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.

Three Days of Blood
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant (
setosgirl0 / neferseti0 )
DATE: 10-12-09
FANDOM: Rurouni
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Rurouni Kenshin, or make any
money from it.
PAIRINGS: Saitou/Aoshi
TYPE: Action
WARNINGS: gore and sadism and torture and rape (see how there's
a new one each chapter? They grow...)
OCs: none
WORDS: 2850
SUMMARY: Saitou and Aoshi's fight is finally
decided. The winner is...
NOTES: This was written (kinda) for the
prompt (
) “justice”.

* * *

Three Days of
The Third Day – Zan

Perhaps the sound of quiet
footsteps had subconsciously alerted him, but it was the pungent
smell of sake and cigarette smoke that drew Aoshi from his light
sleep. His eyes snapped open and he started pushing himself up with
his twinging shoulder before he was even fully aware.

Too late. A thin hand crushed over
his mouth and slammed his head back into the floor in a burst of
pain. The scent of alcohol grew stronger, carried on the breath of
his attacker - he didn't even need the voice, when it came, to tell
him who it was.

"I made my decision,
Shinomori," Saitou breathed over his ear.

His mind raced. How many had
Saitou killed getting here? How many had he killed in the Aoiya
before getting to him? The alcohol overwhelmed any scent of blood on
him, and he had no way of knowing...

He pulled his free arm up and
slammed his elbow into Saitou's neck, forcing him to pull away and
let him go in the process. He was obviously very drunk - if he was
intoxicated enough, maybe he could take him even in the state his
body was in... The stitches in his legs screamed as he pushed himself
back and away from the confining bedclothes, lunging toward his
kodachi in the corner.

Pain radiated up his shin as
Saitou's blade bit deeply into his leg to hold him back, momentarily
overwhelming the stitches, then the drunk pounced on him, driving his
face into the floor and trapping his left arm beneath him. With a
hiss, he twisted, his arm trapped in the sling swinging up, ramming
his elbow into his cheek.

Thanks to the alcohol, Saitou
didn't seem to feel it, though it was a solid blow. He grabbed his
arm and twisted it; the Gatotsu wound in his shoulder ripped open
with a sudden gush of blood and he tried to pull his arm away in
pain. He saw a flash of a grin over his shoulder and Saitou twisted
his arm viciously. Only twenty years of training kept him from crying
out as the bone finally snapped under the strain.

Satisfied, Saitou let his arm go,
and he pulled it back into the least painful position he could find,
in front of him as that sling wouldn't let it be anywhere else.
Saitou's hands touched his shoulders and he realized with a start of
revulsion that he could feel the man's erection pressed against his
back. He was a sick man... a sick, perverse man who had him trapped.

A hand suddenly wrapped in his
hair and held his head still, and Saitou's hot alcohol breath moved
past his face. "Not much of a fight left in you," he
murmured, and Aoshi shuddered as he felt his tongue run over his ear.
"It's fine... Makes it that much easier. I'm going to fuck you
until I let you die..."

"No," he said coldly,
trying to find some position where he could free his other hand and
get to Saitou. He only needed one hand to kill him. And kill him he
was going to do. Saitou had gone too far this time, the moment he set
foot in the Aoiya. And if he couldn't kill him...

This wouldn't end without someone

Saitou chuckled and pressed his
face into the floor again, crushing his broken arm beneath him. His
other hand moved down Aoshi's side, the gesture obscenely gentle,
from the same hand that had just broken his arm.

"Aren't you going to tell me
to stop? Beg me to leave your body alone?"

Shame on Saitou if he thought he
was that weak. He said nothing, only worked on easing his weight onto
the broken arm with as little agony as possible and pulling his other
hand free.

The weight on top of him shifted,
and he saw an opening; he twisted to try to throw him off, but a hard
knee slammed into the inside of his own, pinching a nerve with either
blind luck or surprising expertise and making his leg go numb from
that spot down. Robbing him of another limb to fight with. Before he
could even react, in what was almost the same motion, his head was
ground down again and with a sharp ripping pain Saitou forced his way
into him.

He hissed in pain, his left hand
gripping the tatami mat beneath him as though he could pull away. It
had been a long time since he felt this, and never so painful.
Sadistic bastard.

Saitou chuckled breathily and let
his head go as he thrust roughly into him. It ground his broken arm
against the floor painfully. It also allowed him to finally free his
left arm.

Gritting his teeth against pain,
his hand darted out toward his kodachi. Grab it, one swift motion,
Saitou was dead...

In a flash of metal, Saitou's
sword impaled his hand and stuck in the wood floor with a hollow
sound. The pain was unbelievable, but he froze, staring in the

"You won't need that again
anyway..." Saitou murmured over his ear, and buried himself in
him again. He didn't really feel it.

He moved his hand back toward him
slowly... the first two fingers stayed where they were, on the other
side of the sword, neatly severed at an angle below the knuckle. That
couldn't be his hand... He curled the last two fingers; pain shot up
his arm. The sight made him sick.

Saitou put his hand down beside
his for leverage as he thrust; dark blood seeped into his glove.
Aoshi watched it closely, and realized distantly that he was in
shock. If his mind were drifting or he were going numb, he could
attribute it to blood loss, but his mind was almost preternaturally
clear, and the pain hadn't faded at all... only grown unimportant.
The erratic pain of Saitou's thrusts into him and the way they
crushed his broken arm seemed to disappear into the background, an
almost hypnotic rhythm that didn't matter at all. Everything just
started not to matter.

Shock was nothing like pushing
yourself past your limits, he found. There was no willpower required.
There were no miraculous feats. This was weakness, to let your mind
disconnect from reality, to escape the pain and responsibility. He
should not allow this... He should fight it, and retake control of
himself, and this situation...

But the coward's way had worked
for him before. This time, he would embrace the separation instead of
violence. He could use this. He had to, because if the shock faded he
would be in too much pain to move, and he would die without
protecting his Oniwaban from Saitou.

He was going to die anyway.
Looking at his hand he knew that. There was no way or reason for him
to live with half a hand and a broken body. But he could take Saitou
with him.

He watched his hand reach out. It
brushed past Saitou's blade and the two fingers that lay motionless
on the floor - it was a completely surreal moment, seeing his hand,
next to his hand. Luckily, his mind refused to linger on it, and he
was able to close his remaining fingers awkwardly around the handle
of his kodachi. Everything from his fingertips to his shoulder burned
with agony, and even through the mental numbness he wasn't sure he
would be able to move it.

A hand wound through his hair
again. He hissed as his head was pulled up at a harsh angle, forcing
his breath into thready gasps.

"This was good..."
Saitou said distractedly. The smell of alcohol on his breath seemed
unnaturally sharp. His weight shifted into a hard thrust that made
him gasp as he pulled his other hand up off the floor; Aoshi couldn't
look with his head held tightly, but he heard the blade pull out of
the floor. He was out of time...

"You're good..." he
repeated absently. "Time to watch you die..." His head was
yanked back painfully and he could suddenly see Saitou's eyes, bright
and insane eyes that watched his hungrily, waiting for the moment
that they would go blank. The cop was losing whatever control he had
started with, his thrusts getting erratic and deeper, but he needed
that death for him to finish...

The blade set against his throat,
and he swallowed painfully. "You never screamed... you know I
wanted you to." The human wolf gave a perverse nuzzle against
his neck. "Maybe one of the girls will. Wait for me in Hell,

The threat to his followers, his
family, spurred his body into action the way danger to himself could
not. Whether Saitou was doing it on purpose or was even sober enough
to be aware of what he was saying didn't matter. Through a blinding
surge of pain he was able to pull his arm back, clutching his sword
tightly. He twisted half onto his side, pulling his throat away from
Saitou's blade.

Smooth and cold as ice, the razor
sharp blade of the kodachi slid into his stomach. There was a moment
of resistance as it came through his back, but he pressed it
resolutely forward, into Saitou's body, and didn't stop until the
hilt pressed against his skin.

Saitou's eyes widened silently as
the blade impaled him. His sword fell from his fingers and hit the
floor in front of them in almost slow motion, but his grip on Aoshi's
hair didn't falter. Silently, they looked at each other for a long
moment, joined by Saitou's member and Aoshi's sword.

Then Saitou incredibly thrust
forward into him again, and he felt the burn of salt mixing with his
blood as the cop began to release inside him; he would have been
humiliated, if Saitou looked like he cared what he felt, or if he had
not been so deep in shock. At the moment, he didn't allow it to
matter. He held the sword firmly in place as Saitou thrust and rode
out his orgasm, apparently not realizing or caring that moving with
the blade through him would only destroy his body that much faster.
Aoshi only watched his eyes, letting the pain wash over him,
separated from it by a thick wall of mental distance.

His eyes looked completely
satisfied. He was dying, and he looked like it was the highlight of
his life.

Saitou slowly let go of his hair
and relaxed, resting limply against his back with their faces almost
side by side. "Well played..." he chuckled quietly. His
bloody glove caressed Aoshi's cheek and nudged his chin as though he
meant to kiss him. Instead Aoshi pulled the sword from them both in
one motion and pulled himself forward. The feeling of Saitou sliding
out of him threatened to make him gag more than anything else in this
long night. That blessed shock was fading, letting the pain back in,
letting him be revolted and finally, now that it was over, realize
that he was violated and dying.

He half collapsed onto his other
side, still holding the sword, looking at Saitou and breathing
thickly. Saitou wasn't dead yet, but he looked like he was waiting
for it. He was smiling. There was a small trail of blood that ran
from the corner of his mouth, nothing compared to the blood that came
from his stomach, but more striking. There was blood everywhere, no
way to know what was whose.

"So..." Saitou looked at
him and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket without moving very
much, and rolled it between his fingers. "A draw, after all..."

"No." Saitou managed to
get his matches out, but paused in lighting the cigarette, looking at
him. He pressed his hand to his stomach to stem the blood as he
spoke. A useless gesture. "I kept you from them... I win..."

Saitou chuckled and then trailed
off into a weak cough. When it was done he had to take a slow,
shallow breath, before he could put the cigarette to his lips. "We
never were playing the same game..." he mused around it, his
eyes sliding away from Aoshi and finally settling on the blank

"You made the wrong choice,
and you lost."

"Did I..." Saitou
murmured, apparently to himself.

He didn't respond, watching in
silence Saitou smoke, and bleed, and gradually begin to stop
breathing. The hand holding his cigarette slowly settled in the pool
of blood and extinguished it in a small curl of smoke.

With a small sigh, his own eyes
settled closed. Saitou was not yet dead, but finally and
irretrievably unconscious, never again a threat to anyone in this
life - there would be no waking for him. Soon, for either of them. He
could join him, let himself drift away and finally succumb to the
dark coldness that seeped over him... It was getting harder to keep
breathing, and harder to find a reason to try.

A face drifted before his eyes,
bright blue eyes and an open, innocent expression. Misao's face. In
turn, he saw the rest of the former Oniwaban, faces that smiled at
him and called him 'Leader', and his peace fell away again. There was
nothing of accusation or condemnation in those faces, and yet he knew
that letting himself go would be weakness, selfish, a disservice to
all of them. No, he couldn't go yet. They needed him... He could not
help them anymore, could no longer lead them, but he owed it to them
to at least know their fates.

He forced his eyes open, taking a
painful deep breath, and fought his way to his knees. For a moment
his head swam and the dark scene faded out, until he let go of his
sword and clenched his hand into an agonized fist, and the pain
brought the world back into focus. His eyes lingered on Saitou's body
for a second, breathing imperceptibly if at all, then lifted to the
door. It looked too far away, but... He had to know what was beyond
it. Who had Saitou visited before he found him? He could not let
himself rest until he knew that they were alive, and all right.

He forced himself to his feet,
summoning strength he didn't know he had left, and fell against the
wall. One leg wouldn't support him. That was fine; he only needed one
to move.

Blood crawled down his legs
obscenely, from the wounds in his stomach and back and a mix with
semen from his anus, the torn cloth of his yukata too saturated to
absorb any more. Blood everywhere. Saitou would have been hard again.

He turned his mind from that and
focused on getting out of the room. Neither of his hands were good
for pulling him along; neither arm could move without waves of pain
that were almost unbearable. He did it anyway, leaning heavily on his
left shoulder with his maimed hand curled tightly into his stomach,
an instinctive move to stop the bleeding that, though futile, he saw
no need to override. His broken arm hung limply in the twisted sling,
and he made no effort to move it. This body was destroyed. It only
had to hold out a few moments longer, and he wasn't certain that it

His small sense of satisfaction, a
pathetic little triumph, as he reached the door was erased as he
staggered out into the hall. One leg gave out and the other nearly
spilled him as he fell against the wall... but he knew if he hit his
knees he would never stand up again. With an effort his left hand
gabbed the wall and held him up, not letting himself fall. He leaned
his forehead on the wall and panted weakly. So close... almost over.

He closed his eyes to block out
the fading world and forced himself to move. Every small motion
almost spilled him to the floor again. Blood abandoned him to color
the floor and left him too weak and lightheaded to keep any thoughts
in his mind, save a face. He had to keep moving, or he would lose
even that.

A door shifted under his weight as
he fell against it. He had lost track of where he was and had no idea
what room he was at... It might have been a guest's room, or empty.
But he was at the end; he could go no further, no matter how he
pushed himself. Forcing his eyes open against the leaden weight that
held them closed, he shoved the door open with his shoulder and
weakly began to slip down the side of it. No use trying to keep
himself up any longer.

A vague form with tousled hair
bolted up in the darkness, instantly alert. "Misao..." he
murmured, and heard a gasp. His eyes fell closed again as he settled
on the floor. This was it, finally. "...sorry..."

Her scream carried him off into
the darkness.


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