Three Days of Blood

BY : AnkhAscendant
Category: Rurouni Kenshin > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 2230
Disclaimer: Ruroken is not mine and makes me no money.




TITLE:
Three Days of Blood
CHAPTER: 2/4
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant (
setosgirl0 / neferseti0 )
DATE: 10-10-09
FANDOM: Rurouni
Kenshin
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Rurouni Kenshin, or make any
money from it.
PAIRINGS: Saitou/Aoshi
TYPE: Action
RATING:
hard R
WARNINGS: gore and sadism and torture
OCs: none
BETA:
none
WORDS: 4376
SUMMARY: Saitou goes after Aoshi a second time
to answer the challenge he left him
NOTES: Okay, so I know Rurouni
Kenshin fanfiction is about as relevant as Kato Kaelin, but I like it
anyway, and I shall write what I like, whether I am shooting my
review count in the head or not. This was written (kinda) for the
prompt (
http://yaoigirl.com/?p=373
) “justice”.


* * *


Three Days of
Blood
The Second Day – Soku







Darkness sat still as death over Kyoto, so deep it
seemed it might never be lifted, and the Wolf of Mibu hunted.







Sheep on the streets and in their homes, reeking of sin,
crying out to be slain, put out of their misery... He passed them
all, because it was not sheep's blood he wanted tonight. There was
another predator in Kyoto, and hunters always made the best prey. -
blood that had fed on the blood of others was always sweetest, and a
killer was always the most satisfying kill.







Shinomori had judged him evil, but had refused to pass
sentence... in doing so, he had issued a challenge that could not be
denied. He would not give him the chance to back away from it now.
The blood of the hunter called to him, and the challenge issued, and
this matter would be settled. Tonight.







Tonight he would feast on violence and killer's flesh.







His tongue flicked out and slid over the cool metal of
his blade, tasting the faint tang of the blood of its previous
victims that had soaked indelibly into the metal, letting the echo of
battles past linger in his mind. A vicious smile curved his mouth; it
lacked only the fangs to show the soul behind it. His body wore the
clothes of a policeman, but tonight the clothes were disguise and no
more made the man than draping wool on a wolf made it a sheep.







The disguise let him drift among the sheep, unmolested
and unremarkable, unquestioned and unstoppable. Perhaps the grin that
knew it would taste blood soon gave something away, or the way he
held his sword so openly and in the heights of anticipation would
allow himself to taste it, or perhaps his ally the darkness spared
him from the sight of anyone who did not need to see him. He did not
know, and not knowing did not bother him. It only mattered that he
was not interrupted.







In the shadows he approached the lair of his prey,
anticipation growing, sword twitching eagerly in his hand. And yet,
for all of his anticipation, he might have bypassed his prey entirely
if the shinobi had not raised his head as he approached and looked
directly at him. The flickering light of the streetlamp he stood
under was absorbed into the black garb he wore and reflected only
from the unsheathed sword in his hand and the sling that held one arm
against his chest. Until he moved, he could have been part of the
scenery.







When his prey saw him, he grinned to himself and drifted
closer, sword held lazily in the air at his side. "Are you
looking for someone, Aoshi? Hunting?"







"Waiting." He pushed himself off the lamp post
and faced him. "I thought you would come this way."







"And you came to face me." His eyes traveled
slowly over his body, lingering on the wounded arm. "What do you
plan to do with that?" he wondered. "Don't you think I know
you? You're a two-handed fighter, Shinomori, even your single kodachi
style uses kempo with your other hand. You barely bested me last
night... Even with your sword, you're half the threat now." His
sword drifted to his shoulder, blade edge up, eying the shinobi's
muscled body. Where to stab first...







"Half the threat or not, you won't come any closer
to the Aoiya than this." The kodachi flipped into a backhand
grip.







"Thank you for reminding me what I said yesterday.
Same stakes... Beat me or your precious Oniwaban will suffer."







It was a beautiful thing, how that threat could pierce
Aoshi's cool like a well-aimed Gatotsu and let the violence bleed
from within. If he had not had so much experience against the
Battousai, the speed of Aoshi's sudden attack might have overwhelmed
him.







The backhanded grip had prepared him for the kaiten
kenbu, but he realized that had been misdirection when the attack
came from above. Very good then, Aoshi had rightly recognized the
blade-up second stance as a downward thrust, but did he really think
he was so locked in his ways he couldn't compensate? He saw the foot
coming for his face and stretched, bringing the sword down sharply.







The blade impaled Aoshi's leg below the knee, and pushed
his kick away from his face at the same time; he felt it skip off the
bone on the way in. The smell of blood was suddenly very sharp...







Then Aoshi's other foot caught him in the cheek and
flung him away; he ripped the sword from his leg and almost didn't
manage to keep his feet. He saw, for a moment, Aoshi land in a crouch
with his injured leg on the ground, then he was attacking again,
kodachi whirling in a true kaiten kenbu this time. He deflected all
three slashes, and retaliated with a zero stance, but hit only air.
Aoshi's blade slid over his arm, and back, drawing blood, but he
barely even felt the pain as he slid out of reach.







He found he could not stop grinning, even as another
slash caught him shallowly across the chest. This was a great fight,
nothing at all like doing battle with yet another swordsman. Aoshi
was a martial artist who happened to use a sword, and the difference
was enormous. Swordsmen wanted distance, for charges, thrusts,
battoujutsu - they liked it quick, clean, a hit and then a retreat
and then another attack. Aoshi liked his fights up close and
personal, inside his opponent's comfort zone, absolutely relentless,
and when it came down to it he could drop the swords and just beat
you to death.







Maybe it should have put him at a disadvantage - his
sword was long and his technique loved distance.







He thought it was fucking wonderful.







He chuckled as the blade slid shallowly across his other
arm and was deflected. Aoshi's injured leg was slowing him down,
enough that he couldn't get any serious blows past his defenses...
but not enough to make this fight easy. Just how he liked it.







The kodachi flipped backhand again and he brought his
sword up to block the blows as Aoshi spun again. The first one
glanced off his blade. On the second one, his blade hit not metal but
the muscles of Aoshi's arm, and his eyes widened in surprise as he
felt the pain in his throat. His pushed himself back, hitting the
ground inelegantly, but the fall kept his head attached to his body.
The wound bled freely, but, he knew, not lethally, so long as he did
not get hit again.







A sword flashed in the darkness and he rolled out of the
way as the kodachi kicked up dirt where his chest had been . This was
getting exciting. He brought his sword up off the ground in a fierce
swing toward the shinobi's chest; it was deflected, but it separated
them again, and gave them both that moment to recover and reset that
swordsmen so loved.







And then of course Aoshi attacked him again, his sword
swinging down in silence, angled to try to take off his head again.







He parried the blow and pushed the blade arm up, using
his greater reach and the other's shorter sword to his advantage to
grab his wrist. In one quick movement he slammed his shin into the
back of Aoshi's injured leg, sending him to his knees, and stepped on
his other leg to stop his attempt to sweep him to the ground in turn.
With one arm in a sling and the other stretched out above his head at
an awkward angle, he was trapped on his knees with his back to him.







"Take away one of your arms and you're not even
half the threat," he noted with a small smile, and placed his
foot between Aoshi's shoulders. "And no threat at all with
none." He kicked him forward viciously and yanked his arm back.
There was a small 'pop' muffled by the flesh, but it was more a
feeling of instant looseness as the joint was suddenly and completely
dislocated.







Aoshi gave a small hiss of pain and bowed his head as
the sword fell from nerveless fingers, narrowly missing Saitou's
foot. With a smirk he let go of the useless arm and dropped himself
to his knees between Aoshi's legs, laying his sword across his throat
as the wounded arm moved toward the dislocated one.







"Put it back and I'll slit your throat," he
promised. Aoshi paused, but he could feel his mind still working,
deciding. He knew it was because he knew his own would be. "Don't,"
he advised. "Don't be an idiot. You know you'll be dead."







Aftrer a moment, his arm relaxed in its sling again.







He'd given in. With a private smirk, Saitou raised the
sword to force Aoshi's head up, then pulled it away and licked the
blood from it as he enjoyed the heady scent of it around them. He
pressed himself against Aoshi's back, throbbing and pleasantly
aroused, considering where to go from here. His body had some vague
ideas. He had never actually mixed sex and killing before... no one
before Aoshi had lived long enough.







To be inside him when he killed him... that would be a
new high altogether.







His fingers found his hair and pulled his head aside. He
could feel him wanting to resist, but forcing himself to submit
because he knew his other choice was death. It would be pleasant if
he did still try to fight him... But really, what sort of fight could
he put up with only one leg to use? It might be better this way.







As he slowly licked blood from Aoshi's neck, his eyes
wandered down and admired a scar that straggled from his tattered
shirt, over his shoulder. The sight of it gave him pause. How many
could he have...?







Suddenly, instead of pushing him forward as he had
intended to do, he threw him back onto the ground and in a motion was
straddling him. The shinobi's one good leg came up to kick him away,
but he had no patience for this, and he scooped up the kodachi from
the ground, ramming it through his thigh. There was a gout of blood;
Aoshi made a noise of pain and stopped fighting again.







He ignored that and sat across his lap, feeling the
sword behind him sticking out of his leg, and deftly sliced through
his clothes to expose his skin from throat to waist. The sight that
met him was beautiful.







"You've been cut before," he murmured, eyes
hungrily following the maze of scars that crossed Aoshi's torso.
Twenty-five years of fighting were spelled out in those scars...
twenty-five years of spilled blood and pain and violence. Two fingers
caressed a sprawling cross from a pair of gashes that must nearly
have killed him. "Tell me about this one."







Silence answered him. After a second he looked back up
to Aoshi's face, finding only a cold stare that bored into his eyes.
He was defying him yet? The man was helpless, every one of his limbs
pierced or dislocated... yet he was defying him. That showed spirit,
and a touch of stupidity he hadn't thought was in Aoshi.







With a narrowing of his eyes, he laid his sword across
Aoshi's chest. The shinobi didn't react. "Tell me about them, or
they'll become my scars..."







Aoshi's eyes were cold as he watched him, helpless but
not submissive. That glare made his whole body throb. He wanted to
break him so much...







"Fine then." He pressed the sword viciously
down, driving the edge of the blade into the scar tissue with no more
resistance than wet tofu and reopening the old wound. Perhaps it was
not so deep as the original, but that was only because he wanted
Aoshi to live a little while yet. Blood, deep and dark in the night,
welled from the cut and pooled on his skin, sliding down the side of
his stomach like a single crimson tear.







He wasn't surprised that Aoshi didn't make a sound of
pain, but he wished he would. There would be time yet for that,
though... Would he get a scream? He thought maybe he would, before
this was all over.







His tongue cleaned blood from the edge of his blade,
rich and salty and familiar, and then he lovingly replaced it on his
stomach and reopened the second gash of the scar. More blood flowed
out, running down his side while the immobilized shinobi continued to
glare at him. It didn't faze him in the slightest.







"When the lord of Hell asks about your scars..."
he murmured, drawing the blade slowly over the trinity of marks above
Aoshi's heart, "you can tell him you were attacked by a wolf..."
The sight of the blood flowing so freely moved him, stirred him... He
could cut just a little deeper and watch the light go out of Aoshi's
eyes forever...







His sword slowly traveled over his victim's chest,
leaving a thin red line in its wake before it slid into another scar.
So lovely... He bled so nicely... The smell and sight of all that
blood was better than any aphrodisiac he had ever heard of. Licking
his lips, he let the tip of his sword slide down, over Aoshi's
stomach and between his legs, enjoying the way his stomach muscles
grew tense, almost flinching because he knew he could pierce his most
vulnerable areas any time he chose, and he was helpless to stop
him... Saitou smiled as he watched, but he didn't cut the clothing or
anything else... yet.







He was pressing hard against Aoshi's hip, already
anticipating the next few minutes... the fucking, the blood, the
killing... He only wished he could make this last longer. The sword
twitched up a touch, eager, like it had a mind of its own.







He leaned over and licked blood from Aoshi's chest, then
slid over him to whisper in his opposite ear.







"I don't know which one of these I want to put in
you more," he murmured, his lips brushing Aoshi's clenched jaw
as he spoke. "So it's going to be both... until you die..."







There was no response for him. He took a deep breath of
Aoshi's scent and slowly toppled over.







_ – =*= – _







The world slowly came back into focus, no longer the
dark blood-drenched night, but warm diffuse light that showed the
wooden beams of a ceiling, almost too bright for his eyes. Through
his hangover he could see that he had no idea where he was.







He immediately sat up, hand stretching out blindly, only
relaxing a little when he found his sword beside him. His eyes swept
the room - small, but empty, obviously some sort of spare room. His
uniform was folded beside the door, the greater part of the blood
cleaned out of it from what he could see.







That made him look at himself, startled. The cuts on his
chest and arms, and from he could feel his throat, had been bandaged,
and he was wearing someone's spare yukata, which was amazingly enough
not too small. The wounds throbbed today the way they hadn't last
night through the haze of alcohol, and he grimaced in pain as he slid
off the mattress. Aoshi's cuts he gone deeper than he thought... he
had been closer to dying than he realized.







That gave him pause, as he changed back into his
uniform. Aoshi had paid too dearly for these cuts... He wasn't proud
of his actions under sake's influence. Aoshi had of course not lived
long after he passed out, but he had not deserved to die, he knew
that - he might have been something like a vigilante, and that was
against the law, but he had been an asset to the police and forces of
'order', for lack of a better term.







Damn the man for playing into his impulses, anyway. Why
couldn't he have just refused to fight?







His head throbbed accusingly, and he irritably reaffixed
his sword to his belt. Yes, he had been drinking, but he wouldn't
entirely blame himself... It had been Aoshi's choice to fight him,
while he was injured, and he knew it was to the death. If he valued
his life he should have finished it the first time.







But still, that was another life he would have to answer
for eventually.







"I thought I heard you moving around."







He faced the door with his hand on his sword. When he
saw that it was the Oniwaban girl, his blood ran cold, and his
headache faded into the back of his mind, letting him focus. He was
in the Aoiya. Damn it, he didn't want to have to fight his way out.
They weren't his enemies.







If they knew that he had killed Aoshi, however, he was
theirs, and that was a very dangerous position to be in. They might
be innkeepers now, but they had been the Shogun's spies, and that
meant they were well versed in torture and creative ways to cause
pain... and could probably keep him alive for days as they did it.







Damn his own idiocy for getting him into this. After he
got out of here he was not touching the drink again.







"Are you sure you're up to walking around already?"
she asked, and she looked... faintly concerned.







Could they not realize that he was their Okashira's
killer? He wasn't sure how that was possible, they would have been
together when they found them. Unless they assumed that they had been
attacked together, and he was the one who had survived?







Or they had hidden Aoshi's death from this girl...







Either way, it was to his advantage. "Yes, I need
to be going back to work," he said calmly, and started to move
past her.







She put her hands on either side of the doorway and
shook her head, her braid flying. "Nope."







"No?" Not so oblivious after all... His hand
went back to his sword.







She seemed not to notice. "No, when Aoshi-sama
brought you back here he was pretty clear that he didn't want you to
leave until he said so."







He stopped at once. "He lived?" His eyebrows
rose a touch. He should have bled out almost immediately. If he
hadn't hit the artery in his leg when he stabbed it, it was a
miracle...







"Of course!" she said brightly. "Even
Kenshin couldn't kill Aoshi-sama!"







"Right," he agreed neutrally. He decided not
to point out that if Himura had still been a killer, Aoshi would be
dead several times over. Or maybe not - the man must have miracles in
his pockets to have not only survived last night but dragged him back
here with a sword through his leg and a dislocated shoulder... that
after yesterday taking the same Gatotsu that had ripped Usui in half.
Maybe even the Battousai wouldn't have been able to do him in. "Where
is he?"







"He's resting. The doctor just left."







"Then I suppose I should talk to him, if I want to
get out of here."







The girl - weasel girl, what was her name? Misao? - eyed
him speculatively, then nodded. "Come on," she said,
grabbing the yukata and then running off down the hall. He followed
her silently, finding his cigarettes in his pocket.







"Aoshi-sama!" She burst into a room
cheerfully. "Saitou woke up and wants to talk to you."







"Aa."







He followed her into the room and glanced around. Misao
was on the floor, quickly folding up the yukata, and she put it away
as he watched. Another of the shinobi girls was there, pouring tea
for Aoshi, who was very much alive and even conscious. He was sitting
up in bed, one arm still in a sling, the other shoulder put back in
its socket. His entire torso was wrapped in bandages that he could
see under his yukata. His legs were under a blanket, but he could
only assume they had had stitches.







"Go," Aoshi said, not unkindly. "I need
to speak with Saitou."







"Hai, Okashira." The woman stood up with her
tea. "Get some rest, and please, don't forget to call us if you
need anything."







"Aa," he agreed mildly, gingerly picking up
the cup, trying not to move his shoulders too much.







"Come on Okan." Misao left with her, but
stopped and glared up at Saitou. "And you, don't keep him up too
long, Aoshi-sama needs to sleep."







"Sure," he said in disinterest, and closed the
door between them. He looked back at Aoshi again. "That's cute,
they like to mother you."







"They don't get to take care of me very often."
Aoshi didn't bother looking at him. "Sit," he invited in
that same not-unkind but overly blunt manner he used with his
Oniwabanshu.







He did, regarding the apparently unkillable shinobi.
“Why are you alive?”







Aoshi glanced at him, and took a drink of his tea before
he answered. “Willpower,” was what he said. “It's
as Himura said, nothing is stronger than the will to live.”







“Himura's a fool,” he pointed out, fingers
toying with a cigarette. “If you really do have a will to live,
do yourself a favor and don't fight me again.” He pulled out
his matches and considered them. “I don't really want to kill
you,” he admitted. “You're too useful.”







“As you say,” he agreed. He didn't have to
say any more... They both knew Aoshi wouldn't be fighting anyone for
a while. “How are your injuries?”







“Fine.” He waved away the question. "Why
are you showing so much hospitality to your rapist and killer?"







Aoshi sipped his tea awkwardly. "I have been
neither raped nor killed by you," he said evenly.







"It was a matter of seconds on both counts,"
he pointed out without conceit. "If I had passed out one minute
later, you would be dead." And rape was a matter of perspective
in this case. Maybe Aoshi didn't consider the cutting and torture to
be sexual, but he did... and it had definitely not been consensual.







He probably wouldn't have enjoyed it if it were.







He found Aoshi looking at him with a blank, unreadable
expression as he set the tea aside. The hard edge in his eyes was
dulled - not gone, but covered for the time being, leaving him calm
and cool again. "What are you doing here?"







"According to the weasel girl, you're the one who
brought me here. You don't remember?"







"Yes," he said. "I brought you because I
wanted an answer."







"Then you're going to have to explain the question
a little better." He sat back, watching Aoshi more curiously
than anything.







"You have a home," he pointed out. "You
have a wife... a son, and another on the way." Something must
have showed on his face, because Aoshi paused his explanation to say
"My intelligence network is not as amateur as you might
believe."







"Granted that's all true," he admitted
readily enough, ignoring how much it bothered him to know he could be
researched so easily. "What's your point?"







"You have a home," Aoshi repeated. "And
you have abstained from drink for eleven years. Why are you suddenly
spending your nights getting drunk and looking for victims?"







"Hn." He occupied himself lighting a cigarette
finally, considering avoiding the question. If he got up and walked
out, it wasn't exactly as though Aoshi would be getting up and
following him; he probably wouldn't be getting up at all for some
time.







He wondered if Aoshi were going to fully recover at
all... If even one of his limbs were permanently damaged, he would go
from prodigal swordsman and brooding vigilante to prodigal tea-maker
and brooding innkeep instantly. For a brief moment, he almost felt
guilty, but it disappeared as soon as he acknowledged it. It had been
Aoshi's choice to fight him, and he was lucky to have escaped alive.







"The first time was for fun," he finally said,
exhaling smoke. "The second for revenge."







"That isn't an answer."







He scowled and flicked the burnt out match away. "It's
a reason."







"A reason for fighting me, that's all."







"One would think that would be the important part."







Obviously it wasn't. Aoshi simply watched him, and he
met his eyes evenly. The silence forced him to be thoughtful. He had
no love for this question, and Aoshi, although deeply affected by it,
had no right to ask it. He had obviously done enough spying on him,
surely he could find out whatever answers he wanted on his own...







"Fujita Goro has a wife," he said. "Fujita
Goro is a humble man who actually loves his wife and enjoys his
work."







"And Saitou Hajime..."







His eyes flicked over Aoshi's face. Perceptive. "Saitou
Hajime is a wolf who can't stand the reek of sheep's clothing and
enjoys the taste of the blood of evildoers."







"Ah." That was all Aoshi said as he awkwardly
picked up his tea again, favoring both shoulders carefully. Saitou
wondered if he had ever been informed how frustrating that particular
form of converse was. Nothing to reply to. No indication of his
thoughts. Just a damn noise.







And of course he had no problem with stretching out the
silence when he didn't answer. It spun out heavy and thick between
them, Aoshi drinking, Saitou smoking, until finally he crushed out
his third cigarette and stood up.







"Thanks for your hospitality, but I have things to
be doing... Conversations to have that might actually be
reciprocated..."







"Aa," Aoshi agreed mildly. "Forgive me
for not seeing you out."







That was one underhandedly rude son of a bitch, he
decided. "Don't worry about it." He turned to go, hand on
the door. His wife hadn't seen him in a couple days now, he might
surprise her and go home...







"Saitou."







He paused and looked over his shoulder. Aoshi's eyes met
his seriously.







"Decide who you are before you destroy yourself."







Wordlessly, he met Aoshi's eyes a moment longer, then
simply walked out.










~TBC~




















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