Bloodlines - Jiroh's Awakening

*Characters belong to Konomi, I'm merely borrowing them for things like this:



As much as Jiroh wished for a neutral sort of silence, he knew he’d never get it. The silence that Atobe aimed at him crackled with animosity. When he’d sneered at Jiroh in passing while he toted wood for the fire, Jiroh had almost given up and wandered off to be alone. Again. Having to make camp in the woods until the sun rose again had been enough of an inconvenience to have darkened Atobe’s mood considerably. Given the fact that it had been Jiroh that had lost their map made him the scapegoat for all of Atobe’s irritability.

Oshitari nudged Jiroh as he spread his cloak out on the ground before the fledgling fire, the other boy’s reassuring smile almost enough to coax one from Jiroh in return. “Better scoot back, Jiroh. You’ll burn yourself.”

Jiroh ducked his head, smiling a little. When Oshitari said things like that, the words were lighthearted and kind. Had Atobe been the one to say them, Jiroh was certain they’d have been about as lighthearted as the Black Death. His lips parted to answer but Atobe beat him to it. “You’ll have to motion in whatever direction you want him to go, Yuushi. It’s the only way he can tell one direction from another, apparently.”

Jiroh did not flinch, to his credit, and pretended not to have heard Atobe’s hurtful words. He rose gracefully, pulling his coat a little tighter around him. Atobe grunted, shifting the armful of kindling he held as he struggled to balance the weight. Jiroh observed him with no small amount of superiority. Why did he stack more kindling than he could carry? Not that he would struggle with the weight, but the kindling was unwieldy and difficult to hold easily. How very typical of Atobe to try to carry it all in one trip. Jiroh correctly assumed that Atobe would continue to make similar mistakes as Kabaji was not there to do his dirty work for him.

Jiroh moved to take the two pieces of firewood from Atobe that were slipping from under his arm, scraping his skin as it slid. He lifted carefully, wanting to chide Atobe for biting off more than he could chew, but knowing that to do so would be tantamount to marking another notch against him on Atobe’s spiteful little scorecard. Jiroh wanted peace. Atobe refused to grant it. Silence truly was his best defense.

“I don’t need your help, Jiroh, go sit down.” Atobe barked, wincing when a splinter cut into his flesh.

Jiroh’s brows drew together in thoughtful annoyance. “I can take those two, Atobe, you’re going to drop them if you…”

Atobe glared daggers at him; those dark eyes speaking only of annoyance. He released his hold and let the wood drop to the ground unheeded. Several pieces rolled immediately away and Jiroh had to move quickly out of the way. “There. I don’t need your help. Go. Away.”

Jiroh stumbled back, hand out to keep from falling when he heard Oshitari’s warning shout. He glanced up, surprised to see Atobe moving toward him with an instinctual, protective air. Jiroh didn’t have time to puzzle over it before his fingertips touched flames. He pulled his hand back with a startled cry and turned as he fell to avoid falling directly into the fire.

He twisted his ankle as he rolled away, the added pain of his singed fingers a throbbing accompaniment to his already wounded pride. He stood awkwardly, cradling his hand against his chest, eyes wide and round in a pale face as he looked at Atobe. Oshitari was already heading toward Jiroh, hand outstretched and Jiroh shook his head, his own blood rushing in his ears and drowning out his companion’s voices. Any concern that Atobe might have experienced was gone, his expression one of mocking contempt. It was as if the long months of carefully nurtured friendship – love – were being thoughtlessly tossed aside in the face of Atobe’s offended sensibilities.

He turned, ignoring Oshitari’s offer of assistance and the look of pity that he was never able to hide when he turned his eyes on Jiroh, and he ran. He didn’t know if Atobe called out to him, but somehow he doubted the possibility. None of them truly cared for Jiroh. They all had ulterior motives for continuing to allow his presence and none of them were good enough any longer. Oshitari pitied him; Gakuto held some sort of misplaced adoration for him that was based solely on his appearance. Kabaji felt responsible for his well-being since it was so completely obvious that Jiroh was unable to take care of himself. Shishido didn’t pay much attention to him one way or another and Ohtori followed suit – if only because his attention was so completely garnered by Shishido. Jiroh had imagined that Atobe, at the very least, cared for him in some fashion or another. Realizing that he’d been wrong was humiliating to Jiroh – and it obliterated any sense of belonging he’d begun to feel with this group of boys.

He couldn’t hold back the tears as he ran, the night air whipping past him and chilling him to the bone as he panted for breath and dodged low hanging trees. In his haste to get away, he realized he’d left his jacket behind. Atobe would most likely roll it up and use it as a pillow during the night as he, obviously, had no intention of going after Jiroh. With Kabaji absent, there was no one to look after him, no one to care if he were left behind or not.

Jiroh ran until his sides ached and his head throbbed, eclipsing the pain in his ankle and his hand and still he pressed on until he came upon the river. While it was nothing more than a faint trickle this deep into the forest, Jiroh knelt before it gratefully. He couldn’t see very well, but it didn’t look as damaged as it felt. The tears had dried on his cheeks and his skin felt sticky and dirty. Bowing his head, he cupped a hand to bring water to his lips. The water was cold and brought relief to his dry mouth as well as to his burned hand. A quiet sob escaped him and he bit down, hard, on his bottom lip to silence his own weakness.

He stood slowly, favoring his ankle more now that he’d run so far and succeeded in only aggravating it until it throbbed. He knew without looking that it was swollen and he told himself that he would bind it carefully once he was safely out of the forest. Jiroh wasn’t willing to risk being found on the off chance that Atobe had given chase and followed him. While Jiroh knew in his heart that Atobe would not let him disappear permanently, he didn’t imagine Hyoutei’s prince would track him down over something as inconsequential as a case of hurt feelings and a few burned fingers. No, Atobe would let him suffer alone, so arrogant in thinking that Jiroh would return as he had no place else to go. Jiroh had to admit that he would be right in his assessment.

He moved slowly, but at a steady enough pace. Eventually the trees would give way to something. They were traveling a very remote area of the countryside but Jiroh clung to the hope that he would happen across a house of some sort. He could steal into an outbuilding and curl up quietly until the night passed. When the sun rose again, maybe he would be able to put aside his embarrassment and hurt feelings long enough to find his way back to his teammates.

After what felt like miles in the cold darkness with the full moon shining overhead like a spotlight, Jiroh stopped walking. In the distance he could see flickering lights and the outline of a large building. Limping now, he steeled himself against the pain and drew closer, eyes widening when the building truly began to take shape. It was a mammoth of a house – all big glass windows and high, sloping rooftops. He counted four fireplaces just on the north side of the house and breathed a sigh of relief. Surely whoever possessed a home this size would have several outbuildings scattered over the grounds as well.

There was a lantern in every window and Jiroh was careful to keep to the shadows, near the trees and bushes that lined the property. He had learned to consider everyone an enemy until proven otherwise and he had no intention of revealing himself tonight.

“Late to be out, isn’t it?” The voice drifted to him, somehow. Soft and seeking and completely non-threatening but it startled Jiroh all the same. He jumped, shying away and already preparing himself for flight. He couldn’t see the owner of the voice and neither did he want to stick around to get a glimpse.

“There’s no need to run from me, little one. I’m not going to hurt you.” Sweet, soft voice heavily laced with amusement, the man who spoke was very near and getting closer. Jiroh could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he licked his lips nervously, gaze darting this way and that as he considered his best escape route.

There was a soft chuckle and a rustle of material and air and suddenly he was just…there. Jiroh gasped and began backing up, the pain almost an afterthought in the face of this new threat. “Careful, you’ll hurt yourself again.”

The stranger was of medium height and almost stately with fine, aristocratic features and a cloud of dark, wavy hair that curled just above his shoulders. His beauty was such that he appeared nearly feminine and when he held out a hand to Jiroh, ecru lace spilled out from the sleeve of his coat. Jiroh had never seen a more lovely man – not even the one that Jiroh adored above all others.

“No.” He whispered, backing up more, knowing that, in his current state, he couldn’t hope to outrun this man if he decided to give chase. “Please, I’m just…I’ve lost my way.”

The man nodded and took one step toward Jiroh, his expression mild and faintly tinged with concern. “So you have. Come inside with me, let me help you.”

Jiroh looked up at the huge house looming before him and then again at the man who waited patiently for him to accept his assistance. “I won’t hurt you.” He repeated gently and that small part of Jiroh that wanted, more than anything else, to find acceptance somewhere, with someone, reached out before Jiroh had even lifted his hand.

“I’m injured. I was…that is to say, I intended…” He bowed his head, shame and hesitance warring with the need for comfort and restfulness. Without a sound, the man was upon him, there before him when he lifted his head again. Eyes widening in surprise, Jiroh winced when his injured fingers slid across the soft skin of the dark haired man’s palm and he swallowed reflexively when he found himself staring up into that sweet face. The kindness there was unmistakable and Jiroh felt himself relax somewhat.

“I burned my hand.” He finished weakly, entranced by those eyes and that ethereal face. The man wore lace at his throat – an elaborate necktie in this day and age. He looked like gentry. He felt like salvation.

“I can see that. Let me help you, little one.”

Jiroh nodded, glad to be able to just give in knowing that someone would be with him to keep him safe. The fatigue that he’d managed to keep at bay settled heavily around him, finally, and he was unable to give voice the protest that hovered just on his tongue when the man bent to sweep him up into surprisingly strong arms. Jiroh curled to him, letting the man’s strength and warm, spicy scent envelop him as the world began to fall away.

I cannot stay. Jiroh thought, somehow imagining he should warn this man that it was not safe to harbor him and as his eyes drifted closed he heard that rich, amused chuckle drift to him.

There are no certainties, little kitten. Not yet.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Warmth. Drowsy, comfortable warmth surrounding him. Surely this had to be what heaven felt like. Eyes still closed, he stretched luxuriously, reveling in the feel of the soft fur beneath him. Distantly, he became aware of the fire crackling on the opposite side of the room.

His eyelashes fluttered and as his focus gradually began to sharpen, he yawned and lifted his injured hand to inspect the damage. Blinking in shock as he stared at the smooth, unblemished skin, he moved to sit up a little, rotating his ankle gingerly in the process.

Nothing. There was no hint of discomfort – no indication that he’d been hurt at all. The room was dark with the exception of the fire warming him and he couldn’t hazard a guess as to how long he’d been asleep. His last memory was of his knees giving out beneath him and the peculiar stranger’s strong arms tight around him. Then darkness. And so much warmth.

He scrubbed at his eyes, his vision still a bit bleary from his deep slumber and he noticed, belatedly, that the clothes he had on were not his own and he was cleaner than before. While he couldn’t imagine being bathed without awakening, neither could he figure out why he no longer felt any pain. He licked his lips, palms sliding along the soft fur coverlet and he made a pleased little sound.

“Pretty yummy, huh?”

The voice was close enough to allow Jiroh to hear the cadence of its owner’s breathing and he nearly tumbled off the bed in his haste to put space between himself and the person he hadn’t noticed before.

Lying on the bed, on his belly, was a pretty dark-haired boy. His ankles were crossed and he swung them back and forth idly as he twirled a black curl between his fingers. He grinned at Jiroh, who was pressed against the bedpost – eyes impossibly wide, and caught his bottom lip between perfectly even little teeth. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jiroh’s lips parted, one of several questions he wanted to ask hovering just on the tip of his tongue and he was surprised to hear the pretty boy laughing at him. “I’m Kirihara Akaya. Seiichi sent me in here to see how you were doing so don’t tell him I almost sent you into cardiac arrest. He wouldn’t be happy with me.” He rolled his eyes, quite obviously eager to avoid displeasing this Yukimura, whoever he was. It occurred to Jiroh that Yukimura must be his rescuer. When he spoke, his voice was very faint.

“Yes. Yukimura. He must have been the one. He…healed me.” Jiroh studied Kirihara, eager for some insight as to how that must have occurred. Kirihara just smiled in answer, making Jiroh feel as though he needed to keep talking just to fill the void. He instinctively felt that any silence in this room would not be a companionable one. Kirihara, however, surprised him by getting to his hands and knees and crawling across the expansive bed toward Jiroh.

“He has strange powers, Yukimura.” He smiled that sweet smile when he noticed Jiroh trying to meld his spine to the bedpost by sheer avoidance alone. “Sometimes he uses them for good, sometimes not.”

Kirihara didn’t elaborate further and Jiroh realized that he didn’t want him to. “He was kind to me and I’d like very much to offer my thanks before I go.”

Kirihara nodded thoughtfully and sighed as he flopped over onto his back just before Jiroh. He stared up at him, upside down, and laughed when his eyes crossed. “Stay and talk to me awhile, hm? I get so lonely sometimes.”

Jiroh tilted his head in an expression of concern, too kind hearted for his own good. “You live here with Yukimura? You are still lonely?”

Kirihara snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Hmph. He’s always busy doing something. He and Sanada. Sometimes it’s like I’m not even here at all.”

Jiroh watched, fascinated by the oddly beautiful boy, his lips pursed in an endearing little pout. “Someone else lives here, too?” Jiroh warned himself against too much conversation. He didn’t really care one way or another, did he? His number one priority was finding Atobe and surrounding himself with the things that felt familiar to him.

Kirihara nodded, still twirling one lock of hair. “Sanada, yeah. Seiichi spends most of his time with him. Fat lot of good it does him, anyway.”

A soft, amused voice drifted toward the bed. “Tsk tsk, Akaya. You wouldn’t be gossiping about me, would you?”

Jiroh startled, backing up until he bumped into Kirihara, who had risen to his knees and was somehow managing to look contrite. “No, Master.”

The pretty man who’d rescued Jiroh in the gardens stood in the doorway, taller than Jiroh remembered him. He was delicate but broader across the chest and shoulders. He was unnaturally pale and carried himself in a very confident, almost feline manner. His hair was tied back with a ribbon and his clothes were more casual than before. Jiroh thought perhaps he’d dreamed the odd details he seemed to remember about this man.

Pushing himself away from the doorway, the graceful man made his way toward the bed, gaze trained on Jiroh. “You’re looking much better, sleepy kitten. How’s your hand?”

Jiroh swallowed nervously. “M-much better, thank you.”

The man nodded. “And your ankle?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, thank you.”

Yukimura chuckled and paused at the foot of the bed, long graceful fingers curling over the wood. “Aren’t you going to ask me how I fixed you, pretty one?”

For some reason, the man’s words chilled Jiroh all the way through. He couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding this man’s proximity brought. “I hadn’t planned to, no. Thank you.” Jiroh lowered his eyes, hating the ease with which such immediate deference came to him.

“I am Yukimura Seiichi. And you can stop thanking me, Jiroh.” His voice was soft, but Jiroh wasn’t fooled by its gentleness. Beneath this man’s surface lurked something very powerful – it was almost tangible.

He looked up quickly before he could think better of it. “How do you know my name?”

Yukimura laughed softly and reached to touch Jiroh’s hair. “You told me, of course. You were so very malleable once the sleep took you.”

Jiroh’s breath caught and he felt Kirihara behind him, an almost comforting presence if only because he prevented Jiroh from being all alone in the room with Yukimura. Yukimura's gaze slid past him to rest on Kirihara and he smiled indulgently. “Are you bored, my sweet? You want to play, is that it?”

Kirihara grinned wickedly and his smile only served to further the eagerness shining in his dark eyes. Jiroh could feel the current of excitement, of anticipation that passed between the two men. “Maybe. Maybe a little, I am.”

Yukimura nodded and released Jiroh’s hair, strand by strand, as he trailed fingertips down the side of his face, those glittering eyes so intent. “It’s alright, little demon. I’m going to let you share in him tonight.”

With those words, Yukimura dropped his hand to the belt at Jiroh’s waist and worked the knot, sliding it away with surprising ease. Jiroh could feel his heart fluttering in his chest and he’d never been as still as he was at that moment. “Please.”

His voice, low and quiet, trembled a little and he left the rest of his words unsaid. The smug satisfaction in Yukimura’s eyes told him that he’d been understood. It was not death he feared, but the unknown.

Yukimura gripped his chin, forcing his head up, as Kirihara spread the dressing gown open and bent his head to rub his cheek against Jiroh’s belly.

“We’re not going to hurt you, pretty one. Submit to me, do as I ask, and all will be well. I don’t want to force you and something tells me that I really won’t have to.”

Feeling Kirihara’s tongue circle lazily around his bellybutton caused Jiroh to gasp and he reached for Yukimura, holding tightly to his forearms to steady himself. Kirihara made some small, satisfied sound and Yukimura chuckled quietly. “The most you are in danger of is perhaps flash burn.”

Jiroh turned confused eyes on Yukimura, fear visibly lurking there. Kirihara wrapped his arms around Jiroh’s waist and began kissing a path up his chest and over his shoulder to nuzzle at his neck. Yukimura stroked the boy’s glossy hair and Jiroh caught the indulgent smile hovering on his lips as he continued to explain, “Kirihara is a wildcat in bed. All heat and ravenous need.”

Kirihara’s eyes flashed and he nipped Jiroh’s skin in defiance. Jiroh stiffened and allowed Yukimura to maneuver him against the taller man’s body in whichever way he liked. Fighting them was pointless, he rationalized. Better to enjoy their pleasure than invite possible pain.

“I have very little problem imagining that.” Jiroh admitted breathlessly.

Kirihara cupped the back of Jiroh’s neck and placed sweet kisses along his jaw to linger just at his ear. “You won’t need to imagine. I promise you that.”

Yukimura gripped Jiroh’s wrists and raised them over his head, holding them pinned to the bedpost while Kirihara looked up at him from the curve of Jiroh’s neck. The boy’s eyes were dark with lust and when he slowly drew the sash away from Jiroh’s waist, a fine shudder wracked his captive’s body. Yukimura watched, transfixed, as Kirihara’s pupils dilated and then narrowed into two black slits. There was nothing on earth so intoxicating as watching the boy make the transformation from sweet slave to dangerous predator. It made Yukimura smile.

“Please, Master.” He whispered, dragging pointed fingernails lightly down Jiroh’s sides in a teasing imitation of a caress. Yukimura could feel the way their captive trembled, knew his eyes were tightly shut. He could hear the boy’s blood rushing through his veins, the artery just beneath that tender flesh pulsing with life. It took steel resolve to deny his pet permission but, with a slight shake of his head, he did exactly that. He had every intention of savoring this one and the greedy little imp would simply have to wait it out.

Besides…his love had yet to join the festivities.

Yukimura took the sash from Kirihara and tied Jiroh’s wrists firmly to the bedpost. He could struggle as much as he liked – there would be no escape. There was no mistaking the delight in his pet’s eyes as he secured Jiroh’s bonds. Those greedy devil’s eyes practically glittered with anticipation. So beautiful in his unholy lust. Yukimura congratulated himself on keeping the boy pure for as long as he had. The urge to turn him was considerable and only Sanada’s disapproval had been able to persuade him to wait.

‘You wish to take what is not yours, Yukimura.’

‘Ah, but he wants it, Genichirou. Oh, how he wants it.’

Sanada would turn away, his preternatural grace succeeding only in making him even more desirable to Yukimura.

‘He is a puppet. A child. How can he know what he wants?’

Yukimura would smile – that slow, knowing smirk that always built a rage within his tempestuous lover. ‘Look into his eyes. You will know as he knows.’

It was an all consuming life – to be a vampire’s pet. Kirihara, for all his dark beauty and childlike ways, was as natural a killer as Yukimura himself. Once the final step was taken, his servitude to Yukimura would become something more; something infinitely deeper and they would truly be bound. Watching his pet toy with the frightened little kitten made Yukimura wonder if tonight would be the night, after all. His beautiful Sanada would curse him fiercely, but was Yukimura never happier than when his lover bared his teeth and let his dark side out to play?

“Patience, Akaya.” Yukimura crawled onto the bed, kneeling just before Kirihara, and slid a hand into that unruly mop of black silk. Pulling back hard, he bared his pet’s neck to him and spared Jiroh a self-satisfied smirk. Their captive was watching, as still as stone, eyes wide. Yukimura got that warm, comforting feeling that he felt when things were playing out just as he intended. It was the power of a God, to control other beings and guide their reactions. This new one was a rare treat. His emotions hovered so near to his surface that Yukimura felt as though he could reach out and shape them to whichever form would suit him best.

Kirihara rolled his hips, reminding his Master just where his attentions should be, and parted his lips slightly. “Please, Master. Please do something.”

Yukimura tipped him back, leaning over him in a typical show of dominance and kissed him hard. Kirihara was completely still for a moment, his small moan of compliance muffled against Yukimura’s lips. Jiroh watched, unable to turn his eyes away, no matter how apprehensive he felt.

Kirihara squirmed beneath Yukimura’s attentions, his lithe body writhing in a wanton display of pure, unrestrained lust. Jiroh licked his lips and flexed his wrists against his restraints. They might be beautiful, but they were not human. They possessed a power that Jiroh could not begin to fathom and that knowledge terrified him. He watched, riveted, as Yukimura began to strip the clothing from Kirihara’s body. The boy was submissive and accommodating but obviously eager to get on with the show. Jiroh imagined that Yukimura’s touch would be as masterful as Atobe’s, but in a much different way. Atobe was all refined heat and deliberate touches; Yukimura seemed much less involved, almost detached in the way he touched Kirihara. It unnerved Jiroh.

“I’m not going to leave you out, little kitten.” Yukimura promised, eyes bright with barely banked lust. Jiroh began to tug at the scarf that held him bound to the post. Yukimura smiled and Kirihara curled against his Master, looking very much like the cat who was about to get the cream.

“Let me do him, Master. Please.”

Jiroh tried to back up but there was no place left for him to go. His back was tight against the bedpost and his restraints were such that he could not even twist his wrists in them. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Do not touch me.”

Yukimura reached out, trailed long, elegant fingers down Jiroh’s belly. Chilled, he shivered and turned his head away. “I don’t want this.” He whispered miserably.

Yukimura nudged Kirihara, who lowered himself to elbows and knees before Jiroh and rubbed his cheek against the inside of the shivering boy’s thigh. Jiroh trembled when Kirihara’s silky hair slid against his scrotum. He gave a breathy sigh and had to bite back a moan when the boy began to press little kisses along his inner thigh.

Yukimura palmed Kirihara’s bottom affectionately and leaned in to whisper against Jiroh’s ear. “Liar.”

Jiroh shook his head quickly, dark blonde tendrils curling against his neck in alluring disarray. “No. No, I don’t.”

Yukimura slid his hand over Jiroh’s back and down one perfectly shaped buttock. Lips hot at Jiroh’s earlobe, he nudged Kirihara forward. “Take him in, pet.”

Without hesitation, Kirihara lifted his head, brushed his lips over the tip of Jiroh’s half erect cock before he began to suck him gently into his mouth. Careful not to nip him, he used his lips and tongue to work him to a full hardness. He smiled against the soft noises their pretty captive fought to hold back. To give voice to his pleasure was tantamount to surrender. Kirihara knew Jiroh wasn’t yet ready to give in.

Yukimura stroked Kirihara’s round little ass, fingertips teasing, promising, but not delivering. Kirihara squirmed, rocking his hips in a silent demand for something a bit more aggressive. Jiroh made not a sound and drew short, halting breaths as Yukimura squeezed his ass, nibbling at his earlobe as Kirihara slid his lips down to the base of his erection. Yukimura could hear his heart pounding and his own cock began to stir, straining at the loose pants he wore.

Kirihara pushed back against Yukimura’s hand, reminding him again of precisely what he wanted. Yukimura growled, the sound low and rumbling against Jiroh’s ear and he delivered a sharp slap to Kirihara’s bare ass. The boy moaned, arching his back further and gripping Jiroh’s hips to steady himself as he sucked harder, slower, relishing the way Jiroh’s cock twitched against his tongue. A few more strokes and he was rewarded with the first bittersweet drops of Jiroh’s excitement. He drew back, spreading it around the full, flushed crown of the boy’s erection, lapping and sucking just enough to cause Jiroh’s body to pull taut with need.

“Control, pet. Patience.” Yukimura instructed him as he slid away from Jiroh, experiencing a brief flash of triumph when he opened his eyes quickly, head turning to see where Yukimura had gone.

“Relax, sweet Jiroh. Akaya will make it good for you. I promise.”

Jiroh shook his head, hands tightening into fists above his head. He glanced down at the dark head bobbing between his thighs and he caught his lower lip between his teeth. Yukimura watched, in delighted amusement, as Jiroh waged war with his desire within the confines of his own mind. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to enjoy this. He was being given no choice.

“Please…” He whispered, eyes shining with unshed tears. A normal man might have experienced guilt, or hesitation, or anything other than the excitement that Yukimura was feeling.

Kirihara answered his plea by reaching between Jiroh’s legs to caress his scrotum, so soft and velvety against his fingers. He moaned around the cock in his mouth and rolled his hips when he felt it pulse against his tongue. His chin was damp with his own saliva but he didn’t move to wipe it off, so intent on his task as he was.

“Open those pretty eyes, Jiroh.” Yukimura coaxed, kneeling behind Kirihara, who spread his legs obediently when Yukimura tapped him gently on his ass. Jiroh met Yukimura’s eyes reluctantly, blushing as he watched the man idly stroke the sweet curve of his pet’s backside. He saw Kirihara arch his back, spreading himself wider for his Master and the attention he paid to Jiroh’s erection was intent, purposeful and very, very slow.

Yukimura smirked once and glanced down at Kirihara’s upturned bottom, squeezing the rounded cheeks as he spread him further. The boy whimpered in anticipation and Jiroh sucked in a breath, his teeth leaving deep imprints in his lower lip. Yukimura licked his lips once and bent his head to Kirihara, teasing him open with long, slow swipes of his tongue. Jiroh was enveloped in a sudden rush of heat, gasping along with Kirihara, who was making high pitched, incomprehensible noises. He sounded like a cat in heat and Jiroh could not feign indifference. His own arousal was betrayal enough of his emotions.

Yukimura held his gaze over the swell of Kirihara’s ass, those eyes glittering like shiny glass, his eyelashes fluttering once or twice when he pushed his tongue into the constricting heat of Kirihara’s body. The boy had begun to rub his own erection against the bedcovers – low, needy sounds vibrating in his throat. Jiroh could feel his fingernails cutting into the palms of his hands, unable to beat back the urge to spill himself into the boy’s mouth. Yukimura took a firmer grip on Kirihara’s hips, quieting him, making him still, and he growled, against the boy’s tight, clenching heat, “Enough. Release him.”

Kirihara pulled back, lowering his forehead to the mattress and groaning when Jiroh’s cock snapped back against his belly with a wet, audible slap. Jiroh arched his back, a little gasp escaping him as he thrust forward into nothing, into air, desperate for release. He glanced down, eyes wild with indecision and conflict; fear and insatiable need. He watched, unable to do anything else, as Yukimura feasted on his boy’s undeniably tempting ass. He made low, contented noises in the back of his throat as he tongued Kirihara, lapping and sucking in audible obscenity.

Kirihara clutched at fistfuls of the blankets, his eyes clenched tight, his face flushed prettily and he did not move his hips, though judging by the sounds he made, it was near killing him to refrain. Yukimura pulled back a bit to circle Kirihara’s entrance with the tip of one finger, teasing him with firm, circular motions before sliding his finger deep inside him with one slow push.

Kirihara arched again, head back, mouth open and he screamed out his pleasure, quieting only when he broke and was forced to suck air back into his lungs in deep, gasping breaths. Yukimura’s brow was drawn in concentration and he squeezed Kirihara’s ass again as he pulled back only to slide two fingers back into Kirihara’s body.

Kirihara bit down on the blankets before him and this time, when he screamed, it was a primal, muffled sound – enough to raise the hair on the back of Jiroh’s neck and his own erection throbbed in an incredible empathic need. He watched Kirihara, riveted, as the boy jerked against the blanket and shot his release into the soft folds of the fur, muscles clenching tight around Yukimura’s fingers.

The boy shuddered, apparently nearing unconsciousness as he slumped against the fur, utterly spent from his release. Yukimura grunted in satisfaction and slipped his fingers out of Kirihara, grinning as his pet lay, boneless and unresponsive as he patted his ass gently.

What he saw when he looked up again wiped the smile right off his face and the voice at Jiroh’s back was an unfamiliar one.

“That was impressive, Seiichi. I do believe I am overcome.”

Yukimura’s eyes narrowed and Jiroh tensed. Those words and that voice were completely at odds with each other and as Yukimura had a silent battle of wills with the newcomer, Jiroh realized he was trapped, bound, between them both.

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm, my love?” Yukimura tipped his head, tousled waves caressing his pale cheek.

Jiroh could not see the man who had entered the room, but he could feel the air of disapproval, could sense the man’s unhappiness. “Why have you brought this boy here, Seiichi? Do you never learn from your mistakes?”

Kirihara raised his head, eyes unfocused. “Apparently not. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The man made an impatient sound, not bothering to grace Kirihara’s words with a response. Jiroh remained silent, his back tight against the post, his cock just hard enough to make him want to squirm – but he stayed perfectly still. When giants went to war, it was best that the smaller people stayed out of sight.

The man ventured forward, into the room, toward the bed. Jiroh held his breath.

“I told you I wanted no part of this.” The man stated, his voice low and flat. Yukimura arched his back, lifted his hair away from his neck as though to cool himself and the smile on his face was knowing. Yukimura definitely had an agenda.

“Look at him, Genichirou. Is he not quite the sweetest little creature you’ve ever seen?”

Sanada stepped up and Jiroh could just catch him in his peripheral vision. If his profile were anything to go by, Sanada was as beautiful, albeit in a very different manner, than his companions. Jiroh bit his lip in an attempt to stifle the sound of his breathing. Kirihara was trickster enough to keep the situation from becoming too frightening. Sanada and Yukimura, on the other hand, made Jiroh very uneasy and the very last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of two predators.

Sanada turned his head, then, breathtaking dark eyes sweeping over Jiroh’s countenance. His eyes lingered briefly on Jiroh’s arousal and then he focused his attention on his face. While he could spot no animosity in that dark gaze, Jiroh did not allow himself to hope. He’d heard the bite in the other man’s words when he’d spoken to Yukimura and there was no hiding the danger that lurked beneath the surface.

“He is, indeed.” He stated simply, his gaze caressing Jiroh where his hand, seemingly, would not. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why have you brought him here?”

If Yukimura didn’t understand the meaning behind Sanada’s words, Jiroh did. What he was asking was ‘why have you brought him here when you have me?’. Jiroh turned his head, allowing his hair to hide his face. Once again, he was the means to an end. He was here to prove a point, he sensed, and once his purpose had been served, he would be eliminated. He couldn’t say how he knew this to be true, only that he knew that it was. Something about Yukimura, something in his mannerisms, told Jiroh that he was not harmless.

Yukimura crawled forward, straddling Kirihara’s shoulders and keeping him pinned to the mattress while he leaned forward to brush Jiroh’s hair away from his face. “I’ll admit…when I saw him, all I could imagine was seeing him against you. Look at his body, Genichirou, feel his fear. I want to watch you take from him.” He paused, licking a slow path up his neck. Jiroh tensed, his muscles beginning to ache from holding himself the way he had been since he’d awakened. “He tastes so good, my love. I know you can feel him.”

Sanada swallowed, not unaffected by the picture Yukimura painted for him and yes, he could feel the man’s fear. It was thick and acrid and pervaded Sanada’s senses. Somehow he knew that if he wanted to walk away from the little drama that Yukimura had so painstakingly created, he would have to kill the pretty, frightened little boy to do it.

Sanada touched Jiroh then, after several seconds of hesitation. He touched his neck, where his pulse beat the hardest, where Yukimura’s lips rested. He and Yukimura exchanged a glance then and it made Jiroh’s blood run cold. Yukimura was issuing a challenge and Sanada was about to accept. Jiroh only wished he could guess what the spoils would be, but he didn’t know the rules to this game and he was certainly not going to ask.

“Fine. But you don’t touch him.” Sanada’s voice was rough and it sent shivers up Jiroh’s spine. Surprisingly, Yukimura smiled. Sanada’s answer was to his liking, for some reason.

“Agreed. He is my gift to you, after all.”

Jiroh looked down, wondering why Kirihara didn’t struggle. He simply lay beneath Yukimura, obedient. He glanced up at Jiroh and blew Jiroh a kiss. Jiroh didn’t have a chance to puzzle over whether or not the boy was mocking him as Sanada was working the ties around his wrists. He loosed them enough that he was able to turn Jiroh’s wrists opposite to the position they’d been in before and as he began to tighten the rope again, he murmured, “Turn.”

Jiroh obeyed, ducking under his raised arm and turning his body so that his back was to Kirihara and Yukimura. Jiroh’s eyes were wide and the fear must have been palpable, because Sanada smoothed his hair back and let his thumb linger over Jiroh’s temple. “If you fight me, I’ll have to hurt you.”

His voice was so soft, so commanding, and Jiroh felt tears spring to his eyes as he nodded quickly. He was ashamed of his own fear and of the desire that lay just beyond it. He could feel Yukimura and Kirihara moving on the bed, just behind him and he concentrated on Sanada’s face, needing a focal point. The only light in the room came from the fire on the far side of the room and Jiroh wondered if Sanada were as handsome in sunlight as he was in shadow.

Sanada stepped back and began to unlace the white shirt he wore. His gaze flickered to Yukimura briefly before settling on Jiroh again. He let the shirt slide off his shoulders and down his arms to pool at his feet. “I want you naked.” He told Yukimura and the quick intake of breath and rustle of clothing from behind him told Jiroh that Kirihara was still very much in the game.

“I take it you have no objections if I touch Akaya?” He inquired lightly. Sanada worked the laces on his pants, removing those at a much slower pace.

“He is your creature.” He responded, his voice just a little tight. Jiroh wasn’t fooled. Sanada was jealous. The realization gave him pause. If he were jealous, why was he allowing this? Facilitating it, even?

Jiroh heard Yukimura gasp behind him and the little whisper of Kirihara’s giggle reached his ears. Sanada’s jaw tightened.

“I do, however, have one small request.” He added.

There was a brief pause. “I would not refuse you.” Yukimura told him and Jiroh knew, from the tone of his voice, that it was true.

Sanada stepped out of his pants and left them where they were. Jiroh suddenly had something else to divert his attention. Sanada moved back to Jiroh, standing just in front of him, and stroked his arm lightly. Jiroh shivered, and thought he saw a flicker of benign amusement in his eyes.

“Akaya will do as I say and he will curb his tongue in the doing of it.”

Yukimura laughed suddenly and Jiroh jumped, startled. Sanada soothed him with soft touches and slow, circular strokes over his back and shoulders.

“Of course, Genichirou. You needn’t have asked.”

There was more rustling and then he could hear Yukimura murmuring to Kirihara, his lips against pale skin. “Do not pout, sweet. I’m going to take care of you.”

Sanada leaned in and his lips were warm against Jiroh’s ear. “Arch your back, Jiroh. Present yourself to Yukimura.”

Jiroh flushed, though he doubted it was visible in the flickering light, and scooted back just a bit, arching his back as Sanada had instructed. He raised his hips, his ass upturned as he knelt on the bed, hands tied fast to the bedpost. He looked up at Sanada from beneath lowered lashes and was consumed by a warm, pleased feeling when the man nodded at him, gifting him with a small smile. “Perfect.”

He stroked the length of Jiroh’s back and kissed his shoulder tenderly when he passed his hand over the pale curve of Jiroh’s ass. “Ready him, Akaya. Do it slowly.”

Jiroh tensed, unable to help himself, and Sanada comforted him. “Shhh, Jiroh. Remember what I said.”

Jiroh rested his head against the post, closing his eyes. If he did as he was told, perhaps they would let him go when they grew tired of him. He thought of Atobe, in his fear and abject misery, and knew that he wouldn’t be able to spare him this. He choked back a sob; aching for all that he’d lost. Even if they let him go, Atobe would never want him again. Not after this.

He felt Kirihara’s hands on his bottom, kneading him, spreading him. “He’s so sweet.” He heard the boy whisper. Yukimura murmured his agreement and stretched out beside Kirihara and Jiroh as Kirihara began to place small, nibbling kisses at the small of Jiroh’s back.

“No, Seiichi. I want you here, before me.” Sanada told him firmly. Kirihara didn’t utter a word, but Jiroh felt him hesitate momentarily. He was apparently unused to hearing anyone bark orders at his Master this way. Yukimura gave no indication that he was unused to taking them, however, as he left the bed and slinked his way over to Sanada, sliding one arm around his waist and bending to nuzzle his lover’s neck. Sanada allowed this for a few moments, never taking his eyes from Jiroh’s face, before grasping Yukimura’s wrist.

“On your knees before me.” He amended.

Kirihara moaned softly and began to stroke the insides of Jiroh’s thighs as he trailed kisses further down, over the cheeks of his ass. He bit his lip, feeling Kirihara’s warm breath heat his skin. Atobe had loved him many times before this and he had never done to Jiroh what Kirihara was doing to Jiroh at that moment.

Yukimura dropped gracefully to his knees before Sanada, hands steadying himself on the other man’s hips. Jiroh watched as Yukimura rubbed his face against Sanada’s erection, small, kittenish sounds vibrating in his throat. Sanada sighed, his eyelashes fluttering briefly. Yukimura brushed his lips over the very tip of Sanada’s cock, making it twitch against his mouth, making Sanada gasp, and Kirihara chose that moment to spread Jiroh’s cheeks and slide his tongue between them. He gasped, almost jerking upright but the look on Sanada’s face and the pressure of Kirihara’s tongue held him still.

He watched, dazed, as Yukimura took Sanada’s cock into his mouth and, seemingly, into his throat. Ecstasy flashed across Sanada’s face but he did not close his eyes. He fisted his hands into Yukimura’s hair and groaned deep in his throat.

“Spread your legs, Jiroh. Wider.” Sanada instructed, and it came to Jiroh like a whisper. He obeyed, arching his back further and opening himself to Kirihara. The wicked boy seemed to like that very much and he made a small sound of surrender as he gave himself up to his task. He kneaded Jiroh’s ass while he licked him slowly, tongue swirling in little circles for a few moments only to switch to long, hard strokes. He made greedy little noises as he sucked at Jiroh, nipping him once, sharply.

Jiroh cried out, his back stiffening, and his hands curled into impotent fists. Kirihara carefully kissed and licked the place he’d bitten and Jiroh felt the blunt pressure of his finger sliding along the crack of his ass. He panted, gasping for breath, and watched Yukimura’s dark head bobbing between Sanada’s thighs. His own cock was incredibly sensitive, wet and slick at the tip, pulsing with the need to release. “Gods, please…” he whimpered, beginning to squirm.

Sanada wound Yukimura’s hair around his fingers and flexed his hips a little. Yukimura did not break his rhythm.

“Go ahead, Jiroh. Ask for what you want. Tell Kirihara what you need.” Sanada said, voice soft.

Jiroh shook his head wildly, soft, light hair brushing his cheeks. He would not beg. Would not say those words. He thought he heard Yukimura chuckle and he watched those long, elegant fingers delve between Sanada’s legs. Jiroh’s cock was flushed a deep rose, aching with need, leaking copiously and still he could not force the words past his lips.

Sanada lay a hand on Yukimura’s shoulder and the pretty man ceased his attentions, letting Sanada’s cock slip from his mouth as he moved to nuzzle his balls.

“Tell him, Jiroh. Ask him to lick you harder.”

Jiroh moaned helplessly, his eyes drifting closed. He grasped the bedpost tightly and spread his knees a little more. His back was arched at an almost severe angle, his legs were spread and he was wide open, vulnerable. Kirihara worked another finger into him and stretched him slowly, his fingers curved just enough to make lights explode behind Jiroh’s eyes. He began to keen – a steady, needful wail.

“I can’t.” He gasped, thrusting back onto Kirihara’s fingers, mindless with lust. Yukimura moved away from Sanada, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Sanada pulled on the sash that bound Jiroh’s wrists and he was free. His muscles bunched across his shoulders and back and he did not struggle when Sanada tangled his hand into Jiroh’s wealth of silky hair.

Kirihara was fingering him skillfully, not deep enough to make him uncomfortable, and his angle was perfect. He opened his eyes; let his gaze take in Sanada’s beautifully sculptured torso, the muscles in his abdomen taut beneath his flesh. He looked over to Yukimura, his vision hazy, and locked eyes with him as Sanada guided his head to his cock – hard and still slick with Yukimura’s saliva. He parted his lips obediently and moaned when he felt Sanada’s cock slide over his tongue, full and pulsing. He sucked at him carefully, tasting him, tasting Yukimura.

Sanada moaned, petting and stroking Jiroh’s hair as he began to move his hips a little. Yukimura crawled to the bed, trailing fingertips up Sanada’s thigh as he rose to his feet.

“You’ve toyed with us long enough, Genichirou. What are you playing at?”

Jiroh writhed, his lips tightening around Sanada’s cock as Kirihara slid a third finger into his ass. He withdrew them and worked them back in with an excruciating slowness. Jiroh opened his eyes, on the verge of orgasm, and locked eyes with Sanada.

Yukimura wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, nuzzling his neck and stroked his belly gently. “I want to play, my love. I’ve been good, have I not?”

Yukimura’s words barely registered to Jiroh and he pleaded with his eyes. Begged for permission to come, pleaded for his safety and for his life and just when he thought Sanada would grant it to him, he pulled hard on Jiroh’s hair and his lips curved up in a frightening imitation of a smile.

He felt Kirihara’s fingers slide out of him and the bed dipped beside him as the boy crawled over to his Master. Sanada joined Jiroh on the bed, pulling him upright and toward him until their bodies pressed together. The angle was awkward and Sanada shifted, turning Jiroh to face away from him before pulling him into his lap.

Jiroh sucked in a breath as Sanada settled between his legs, arranging him the way he wanted. With one hand on Jiroh’s hip and the other circling the base of his cock, Sanada guided himself into the heat of his captive’s body.

Jiroh cried out, the pressure and width of Sanada’s cock penetrating him the only reality he could embrace. When Sanada was seated within him, he felt strong arms wrap around his waist and haul him upright. With his knees on either side of Sanada’s thighs and his back arched to take all of him in, he raised his arms to wrap around Sanada’s neck and was rewarded with that first, slow roll of his hips.

“Sanada, ohgod…” He whimpered, writhing mindlessly in Sanada’s lap. Palms flat against Jiroh’s belly, Sanada guided him in the dance, teaching him the rhythm, showing him the way.

Jiroh moaned, unable to keep from giving voice to his pleasure. He opened his eyes, leveled his gaze on Kirihara and Yukimura, who stood before them beside the bed. Yukimura held the boy against him, cradled against his chest. Kirihara’s legs were wrapped snugly around Yukimura’s waist and the sounds he was making only furthered Jiroh’s own desperate lust. Yukimura was driving hard into him, fucking him with quick, shallow thrusts. His hands were tight on the boy’s ass, gripping and probably bruising that delicate flesh. Kirihara braced his hands on Yukimura’s shoulders and threw his head back, delirious moans of pleasure spilling off his lips.

Jiroh ground back against Sanada, trying to hurry his pace and he gasped raggedly when Sanada’s fingers wrapped around his erection. He stroked him slowly, in perfect time with his carefully aimed thrusts and Jiroh slid his fingers into the back of Sanada’s hair.

Yukimura smiled wickedly at him, then, revealing a pair of small, pointed fangs that he caressed seductively with the tip of his tongue. Jiroh made some small, terrified sound and watched, horrified, as Yukimura sank his fangs into Kirihara’s neck – just where the neck and shoulder joined. Kirihara cried out his triumph just as the cold fear settled in Jiroh’s heart. He heard Sanada shout in barely restrained pleasure a split second before he struck, an echo of Yukimura’s own bite and Jiroh watched two thin trails of blood snaking the length of Kirihara’s back.

Sanada was sucking at the wounds he’d made, slurping and moaning incoherently and all at once the pleasure claimed Jiroh. Sanada held him still against him as he fed from his body, forcing his pleasure and taking it back in the endless wave of his orgasm. Jiroh screamed, his fingers pulling at Sanada’s hair in a sublime combination of ecstasy and agony.

He was weak from the force of his climax and blood loss and he wondered, as he felt consciousness slide away from him, if this was what death felt like.

As his eyes fluttered closed, he heard Sanada whisper his name, his voice rough and thick with Jiroh’s blood. And then he knew no more.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was cold, the night air an unwelcome contrast to the warmth of the house, the fire. Jiroh huddled further into his Master’s cloak, shivering even while his skin shone with a thin layer of sweat. He thought his teeth were chattering but he couldn’t be certain as the only sound he could hear was the thrum of his own blood through his veins. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he could hear the dark whisper of his Master, guiding him. For the first time in his life, Jiroh experienced a love that bordered on religion. He wanted to kneel, to worship, to kill and to drain until the only thing that mattered was the blood coursing through his veins. The blood he would share with his Master.

He heard the rustling through the brush much sooner than he might have before. He felt Atobe, smelled him before he caught sight of him. Such perfection in the moonlight, the scent of the forest on him, the clean, heady scent of his sweat and worry. Jiroh longed for him, longed for the feel of that beautiful, familiar body against his own. His Master’s amusement tickled the corners of his mind and he felt, rather than heard, his command.

“Jiroh!” Atobe’s long legs were eating up the distance between them, his relief evident. “Where have you been? I’ve been all through these woods!”

As he drew nearer, Jiroh smiled beneath the hood of his cloak, his face obscured by shadow, and he tasted his own blood as needlesharp fangs pierced his tongue. He sucked, spreading the sweetness along the roof of his mouth.

“I’m here, Atobe.” He eased the hood back; beckoning to the boy he adored.

“I’m here.”


~fin~