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Three Days of Blood	By : NihilEtNemo Category: Rurouni Kenshin > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2651 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Ruroken is not mine and makes me no money.

Chapter List
- 1
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TITLE:
Three Days of Blood
CHAPTER: 1/4
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant (
setosgirl0 / neferseti0 )
DATE: 10-2-09
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
OCs: none
BETA: none
WORDS:
3364
SUMMARY: Saitou gets drunk and goes looking for a fight...
Aoshi turns out to be a good candidate.
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 First Day – Aku

Aku.

Soku.

Zan.

The blade glittered as it traced
the kanji in the table, carving just a fraction deeper with each
pass. Dark eyes watched the wood curl up before it. His mouth
twitched in amusement as long fingers casually manipulated the knife,
flicking the wood shavings into the air, where they fell to litter
the floor beneath his chair. His right hand lifted the cup of sake to
his lips, and he drank slowly, watching the play of the blade in the
wood.

"Excuse me, officer..."
His eyes rose slowly from the table, wandering up the form of the
young woman clutching a tray to her chest. The uniform of the
restaurant sat nicely on her, he noted absently. Low cut neck. It
left both her heart and her throat exposed... His eyes lingered
there, watching her pale flesh, pulsing with the beat of a nervous
heart. "Could you please not vanda... ah, carve on our tables?"
She held the tray protectively in front of her like a shield. As
though it would stop him...

He slowly finished the drink and
flicked another fleck of wood from the table, and then pulled the
knife free. "You don't want my blade to taste your table..."
he said with a dark smile as he pushed himself slowly to his feet,
jarring the ignored bowl of soba. She shrank back a step from him,
but he raised the knife regardless. "Would you rather it taste
your flesh?"

The knife flicked out, and she
uttered an undignified squeak as it caressed her throat. She was
frozen in fear, her heart racing beneath the blade. How far would the
blood spurt, he wondered...

A dark figure interrupted his
contemplation, stepping between him in the girl, taking firm hold of
his knife hand. He allowed it for the moment, but his smile fell away
into a dark blank look.

"Go," the intruder said
quietly, and the girl fled.

"Shinomori." He let his
smile return as he pulled his hand away; he subtly twisted the knife
to catch flesh as it passed his hand, but it met with only air. Ah
well. "The great protector of innocents, coming to save the
citizens of Kyoto from the big... bad... wolf..."

"You're drunk." The
shinobi's blank face and bright eyes showed no reacton to his
mocking. He wasn't terribly surprised... nor disappoiinted. Even the
stoic ones learned how to scream eventually.

"Your powers of observation
amaze me..." His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, but he kept
only the knife out. It would be a shame to break such a nice
standoff. "You'll be fighting me, then?" He loved a good
fight, two people working together toward a common goal, a climax of
sorts, when one of them would die... Aoshi would be a wonderful
fight. And a wonderful kill...

Aoshi continued to stand before
him, between him and the other diners. As though one little man was
going to stop him. "You're a disgrace to your uniform."

He chuckled merrily. "Well
then I'll take it off," he offered, and indeed his gloves
dropped onto the table, and his jacket atop them. "There's no
uniform between us now. No one can accuse you of assaulting a police
officer... No excuse." He grinned.

Without response, Aoshi watched
him silently, still standing there between him and easy kills. He
wasn't really interested in them anymore... He had gotten it into his
head that he would fight Shinomori Aoshi, and that was now his only
goal. He would
fight Shinomori Aoshi. But, if he had to go through some other people
to get there...

His hand caressed his sword more
openly, and he let his eyes drift over the unarmed diners, ripe for
slaughter, sheep all unknowing of the wolf in their midst...

Aoshi took the hint. "Not
here." Ah, but it was an acquiesence.

"So noble," he taunted.
"In the streets then? Shall we turn the clock back to the
Bakumatsu?" The shinobi's eyes narrowed at the suggestion, and
he chuckled. "Where is the world free enough of bystanders
enough for you?"

"The Zen temple."

"Such a pragmatist." He
stepped out of his booth and passed Aoshi without glancing at him,
and left the restaurant without glancing at the prospective victims.
He could feel a very controlled Shinomori at his back, following him
silently, but closely. Close enough to stop him, he no doubt thought,
if he decided he wanted some girl-blood as an appetizer... He needn't
have worried. He knew what blood he wanted now, and everything else
simply wouldn't do.

Cool darkness, rank with the scent
of social and moral decay, closed around them as he stepped outside,
and he took a deep breath. The moon was low and nearly full above the
city, lighting their way down the street. "This is an excellent
night for a fight," he decreed. "I would take you here in
the street if you'd let me."

"You are a sick man, Saitou."

He only laughed.

"You
will die if you so much as look at anyone else," Aoshi warned
him, as he stepped past to lead the way. He glanced at him, and the
way the moonlight reflected off his blue eyes made them glint for a
moment. "I am your enemy." Shinomori did not make idle
threats, he knew, and he did not shrink from killing; he hadn't been
threatened so well in a long time. This was very nice, very
dramatic... he said that with such seriousness. He wondered if that
had been his voice while he was trying to kill the old man of the
Oniwabanshu, all flat and cold and hard, devoid of emotion. But no.
It was so controlled... that meant there was something there that had
to be controlled. Something that wouldn't have been controlled in
that dark fight. Something he wanted. Something he would have. If he
could bring out the Battousai in Himura, he knew he could bring out
whatever was hiding in Aoshi, and then, he would fight that.
Oh, this would be a good fight indeed...

"Then don't keep me waiting,"
he advised. "My hands get twitchy when I'm bored, and they
always seem to find my sword..."

Aoshi gave him a cold glance and
led him down the street without a word. So like him.

Saitou followed him with a small
smile, watching him with his right hand resting lightly on his sword.
A lesser man might have lost a silent trained shinobi dressed in
black in the darkness, but not he. Even if Aoshi had decided not to
care about the citizens and wanted to be lost, a wolf would never let
his prey go so easily...

Anticipation made him watch Aoshi
carefully, much more carefully than his intoxication might suggest he
even could. The man even moved gracefully... of course he did.
Shinobi were about stealth and finesse, not strength and power. How
long had it been since he'd fought a shinobi? Or anyone but untrained
ruffians and ex-samurai? Fun, fun indeed... How would Aoshi fight, he
wondered... Would he be controlled? Use manipulation and mind tricks?
Distortion of perception? Diversion? All Oniwabanshu tactics. He
hadn't had an opportunity to observe him in action very often - he
had missed both, reportedly epic, battles against Himura, and what
opponents he had seen him fight were hardly a challenge. He couldn't
exactly use unworthy battles to judge him... although he had seen
most, if not all, of his special kodachi techniques...

Ah, but now Aoshi didn't have his
kodachi, did he? Of course not, one did not innocently walk into a
restauarant with a sword, unless one had a badge or a cross-shaped
scar to back it up, even if one were the Okashira of a defunct group
of spies. How foolish of him to accept this challenge, naked as he
was. He should learn the error of his ways.

He wouldn't be much fun as an
opponent if he were unarmed, though. He wanted a fight, not a murder.
"You don't have a weapon," he said cheerfully, and threw
the knife at his head. "Here."

In a fluid and casual movement,
Aoshi brought his fist around and knocked the blade from the air
with the back of his knuckles, and turned minutely to glance at him
over his shoulder. "I decline," he said coldly.

"You decline?" He raised
his eyebrows. "What then... Kempo? You intend to beat Gatotsu
with kempo?"

"No. I intend to beat you
with kempo." He gave him a look, and his eyes flashed again, and
Saitou could not blame it on the moonlight.

"Very good," he
murmured. "You're very intimidating when you're angry."

Aoshi turned away again without a
word.

Saitou chuckled to himself and
followed him. The temple was already in sight, and he was vaguely
surprised to find that, lacking the knife that was still on the
ground back there, his sword had already moved into his hand. It was
such a familiar and even comforting weight, it was only natural he
should grab it. Sometimes he just didn't feel right without it.

The dull side of the tip scraped
along the pavement, a small ominous noise in the darkness,
counterpoint to his quiet steps. Aoshi affected not to notice; he
smiled slightly to himself, watching the motion of his back,
imagining the feel of his sword piercing that body...

The shinobi turned to face him
suddenly; it occured to him for a moment that his thoughts had been
sensed. But of course they were just on the temple grounds. "Not
going to invite me inside?"

"No one will interrupt here."
He watched him coldly, holding his body loose and relaxed. To an
untrained eye he would look almost casual... Not to him, of course.
He could see lines of tension like steel wires running through him,
ready to lash out... He could feel that killing ki ready to be let
loose.

He realized he was smiling with
anticipation, and it widened a touch as he lifted his sword to his
shoulder, traditional Gatotsu first stance. "Don't die too
quickly," he cautioned. "I want to enjoy this."

He expected no reply from Aoshi,
so he wasn't put off by his silence.

For a long moment they stood
sizing each other up. He didn't know what Aoshi saw... He was drunk,
but the alcohol wasn't impairing him; his hands were stable, he fell
into form naturally, and his mind was as alert as ever. He could
perform any variation on Gatotsu in his sleep, and could kill
perfectly effortlessly... The man didn't really think he stood a
chance, did he?

In Aoshi, he saw only waiting,
watching. His style was defensive - kodachi, kempo, not very
offensive weapons. Aoshi wanted to respond to his opponents, and he
wouldn't disappoint.

Without another word, he suddenly
lunged forward, sword slicing the air toward his opponent's chest.

Aoshi seemed to disappear from in
front of his blade, sliding into the blind spot on his right side.
But it wasn't as though he wasn't expecting that. His right hand
knocked away the incoming blow, and with nimble footwork he evaded
the knee that went for his ribs, and they broke apart again.

He regarded Aoshi across a few
feet of distance, sword raised again, waiting easily in the air.
"Predictable," he scoffed. "You're supposed to be
better than that."

"I'm good enough." No
good. That voice was still controlled, his eyes still cold. This was
going to be boring...

"Not if you're holding back."
He charged again. Instead of the simple repetition of the last time
his opponent expected, he twisted to lunge forward with his right
hand a fraction of a second early and grabbed Aoshi's shoulder before
he could escape. His blade tasted flesh, but there was no triumph to
be had in that; it was only a shallow cut to his arm as Aoshi slid
out of his grasp.

"I won't hold back."

And then Aoshi was circling him,
the darkness aiding his minute but constant shift in speed that made
it impossible to predict him perfectly... His fucking flowing water
movement. It wasn't a threat, but it was a damned annoyance. He hated
being forced into the defensive. His sword waited patiently, but his
fingers twitched to strike... He couldn't strike without opening
himself up. Not until Aoshi made his move...

"If you bore me too much I'll
have to see what the girl in the restaurant has to offer," he
taunted as his eyes followed the dark form closely. Was he interested
in her? No, not really, of course not. But if Aoshi thinking he was
would get through that control, get him interested in this fight, he
could be. "I wonder if she'll scream."

The blow to the back of his head
took him by surprise, but he half ducked to lessen the impact and
swung his sword around without thinking about it. It missed flesh
again, as Aoshi moved closer instead of further and grabbed his arm.
His elbow tried to break it; he block it and they exchanged a series
of blows to fast to follow before he kicked Aoshi away again, putting
distance back between them.

Licking blood from his broken
knuckles, he smiled. Aoshi hadn't managed to break his arm... but he
had been trying. This was no pussyfoot Himura-disciple. "That's
it," he murmured, watching Aoshi's eyes as he stood back, poised
to strike again. That fierce look in his eyes was back, something
very much like cold, hard rage. "You're getting pissed now. How
about a deal, Shinomori?"

"No deals," he said
coldly, but Saitou smirked. He could hear the anger there.

"It's a good one. I think
when I'm done with you, I'll go to the Aoiya, and I'll take my
pleasure killing everyone there..."

Aoshi
could not know how much he absolutely liked
the sudden widening of his eyes and the angry kick that would have
knocked him out if he hadn't fallen back a step toward the temple.
Even forced to retreat, he chuckled. It didn't take much to turn
Aoshi into a creature of violence, did it? So much for all that
meditating...

His body thrummed with
anticipation, and burned with something more than bloodlust. His
sword sped through the air again; his thrust missed, but he turned it
into a slash and it bit deeply into Aoshi's arm. Without pause or
consideration for the pain his opponent closed the distance between
them, eyes burning as his hands lashed out. Though he stepped back
the space between them was kept at less than an arm's length as Aoshi
stayed inside his range, keeping his Gatotsu and sword useless, and
pressing him back toward hte temple as though he would be interested
in anyone on the street.

It was a great fight. Aoshi's ice
was changed to a cold fire and he held nothing back, just as he
didn't. He had never had any intentions of doing so. They exchanged
blows back and forth, blocking and dodging what they could and
absorbing what they couldn't. It was primal and painful and
exciting.... He grabbed Aoshi's throat, and recived an elbow to the
face. Aoshi's leg slammed into his ribs and pushed him against the
wall, and he caught it against him.

And then, zero stance.

His sword drove forward in an
instant and pierced Aoshi's shoulder, sending a spray of blood behind
him. He carried the motion forward and slammed him into the wall,
where the blade stuck, pinning him there with a quiet grunt of pain.
He pressed against him and panted with exertion as he admired the
smell of blood and the sight of his strong victim held helpless.

If Aoshi felt the hardness pressed
into his thigh or the heavy beat of his heart, he gave no sign.

"That was good," he
breathed, then took hold of Aoshi's jaw and licked a stray line of
blood from his cheek.

He could still read murderous
defiance in his eyes. With a small smirk, he pressed his weight
against the sword, pushing it through his shoulder. He felt it breach
the wall entirely, and it quickly slid flush against his body, the
hand guard tight against the wound. He felt a spurt of blood flow
between them, staining their clothes, warm and wet...

With a small groan he had to brace
himself against Aoshi's body, taken by surprise by a surge of erotic
appreciation and unable to control his reaction.

While his guard was destroyed, a
fist drove into his throat. He staggered back, choking, and watched
Aoshi pull the sword out of his shoulder without a sound. He might
have laughed if he could have breathed. Killed with his own sword,
how poetic...

But Aoshi only kicked him in the
stomach, his right arm dangling loosely and flowing with blood, left
hand holding the sword at his side. He hit the ground, and Aoshi's
boot crushed his throat.

He got to watch those vicious blue
eyes as the darkness took him. What a good night...

_ – =*= – _

Sunlight washed over the Zen
temple before the lone figure stirred.

Saitou gave a small wince as he
opened his eyes, pushing himself gingerly into a sitting position. So
he was alive... He was kind of surprised, albeit pleasantly so.

Aside from the blood on the wall
of the building, there was no sign of Aoshi. His sword was neatly
embedded in the damp earth beside him, and he seemed to have been
left where he fell. He toyed briefly with the idea that Aoshi had
mistakenly assumed he was dead, but the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu
could not have been so novice a mistake. Maybe the mistake was his,
thinking that he had uncovered the violence within him last night.

He idly pulled out his cigarettes,
but there would be no tobacco for him this morning; they were
completely crushed, the only casualty of their battle. "Fuck,"
he muttered as he tossed them aside, but it was good natured enough.
He had truly had fun last night, and in the end no one had had to
die, which he supposed was a good thing.

Hell...
Aoshi had gotten him off without
dying, and that was borderline amazing. Never before had that
happened in a fight where both combatants lived to fight again.

Maybe was just as well that he
couldn't smoke, anyway. His throat was already raw enough after its
rough treatment at Aoshi's foot, he didn't really need to exacerbate
it.

He pushed himself to his feet,
nursing his sore ribs, and pulled his bloody sword out of the damp
ground. A piece of paper came with it, pierced through on the blade,
also stained. His eyebrows climbed before he even pulled it off; "aku
- sku - zan" was recognizable to him anywhere. Why Aoshi would
feel the need to remind him of the Shinsengumi's truth was beyond
him, though. On impulse, he flipped it over to the back, looking for
an explanation.

He
found one. The pencil had faded a little with the dew and the blood
that had bled into it, but not enough to be unreadable. Aoshi had
such precise handwriting, he noticed, even with the pain he must have
been in after that round, and as hard as it must have been to write
with that arm. Apparently he had deemed this message just that
important. "Look to
yourself next time you search for evil to destroy."

He chuckled a little and picked up
his sword again to inspect the blade for damage, but paused, his
chuckle fading into a dark scowl. His hand clenched into a fist
around the note.

The reflection in the clean end of
the sword showed him, written on his forehead in what could only have
been Aoshi's now dried blood, the single character "aku".

With a quick motion, he scrubbed
the symbol from his skin and let his eyes wander darkly down the
street. Only a few drops of blood evidenced the man who dared judge
him.

They would see about that...

~TBC~
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Three Days of Blood