people were asking some unbelievably dumb questions. Anyway, now my brain hurts from theory.

Have written a bit more of The Luckiest, but not enough to make it worth posting yet. Well, back to it!

The Luckiest - chapter four

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 19:06:52 GMT

Well, this is as far as I've got so far, but more on the way no doubt as I procrastinate and put off writing my Gender Theory essay.
It's all gone a bit kinky here, I don't know what I was thinking!

The Luckiest - Part 4

Ni~ya-chan sits on the rug by my feet, head bent forward a little to display a slice of white skin between the dark hair that trails across his neck. I can’t stop staring at it. For the past two weeks I’ve been in a permanent state of wanting him, and being able to get what I want, when I want, doesn’t seem to have dampened me down at all.

It’s the way he’s been behaving, letting me have my own way about everything, never disagreeing, ‘yes Ruka, anything you want Ruka’. I had thought it would tail off after a few days, I know what Ni~ya-chan’s like, but it hasn’t. Every day he cleans up when we get home, he cooks (despite me trying to prevent him - that’s something he hasn’t quite got the hang of yet), he submits to everything I ask him so quietly and sweetly that I can’t help treating him as if he were made of glass, in and out of bed.

“Hey Ruka, can I make you some tea?”

I start out of my thoughts and he’s looking gently up at me. And that’s the damn problem with this whole thing, that it’s so completely unnatural to him; it feels so weird because I know what he’s really like. Sometimes when I ask him to do something I can see a tiny spark at the back of his eyes, and I can sense he’s biting back his natural response, which would normally be something offensive or bossy, I can see his whole self hidden behind those fathomless black eyes; and it’s only a matter of time before it breaks back out. Add to that the nagging guilt at what I’ve done to him, and the added weight of his love for me, and it’s making me feel worse every single day I have to watch him pretend.

“It’s ok Ni~ya-chan, relax. Let me do it”.

“No, I’ll do it, you’ve been so busy in the bedroom” (it’s true - I was painting the ceiling).

“I -” I frown and plop down on the floor beside him, my hand brushing the soft worn cotton of his black trousers. I draw it back.
“Ni~ya-chan, why are we arguing over who makes the tea?”

He looks at me quickly, then away again.
“I wasn’t arguing”.

I sigh.
“How long is this going to last?” He looks at me questioningly.

“I mean how long are you going to keep tiptoeing around me? It makes me nervous when you won’t answer me back”.

“But…isn’t this what you want?”

“I want you, Ni~ya-chan. Not whatever this weird mood is, this is not you!”

At last he lifts his eyes to meet mine, looking torn.
“But I know what you like, Ruka, I know you like sweet, helpless, non-argumentative lovers…like Yomi”.

“And I only like those things in Yomi because they’re natural, for him. And even he doesn’t act like that all the time, only when he’s in a corner! I love you because you’re the way you are, I love every bossy little order you make, I love how angry you get; and acting all submissive isn’t what I need to make me happy!”

He looks decidedly unconvinced.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I don’t think you know what you want”, he whispers. “If I decide to stop acting in front of you, how can I know you won’t suddenly need him again; I know you both can’t help it but I can’t trust that you won’t hurt me again. That’s why I -”

I grab his cool hand tightly.
“Please, Ni~ya-chan! Please stop it! Just let things be how they’re meant to be!” (What’s that supposed to mean, Ruka?)

“What a load of -”
He stops and bites his lip, eyes widening at his slip.

“See? What’s the point in fighting yourself, Ni~ya-chan?” I lean closer to him and raise his chin with my fingers. He fixes me with his coaly stare.

“Ok. Fuck me like you want to fuck him. I won’t say a word”.

I blink, trying to figure this one out.
“What are you talking about?”

“Telling you straight…you’re not a nice person, Ruka”. I open my mouth incredulously. “Don’t deny that whenever you get close to him in one of his waify moods you want to do all kinds of things to him…you want to be rough with him, you want to be controlling…am I wrong?”

He’s leaning closer and closer into my supporting hand, speaking almost seductively. I swallow heavily.
“What exactly would your point be?”

“Do all the things you want to me…then I’ll know how you really want me to be”.

“This is ridiculous”. As I speak he brushes his lips against mine and looks up at me with his pseudo-submissive eyes.

Fine. If he wants to do this stupid thing, then fine. I’m getting hot just thinking about what he might let me do…
I smile, movement that seems as faked as his expression, and abruptly set my hand on his chest and shove him backwards until his head hits the rug. I crawl up over him; his expression hasn’t changed a bit, but his breathing has quickened imperceptibly as he lies passively beneath me.

“No more Mr Nice Drummer”, I warn him. I spot a little twitch of amusement in his lips, quickly suppressed. I lift his head up from the floor, holding him by the hair while I kiss him roughly and he whines a little as I tug on his black locks. I drop his head again when I run out of air and he gasps for breath.

“Kneel up”, I order, moving away from him. He obeys gracefully. “Take your clothes off”. He blushes faintly pink.

“I -”

“Shut up”, I tell him sharply, and his eyes widen imperceptibly at my tone of voice. I think Ni~ya-chan may turn out to be right…I am enjoying this, and a certain part of my body is proving it. I shut my brain up and decide to have fun.

He’s gotten as far as removing his t-shirt and I slide one arm around his back, tugging him hard against me, feeling his smooth, damp skin beneath my mouth. I wait a few moments, letting him wonder what I might do to him, then sink one of my canines into the side of his neck, breaking the skin enough to taste the coppery tang of blood under my tongue. He arches his body up against me convulsively, a tiny moan escaping as his arms go around my neck tightly.

“Aah…” He exhales a soft, pained breath and I run my tongue over the broken skin, digging my long nails into his soft back, driving him closer to me so that my erection is pressing against his hip.

“Still want to do this?” I breathe. He doesn’t say anything but I feel him nod against my shoulder. A shiver passes through him and I push him back, my breath catching in my throat with arousal at his apprehensive face. Kissing him once more, hungrily, I stand up and look around the apartment thoughtfully, looking for something to facilitate the fantasy I oftentimes had about Yomi. He’s watching me uncertainly, but that may be another pretence in itself.

Aha. I rummage around in my paint box until I find the wide masking tape I was using to make a neat line when I was painting the bedroom. Straightening up I wander casually back over to him. His eyes widen.

“Play along with me, Ni~ya-chan”, I smile down at him, no need to fake it this time. He gives a little nod. I sit down behind him, running my hands soothingly down his trembling upper arms.
“I’m not going to hurt you”, I reassure him. “Just making things a bit more interesting”. He doesn’t have anything to say to that and I smoothly draw his arms behind him. He obligingly holds them crossed behind his back while I fumble with the end of the tape; eventually I find it and I begin to bind each wrist to the opposite elbow, securely enough so he can’t just pull it off but not tight enough to hurt him ( I try not to think about the kind of cursing I’m gonna get when time comes to rip it off again).

Just the action of doing this, the sight of his gently arched back and submissively lowered head, is making me almost giddy with desire for him. When I’m sure he’s all parcelled up nicely I move back round to face him. One look at his face tells me he’s almost as turned on as I am, and a quick wander of my hand down his abdomen confirms it. Huh. Who’d have thought this would turn out to be one of Ni~ya-chan’s kinks?

“Comfortable?”

He ducks his head politely. I eye him critically while removing my blood-red tie, trying to figure out what to do with it. Eventually I lift it to softly cover his eyes, and he flinches a bit as it touches his face.

“This feels odd”, he comments, not a complaint but a stating of fact. I pause before tying it.

“Do you trust me?” I ask, not at all sure of the answer. There’s a long silence during which I grow even more uncertain of my position.

Then, “yes”. He says it faintly, but it’s there. I smile, not that he can see it anymore, and secure the makeshift blindfold behind his head, trying not to let it pinch his hair. When I’m done I stand up again and take a good look at him. I walk around him, silent in bare feet, and I see his head turn and sense his straining to hear where I am. I lean down to kiss him and he jumps as my mouth connects with his, and then softens under my hand that’s caressing his hair lovingly.

Hmm. Well. Now I’ve got him here, what am I supposed to do with him?

Probably I should have thought about this a bit before I started in on it.

“…Ruka?” he asks when I make no move.

“Let’s start by getting the rest of these clothes off”, I suggest. He smiles a bit at that and I firmly push him back down till he’s prone on the floor beneath me, his arms underneath him, trying not to put any weight on them. I lean down and kiss his flat stomach while I slowly unzip his soft combat pants.

“Lift your hips up a bit”, I order, and prod him in the side when he’s a bit tardy. I tug off his remaining clothing and sit back to take a nice long look at him; he can feel my stare, I guess, and stretches himself luxuriously; Ni~ya-chan is generally very secure in the attractiveness of his body, and it’s easy to see why: his porcelain skin is gradually suffused with a faint blush that makes it almost glow, his slender chest rising and falling rapidly with his quickening breath; he’s getting hard under my intent gaze, but I decide not to help him out with that right now.

I heave myself to my feet, leaving him trying to look about him vainly while I pad silently off into the kitchen. I open the freezer and rummage around; I’m sure Sakito said he’d done something like this one time…

I finally find the ice I’d been looking for and dump it out into a convenient tumbler where it starts to melt. Going back into the living room I see Ni~ya-chan wriggling a bit uncomfortably under the pressure on his arms; I grab one of the sofa cushions and slide it under his back, and he gives a relieved little sigh.

“What were you doing?” he asks curiously.

“Sshh”. I sit down again and begin dotting soft kisses down the centre of his chest, then as I feel him relax into the cushion beneath him I slide my longest, sharpest nail in the same path as my lips are moving, so that he doesn’t know whether to cringe away or lean into my touches; he writhes beneath me undecidedly at the mixed sensations. The red line of skin against his chest contrasts wildly with his pale body.

Fumbling in the glass I pull out a half-melted piece of ice, nearly dropping it on the rug as the cold of it bites me. But I get my grip on it, wait a few moments and then carefully place it on his flat chest, leaning up on my elbow to enjoy his reaction.

“Aaah!!” His shocked intake of breath is delicious and he squirms, the ice sliding slowly down his chest, tantalising and soothing his inflamed skin.

“Ruka…you realise…this is so fucking cheesy?” he pants out.

“Pipe down or I’ll have to gag you, too”, I tell him cheerfully and he subsides. The ice has come to rest and is pooling into cool water in his navel; I grin and drift my fingers across his hard-on fleetingly, not enough to give him any satisfaction, but enough for him to moan softly and raise his hips, trying to get more contact. I take my hand away. Once he’s given up I touch him again until he tries for more, and again, and again, a frustrating cycle for him of hopeless pleasure and desire.

“Please”, he whines, “don’t stop!”

I click my tongue at him and slide an ice cube into his mouth to shut him up. He immediately starts crunching down on it, which has my teeth on edge; Ni~ya-chan’s a biter by nature and he chews away happily until I tug on his hair and pull him back up to a kneeling position.

Still with that cute expression on his face, but with his eyes veiled by long lashes so I can’t see the wicked gleam in them, he leans forward to kiss the bare skin of my stomach, just above the waistband of my low-riding jeans, letting his tongue flick out demurely for an instant.

Gaah! That is so cold!!

I raise my open right hand to tap him lightly on the cheek, not enough to hurt or even to really sting, but maybe hard enough to surprise him. He keeps his eyes lowered to the floor.

“Ni~ya-chan, don’t touch without permission”.

“Then can I have your permission?” he asks in his little fake-submissive voice, lips millimetres away from my skin.

“Er…yes?”

He hides a smile by pressing his lips to my body again, this time a little warmer, moving lower and lower and creating a definite effect under my clothes. He doesn’t speak but begins to tug gently at the button of my jeans with his white teeth, trying to undo them for reasons my mind can oh-so-easily conjecture; I happen to know that this is well-nigh impossible, especially blindfold, but I let him keep trying, every moment of tension making me more excited, as are his little growls of frustration. Eventually I decide to help him out; I tug him gently back by the hair and hop out of my clothes as quickly as humanly possible, glad that his eyes are covered so he can’t see my ungraceful strip and laugh about it, although I do hear a brief snicker as I’m wrestling with one trouser leg and bashing the back of my shin on the kotatsu table behind me. By the time I’m done he’s composed himself again, looking deceptively sweet and innocent as can be.

“Do I need to ask again?” he whispers softly, leaning towards me and then…

Oooh…!

Suffice to say that I love this man.
When I manage to open my eyes from this blissful state I can barely stop myself just taking him right that second, seeing him kneeling so gracefully, slender legs spread to keep his balance with his arms out of commission; I bury my fingers in his luxurious hair, twisting it harshly with every movement of his head, every laboured breath he draws out of me.
I always knew Ni~ya-chan was good (well, for the last couple of months in any case), but this time he doesn’t stop to tease me from his effectively helpless position and he’s so beautiful like this and before I know it he’s sent me right over the edge and I think this orgasm will never stop, I tug involuntarily hard on his black locks and my eyes flutter closed as I try and keep my knees from collapsing…

Ni~ya-chan waits patiently until I’ve managed to master myself and then pulls his head back slowly; I crack one eye open to see him licking his lips shamelessly. I drop slowly to my knees in front of him, needing to take the pressure off, and he flicks his pink tongue over his piercing, slowly, deliberately.
I pull him to me and kiss him hungrily (weird taste, should probably have thought about that one), his unseeing head tilting back obligingly and his flushed, aroused body leaning into mine hopefully.

Gonna be at least a little while before I can help him out there.

I kiss him again and then ease him down onto his stomach, his head pillowed comfortably on a cushion because his bound arms can’t support him, hips raised tantalisingly. He whines a little, expectantly, so I tease him for a while, my excitement slowly building again as he wriggles to try and get some pressure on his hard-on which I’m repeatedly denying him and to meet the kisses that I’m dropping all over his body. His breathing is becoming feverish, interspersed with barely muffled moans of frustration at my callousness.

“Please…Ruka-san!”

Ruka-san? Strange, but I like it. Especially in that voice where I can hear his bossiness overcome by tentative submission from second to second.

“Ni~ya-chan, the point is pleasing me here, quit trying to top me from the bottom and just let go. If you’re good you’ll get it eventually”.

He makes a small, complaining noise which turns to a happy gasp as I gently slide a finger inside him while kissing the small of his back; I grin to myself, seeing him trembling impatiently beneath my hands, and continue to play with him and stretch him, taking far more time over it than I need to. His white skin is slick with sweat as he gets gradually closer to the edge, salty beneath my tongue and textured with goosebumps wherever I blow cool air - I’ve never seen my Ni~ya-chan look so beautiful as he does now, black hair falling over his gently flushed face, the blood-red line of the blindfold giving his hidden eyes all the more mystery.

I’m making myself over-excited again, and I don’t want to rush things, so I remove my fingers from his body, trying to exercise the self-restraint I could never find with Yomi. As I move away from him he lets out a muffled moan of outrage and frustration that makes me almost take pity on him and put him out of his misery there and then. But that would just be a waste, now wouldn’t it?

“Ru…” he manages before trailing off, remembering the role he’s supposed to be playing; his hands flex against the tape holding them behind his back and I see one tear of disappointment peek from underneath the blindfold. Ni~ya-chan is so unused to having to wait for anything.

“I’m here”, I reassure him, leaning back to watch him squirm. I’m more turned on than I can ever remember being with him, since the first time, only this time the balance of power is tipped in my favour.

I wait until I judge that I’ve calmed down enough and that he’s frustrated himself enough. Then I retrieve the lube from the bedroom (eventually - how did it get right under the bed?) and try to avoid rushing blindly back in like a teenage schoolboy.

“How’re you doing down there, Ni~ya-chan?” I ask conscientiously as I kneel down and nudge his legs apart a little more, giving a pinch to the inside of his soft thigh with my long nails.

“…mm..?” He almost doesn’t seem to hear me. Well. It’s a rare day when Ni~ya-chan loses the power of speech, no doubt about that. He seems deep down inside his own mind right now, and only whimpers lightly as I stretch him again, trying to go slowly.

“I do love you”, I remind him fervently as I enter him, holding his slim hips firmly to steady myself; a thin whine escapes him and we begin to move together, he’s rocked forward gently by my motion and as I make love to him I close my eyes for the utterly blissful feeling of his adoration and helplessness, his little cries almost animal-like as I grab his shifting hair and tug his head back so his back arches in a smooth curve.

He’s so overwrought that he comes without me even touching him, feels like every single muscle in his body is tensing up but he’s completely silent, and I follow him almost immediately with my second orgasm of the afternoon, the intensity of it almost frightening. I hug him tightly from behind, I can feel my own heart skittering against his back.

I pull away from him slowly, trying to regulate my breathing. After a few minutes of waiting quietly for his knees to stop wobbling, Ni~ya-chan lifts his head as far as he can manage and says softly,
“Ru…how about untying me, as in right now?”

I raise one eyebrow but am too happily sated to move right this second.

“Don’t let my sugary sweet tones fool you into thinking I’m not damn well giving you an order”, he informs me, tugging weakly at his bonds.

“Ok, ok, just keep still”. I unwind the outer layer of tape from each of his wrists, and find the ends of the inner layer.
“Won’t be a moment now…” I count rapidly to three under my breath and in one movement rip the tape away from his skin:

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHH YOU SONOFABITCH!!!!!!!”

I wince at the sheer volume of sound Ni~ya-chan can produce, and quickly remove his blindfold, not wanting to be on the end of a vicious Sub-attack and trying to placate him. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and glares at me as he tentatively moves his stiff arms round in front of him.

“You utter bastard”, he says flatly and while I’m confused by his sudden personality switch he launches himself at me and kisses me hard on the mouth, flinging his arms around my neck.

“I love you, Ruka”.

“Back to plain old ‘Ruka’ now, are we?” I ask regretfully. He heaves himself to his feet; he’s got carpet burns on his knees.

“Don’t push it”, he warns me. “I’m going to have a bath. Guess who’s going to clean the floor?”

I sigh resignedly, but can’t help my face splitting into an idiotic, happy grin.
“Welcome back, Ni~ya-chan”.

He snorts and disappears, trying to hide his own smile. I sit back, for the first time in ages feeling at ease. Looks like I might have found a perfect balance.

***********************************************

(Aahh. I like a nice somewhat pointless sex scene. ‘Is this all going somewhere?’ you may ask. Well no. No it isn’t.)

The Luckiest - chapter three

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 19:01:23 GMT

Righto, chapter three it is. There's angst up to here now, it's getting ridiculous. Never mind!

The Luckiest - Part 3

I watch Sakito sigh softly as he turns away from me to take our empty plates into the kitchen. I fold my arms and stoically watch the TV, hearing him begin to wash up; I don’t want to go in and help him. I know I’m acting like a spoilt kid, but it’s been two weeks now and he hasn’t shown even the slightest sign of admitting what he’s done or even feeling guilty over it. And until he admits it I’m certainly not going to! He’s acting completely normal towards me, maybe even nicer than usual in response to my sulky mood but it just makes me more pissed off because I know it must be fake (and I’m sure Saki has learnt to be a master at faking).

I grab one of the sofa cushions and cuddle it neurotically, unable to relax. I don’t know why I keep on coming round here, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Maybe I’m just waiting for his superb façade to slip…maybe, and much as I hate to admit it, I still can’t resist him.

“I made you hot chocolate”.

I twitch, he came up behind me unawares. Saki is so graceful, he can move absolutely silently when he wants to. He moves around to sit beside me on the sofa and I stiffen uncomfortably; he pretends not to notice and hands me a sweet-smelling blue mug. I peer in - he’s even put marshmallows in it; sometimes he’s so cute I want to hug him, despite myself.

“Thanks”, I say shortly and focus on whatever this TV programme is, not that I can concentrate at all. I’m totally aware of him even out of the corner of my eye; he’s fiddling with his choppy hair, trying to look at me unobtrusively. He reaches out to pick a loose hair from the shoulder of my sweater and I move away slightly.

He sighs again, it sounds almost heartfelt, and puts down his mug.
“Yomi?” I don’t look up from my examination of the cushion.

“Yomi…please tell me what’s wrong”. His voice sounds plaintive, sincere. Is this real or part of his act? Either way, I can’t just ignore him because I still want him so much it makes me ache.

“Nothing’s wrong” I tell him, trying to sound reassuring.

“Please don’t lie to me” he says in a lower voice, and I look at him slightly incredulously. He’s gazing at me earnestly, his beautiful dark eyes slightly hidden behind his veil of hair; he leans towards me like a flower towards the light, which is highly flattering to me no matter how fake, and I can tell he wants to reach out to me. He’s so fucking lovely, it’s not fair!

“I said it’s nothing”, I repeat stubbornly.

He narrows his eyes till they sparkle like hidden jewels under his long lashes and leans even closer to me.

“Prove it”, he breathes and the breath catches in my throat from his closeness. “Kiss me”.
And even now, when I’m so angry at him I could throttle him every time he comes near me, I can’t stop myself and I wouldn’t even want to. I sit up straighter and press my lips hard against his, an uncomfortable but lustful kiss, and twine my hands in his rich hair, pulling him down to meet me as his arms encircle me easily. Almost drunk with what I haven’t let myself do for a fortnight, I gently run my tongue along the seam of his lips until he parts them a little, almost teasingly. I tug on his hair until he kisses me back properly…it seems to go on forever and I’m feeling blissful as I always do once he gets to me. And, as usual, I start to believe that he does love me, because if he didn’t why would he make me feel so good, so emotional, I’m melting like ice in his embrace and I don’t care about anything I just never want him to stop.

But all too soon I feel him begin to gently extricate himself from the kiss, as he always does when I’m getting irrevocably involved in it. And all the anger and frustration comes flooding right back in; now I think I know how Ruka felt for me so long ago, and he was right: it hurts every second.

Abruptly and without thinking I sit up, trying to be taller than him, and push my puny weight against him so, unprepared, he falls back against the arm of the sofa, making a little ‘mmph’ of surprise against my mouth as his head connects. I lean on him, not that it would prevent him from getting up if he really wanted to, but enough to get his attention, and make our kiss deeper, trying to put all of my feelings into it. Then I feel his surprisingly strong hands pushing against my shoulders firmly until I’m forced to break it and raise myself up a little.

He’s staring up at me with wide, surprised eyes, and not surprising because I’ve never really taken the initiative before. But why should he look so shocked? He must know how much I want him, and seeing as sex isn’t a particularly emotional sacrifice for him and he’ll clearly do it with anyone , I don’t understand what the problem is! (Angry again now.)

“You -” he begins, but I don’t let him finish, I’m in too much of a temper.

“Why? Why won’t you let me?!” I almost shout down at him, nearly pleading in frustration.

He frowns. “Wha -”

“Why the hell won’t you sleep with me Sakito?!” I yell, quite aware that I sound like a toddler who’s had his candy taken away.

He stiffens beneath me. Then I see his eyes flash strangely, his fine brows furrowing as he raises himself up on his elbows. When he speaks his voice is angrier and more hurt than I’ve ever heard from him.

“Is that all you want from me?” he asks in a low voice, a strange kind of pain in his face.

“No of course not! But -”

“You wouldn’t be the first”, he says nonchalantly but I can feel how tense he is beneath me. He gives me a little smile which makes me shiver, the twist of his perfect mouth expressing wry bitterness and nothing good at all.

“Saki, I just -” I try to say how much I love him, worship him, want to be with him, but he interrupts me again.

“No! I don’t want to, not like this”. He sounds adamant and angry, still looking almost otherworldly in his fiery beauty.
We stare at each other for what seems an age.

“I know”, I reassure him, trying to get a word in edgeways, “I understand, it’s just that -”

“Fine”. he snaps the word over my little speech, glowering at me. Then his brow unknits and he sighs deeply, calming himself down until when he looks back up into my eyes his expression is sweet, resigned and serene. He reclines back against the brocade of the sofa and reaches out to take my hand.

“Fine”, he breathes again. His self-control is incredible. “If this is what you really want…then you can have me now. Because…because I really do care about you Yomi, so if this will make you happy…then it’s ok”.

He smiles up at me and it looks sincere but when I venture to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds he blinks rapidly like he’s fighting back tears.

I shake my head and sit up. He doesn’t want this and there’s no way I’m going to make him do something he doesn’t want to. I guess I’ll just have to accept that I’m not right for him, or not right enough; I sure don’t fit into the pattern of Saki’s ideal lover, anyway. I should get out of here before I embarrass him any more.

“I’m sorry, Saki”, I tell him, and meaning it. “I’ll see you later”.

He looks even sadder at my words. “You’re going?”

Now I’m just confused. I thought that would cheer him up! Sakito is the most emotionally complex person I’ve ever been involved with (or am I missing something really obvious?). I nod and he drops his eyes.

“I understand”, he whispers. I stand up slowly, wanting to stay and hold him but knowing he doesn’t want me. He sits up, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Saki, I…never mind”.

His eyes follow me until I close the door behind me.

***************************************************

Sakito watched Yomi until the door slammed shut. Then he sank back into the soft confines of the sofa and let out a trembling breath, relaxing his fixedly calm expression and covering his pretty face with his hands. He swiped at his dampening eyes in annoyance and curled his legs up underneath him protectively.

He wasn’t sure what had caused his little partner to suddenly change his attitude over the last couple of weeks, and so didn’t know what to do about it. Sakito generally prided himself on being able to read his friends quite well, but he had never known Yomi to blow so hot and cold, or to act so nasty. Sakito felt slighted, cheap.

He stared at Yomi’s blue mug, feeling a spasm tug at the corner of his soft mouth.

“Shit”. How could it be so easy to sort out his friends’ love lives but so difficult to manage his own? Although now he came to think of it, Yomi wasn’t the only one acting strange this week: Ni~ya was, almost in reverse to Yomi, being so polite and considerate to everyone (especially Ruka) that it was almost unnerving.

Sakito took a deep breath and got himself under control, pushing the hurt to the back of his mind. He folded his slim arms irritably; exactly what was going on that people weren’t telling him? He made a mental note to have a long chat with Hitsugi some time as soon as possible, because, as Hitsugi constantly moaned, he ended up being the unwilling listening post for everyone else’s problems. And as Hitsugi would generally tell Sakito anything he wanted to hear, it shouldn’t be too long before he found out just what the hell was wrong with his band, again.

Mind made up he cleared away the empty mugs, blew his nose consolingly and went to bed.

*********************************************

I was going to go straight home, go to bed and sulk till Monday, but I’m too tense. I decide to go for a stroll, even though it’s bloody freezing, and to my surprise find my feet leading me in the opposite direction from my apartment.

I guess it makes sense. I’m desperate for answers, and since I know I won’t get them from the source of the problem tonight, I’m going for the next best thing: the source’s best friend.

I take the elevator up to his apartment and bang on the door (could just as easily have rung the bell, but I have to vent my frustration somewhere). Hitsugi-kun opens it and glares outside, his expression changing to one of mild surprise as he registers me; I guess I’m not in the habit of dropping round to see him late at night.

“Hey”, I say, trying to sound casual.

“What”. He looks rather suspicious.

“I just happened to be in the area, and…hi”.

He registers me shivering and steps back dubiously to let me in, so I scoot past him and into the main living area, basking in the warmth. I make myself comfortable on the floor, just as he comes into the room behind me.

“Hey”, I exclaim upon seeing the furry black bundle in his arms. “What’s that?”

He sits himself down in the centre of the room.
“This is a kitty”. It raises its little head from its comfortable position and takes a long, considering look at me, much the same as Hitsugi-kun is doing, in fact.

“Yeah, I can see that. What’s it doing here?”

“She’s mine”.

“What do you want a cat for?” I ask curiously. He looks at me like I’m stupid.

“She’s company, she doesn’t answer back, she doesn’t fight with me, she doesn’t see other guys behind my back”.

“Oh”. I feel nettled at his barbed remark and subside into silence sulkily. He shrugs and is quiet too, cuddling her calmly and appearing to think about something else. Looking at him I almost envy him; Hitsugi-kun, in his own space, exudes such a peaceful, calm air of contentment that I feel guilty and fidgety just being in the room with him like this, like I’m invading his space or something.

I fiddle with my rings for a while, restlessly. He doesn’t seem bored at all.

“Can I hold her?” I ask suddenly, thinking it would be comforting to hold such a cute fluffy bundle of warmth. He shrugs, and hands her over to me. She sits on my lap and regards me sceptically while I try and make her purr; then in a minute she appears to get bored and languidly jumps down, exiting the room as though I were the least interesting thing she’s ever seen. Bloody cats.

Hitsugi-kun shrugs again.
“Sorry”.

“Don’t worry about it”, I tell him wearily, “she’s not the only one who doesn’t like me right now”.

He looks at me warily.
“What are you on about this time?”

I sigh and lean back against a convenient chair.
“You’re Saki’s best friend, aren’t you?”

Again that look.
“I suppose so, yeah…” He gives a little smile.

“Well…this is kind of hard for me to say, but we’ve been having some problems…”

Immediately he’s stopped being relaxed and is waving his hands around in front of him defensively.
“Oh nononono, I don’t want to know about your problems again!”

“Please, you’re the only one who can help me with this!”

“No! Don’t get me involved! I don’t want to hear it!”

“Pllleeassse, Hitsugi-kun!”

“Go and ask someone else!”

“I can’t!” I duck my head guiltily. “You’re the only one I can talk to, there’s no-one else”, I admit.

He narrows his eyes at me.
“The three of you”, and I know which three he means, “have been acting pretty odd since we got back from that enkai. Please don’t tell me this is why I think it is, because I really do not want to hear that, and you must know it’s completely your own faults”.

This is quite a long speech for Hitsugi-kun, and clearly he is more perceptive than I used to believe. His eyes are forbidding this subject quite emphatically, so I shake my head in what I hope is a reassuring manner.

“No, no, that’s not it at all!”

“Hmm”. He doesn’t look very convinced.

“It’s - it’s that -” Now I come to say it, this is really embarrassing; “Please tell me why Saki won’t sleep with me!!”

“Aaah!!” Hitsugi-kun claps his hands over his ears. “That is even worse!!”

“Please, I really have to know, and -”

“Well how the hell should I know?!” he shouts incredulously, turning as red as I feel.

“’Cos you’re his best friend, and every time I think we’re going somewhere he seems to push me away, it’s like he doesn’t want me and I have to know what’s wrong with me!”

I pause to catch my breath. Hitsugi-kun removes his hands from his ears as they clearly weren’t doing any good, and stares at me like I’m a complete waste of space.

“Is that what this is all about?”

“This what?”

“Is this why you’ve been such a bitch to Sakito for two weeks, is this why he’s been coming crying to me every other day trying to figure out what he’s done wrong?!” He looks more than exasperated now.

I purse my lips, not really ready to bring up this subject but I guess for him to get the full picture…
“I think he knows what he’s done wrong. It just gets to me that he’ll fuck any other guy he might happen to come across in the space of an evening but he won’t touch me even after he said he loved me!”

Hitsugi-kun pinches the bridge of his nose in disbelief and when he looks back up his eyes are narrowed in thought.
“What in the fresh hell are you talking about, Yomi? What are you saying he’s done?”

I lean forward to speak more softly, trying to hold back on my resurfacing anger.
“When we were at that hotel…Sakito didn’t come to bed at all. He was with that guy”, I hiss.

“What guy?” Hitsugi-kun asks in a tightly controlled voice, tugging on one of his lip piercings.

“That Kobayashi guy you went drinking with. And don’t tell me you didn’t know he was one of Saki’s conquests!”

“He was. And I knew it”, he says quietly.

“Well there. That’s what he’s done wrong. And if he’ll go to bed with one of those guys who don’t give a yen about him, I don’t understand why he won’t with me!”

“Probably because you’re such a prize retard”, he growls at me, and I gape. “He never went behind your back, he was with me the entire night!”

“What?” I ask dumbly, unable to grasp what he’s trying to tell me.

“He was so totally wasted I had to practically carry him back. Helped by Kobayashi, of course; and he does like Saki. A lot. And I’m sure he wouldn’t have been averse to spending another night with him.”

I glower.

“But he didn’t, because Saki would never, ever do anything to hurt you! So. My room was closest, I took him there and he took up the whole bed and talked all night”.

“Well then why did you look so disapproving in the morning?” I demand.

“Because he took up the whole bed and talked all night”. He looks at me narrowly. “Besides, there were probably people more deserving of my disapproval than Saki around that breakfast table, don’t you think?”

I gulp, and lower my eyes.

“Sakito loves you”, he tells me darkly. “Although I’m sure I can’t think why at this moment”.

Looking at his accusing face I feel so utterly, completely guilty. I’ve been put back in the wrong with just a couple of sentences. I know what he says is true; Hitsugi-kun doesn’t lie. Now I’m the cheating bastard again and he…loves me?
Some of the guilt must be showing on my face. Hitsugi-kun leans forward to peer under my fringe.

“Did you upset him tonight?” he demands in a low voice. I shrug helplessly. His eyes cloud over ominously and his lips thin; he pushes back the hair hiding my eyes and stares into them.

“Don’t you ever hurt him”, he says in a way that sounds like a warning. There’s something dark in his voice that I’ve never heard before, and for the first time since I met him I see how I could be afraid of him. Things are clicking into place tonight.

“You love Saki…don’t you?” I state quietly.

“Not like you think. But yeah. I do. So you just make sure”, and he removes his hand from the vicinity of my face and sits up, “that you mend anything you might have done to make him upset. Or you’ll have to explain it to me. Whatever Sakito does he has his own good reasons for and you should respect them. Understood?”

I nod mutely, my feelings all over the place but largely concentrated in a desperate desire to make things right, to apologise, to ask him to forgive me. I start to get up.

“I have to go see him, now!”

He grabs me by the coattail and yanks me back down. “No way. It’s too late tonight and you’re too het up to be seeing anyone. You stay right here, I’ll get you a futon”.

He disappears from the room and returns with some bedding, and the cat. I crawl into the blankets and he, surprisingly, hands her to me. And even more surprisingly she stays with me, curling herself up to my warmth comfortably. I feel a bit weepy.

“She’s called Nancy”. He leaves me puzzling over that one, and turns out the light abruptly.

**********************************************

(Poor Hitsugi just gets odder, huh)