Author: Mosh Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
The summons had come at an unexpected time - gone midnight, mid-week, just as Zakuro was gearing up to leave the village. Actually, it wasn’t just the timing that seemed odd, but the summons itself - penned by the prince’s own hand, it had been sent down tied to a travelling dragon’s claw, as if he’d hurried it to reach Zakuro before he departed. Zakuro re-read the parchment three or four times, before glancing around his cheap inn room at the few accessories he had with him - a razor, some soap, a pocket watch he’d taken from a man in Xinhui that had stupidly tried attacking him. He was planning to leave them all behind; he preferred to travel light, after all. Letting his shoulders slump, he rubbed at his jaw. It wasn’t like he had any pressing matters to attend to, he just wanted to be on the road again. His business with the Sanzo Ikkou was long over, stupid failure it’d been. He didn’t like to dwell on that particular shambles, nor the vicious punishment Lady Gyokumen Koushu had dealt him on his return, right after his report, like a brutal punctuation mark. He clenched his teeth and then muttered, “Fuck. What am I doing?” Then, he screwed up the message and stuffed it into one pocket of his leather coat, before climbing up onto the dragon’s back. As he soared over the thatched rooftops, lamp lights burning far below like static fireflies, he cursed himself not for the first time at how easily the prince could make him drop everything. The thing that annoyed him even more was that he couldn’t bring himself to steer the dragon around mid-flight to take him back down to the ground. Brushing hair out of his eyes, he looked up ahead, at the gargantuan silhouette of Houtou Castle jagged against the night sky. It was like a pitch beast roaming the charcoal clouds, the way its turrets speared up at the top, its ridges curving slightly and giving the impression it was preparing to lunge at any moment. Zakuro had always had a difficult time imagining what it must be like growing up somewhere like that, but then, he had been brought up in orphanages until he was thirteen and had run away to make something of his life, so it wasn’t like he had much with which to draw a comparison. All he knew was that he had no clue what it was like living some place of any grandeur. A bitterness welled in him that was old and familiar, but he grit his teeth and dug his heels into the dragon’s flanks as the high rising castle loomed before him. As always, Zakuro felt like he was about to be swallowed whole by it, and all its silent promises and secrets. The dragon traversed the side of the building, rising higher and heading towards the eastern edge of the castle, before gracefully touching down on a wide turret. Zakuro knew this part of Houtou and didn’t hesitate as he stepped off and walked a short way along the turret, then passed below a high stone arch and into a sparsely lit, spacious hall. “Did you have to think twice before you mounted my dragon?” said a voice immediately from the shadows to his right. Zakuro tensed minimally, but he knew that voice. He turned swiftly and bowed in the voice’s direction, dropping down onto one knee. The leather of his trousers squeaked dully on the highly polished flagstones. It was a leap and bound from the usual dusty floorboards in the rooms he rented, or even more rustic - living out in the hills on his travels, nothing but dirt and rough rock beneath him. “Your servant Zakuro,” he said, making sure to pronounce each word clearly. The formal speech sounded so unlike him, but he thought he pulled it off quite well. “I humbly present myself at your summons to do your bidding, Kougaiji Oujisama.” Then he smirked at the floor. “And yes, but it was more like four times.” He heard a soft snort, but didn’t raise his head. “Please,” said the voice in a chiding tone. “Is all that nonsense really necessary.” Zakuro could also detect weariness in Kougaiji’s voice, more so than the strong-headedness that usually peppered it. Zakuro finally raised his eyes, looking up at the tall figure through sandy strands of hair. “I’ve got to do these things properly or I’ll get in trouble.” He fluidly rose to his feet again. “From whom, my step mother?” Kougaiji almost spat the last two words. “It’s none of her business. How have you been?” Zakuro shrugged and slipped his hands in his coat pockets, turning and taking a few steps further into the hall. These were the prince’s living quarters. They never lost any of their impressiveness, but Zakuro thought maybe that wasn’t so much to do with the amount of times he was allowed into them, but more because they retained the prince’s unique scent so strongly - the herbs and spices he bathed in, and the underlying hint of his natural odour. “Oh, you know,” he answered in an off-handed tone. “Doing a bit of this and a bit of that.” Kougaiji paused long enough for Zakuro to turn and look at him, although he already knew what he’d said wrong. “I heard of Lady Gyokumen Koushu’s punishment.” Kougaiji stepped closer now, further into the light. The shadows seemed to release him as if even they couldn’t contain his power any longer. “After the fact. I wasn’t here to-” He paused, pursed his mouth with annoyance. Zakuro bowed again quickly. “I won’t hear of it, Kougaiji Oujisama. I deserved everything I got for messing up with the Sanzo Ikkou.” Kougaiji let out something that resembled a growl and stalked towards him, closing the gap. A year ago, Zakuro would’ve retreated out of a mixture of surprise, respect and a little fear. But it wasn’t a year ago, and Zakuro stood firmly, ready for Kougaiji as he took hold of the lapels of his coat and balled his fists in the leather, his mouth curled at one side in frustration. “You may have been following her orders, but she was no doubt unfair. She…” He fumbled here, which was unusual for him - he was always so composed. “She enjoys punishing people for their mistakes as much as she enjoys it when they succeed.” Zakuro had been able to tell that much, each and every time the lashes sliced down on his bared back. He had sucked it up, though, taken the physical reprimands in silence with a sweat-soaked face and a lower lip bitten raw. Well, maybe there had been one or two choked grunts - it wasn’t every day you were flayed within an inch of your life, after all. “Yeah, I got that. Bit of a sadist,” Zakuro said, trying not to remember it in too much detail. He stared at Kougaiji levelly and then raised one eyebrow slowly. After a moment, all the frustration seemed to seep out of Kougaiji’s frame and he let out an exasperated laugh. It beat hot and fleeting against Zakuro’s face, disturbing a few strands of his hair. Zakuro tried not to inhale too noticeably. “Are you healed, at least?” Zakuro shrugged again as Kougaiji loosened his grip on his coat, though Zakuro was aware the prince didn’t let go entirely, not at first. “Pretty much.” He stared at the prince for some time, hyper-aware of every point they touched - knee to knee, the press of Kougaiji’s hands on his chest. He steeled himself. “So… you summoned me here to ask about my health? Or was there something else?” Zakuro tilted his head to one side a little. Only now did Kougaiji release him. “I heard you were leaving the village.” “Ohh, yeah. Yeah, well, I’ve never been one to stick around a place too long.” He didn’t say that he had only ever bothered returning to one particular place every once in a while - the sprawling youkai village at the foot of the castle - nor the reasons for his frequent appearances. Zakuro really didn’t think it needed to be said. He grinned at Kougaiji as roguishly as he could muster. The prince rolled his eyes, but he didn’t speak. That earlier weariness Zakuro had caught in Kougaiji’s voice had made a subtle but visible reappearance on his face, from the set of his mouth and the thin lines creasing his forehead. There was also a distinct lack of the fiery will the prince usually radiated - that incredible strength and determination. The guy wasn’t happy, Zakuro could see that much. But then, living here with an evil wench of a step mother had to take it out on a person. It was a brash move, especially for a mere freelance thief like Zakuro - a commoner - but he found himself compelled to reach up and smooth away a couple of violent-red strands of hair that obscured the prince’s eyes. Hell, it wasn’t simply brash, but wholly too personal. “You’re really tense, Oujisama.” “I thought I told you that was unnecessary.” “Fine, then. Kougaiji,” Zakuro amended, pushing his luck a bit with his blatant cheek. Then he added, more seriously, “It’s been a while, yeah? Do you want me to…?” He made sure to dampen his eagerness, not wanting it to show too noticeably in his words. Kougaiji swallowed - Zakuro heard it clearly, and saw it in the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. It was obvious the prince wasn’t going to ask outright, and Zakuro didn’t really expect him to. It was also quite obvious Kougaiji needed something to ease the tension, something to take the edge off a bit. The last time Zakuro had seen him this wound up had been shortly after Kougaiji’s first run-in with the Sanzo Ikkou. Something to ease the tension was something Zakuro could provide, something he had provided before. A few times, actually. A few memorable, incredi- No, he stopped that stupidness right there. “Where?” he asked instead, deciding to get straight down to it. If he hesitated, he would definitely think about it too much. Thinking wasn’t his job, supplying was why he’d been called. That thought set off a twinge of something raw and familiar in him, something that didn’t sit right under his skin, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the distinct features of Kougaiji’s face. “I don’t care,” said the prince. “Here’s fine.” Right there on the floor was as good as any bed, Zakuro had to agree; he had told the prince as much the first time, about a year ago. It wasn’t like they’d be in the hall for much longer anyway. Zakuro knew it was time to steel himself, to gather his power and concentrate it, but with Kougaiji standing not a foot away from him, it was easier said than done. The prince had lowered his gaze to the floor, his jaw set tight, though Zakuro didn’t think he was nervous - not by now, after all this time - just extremely up-tight and probably realising that soon he would be granted an outlet. He took a deep, silent breath and said, as steadily as he could, “Then, look at me, Kougaiji.” Kougaiji slowly raised his red eyes, and although it was Zakuro’s job to do the hypnotising here, he felt every inch of Kougaiji’s gaze piercing him, moving up the length of his body until their eyes met. It almost broke his focus; that look was so intense it seemed to crawl hot and insistent beneath is skin long afterwards. Fuck, he thought, and forced himself not to dwell on it. Soon, Kougaiji’s mouth opened a little, no doubt a silent, drawn in breath. His eyes took on a soft kind of openness, entirely different from their customary guarded slant. The lines on his forehead smoothed out, making him look younger, less tired. He was under. Now it was time for Zakuro to enter the landscape, too. He slipped beneath his own spell, allowing it to soak all the way through him, curl its power around him like a ghostly embrace. He rarely ventured into the nightmarescapes he set up for foes, knowing them like the back of his hand anyway and only needing to dictate vocally. But the places he had reserved for Kougaiji were nothing like those - no burning, blind terror, no corpses of loved ones paving the ground, no blood and decay and confusion. In Kougaiji’s space there was nothing but a red sunset dipping on the horizon, bleached, crunchy grass beneath their feet, and them. Oh, and the small leather harness sitting on the ground between them. Zakuro eyed it briefly, his mouth going dry; then he stepped over it, ignoring the harness for now. He approached Kougaiji and reached up, settling one hand on Kougaiji’s shoulder, the skin firm and warm beneath his touch, muscles jumping slightly with anticipation. “Uh, if you would.” Kougaiji looked at him for a moment, before slowly sinking to his knees upon the earth. Zakuro swallowed hard and set a smirk on his mouth, and although he had to maintain it, it served as a slight distraction from the fact that he had Prince Kougaiji kneeling before him. If he didn’t make himself believe this was an exercise, there was the risk he’d mess it all up. Not that it was anything but an exercise for the prince, he mentally added, a plummeting feeling taking place in his gut at the thought. Zakuro was well aware he was just a thief with a neat trick. But even as he reminded himself, he couldn’t seem to muster any sour feelings towards the other youkai. Reaching down, Zakuro ran his fingertips over the collar of Kougaiji’s white sleeveless coat, the material expensive and woven so thick it could no doubt withstand light claw attacks. He curved his nails beneath the seam and pushed, forcing the fabric up over Kougaiji’s broad shoulders, then down over the back. He slipped the sleeves down the length of Kougaiji’s arms, having to stoop, then finally bent on one knee, much like the position he’d fallen into when he’d first greeted the prince. It took a moment for Zakuro to realise he was fixating on Kougaiji’s chest, all angles and clean-cut muscle. He was determined not to wet his mouth, nor let his touch linger in one place too long. He got the arm holes down to Kougaiji’s wrists and at that point he twisted it around and back over Kougaiji’s long, slender fingers, trapping his hands in the coat. Zakuro realised in this position, it was almost like he was embracing the prince. He was aware of Kougaiji’s breath on his skin again, on his neck, and the brush of Kougaiji’s long red hair against his arms, like raw silk. Zakuro straightened up. “Too tight?” Kougaiji looked up at him and huffed incredulously. “Hardly.” Mouth curling, Zakuro muttered, “Well, can you strangle me?” Again, Kougaiji huffed, but this time there was a ghost of a smile on his mouth. “Hardly.” “Tight enough, then.” Zakuro tried not to hesitate at the next part, even though this was usually where his hands grew unsteady, much to his chagrin. Following the length of Kougaiji’s torso and stomach with his eyes first so he didn’t misjudge, he rested his hand against the front of the prince’s jeans and twisted the button out of its hole. Drawing the zip down carefully, Zakuro half listened to the sound of the metal parting, and half to the sound of Kougaiji’s breathing, which sped up a fraction. “You don’t have to be so…” Kougaiji said, his voice now taking on a gravelish edge. “Just do it.” “Yes, yes, I’m doing it.” Zakuro dared to look up at him, into Kougaiji’s eyes. “You’re not usually in such a hurry.” Kougaiji stared at him. “I thought you had some place to be.” Oh. Right. Zakuro shrugged. “Uh. Not really. Tomorrow morning’s as good a time to get moving as any.” He lowered his gaze to the cut of Kougaiji’s jeans, hanging low on the ridges of his hipbones. Zakuro ran his fingers over them, pushing the denim down. He could hear the slide of it, brushing across Kougaiji’s golden-brown skin with a faint swish. Kougaiji was semi-hard already, his cock darkened and long and really… well, Zakuro didn’t need to be thinking that, especially as he’d been rock hard since he stepped into the landscape. He still had work to do. He averted his gaze as he slid Kougaiji’s jeans to mid-thigh, freeing him enough for the final preparations. Only now did Zakuro turn back and reach across the ground for the leather harness. The two black, diamond-shaped weights attached to it swung in the air as he held it up and undid the small gold snap that fastened it together. Kougaiji’s breathing was definitely much quicker now, a faint pant-pause-pant-pause in the quiet. “Zakuro,” Kougaiji said lowly. He didn’t say any more but it was obvious what he was getting at, and judging by the slant of his hips he was becoming impatient for some kind of friction. It was - and always had been - the most surreal thing, to curl his palm around the hot, thick length of Kougaiji’s cock. Almost as surreal was the way the prince drew his lower lip back behind his teeth and let his eyes slide shut - seeing it up close, in all its detail, threatened to blow Zakuro’s mind. It was a look that followed Zakuro everywhere he went - even into his own dreams, fantasies. The prince’s length felt incredible in his hand, twitching a little with want, and as he curved his fist tighter Kougaiji let out a breathy “Unnh…” that sent heady bolts of arousal straight to Zakuro’s groin. “Gonna slip this on you now,” he breathed, face suddenly close to Kougaiji’s. He pulled back a little way and looked down, carefully guiding the thick leather ring at the top part of the harness down Kougaiji’s length, before pulling the lower part of it below his balls. It was a snug fit; however, it wasn’t until Zakuro tugged the strip of leather with the snap affixed to it up to separate Kougaiji’s balls, setting it into place, that Kougaiji uttered the first moan. “Ahh… More, give me more.” So unbecoming of a prince, thought Zakuro with something like amusement. Soon Kougaiji’s words were forgotten - it took a lot of Zakuro’s willpower and concentration to adjust the strap when Kougaiji stared to slowly push back and forth with his hips. “Yes,” the prince whispered through clenched teeth. “That’s it.” Once Zakuro was done, Kougaiji breathed out a long, low groan. He was starting to let go. That was a good sign, and a sure sign that this had been a long time coming. Zakuro wondered how much the prince had agonized over the message before he’d sent it down to him at the village. “Ouji-” Zakuro almost slipped up, but quickly corrected, “Kougaiji. D’ya want feathers, or something stronger? I can work pretty much anything.” The ‘for you’ went unspoken, though Zakuro was sure Kougaiji heard it. He was tempted to bite his own tongue. It took a moment for Kougaiji to answer. “Something stronger.” Zakuro moved back a little way so that no part of him was touching the prince. The tension winding in his gut ached to press against Kougaiji, but he couldn’t - not now. He closed his eyes and focused on inserting a new aspect into the landscape. Harder than feathers, but only a bit. The first leaf fell on his shoulder, sliding down his arm a little way before hitting the grass. Zakuro looked up to see Kougaiji with his head tipped back, sweat now breaking out over his collar, chest, and down the column of his stomach. Small, browning leaves fell first, just enough to tickle him. Zakuro couldn’t take his eyes off him as the prince let his mouth part, tongue darting out to wet them a couple of times. Going well. Time to step it up a notch. Zakuro injected a quick flux in the spell and the leaves started to fall larger, thicker, and darker. The heavier ones caught on Kougaiji’s skin more obviously, slowly snaking down his torso and smoothing against the reddened length of his cock. The two weights attached to the harness swung back and forth in time to Kougaiji’s body, as he rocked on his knees, balanced on the heels of his boots. Zakuro was trying to block out the moans, trying not to notice the coppery flush to Kougaiji’s brown skin. Amazingly, the prince still had the mind to be embarrassed, even as he sank slowly, softly under a wave of tight, aching bliss. It was impossible not to be drawn into Kougaiji’s rhythm, and the urge to touch him rose so strongly in Zakuro he balled his fists at his sides, claws digging into his skin and drawing welts there. The snick of pain was exquisite, though he doubted it was anything like the sweet torture the prince was experiencing; arched back now, cock shining wet at the head and the leaves falling faster against his flushed, sensitised body. Zakuro inched forward on his knees, palms sweaty as he rubbed them against his thighs, trying not to venture higher. He waited for the word, the go-ahead, counting silently to himself. It was all he could do not to reach for his dick and jerk himself off, or worse - reach for Kougaiji. Moments later Kougaiji grated out, “Now.” Zakuro growled out something like a ‘yes’ and went for the harness, pulling the snap undone and drawing the leather away from Kougaiji’s erection. He didn’t care if it was messy; he wrapped his hand around Kougaiji’s length and stroked him firmly, jerking his fist. Quick pearls of come darted across his fingers and up his wrist, and the prince slumped forward, his head landing on Zakuro’s shoulder as he panted and choked out groans and careened through his release. Zakuro was barely aware of anything other than that until he felt a strange freedom that hadn’t been there before. It took his mind a moment to catch up, but he realised that he had unconsciously moved his free hand to unbutton his leather trousers and release himself from the confines. He bucked up against Kougaiji, seeking something to rut against. The prince didn’t move away, nor show any sign of protest - he breathed fast and moist against the side of Zakuro’s neck, his sharp teeth just touching the skin there, pressing a little with every pant. It felt freaking amazing, having solid, wet flesh to rub against. Zakuro clenched his teeth and slid his own hand between them, but the command in the prince’s voice stayed him. “Unbind my arms now.” Shit. Zakuro forced his fist from his own cock and quickly tugged at Kougaiji’s coat. Soon one wrist was free, and Kougaiji was able to release himself from the other sleeve. Zakuro didn’t know what to expect. Certainly not the prince forcing him back onto the grass, then settling, a solid, heavy weight against his side. “Kougaiji,” Zakuro muttered. “What … I have to ask you.” He hated how desperate he sounded, but if he didn’t say it now he never would. “Why me? Why not Dokugakuji or your potions girl Yaone?” Kougaiji let out a breathless laugh against his ear. “Because they’re my friends.” Beneath the crushing weight of that statement, Zakuro was aware of Kougaiji’s long nails, scraping down his stomach. His muscles twitched and clenched, and although Kougaiji’s words rang loudly and almost painfully in his head, he couldn’t help but buck his hips up as the prince stroked his fingers all the way down the underside of his cock. “Oh fuck, ohh...” He was coming hard before he could warn, and the intensity of it sent him rigid, body arched up against Kougaiji’s touch like it was the centre point of the entire universe. His own come dashed his stomach - he could feel it through the waves of euphoria - and Zakuro could only hold on, remember to breathe, try not to groan anything incriminating into the prince’s ear. He was unable to function for some time after, as Kougaiji finally settled his hand against Zakuro’s chest. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel to Zakuro that Kougaiji was ready to rise and clean up, either. Once he had regained a steady pulse, breathing, and was able to open his eyes, Zakuro stared up at the perpetual dark purple sky above. The sunset always sank a little in Kougaiji’s landscape, at the moment he was done. That was how he wanted it. Zakuro didn’t know why - he had always thought sunrises were better, because they spelled a new day, new chances. Maybe it was just that Kougaiji used these sunsets to close doors on old problems, restricting the tension until the very last moment, making the release of it even greater, then finally letting go of it. Bah, Zakuro didn’t know, and as Kougaiji shifted against his side he forgot what he had been pondering in the first place. He managed to locate his voice, though it came out hoarse. “Did’ya find the relief you were wanting?” “Yes,” said Kougaiji. “Cool.” As he spoke, Kougaiji removed his hand and rose onto his knees again, pulling his denims back around his hips. Zakuro had nothing to wipe at the mess on his stomach. “If you’re ready, I’ll take this down now.” “That’s fine.” He heard Kougaiji rise to his feet but didn’t look. Zakuro found his legs were still shaky from the aftershock of his orgasm, but he struggled himself upright, too. He felt a bit like he had after that run in with the Sanzo Ikkou, only, instead of pain he was awash with a weird mix of post-orgasm looseness and a strong sense of disappointment. ‘They’re my friends’. The ‘you’re not’ still lingered in the air. Zakuro could hear the prince redressing next to him, but instead of looking he focused on the landscape and started to bring it down. The colourful sky started giving way to the shadows of Houtou - those dense shadows that always seemed darker than normal ones, always seemed to suck at you as you moved among them. The grass beneath their boots faded to meticulously polished flagstones. And the harness, that damn harness, disappeared last of all. “I’ll get some cloth,” said Kougaiji, heading across the hall towards a bureau. Zakuro straightened his clothes, feeling suddenly awkward. “Yeah, so I’ll be away for a spell,” he threw over his shoulder, wanting something to fill the silence in the room. “But you know me, I’ll probably stop by some time in the future.” Kougaiji didn’t answer him; he returned shortly and handed Zakuro a shawl to clean himself up with. “Thanks.” Zakuro made fast work of it. “Like I said, I might be back, so if you need anything. You know, since you prefer people who aren’t your friends to do certain things.” He realised how whiny that sounded, and added, waving his hand vaguely, “I don’t mind or anything.” “Right.” Kougaiji was staring at him, that intense look that either meant he was pent up, or about to say something he wouldn’t usually. “Because you’re not my friend.” Could never be, not a lowly thief like Zakuro - the only skill he was ever proud of still couldn’t get him the stupid sutra. Why would a prince need him, for anything more than cheap thrills? Those thoughts were becoming more and more frequent in his head. It pissed him off - he never used to feel so inadequate. Fingernails drew down the side of Zakuro’s face, pushing his hair away from his eyes. He made a noise of surprise and looked at Kougaiji, who was now standing in front of him - really close. Touching his face, for the gods’ sake! “Kouga-?” “Not my friend,” Kougaiji repeated more firmly, and then all Zakuro could see were two blazing red eyes, and then all Zakuro could feel was Kougaiji’s breath beating out hot against his mouth, right before he felt Kougaiji’s lips, intent and even hotter, if it was possible. The kiss - their first one ever - was raw and surprisingly slow at first, not at all hurried like Zakuro would’ve imagined - and had imagined numerous times in the past. Kougaiji traced his tongue over the points of Zakuro’s front teeth before slipping it into his mouth for a taste. Zakuro couldn’t believe it, the real, exotic flavour of him, the way Kougaiji just went for it like he’d been starving for this. Zakuro was incapable of anything except to stand there dumbly for a moment, letting it really hit him that yes, those private thoughts he’d entertained in the past were actually happening. For real. Then Zakuro dared to believe, and found his hold - clutching Kougaiji’s back, fingers settling tightly at the base of his spine. He soon fell into Kougaiji’s unexpected, rough rhythm, and nipped at the prince’s mouth, daring to take more. It was surreal. Surreal and fucking awesome. His vision was vaguely unfocused when Kougaiji finally pulled back and said, hotly, “Tomorrow morning, yes?” against his mouth. Zakuro processed it, just what Kougaiji was implying. He hoped he wasn’t wrong and about to sound like an idiot. “Or afternoon. You know, no major rush.” Kougaiji stared at him. “Good.” As they moved over to the prince’s bed, Zakuro started to get what Kougaiji had meant back in the landscape. Those words had hurt taken at face value, but Zakuro should’ve known with the prince nothing was over stated. “Not my friend,” no, but no less wanted. Zakuro was something else. ~Fin~ |
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