The Space Between Friend and Foe

Warnings for mention of sexual situations, adult themes and profanity. Part 3 of this chapter is still forthcoming! Keep an eye out for it. (Llonella--I promise, I'm working as fast as I can! *LOL* Please be patient with me. ♥ Thank you so much for reading and for your feedback.)

As stated previously, I borrowed the name Bogan from NarcissisticRiceBall on fanfiction.net.

* * *

Apprehensive

Lying on his back in bed, Kyuuzou sighed, massaged the bridge of his nose, and let his hand fall back to his thigh with a slap. Two hours it had been since he had lay down, and though his body was exhausted, his mind wouldn’t stop churning. Never mind that Ayamaro was calling to the gods with his thunderous snoring; tonight--just like last night, and the night before that--wasn’t likely to bring him any peace.

The pace of the past week had been intense, to say the least, as he hit the ground running. He had spent his scarce free time familiarizing himself with the layout of the palace, learning its short cuts and even a few secret passages, while also studying the faces of the people who lived and worked there. The latter was proving to be the biggest challenge, as the palace employed over two hundred servants in a multitude of jobs. Assassins hired to kill Ayamaro would not be obvious in their body language that they were trespassing, but knowing the landscape, so to speak, went a long way in identifying new or unusual people.

Though it made no difference to Kyuuzou, he noted that Ayamaro didn't adhere to the custom that only female servants be allowed to enter his private chambers for security reasons. "Anyone who thinks that makes them safer is a fool. I’ve known too many women," Ayamaro said, raising his eyebrow. “My person--in particular, my testicles--would only be in more danger, not less." Thus, the magistrate's personal assistants were a mix, including several young women from merchant families ("Politics," Ayamaro muttered, rolling his eyes), and a large assortment of pretty, pubescent boys from anywhere it pleased Ayamaro to pluck them.

The only section of the palace which Kyuuzou hadn't seen yet was Ukyo's realm. Those buildings belonging to the magistrate's son housed not only his own kitchens and bathhouse, but also an aquarium, a tropical plant conservatory, a series of game rooms, and the quarters belonging to Ukyo's many female companions. It seemed Ayamaro, in his best effort to keep his son content, had gifted him with a gigantic playground.

"You should know," Hyogo said at one point, leaning in and lowering his voice, "Ukyo isn't Ayamaro's son by blood. He adopted him as an adolescent, a few years before I started. It's common knowledge, but it's not something that gets discussed."

Kyuuzou gave a nod.

"And, uh, a word to the wise," Hyogo said with a suggestive smirk. "Be careful around some of the lower ranking women in Ukyo's harem. Don't go letting yourself get cornered in any closets. No matter what scrumptious lines they feed you--or how many clasps on your coat they manage to unfasten--those women are not for you."

How ridiculous. Risking his job (or neck, for that matter) by sleeping with any of the palace women was a most unlikely scenario. That being said, he had serious doubts that the women were the problem in this case, and was much more willing to believe that this was Hyogo's way of imparting the wisdom of having dabbled in forbidden delights himself and been slapped hard on the wrist for it. But sure enough, no more than a few hours after that discussion, Ukyo paused in the main hall to speak with Ayamaro before he and his entourage hit the pleasure quarter for the evening. As the group milled out of the room, herding around Kyuuzou as they went, he started when it felt like something bit him on the ass. What the hell--he craned his head to look, and caught two women at the back of the crowd looking at him over their shoulders with glittering, predatory eyes, murmuring and giggling to themselves as they walked away. Threats from all directions, indeed, he thought to himself, echoing Ayamaro’s sentiments. He straightened himself and ignored the urge to rub his butt cheek, still smarting where they had pinched him.

Did he make the right decision in accepting this job? After sitting on the sidelines in several of Ayamaro's business meetings, he wasn't certain. Stolen goods, drugs, even people headed for the slave trade--the magistrate didn't involve himself in these transactions directly, of course, but so long as he stood to profit on the deal and the merchandise didn't linger too long in the city, he had no problems clearing a path through Kougakyo for shady yet successful brokers. It was so dirty. And it wasn't as though Kyuuzou hadn't expected it, especially after seeing firsthand the spectrum of sleaze Ayamaro employed. All the same, he left that last meeting of the day wishing there was a bath that could wash the inside of his skin.

He reminded himself: it’s just a job. There was no reason not to stick this out for a while. After all, it wasn't as though he had anything else better to do. He would hone his skills, save some money, regroup, and move along when the time was right. No matter what happened, he could and would take care of himself, and choose not to be bothered with the rest.

The nightingale boards in the hallway sang with soft, steady steps, but he immediately recognized to whom they belonged. He heard the shoji door across from his quarters slide open, heard the rustle of Hyogo taking off his coat. Today had been Hyogo's first day off since Kyuuzou's arrival. To his surprise, as Kyuuzou watched the birth of golden lamplight through his door, he had a nagging curiosity to hear how Hyogo spent his day. He had some good ideas, knowing Hyogo, but all the same, he felt...chatty. He had never been good with people, even before the war. Being required to interact with so many people in his new position was taxing on him. For the present, he bypassed the common living spaces and avoided the congregations of staff until the shock of his new lifestyle lessened. With Hyogo-dono right there, though, Hyogo being someone who already knew him and didn't expect anything from him, he found himself craving company. Kyuuzou listened for a while to the shuffling sounds of Hyogo's movements, debating whether or not he should just leave him be; he was probably drunk and getting ready to fall into bed anyway. At the tail end of that thought, he grew impatient at his own indecision--he threw aside the covers, bothered only to pull on some pants, and crossed the hall to Hyogo's quarters.

"Kyuuzou-dono." The knowing, sing-song call came from inside before Kyuuzou laid a hand on the shoji door.

As he slid the door open, he found Hyogo sitting in front of a black lacquer vanity. As expected, the samurai was getting ready for bed, clad in a casual black cotton robe. His glasses rested on the vanity, his hairpin next to them, and all his thick hair hung free and tousled around his shoulders. "I would've stopped by, but I thought you were sleeping," he said.

Kyuuzou answered only with a shake of his head, as if to say it was fine, no matter.

"Come in, then," Hyogo chuckled when Kyuuzou hung back, politely waiting to be told to enter. "You don't have to stand on ceremony with me."

Kyuuzou couldn't see the back half of Hyogo's quarters, unlit as they were, but he estimated that the space was the same size as his. Having lived there longer, Hyogo had more in the way of furnishings, such as a tall tansu chest and a calligraphy table. The air held a mix of the heady scent of the kerosene lamp and the lingering history of Hyogo's cologne, both of which Kyuuzou found pleasant.

Glancing around, his eye was drawn to the right, to the pale blonde wood of the tokonoma. Hanging in the alcove was the war-ravaged remnant of a nobori, the banner singed and tattered. He stepped in close to get a better look at it. He could make out a few kanji characters and the topmost section of what was a samurai family crest. Nevertheless, though the banner might have been a mere fragment of its original length, Kyuuzou did not need the missing details to know that it had belonged to Hyogo's father's forces. He parted his lips as he considered that it was likely one of the last items left of his house's legacy, the only reminder of the life that Hyogo had once lived, of the future that should have been his, but was destroyed in a single battle, in a single day.

"How did you manage to find this?" Kyuuzou asked with mild surprise.

Hyogo fiddled with the contents of a drawer on the side of his vanity, pausing before he spoke, and Kyuuzou wasn't sure if it was distraction or hesitation. Hyogo uncorked a bottle, held a cloth to it and turned it upside down twice. Finally, he answered, "A few months after I settled in here, I put out some feelers in the pawn markets in Kougakyo and a few other cities." He spoke into his mirror, working the cloth over one eye to remove the liner and mascara there. "I didn't expect to find anything, honestly, so I was shocked when that popped up. You wouldn't believe the goddamn fortune I paid for it, though. I tried to tell the seller, 'But you don't understand--this is my nobori.' But that didn't matter to him in the least." He sighed, and added wryly, "How fortunate we are that the merchants are so good at what they do."

Underneath the banner on a shelf stood a stout black porcelain vase, containing an arrangement of desert flowers--small explosions of indigo and sunny yellow--punctuated by three long, elegant strands of greenery. Such a bright and cheerful contrast to the battered artifact above it, Kyuuzou couldn't help but grin. "Still doing ikebana, I see."

"Well...what are you gonna do?" Hyogo hung his head, the faintest hint of bashfulness in his expression. "Old habits die hard."

Kyuuzou was struck by how the lack of make-up made Hyogo’s complexion seem pale. It was a strange illusion. How quickly one gets used to a person's outward appearance, he noted, and how that person's naked and unadulterated face seems so peculiar thereafter. Especially with the stark black lipstick gone, revealing the natural rose of Hyogo's lips, Kyuuzou recognized the friend he once knew, the prominent cheekbones, the dark-of-midnight eyes, the handsome human rather than the hard samurai mask.

Hyogo leaned close to the mirror again, but his hair fell forward, getting in the way of his face and making him curse. He sat back and gathered all of it into a messy bun and stuck his half-moon pin through it. Kyuuzou doubted that Hyogo meant for it to be enticing, but the movement revealed the smooth skin of his nape, the slanting landscape where neck and shoulders meet, glowing in the lamplight. Old habits die hard...how right you are, he wanted to say, wanting to grasp Hyogo's flesh and massage it with slow, deep strokes of his thumbs, wondering if Hyogo would lean back into his touch and moan.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, he considered, holding his breath on account of the sudden rush of blood to his cock.

Hyogo, seemingly oblivious to Kyuuzou's tension, switched the cloth to his other eye and began wiping it clean. "Tell me," he said, "How did today go?"

Kyuuzou lingered in place. He he should go back to bed, he knew, but... Once again, his temper flared at his sense of inaction. Just keep your distance, and don't stay too much longer, his voice of reason ordered him as he walked over to the vanity and settled cross-legged on the floor. “It was fine," he answered.

"I keep a bottle of shochu in here, by the way. Did you want some?"

"No, thanks."

"Then, there were no problems in the meeting this afternoon? No arguments?"

Kyuuzou shook his head.

"That Yoshio is an asshole. I don't care that he's the wealthiest opiates trader in the region--I don't like him at all. There's something about his manner that I find disrespectful. Maybe it's how he touches Ayamaro on the shoulder--it makes me want to hamstring him when he does that. I should say that I've never sensed from him a desire to harm Ayamaro, which is why I still went ahead and took the day to myself. But I think it was a good meeting for you to cut your teeth on."

"Mmm." Kyuuzou nodded, knowing exactly the offhanded rudeness to which Hyogo was referring. "I saw it as he was leaving, when he commented on the art piece."

Hyogo paused in affront, letting his hand fall to the vanity. "Which one? The six-footer with the circles, in the main meeting hall?"

"Yoshio was laughing as he said it, but he told Ayamaro that whatever he paid for that piece was too much."

"See what I mean? So what, he's an art critic now? Asshole."

In the background, Ayamaro's snore broke and sputtered, and the two samurai listened for a moment as the magistrate called out, rambling in his sleep.

Hyogo blinked a few times, slid his gaze in Kyuuzou's direction, and snickered. "What am I saying?" He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "Every morning, I walk past that monstrosity, and I can just imagine my mother standing there, gaping at it in horror. She would take one look at it and say, 'No, no--kebakebashii! Somebody, grab the first folding screen you find and hide this thing behind it.'" Hyogo's arm waving as he impersonated his mother made them both snort and bend at the waist in laughter. Kyuuzou's smile was wide and easy, feeling good on his face.

"Ayamaro had the worst diarrhea tonight," he said.

"Oh, no. Oh, I'm so sorry." Hyogo's words were breathy with amusement, though his regret was sincere. "I should've warned you--he often has digestive issues."

Kyuuzou shrugged in resignation. "Look at how he eats."

"You know, he's quite happy to have you on board," Hyogo commented.

Kyuuzou raised his eyebrows.

"He gave me a small bonus for recommending you. It's not usually my style to argue, but I told him--it wasn't as though I brought you to Kougakyo myself. He insisted, though. Said he appreciated my resourcefulness." Hyogo looked at him with a mischievous gleam in his eye, but his smile was gentle as he said, "So, I stopped by Mutsuto-san's today. Your coat is paid for. And your new sheath."

Kyuuzou straightened his spine to insist that that was unnecessary, but Hyogo shook his head and didn't give him a chance to speak. "I don’t want to hear it. I told you--the coat is my treat."

Kyuuzou scrabbled for something meaningful to say, wanting to express his appreciation as wholly as possible. But touched as he was, with his throat tightening, he discovered he could only nod and murmur a heartfelt, "Thank you." After all, that was exactly what he wanted to say.

"It's not just Ayamaro who's glad to have you here."

For a split second, Kyuuzou thought that was a romantic declaration, but Hyogo continued, "I'm getting all these questions about you from people all over the palace. What's your family name? How old are you? Are you involved with anyone?" He tsk-tsked. "All this attention on you--it's enough to make me jealous."

Kyuuzou kept a straight face but suppressed a smile, knowing that that last part could mean two very different things, and given that it was Hyogo, it could mean either or both.

"And I hear that you don't like my friend Bogan-san. But he sure likes you."

"Hmpf." Kyuuzou dropped all expression at the mention of Bogan's name.

"There's very little mystery to that one, I know. Bogan likes things in his life to be 'good'--a good drink, a good show, a good fuck. But he's never up to any good, of course--which should come as no surprise when you consider what he does for a living."

"There are some very dirty people here," Kyuuzou muttered.

Hyogo furrowed his brow. "What did you expect? Does Ayamaro strike you as someone who gained power through his diligence and ethics?"

Finally, there it was, out in the open. Kyuuzou leaned forward, his manner growing forward in tandem. "And that's all right with you?"

As soon as he asked that question, he wondered if he had gone too far. Hyogo turned to stone, resting his hands on his hips while he stared at the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was hard and low. "Do you know where I was when I learned that Ayamaro was to hold his tournament of samurai, Kyuuzou-dono?" Hyogo met his eye. "I was huddled in an alley trash heap with two other ronin. I hadn't eaten in three days, and I was blitzed out of my mind on this mixture of alcohol and ether that another homeless man had gifted us. When I walk through Kougakyo's streets, I don't bother looking down the alleyways--I don't have to--I'm already well acquainted with what's there."

Hyogo shook his head. "I don't know what you want me to say. No, it's not all right that Ayamaro deals with men like Yoshio. It's not all right that half of Kougakyo is falling apart while the other half is practically made of gold. And it's definitely not all right that I have a merchant as my master in the first place. But have you taken a good look at the samurai lately? I don't feel in any position to argue." Hyogo closed his eyes and sighed. "I swore I'd never find myself there in that alley again. Ever. And I won't."

What pathetic sons of bitches we samurai have become, Kyuuzou thought to himself. An entire generation of men with nothing better to do than wallow in their misery. He didn't like what Hyogo was saying, but he understood that resigned drive for security in the face of so much insecurity. In a way, he envied his friend for taking control of his life and moving on, moving forward. The war was over--eventually, that would be real for Kyuuzou, and then maybe he could shut his eyes at night and sleep like everyone else. How he would love to abandon himself to the bed and snore like Ayamaro, to rest without ghosts or guilt, to wake in the morning and not wonder what right he had being alive.

Kyuuzou's thoughts passed through and drifted away, and he returned to the present, finding Hyogo looking on him. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Something about that silence made Kyuuzou nervous, the adrenaline creeping into his bloodstream. He should go. With the lapel of Hyogo's robe slipping open, giving him the glimpse of a smooth, defined pectoral muscle, Kyuuzou knew it was time to return to his quarters. But then, Hyogo removed his hairpin once more and shook out his hair, and Kyuuzou found himself rooted to the spot, staring at it, all dark and messy as it would look on a pillow, as it would look had he just been fucked.

Hyogo seemed to know that he had cast some sort of spell on him. With rapacious assessment, he let his eyes roam downward, over Kyuuzou's bare chest, into his lap where there was no hiding his erection, and back up to his face. Hyogo turned up the corner of his mouth, a slow and wicked movement, and Kyuuzou had the distinct feeling the samurai intended to close the two-foot distance between them. That would be bad, he told himself. They were working together now, with somebody's life as their responsibility--getting involved could make things dangerous.

Instead of kissing him, however, Hyogo said, "Should I put some make-up on you?"

"What?" Taken aback, Kyuuzou let slip a chuckle. "No."

"Not even some gloss?" Hyogo pulled out a long glass tube from a drawer. "It's clear, see? Just try it. You might like it."

Kyuuzou didn't know why he was giving in to something so silly, but he cooperated and parted his lips as Hyogo scooted forward. Hyogo put two fingers below his chin, holding his head steady. The teasing touch arced like electricity through Kyuuzou, and he worked to keep his breathing even, keeping his eyes on the samurai's shoulder instead of looking at his face, so close to his.

"I remember that long, beautiful braid you had before the lice outbreak," Hyogo said as he dabbed gloss on Kyuuzou's lips. "You were so well kept then. Every hair in its place." He dropped his hand, cocked his head. "Why did you never grow your hair long again?"

Kyuuzou shrugged. He didn't care enough to consider such things.

"Rub your lips together for me." Hyogo leaned back to examine his handiwork. "Hmm, that's nice." Using his thumbnail, he traced the edge of Kyuuzou's bottom lip, presumably to remove extra gloss, but he did it with delicate and seductive pressure, making contact with more skin than necessary. Kyuuzou mustered all his willpower in order to not touch his tongue to the samurai's thumb and suck it into his mouth.

"Maybe you should start wearing this regularly," Hyogo suggested, to which Kyuuzou shot back, "Maybe not." Both of them chuckled at that. "Fine," Hyogo relented and put away the lip gloss in the vanity.

"That's it for me for tonight, I think," Hyogo said with a sigh. "I'm off to the baths." When he turned back to Kyuuzou, he paused, shadows from the lamplight dancing on his face. "Want to join me?"

There was no mistaking the true proposition there, not with the seductive set of his mouth or the unabashed desire in his eyes, not when all of him seemed to be pulling Kyuuzou to him, drawing him in with the same ardor as if he were on his back and wrapping his legs around Kyuuzou's waist. "Might help you sleep," Hyogo added. Though there was care in his voice, the statement made it all the more erotic for Kyuuzou as he thought of the delicious weight that settles into the limbs after a hard-earned orgasm, pictured himself sated and pressed against Hyogo's warm back as they fell asleep together.

That's enough, he said to himself. I've had enough. If I don't stop this now, where will it end?

Kyuuzou shook his head in answer to Hyogo's question. "I was there earlier in the evening."

Hyogo blinked, disappointment evident in the frown lines around his mouth. Perhaps he was growing impatient in his pursuit. It was also likely the samurai didn't often get turned down. Whatever the case, it was clear that he didn't like being told no (and maybe that was because he knew damn well that Kyuuzou wanted him just as badly). "Kyuuzou-dono--"

"I won't keep you any longer," Kyuuzou said quietly, standing up. "I'll meet you in the main meeting hall at 7:30 tomorrow, as we planned."

"7:30," Hyogo repeated in a monotone. Kyuuzou gave him a small but definitive bow, bid him good-night, and slipped out the door.

Back in his quarters, Kyuuzou listened to the nightingale boards tell of Hyogo's departure a moment later. He shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, groaning in frustration at how the encounter ended, how hard and aching it left him. Hyogo, you son of a bitch. Isn't this always how it ends with you? He hadn't thought it possible, but the night was proving even less peaceful than he initially expected.

He licked his lips. They were sticky and sickly sweet with lip gloss; he grabbed a cloth and wiped them clean. How had he let Hyogo talk him into putting on that shit in the first place? Because I wanted him to, Kyuuzou admitted there in the darkness of his quarters. Because I wanted him. Such uncharacteristic weakness on his part in Hyogo's presence, it left him worried, left him wondering: just what else would Hyogo be able to get him to do?