The Space Between Friend and Foe

Warnings for adult themes, profanity, and graphic sex. This story is a WIP--the next chapter is likely to come at the beginning of April. :D

I borrowed the name Bogan from NarcissisticRiceBall on fanfiction.net. She derived the archer's name from "Bowgun Man", which I thought was brilliant.

* * *

Awake

Following Hyogo through the city was an adventure from the start. Outside of the café, Hyogo hailed a bicycle taxi. Jostled and jolted about in the carriage, they rode the taxi beyond the pleasure quarter's walled enclosure and through one of the surrounding slums. Kyuuzou had spent some time in the area previously, but after half an hour's ride, he recognized less and less around him.

The bicycle taxi stopped at the foot of a tall aluminum stairwell leading up to a monorail. Kyuuzou tipped his head back to get a look at the station high overhead, a gleaming new construction of steel and glass, jarring among the splintered wood and cracking concrete of the neighborhood. "You ready for a climb?" Hyogo asked with dry humor as they got out of the taxi. Kyuuzou eyed the stairwell as it zigzagged upward, and he counted eight flights of stairs. He had come to accept, however, that it was precisely these numerous stairwells that served as a trademark of the city. Whether made of winding wrought iron or rickety wooden planks, they were the soul of Kougakyo, an accordion web that connected everything and everyone. In truth, he didn't mind; he appreciated the exercise.

It was a close call--just as they reached the platform, the monorail was rushing into the station, Hyogo's hair whipping to the side in its windy wake. Multiple sets of doors slid open, and the waiting throng of citygoers pushed their way inside, further compressing the crowd already aboard. Kyuuzou and Hyogo found a spot just inside the doors, holding onto handles above them, and were forced to stand close together. Since the two men were of similar height, they were right in each other's faces; one close look at Hyogo's darkly painted mouth, his long eyelashes behind his glasses, one beckoning whiff of his cologne, and Kyuuzou turned away, grateful for the distraction of the view through the door window.

The monorail continued on a gently ascending path to the north. Kyuuzou noted that there was a direct effect on the quality of construction as they traveled upward, the lines of architecture clean and calculated, the business complexes contemporary and expensive in their design. It riveted him to the window, watching the cityscape change so dramatically, and over such a relatively short distance. He hadn't researched the different modes of public transportation, since he originally had no plans to stay. But now that he knew about the monorail, he looked forward to the prospect of exploring the city more extensively, perhaps in the quieter moments of the night by way of a window.

"This city's like some drunken stacking game, isn’t it?" Hyogo raised his voice over the noise of both crowd and transport to interrupt Kyuuzou’s reverie. "Sometimes, I'm amazed it's still standing."

"Life in the palace must be agreeable for you to have stayed this long," Kyuuzou pointed out.

“Ohhh, quite."

Hyogo made a conceding gesture with his hand. "Now, wait--I'll only say this once, because it makes me sound disloyal--but I won't lie and say it's all been wonderful up to this point. Ayamaro is a glutton and a prig, and his son Ukyo is a malicious little bastard on his good days. Both of them regularly disparage the samurai privately and publicly, though I suspect Ukyo does it to get under my skin, whereas Ayamaro doesn't think of anyone but himself.

"That being said," he continued, "His Excellency's employees have everything they could possibly need. Honestly, I don't think I ate this well when I was living under my father's roof. And there's always hot water in the complex. When I need a break or even the occasional day to myself, it's not difficult to arrange. Oh--and spacious quarters," he said. "That's nice, too. Yours and mine are connected to His Excellency's, of course, which...has both its good and bad points."

Kyuuzou wanted to remind him that he had not yet decided to go before Ayamaro for the job, but he was distracted by what Hyogo was hinting at. "Bad?" he echoed.

Hyogo smiled as though he were in pain. "Well, I hear Ayamaro do everything--and I do mean everything.” He shook his head. “I’ve gotten good at tuning out most of it. And so will you, if you want to preserve your sanity.”

Kyuuzou contemplated the implications of that. “If you can hear him, then he can hear you."

“Yes.” The slow heat of Hyogo’s smile seeped into Kyuuzou like the sake they drank earlier. “That's why I rent a room in the pleasure quarter.”

Kyuuzou chose not to contemplate that at all.

"Have there been any attempts on His Excellency's life?" he asked, changing the subject, though bringing up an important one.

"No. At least, not since I've been with him."

Kyuuzou’s attention was diverted by a tug on his lower hanging sword. He turned his head, half expecting to be challenged by a braggart teenager or someone drunk too early in the evening. Push, tug, push--on a hunch, he dropped his gaze, and found himself looking into the wide black eyes of a toddler, a curly-haired girl with one slobbery hand stuffed in her mouth, the other reaching up to fiddle with the handle of his sword.

He calmly brushed her hand away. "That's not for you, little one."

"Give it a few more years for your bokken, sweetie," Hyogo said with a wink.

Kyuuzou slipped his index finger into the child's grasp, her tiny fingers curling around it, and she squealed and giggled, seemingly for no reason other than delight at the attention of the stranger with the gigantic toy on his back.

A woman, presumably the girl's mother, turned at the sound. "What are you so--"

As soon as she saw Kyuuzou and Hyogo, her face fell, her eyes darting nervously between the two samurai. Without another word, she snatched up the toddler in her arms and turned her back to them. Kyuuzou watched as she wormed her way past three people to try and put some distance between her and them. He had long since grown accustomed to this kind of treatment from the general populace after the war, but it dismayed him all the same, that he should be judged so harshly by appearance and not by actions.

"Like I said," Hyogo said, not missing a beat, "most days, the job is easy. Ayamaro doesn’t exactly have what you'd call an active lifestyle. He doesn't leave the palace much. And even so, his control over Kougakyo is only growing stronger; anyone would be a fool to challenge him on the street right now. No--my main concern is the many business associates and visiting politicians that come through. Ayamaro loves parties and entertaining, so there's often a steady flow of people in and out of the complex." Hyogo took his glasses off and breathed on them, pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and rubbed the lenses clean with it. "It's not that I lose sleep worrying about assassins slipping in, but I'm constantly mindful of that possibility."

Kyuuzou's curiosity finally got the best of him. "Do you wear those because you need them?"

"What? My glasses?"

"Were your eyes damaged in the firebombing?"

Hyogo snorted. "Thankfully, no. I would never have been hired by Ayamaro if that were the case. I have heard that wearing yellow glasses enhances your nighttime vision, but I couldn't say if I've noticed a difference or not." The samurai slipped the lenses back on, and batted his eyes, his smile both arrogant and teasing. "I wear them simply because I like to keep people guessing."

Hyogo had hardly finished his sentence when the monorail pulled into a station and stopped. "This is us," he said just before the doors opened and they were swallowed by the sea of passengers coming and going. As they departed and reached a stairwell exiting the platform, Kyuuzou glanced right and saw the curly-haired toddler heading in the opposite direction, propped on her mother's shoulder and sucking on a bright pink pacifier. She was already watching him; when they made eye contact, she raised a chubby hand and waved good-bye. He couldn't help but crack a smile, touched at having made his first friend in Kougakyo, however brief the acquaintance.

They only had to walk down two flights of stairs before they hit a busy main street and were caught in the heavy traffic of pedestrians and vehicles. Below the monorail platform hung a neon-lettered scrolling marquee, and Kyuuzou caught the tail-end of an advertisement running across it. "...eat at Saori's! Best gyoza in town!" The marquee went blank before it flashed the time and date three times, and he blinked in surprise--it hadn’t even occurred to him that it was the end of the work week, which would explain why the city streets were so congested that night.

“This way.” Hyogo's instruction hooked Kyuuzou's attention, and they turned left from the main road into an alley.

The sudden change from walking amongst the raucous city traffic to the quiet, shadowy path between buildings put him on edge. A ragged chain-link fence, bent through some previous violence, arched into the walkway, causing him to step behind Hyogo as they moved around it. Gigantic spray-painted faces glowered down at them from high on the walls, and the litter of abandoned machines with their gaping, rusted holes and knotted messes of wire reminded him of a graveyard. He didn't like it, didn't like not knowing where they were going or what might be waiting there. An ugly blossom of suspicion bloomed in Kyuuzou's mind; perhaps he'd made a mistake to trust Hyogo. With so much time having passed, he couldn’t say for certain that he knew the samurai well, or even at all anymore.

When Hyogo glanced back, his eyes flicked downward at Kyuuzou's hand resting on his lower hanging sword, and he chuckled. "Oh, come now, Kyuuzou-dono--if I had wanted you detained, wouldn’t I have seen to it last night?"

Hyogo wrestled with his uniform jacket, trying to get it off, so drunk that buttons and clasps were beyond him. Kyuuzou had only meant to help him, afraid that Hyogo would stumble into the campfire or something equally stupid. As he went down the row of jacket buttons, Hyogo kept his gaze fixed on his face, as if trying to catch his eye. Kyuuzou refused to play that game, though, annoyed with his friend for hovering his mouth only three inches from his own, annoyed with himself for growing aroused at Hyogo's sake-laden breath breezing over his face. "Hold still," he grumbled, pulling Hyogo up by his jacket when he started to sway.

"Ohhh. Kyuuzou-dono. Don't be like that." Hyogo must have put his jacket on as an afterthought because he didn't have on a shirt underneath. He took Kyuuzou's hand and slid it over his chest. "We're good friends, aren't we?" he whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

Kyuuzou parted his lips, his resolve failing him. He reminded himself that it was disrespectful to take advantage of Hyogo in this state, that it was just the sake working its seductive magic. But with the warm skin of the samurai's pectorals and stomach under his palm, with Hyogo's sword-strong fingers threading into his hair and massaging his neck, the ache for more was unbelievable, unbearable. He wasn’t sure that he should give in, wasn’t sure that he could say no--

"Hyogo-san!" Ryuu strolled up to the fire alongside another soldier Kyuuzou didn't recognize. "There you are."

Hyogo laughed, slurring as he said, "I couldn't find you two."

"We've been waiting for you in my tent."

The visiting soldier, red in the face and reeking of alcohol himself, took Hyogo into his arms and gave him a sloppy-tongued kiss. "Let’s go. I want your cock in my mouth already."

Ryuu turned to Kyuuzou with an uncertain smile and a polite bow. "Good evening, Kyuuzou-dono."

“Hmpf.” The other soldier pulled Hyogo away from the fire and headed for the tents. "More like good-night."

Hyogo looked over his shoulder and held Kyuuzou's gaze for a moment, a conflicted blend of compassion and inebriation and amusement in his expression, as if he wanted to say, "I'm sorry, my friend...but if I had wanted to fuck you tonight, wouldn't I have said something?"

Ryuu clapped Kyuuzou on the shoulder and jogged over to them, the three men walking crookedly, their arms slung across each other’s backs. Kyuuzou stood unmoving, watching them go and listening to their laughter grow distant, until he was alone by the crackling fire, the night silent all around him, and the ache acute inside of him.

Kyuuzou was startled at how quickly he revived that contempt, had no idea that he had been carrying the embers of that campfire with him all this time. He took a long, deep breath through his nose, calming himself. Hyogo’s posture harbored none of his boyishness from before, every movement made with purpose, testifying to the fully-fledged samurai that he was now. Though they had been grown men at the time, they had all behaved as mere children. He could hardly bear Hyogo ill will for anything that happened then. The war was over, and this was a different lifetime altogether.

Hyogo stopped in front of an open doorway, where thick strips of translucent plastic hung to the floor, lit from behind by cold fluorescent light. They slipped through, letting the plastic fall back into place behind them, and descended a short flight of stairs that ended with a security door and an unattended window beside it. When Hyogo knocked on the counter, an aging man with leathery skin and deep creases at the corners of almond eyes poked his head into the window.

"Ah! Hyogo-sama!" The man smiled broadly, and bowed.

Hyogo gave the man a cordial nod, leaning against the counter. "How are you, Mutsuto-san?"

"Good, very good! Thank you. Welcome back." Kyuuzou heard the door unlock with a loud, mechanical click.

Hyogo grabbed the door as it slowly swung open for them. "Many of us who work for Ayamaro come here. Mutsuto carries all kinds of things that you might be interested in."

Indeed, the store’s specialty was everything and anything. The first room they entered was devoted to imported crafts of wood. Masks lined the walls up to the ceiling, while statues and religious icons crowded the floor and filled cabinets. Inhabiting every corner was a stack of boxes with intricate flower designs carved on the lids, some of them small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, some big enough to hide a child. An adjacent room was piled high with skulls of wood, bronze, and plaster (and some of them real thing, Kyuuzou suspected). Racks in another room controlled a flyaway mess of silk scarves and beaded shirts and flowing cotton skirts traded from over two thousand miles away. Down the center of the store was a parade of long glass cases, displaying hundreds of silver rings and pendants, any charm one could possibly want, from dandelions to devil heads.

If the collection of items was diverse, the same was true of the patrons. Kyuuzou noticed around him faces that ran the gamut from smooth to wrinkled, spines both straight and hunched, gaits both nimble and hobbling. Mutsuto's shop was a popular spot for many people, interestingly enough, not just Ayamaro’s men or other samurai.

Speaking of samurai, several men with swords--the store's guards--paced with watchful eyes, though they gave no attention to either Hyogo or him. Kyuuzou eyed a bald, burly man covered in colorful tattoos sitting on a stool reading; behind him was a black velvet curtain pulled back by a cord, baring the tantalizing glint of steel on the wall. "You're set for weapons, yes?" Hyogo asked when he saw the direction of his gaze, and Kyuuzou gave a nod.

"How about sex toys?" Hyogo taunted. "Massage oil? Opium? As I recall, you were fond of opium in the old days."

Kyuuzou cocked an eyebrow. "These days, I'm fonder of being able to remember my own name."

From the moment they entered, hovering above everything was the earthy smell of leather. He soon discovered why; the walkway through the store ended in a huge room with wall-to-wall racks of coats, many of the garments made of suede or shiny leather. But a glance around the room at the variety of cuts and styles both domestic and foreign proved he could have his pick of any fabric he wanted. As he ran his hand over several coat sleeves, the quality was obvious by their feel--no wonder the palace guards and assassins frequented this place. He wondered briefly if he should browse the weapons after all, just for the sake of appreciating Mutsuto's stock.

“Shiemi-san?” When Hyogo’s call got no answer, he ducked his head into a narrow storeroom doorway and knocked on the door jamb. "Shiemi-san? Are you back there?"

"Hyogo-sama!" The storeroom muffled the woman's voice. "Where have you been?”

Shiemi was a short, curvy woman dressed in a green silk corset, a black leather choker, and a long black skirt that hugged her legs. Thick sable hair, swept up in a traditional shimada chignon, was accented at her temples by silver skulls, each clip smiling with sinister delight. "I've missed you." She moued with dark green lips, and stood on tiptoe to give Hyogo a tiny, lingering kiss, as though wanting to say hello but not ruin either his or her make-up.

Shiemi put a hand on her hip and turned to look at Kyuuzou, her obsidian eyes sharp in their slant, hard in their assessment of him. "Who's this? New lover?"

Hyogo grinned. "Old friend."

"Hmpf." She sauntered forward. "You need some new clothes, old friend."

"I figured you'd have just the thing."

"Hmm." She stood in front of Kyuuzou, appraising him from head to toe. "Two swords, huh? That’s going to be a challenge." She took out a measuring tape, and gestured for him to raise his arms. After taking several measurements down his front, his back, his sides, she stepped back and looked at him, though her eyes were unfocused, her mind busy elsewhere.

She turned toward the racks, resting her arm on one of the metal bars. "It needs to be something hardy, obviously, but also something that doesn't get in your way. Hmm." When she looked back at him, he could tell from the crease in her forehead that she was debating something in her mind. She chewed on her thumbnail, and a strange cloud drifted through her expression that he could not discern.

Finally, she said, "Wait here just a moment. I've got something you might like."

As Shiemi disappeared in the storeroom, Kyuuzou pulled off his haori, leaning his sword sheath against the nearest rack, keeping it one movement's distance away. Hyogo sighed with a hint of boredom. "I'm going outside for a cigarette.” He snickered as he strolled away, and said, "Be sure not to let any strangers steal you while I'm gone." Kyuuzou didn’t acknowledge the asinine comment, though he gave an amused shake of his head once Hyogo was out of sight.

Shiemi returned a moment later with something red and black draped over her arm. "Try this on, see what you think."

The double-breasted coat was immediately comfortable, soft to the touch, but with a surprising weight and sturdiness to it. Long bands of black leather made handsome accents down the sleeves and across the back, two of them on the front lapel concealing clasps that closed the coat.

"Mmm. That looks good on you, old friend," she said, standing back. "So nice and tall. I love the tall warriors."

True, the coat was the perfect length for his height, hanging past his knees, with two slits in front and back that went up to the hips and allowed for free range of motion of his legs. "We'll have to take it in, here at the shoulders and at the waist--I used my boyfriend as the model for this, and you're not quite as broad as he is." She tugged on his pinky finger, hitting a flirtatious note as she said, "Nice big hands, though. That's always promising."

What she said, however, didn't slip past him. "You made this?"

"Oh, so you can talk," she said with a sly smile. She made a show of smoothing the coat to examine the fit, but he knew a ruse when he saw one. She was sidestepping his question, stepping in just a bit closer than was comfortable, brushing against him and parting her glossy green lips. His gaze wandered over her high cheekbones, was beckoned down to the high shelf of her corseted cleavage, and he noticed for the first time the black dragon that rode the mound of her left breast. Without warning, he had an electric surge of desire, an urge to run his hand up the curve of her waist, to run his tongue over that tattoo, suck the sumptuous flesh into his mouth and make her moan. He realized he was holding his breath, gripped by the powerful impulse to hear her, to feel and taste her.

When he remained unresponsive, waiting for an answer, he saw it again, that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the wavering candle flame of her confidence. Shiemi cast her eyes downward and shrugged. "Sometimes, I take the clothes that don't sell and I play around with them." She murmured it, as if not wanting the other patrons nearby to hear. "It's nothing. Most of my creations don't see the light of day."

"This is excellent work," he pointed out.

"Well.” She waved her hand. “It was sort of plain before when it was just red, and…it needed something, you know. And I had some extra black leather lying around, and…so, I just… Well.”

Though he had never met this woman before, knew nothing about her beyond her stark, provocative appearance, he had a feeling that the blush creeping up her neck and across her cheeks, such a genuine glimpse of her, was something that few people ever saw. A shame, because with the color blooming in her face, she was stunning.

"Go on," she said, diverting the attention from herself once again, this time by gesturing toward the mirror. "Take a look at yourself."

Grabbing his sword sheath and carrying it with him, he stepped into the center of the three-way mirror.

And gaped at his reflection.

There stood a warrior, but it was the warrior he used to be and not the despondent vagabond he had become. His hair seemed flaxen beyond his remembrance, thicker and more unruly than ever before. Had he always been so pale? So tall? So gangly? He had lost a great deal of muscle, having fallen out of shape and practice. He had discontinued his training, disconnected from everything. He rode those steam locomotives all day and night until he had forgotten who he was and where he came from. All this time he'd been telling himself, convinced, that detachment was true enlightenment. But only then and there, face to face with the blond stranger clad in red and black, did he understand how misguided he had been, that there was a fundamental difference between being detached and being dead inside. How amazing it was, of all places in the world, that he should find himself in this slipshod city, this shithole in the desert, awakening from the anxious dream he'd been having since the war, that he should hold up his head and see how far from the path he had strayed, and more importantly, how he could make his way back.

I'll be the bow. Now, you be the arrow...samurai-sama.

"Now that's more like it," Hyogo purred, coming up behind Kyuuzou's shoulder, the spicy smell of his brown cigarettes clinging to him. "How does the saying go? 'The coat does not make the man.'" Hyogo gestured at the mirror. "True as that may be, the coat can certainly make the man look a hell of a lot better.”

Slipping off a glove, he slid his fingers down Kyuuzou’s arm as if inspecting the fabric, but he lingered too long over the mound of his bicep, slipped his fingers too snugly into the curve of his elbow. They made eye contact in the mirror, and the mischief on Hyogo’s face, the dark delight there, made Kyuuzou’s pulse quicken.

“If we’re going to work together,” he said evenly, “you’re going to have to stop that.”

Hyogo’s smile never wavered as he called out, "Shiemi-san, what is this fabric? Some kind of cotton?"

"It’s called poplin," she said, meandering over. "It would take too long to explain how it's made, but it's perfect for what he needs. I have to admit, though--it's probably a higher quality coat than you had in mind."

"That's a good thing. He's meeting with His Excellency tomorrow."

"Oh?" She came up alongside Kyuuzou. "Are you meeting with the magistrate for a job, old friend?"

"He's going to be replacing Shouya-dono," Hyogo said.

"Then you can pay Mutsuto-sama for the coat once you're hired."

Hyogo nodded, but Kyuuzou turned to protest. Shiemi shook her head, held up a hand. "Mutsuto gives credit to Ayamaro's men all the time. It’s understood."

"But it doesn't fit him yet," Hyogo pointed out, pulling on the extra fabric at the shoulders. "Can you make alterations by tomorrow morning?"

"I can finish them in an hour or so. Come back for it later tonight." She turned back to Kyuuzou. "And we can suit you up with everything, you know. Boots, gloves--"

"No gloves," he said firmly. He always preferred his hands free.

"What about a new sheath?" she suggested. He hadn't thought of that. "I can copy this one in red and black leather. Though, I wouldn't be able to have something like that ready for at least another week or so."

He nodded. "I would like that."

"You know what I would like," Hyogo said, sidling up to Shiemi. Kyuuzou watched in the mirror as Hyogo trailed a finger over the hill of her breast, circled an unseen nipple. "How about I come back in a few days and lick this? Oh, but wait--you've got that boyfriend now."

"He won't mind. I'll ask him to join us."

"Hmm...him behind me, you in front of me. That could be a lot of fun."

Shiemi slid her eyes in Kyuuzou's direction. "What about you, old friend? You like to play?"

Hyogo smirked. "Kyuuzou-dono is saving himself for marriage."

"Really?" Shiemi squawked, and Kyuuzou flicked his eyes at her in mild annoyance, wondering how she hadn’t learned not to believe anything Hyogo said when he smiled like that.

Just then, a man raised his hand from the other side of the room, motioning for Shiemi's attention. "Ah, yes--you like the suede instead?" She gently detached herself from Hyogo and walked over to the customer.

Kyuuzou met Hyogo's gaze in the mirror once more, the challenging look in Hyogo's eyes bordering on menace. It was going to take a while to get used to this calmly imposing version of his friend. He stepped away from the mirror and faced the samurai directly, leaving only a few inches between them. Hyogo never moved as Kyuuzou took several breaths, blinked a few times, and said, "You're going to make working together very interesting, aren't you?"

Hyogo shrugged, though it was tempered with a wicked grin. "Don't I always?"


* * *


In the late night darkness, Hyogo clutched his friend's face in both his hands, desperate for the talented mouth to take him deeper, to relieve the wretched ache. Normally, he enjoyed this act at a much slower, more relaxed pace, but he had been frantic when he returned to the palace, had been working himself up into a frenzy all night. He didn't even bother to take off his pants, merely shoved them down around his ankles when Bogan sat up in bed.

Bogan held him steady by the ass, sucking him with a hard, rhythmic force that had the samurai rapidly approaching the point of no return. "Your finger," Hyogo gasped. "I need..." But Bogan knew exactly what he needed, let Hyogo’s cock fall from his lips to suck his middle finger in and out of his mouth several times, pressing on his anus with it. Hyogo pushed back with a groan as Bogan's finger slowly penetrated him, the assassin knowing just where to find the bright spot hidden inside.

Hyogo furiously fucked both hand and mouth, panting and grunting louder than he should have, given the hour, but the ache, the maddening ache, it was driving him crazy. He wound his fingers into Bogan's hair, grasping thick handfuls of it, unable to see its magenta color in the dark. He gave into fantasy then, hovered over the image in his mind that it was a mass of blond hair instead, that it was another's tongue swirling around him, and he was coming, coming, clenching around Bogan's finger, squeezing his eyes shut as he cried out and filled Bogan's mouth.

Bogan shifted aside and let him collapse on the bed. "What's with you tonight?" he asked, the amusement thick in his voice. He ran a finger down Hyogo's spine. "You going to tell me what's got you so worked up?"

Lying there with his face in the blanket, trying to catch his breath, Hyogo felt like one orgasm should be enough, but it wasn't, not by a long shot. Though quieter than before, the goddamn ache was still there. He pulled free of his kimono, kicked off pants. "I want you to fuck me," he said.

Bogan furrowed his brow in surprise. "What?"

Hyogo knew the assassin would be taken aback by the demand, since theirs was always a fixed pairing, but he suspected it wouldn’t take much persuasion. He kissed him deeply, moaning low in his throat when he tasted himself in Bogan’s mouth. "I want it so badly. Bogan-chan, please--please, help me."

"I...yes. Yes, of course," Bogan murmured against Hyogo's mouth, the excitement mounting between the two of them as the novelty of his request set in.

Hyogo hitched his knees to his chest, breathing deeply and keeping calm through the initial discomfort. But by the time Bogan started to ride him, Hyogo was pushing back, jacking himself in earnest. "Pound me. Harder," he encouraged the assassin, hooking his heels on Bogan's shoulders. Bogan's body was a pale smudge in the shadow, and it was easy for Hyogo to see someone taller and lither over him, to feel someone longer and more thorough inside of him, to assuage the ache with a trick of the eye, of the mind.

And for now, with the little strangled noises in Bogan's throat heralding his orgasm, with the question lingering in Hyogo's mind of what sounds Kyuuzou makes when he comes, and with his own second orgasm pending at that thought, it was just enough to keep at bay the ache that haunted his heart like a specter, the miserable ache for something vastly greater that he wanted but knew he would never have.