Fantasies Come True

Fantasies Come True
by Andromeda-Ianko, (c)2007

A/N: This is my first attempt at yaoi, so any and all reviews would be most helpful. Also, for those of you who dislike and/or despise "Uke Goemon," please know that while I share the sentiment, I have never actually read a "Uke Goemon" story. This was written to help wrap my head around that particular concept, and was inspired in part by an episode of Tales from the Darkside in which people are sucked into another person's dreams.

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

There was just something about him. Maybe it was his attitude. Maybe it was his presence. Maybe it was his skill. He really didn’t know what exactly it was, but something about Goemon bothered Jigen.

At first Jigen thought he was just jealous. Goemon was a master at his art, and he did cut quite the imposing figure. But Jigen was a master in his own art, too. To compare swords to guns, well, one might as well compare apples to kiwis, and skip the oranges all together.

No, it had to be something else.

Jigen pondered the matter for months as a way of killing time between heists. He would sit on the couch, eyes hidden by the brim of his fedora, and study the samurai in meditation. It wasn’t until Goemon lost his temper after Sensei Jinen died that Jigen realized exactly what it was that bothered him.

Goemon was too quiet.

He was too proud.

He was too rigid.

Too honorable.

Too focused.

Too controlled.

Just seeing Goemon lose his temper delighted Jigen in unspeakable ways. He could imagine the shame Goemon felt later about losing control of his emotions like that; and that made Jigen think of more things that bothered him.

Goemon was too shy around women.

He was, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, too inexperienced in matters of intimacy.

He was too easily embarrassed.

To see Goemon lose his temper in a fit rage was one thing, but to see him lose control in a fit of raw pleasure? To see him writhe in desire and shame? To shatter him and pick up the pieces, knowing the samurai wouldn't know how to handle such tenderness? That was goal enough for Jigen.

But being realistic, Jigen didn't know how one went about seducing a samurai into submission. That was Lupin's department; and while Lupin had managed to lure Jigen to his bed a few times, the gunman doubted the same techniques would work on Goemon. Perhaps it require more of a Taming of the Shrew approach....

Hm. Oh well. At least Jigen could dream.

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

“What the...hello?”

Goemon scanned his surroundings, puzzled how he had come to be there. He and Jigen had been waiting at the hotel for Lupin and Fujiko to return. He had been meditating and Jigen had fallen asleep on the couch. The next thing Goemon knew, he was here.

But where exactly was "here"?

Goemon was surrounded by darkness and fog. An as yet undetermined light source provided enough light for Goemon to see where he was going, but little else.

“Hello?” Goemon called. “Lupin? Fujiko? Jigen?”

The environment changed. A hazy light shone off to one side, beckoning to Goemon. Having no other options, Goemon turned toward the haze and walked into it. He found himself on a balcony that looked like it had been plucked from a soap opera set. It was evening, the sun having just set, and at the far end stood a figure with his back to Goemon. Goemon automatically reached for his sword, intent on getting some answers from this dark figure even it meant threatening the man with death, but Zantetsuken was gone. Puzzled, Goemon looked down at where his sword should have been. Sure enough, it was gone. What’s more, his clothes were different. His gi and hakama had vanished and were replaced by a white dress shirt and black slacks.

“This has to be a dream,” Goemon muttered to himself. “It must be. I must have fallen asleep while meditating. Strange...”

The dark figure chuckled. “Am I really such bad company that you have taken to talking to your self?”

That voice. It could only be...

“Jigen?”

The figure turned. There stood Daisuke Jigen, fedora and all, in a formal suit. He smiled affectionately at Goemon, which made the samurai uneasy and reluctant to approach the gunman. Seeing this, Jigen moved toward Goemon instead.

“Are you feeling alright?” Jigen asked, placing his hands squarely upon Goemon’s shoulders. “I haven’t offended you, have I?” He reached up with one hand and brushed a stray lock of hair back from Goemon’s brow.

Goemon blinked. What the hell kind of dream was this? He shook his head to shake off Jigen’s hand. He failed. Jigen’s hand not only completed it’s task of whisking away the stray hair, but went on to tenderly caress the samurai’s cheek. Goemon’s headshake merely succeeded in giving Jigen a satisfactory answer.

“Good,” Jigen replied, “because the night is still young and I haven’t yet begun to show you....” Here, Jigen pressed a soft kiss into Goemon’s brow. Goemon stiffened, but found that he could not pull away. Jigen took his reaction for panic and took the samurai into his arms. He assured Goemon that everything would be alright, that nothing would hurt too much as long as he relaxed.

All the while, Goemon fought to move and back away, but his body refused. He knew this was a dream; therefore, he aught to be able to change the dream. He concentrated as hard as he could, willing the dream to change, but to no avail. He would just have to play along and wait for someone to wake him up.

Having resigned himself to this decision, Goemon’s body relaxed into Jigen’s arms. The gunman squeezed the samurai a little tighter, rubbing wide, soothing circles into his back. Goemon sighed and rested his head on Jigen’s shoulder, his arms at his sides. As much as he didn’t want this, he had to admit that Jigen’s hands did feel good. It was odd though; Goemon was slightly taller than Jigen in real life. In this dream, Jigen was the taller of the two.

Jigen continued to rub Goemon’s back while his free hand came up to work at Goemon’s neck. His fingers dug gently into the back of Goemon’s neck, seeking out the nerves that stimulated the pleasure center of Goemon’s brain and drawing forth a soft moan that surprised the samurai to no end. Goemon blushed, embarrassed to have made such a sound, but then Jigen’s fingers stroked that magic patch of skin again and Goemon could not keep silent.

“That’s it,” said Jigen, “just relax. Let me take care of everything.”

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

Lupin stumbled into the hotel room feeling like he’d been hit by a Mack truck. He saw Jigen on the couch and briefly wondered where Goemon was, as the samurai was not meditating in his usual spot. He flipped the lights on and headed to the bathroom, remembering belatedly that he would have to go down the hall for ice and tripping over a suitcase when he turned to fetch the bucket from the night stand. In resulting crash and litany of curses woke Jigen.

“Hey, Lupin, you okay?”

Moments later, Lupin returned to the front room with a very dented ice bucket. He looked like death warmed over, so Jigen took pity on him and went to fetch ice so that Lupin could sit down without further maiming himself. As he settled down into the armchair, Lupin noticed Goemon sitting right where Lupin had last seen him, looking a bit dazed and maybe a little relieved. Or was that disappointment? Lupin shrugged. He figured that he had merely overlooked Goemon when he came in and left it at that. As for the look on Goemon’s face, let the samurai deal with his own issues. There was no way he would ever willingly talk to anyone about his problems, and Lupin was in no state of mind to bother with his own problems tonight, let alone anyone else’s.


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The following evening, Goemon did not meditate. He trained. He cleaned Zantetsuken. He sat quietly and eavesdropped on Lupin’s telephone conversation with Fujiko under the guise of meditation, but he did not actually meditate. He was afraid that if he meditated, he would find himself in that dream again with Jigen’s arms around him stroking his back and neck. To make matters worse, he wasn’t sure if he was afraid because the dream repulsed him, or if he was afraid because he had, to his shame, enjoyed it. Either way, he was in no hurry to find out.

Unfortunately, refraining from meditation left Goemon on edge and out of sorts. The little band of thieves was between heists for the moment, so there was no danger of jeopardizing his friends in the middle of a job. However, he wasn’t the best of company either. So, Goemon isolated himself in the little room that he and Jigen shared, knowing that Jigen would leave him alone until well after midnight when the samurai was sure to be asleep. For this, Goemon was thankful. He could face the real Jigen knowing that he would never treat him the way Dream Jigen had. The real Jigen would never pull Goemon into his arms and hold him. The real Jigen would never brush away a stray lock of hair or caress his neck, or show affection of any sort. Knowing this gave Goemon a kind of cold comfort and allowed him to sleep.

When Jigen went to bed that night, he found Goemon curled up on his side with his face to the wall. Jigen frowned. Goemon usually slept the whole night through on his back. But then, people changed sleeping positions all the time; it all depended on what was comfortable. So, Jigen shrugged it off and climbed into bed. He fell asleep while watching Goemon, hoping the samurai would turn over.

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

Goemon’s eyes snapped open and his body tensed. He was right back where he had left off the night before. There were Dream Jigen’s hands rubbing his back and neck. There was Dream Jigen’s voice cooing and crooning reassuringly as he continued his ministrations. Goemon’s efforts to avoid returning to the dream had been fruitless.

And then Dream Jigen dipped his head and kissed the curve of Goemon’s neck, and the samurai gasped.

“Liked that, did you?” Jigen chuckled. He licked and sucked at that area a moment more before moving on to the spot behind Goemon’s earlobe. Goemon choked back another gasp, determined not to make any more noise. He wanted at least that much control over his own body. He would not give Dream Jigen the satisfaction of hearing him moan under the gunman’s hands. He would not whimper when the gunman licked and nipped at his jaw line. His breath would not hitch, his mouth would not open, his eyes would not widen.

Jigen’s hand slipped below the waistline of Goemon’s slacks, allowing his fingers to graze the firm, rounded flesh of Goemon’s buttocks. Goemon squeaked. In that instant, he realized two things: 1) his shirt had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared; and 2) he wasn’t wearing any sort of undergarment.

“Still so tense,” said Jigen, working his fingers into the small of Goemon’s back. He sighed and kissed Goemon’s temple. “We’ll have to work on that.”

Goemon’s face went red, and again he wasn’t sure if it was because of shame or desire. He was afraid to know the answer and desperate to regain his rapidly dissolving control over his traitorous body. He wanted to push away from Jigen, but he couldn’t move. He tried to keep quiet, but the noises wouldn’t be silenced. His member twitched in response to Jigen’s attentions, but then fell into an uneasy dormancy because his mind insisted upon resisting. He was all sorts of frustrated, and he just wanted it all to stop.

And suddenly Jigen did stop. For a moment, Jigen and Goemon stood perfectly still, hands frozen in place, with nothing but the sound of shaky breathing to be heard. Then Jigen pulled away with his hands on Goemon’s shoulders and stared the samurai in the face. Jigen’s eyes were full of passion and concern, desire and worry.

“Oh, baby,” Jigen whispered. Carefully, the gunman brought his hand up to Goemon’s face and ran his thumb under the samurai’s eye. Goemon hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Jigen asked. “Why are you so upset?”

Goemon had never cried so openly in front of another person except in grief. Grief was at least an acceptable reason to cry in front of another person. He had never cried in frustration, though, and the fact that he was now made him more frustrated. Of course, the more frustrated Goemon became, the more he cried; and the more he cried, the more frustrated he became. It was a truly vicious cycle that only resulted in yet another round of comforting embraces and kisses, all of which served to frustrate Goemon into a loud, heavy sobbing fit.

Jigen just stood there and let Goemon have his cry. He didn’t whisper reassurances. He didn’t force anything upon the samurai. He just stood there and held Goemon close with one hand stroking his hair. That, in and of itself, was a comfort.

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

Goemon awoke with a start to find his pillow damp. He heard the door open and closed his eyes. He didn’t care what time it was. He refused to be seen like this and was determined to make the others think he was still asleep.

“This isn’t like him at all,” a voice whispered.

“Tell me about it.” said the other. “I woke up and found him shaking like you wouldn’t believe. And it’s friggin’ creepy because I had just had this dream about him being really upset.”

“And I’m sure you there to comfort him.”

“Not this again.”

“You know you want him.”

“That’s my business. Anyway, maybe he’s sick or something.”

“Hmm...perhaps.... It’s just as well. The next heist can be pulled off with only two people. Fujiko and I will complete the job. You stay here with Goemon.”

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They were Jigen’s dreams, not Goemon’s. That brought Goemon at least some relief. But the problem was far from solved; he still had no idea why he was being pulled into Jigen’s dreams, and that meant he didn’t know how to stop it either. He couldn’t very well keep Jigen from sleeping, and his own sleeping habits didn’t seem to have any bearing on the matter at all. He couldn’t just kill Jigen. There was no way he was going to approach Jigen and ask him to dream about something—or rather someone—else. No, Goemon would have to deal with this from inside the dreams.

But what if he couldn’t stop the dreams?

And what if he didn’t want them to stop?

Goemon had always prided himself on his focus and control. He was proud of his ability to stand on his own. Being with Lupin had taught him that he could rely on others, but in the end he was still alone, his own master, and in complete control of himself. The dreams denied him that control. He couldn’t make his body do what he wanted it to, but he wasn’t forced into anything that made him uncomfortable. Dream Jigen was very patient and seemed content to hold Goemon until the samurai was comfortable enough to move on to more intimate activities. He would not force Goemon into something he wasn’t comfortable with. Goemon could deal with force; he could fight and resist the use of force. He could not fight tenderness. He didn’t know how to handle it. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to like it.

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

He was lying down. Of course he was. He’d been in bed all day. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see him crying.

Goemon sighed. It was nice to have a little solitude in which to reflect. Just him and a bed and fingers in his hair....

Wait.

Fingers in his hair?

Goemon’s eyes popped open to find Dream Jigen gazing down upon him.

“I knew you’d come around sooner or later,” Dream Jigen said. “You’re so obedient. Now just lie back and let me take care of you.”

Goemon and tried to sit up, but his wrists and hands were secured to some kind of bar. Dream Jigen just smiled and leaned closer. He pressed his lips to Goemon’s brow, kissing a line down to the spot between his eyes, then just under each eye, until he reached the samurai’s lips. Goemon remained perfectly still, trying to assess the situation. He was completely naked and incapacitated while Jigen lacked only his shirt, shoes, and socks. The bedspread was cool and taut, the bed freshly made, and the room was dark except for the light of the many white candles surrounding the bed. The scenery in Jigen’s dreams changed a little more often than Goemon was used to. It kept him off-balance, and that, in addition to his current position, made him nervous.

Calloused hands traced his features. Gentle lips teased and coaxed his own open. A clever tongue invaded his mouth and surprised the hell out of Goemon. It distracted him from what the hands were doing, occupying his attention until suddenly the tongue was torn away and Goemon’s bottom was lifted to so that a towel could be placed beneath him. And then the tongue returned before Goemon could cry out, lulling him back into distraction.

Jigen kissed down Goemon’s neck, nipping and licking seemingly random patches of skin and delighting at the series of gasps and moans his attentions produced. His hands followed parallel paths, teasing the skin he had already visited with feather-light touches. Goemon’s breath quickened, his face flushed. As hard as he tried, he could not keep silent as Jigen’s mouth made its way down his stomach, inching closer and closer to his manhood, which he often neglected and, to his shame and embarrassment, was responding positively to Jigen’s ministrations. However, his mind was still attempting some kind of resistance, and so while the neglected appendage twitched and stirred, it remained flaccid.

The clever tongue that had so lovingly explored Goemon’s mouth now dipped into his navel. Jigen’s beard reached a little lower and tickled the flesh below that little indentation. Goemon squirmed and mewled, disgusted with himself for being so weak. Finally, Jigen reached Goemon’s shaft. Goemon breathed a sigh of relief; surely this would all be over soon. Jigen would fellate him to erection, stretch his anal walls, a quick fuck, and that would be it. He just had to wait a little longer, that was all, and then he would be free and the dreams would stop.

But Jigen didn’t touch Goemon’s shaft. His beard tickled the base and sides, but his mouth went on to pay special attention to Goemon’s inner thighs, first the down the left to the ankle, and then the same progression down the right. Goemon raised his head to see what Jigen was doing, wanting to know what kind of pleasure the gunman could possibly derive from such slow, gentle torture, but he couldn’t see anything useful. However, when he dropped his head back down on the pillow, he discovered a new addition to the scenery. Goemon found himself staring into a very large mirror suspended above the bed. He could see his entire body clearly reflected, every line, every detail. He saw the horror in his eyes upon recognizing the aroused flush on his cheeks. He saw the strange harnesses that were secured to his upper and lower halves. The upper harness was fastened around his chest and up his arms, and was responsible for keeping his hands secured to the bar he’d noticed earlier. The lower harness was fastened around his pelvis and thighs, and ran down to his knees. He saw the soft towel that had been spread out beneath him. He saw the little table that had suddenly appeared beside the bed, presumably at the same time the mirror had. He saw the basin and the water pitcher on the table, and the towels and the soap and the large sponge...and the straight razor.

The lower harness was then raised a bit, spreading and elevating Goemon’s legs and bottom in an undignified manner. At that angle, Goemon had no alternative but to look into the mirror to see what was happening below his waist. Goemon had never received a sponge bath before, but he was fairly certain that they weren't usually given with such zeal. He watched in horror and fascination as Jigen wet the sponge and bathed his genitals with care, then took the bar of soap and lathered the area. He watched as Jigen lathered his hands and massaged his quivering thighs, then mentally berated himself for allowing his thighs to quiver. He gasped sharply as a soapy finger entered his rectum, swirling and pulsing inside him. He shuddered and jerked when the finger bumped his prostate, stroked it, nudged it, massaged it; and he had to choke back the moan that threatened to issue forth when the finger was withdrawn.

He never even felt the straight razor; he watched Jigen shave his genitals, but he never felt the razor touch his skin. It was the same when Jigen shaved his legs and armpits. Goemon wanted to cringe and curl in on himself. To be naked and incapacitated was one thing; but to be naked and hairless like a little boy was another matter entirely. And then the sponge made a tour of his body to wash away any remaining traces of soap.

The harness lowered again, but the bed had been replaced by a metal table, much like one seen in a hospital. The mirror was still there, and Goemon watched as Jigen continued to prepare his body for some unknown sexual act. He recognized an apparatus in the mirror that made him not only blush but squirm with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to plead, to protest, but there was Jigen’s finger again, this time cold with lubricant, but no less skilled. And this time when the finger was withdrawn, it was replaced with two, then three, and then an enema nozzle. He wasn’t sure what was more humiliating: the fact that he was being cleaned out and hadn’t the power to stop it; or the fact that his being vulnerable at that very moment, experiencing that rush of fluid take away control of his bowels, was terribly, shamefully arousing. Afterwards, the harnesses were raised and Jigen cleaned him up.

‘Surely now he will get it over with,’ Goemon thought, shuddering as the sponge pressed and rubbed against his groin. ‘Surely he must be ready. Surely it will soon be over.’

The bed was back, and Goemon’s upper body was lowered all the way down to the bedspread. His lower body, however, remained slightly elevated, though a pillow had been placed beneath him to provide more support and stability. Jigen, now completely disrobed, knelt between his spread legs and stroked his thighs.

“This,” he said without preamble, “is called ‘the lute string.’” Before Goemon could ask, Jigen ducked his head and took the samurai’s penis unto his mouth. His hands extended upwards to Goemon’s nipples, lightly teasing them to hardness. Goemon gasped and panted, and even tried to buck his hips, but could not. He moaned in pleasure as Jigen’s mouth quickened and sucked more firmly, and cried out when Jigen’s fingers pinched his nipples. He felt a kind of pressure build up, knew his climax was building, and he sobbed when Jigen pulled his mouth away and denied him release. He panted and mewled, practically begged Jigen to let him climax, but it was to no avail. Jigen merely chuckled and stroked his thigh, nipping and licking at the sensitive flesh and driving Goemon out of his mind.

And so the pattern was set. Jigen would gently stimulate Goemon to the edge of orgasm, then pull him back and start over. Sometimes Jigen used his hands and mouth to bring Goemon to the brink; sometimes he used a few basic tools: sponges; feathers; massage oil. And it was all done with the greatest care, the gentlest pressure, and the most tender caresses Goemon had ever known until at last he broke down and cried in desperation.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Jigen, please...”

Jigen smiled and kissed the weeping samurai. “Not yet,” he said, and returned his attention to the overstimulated region between Goemon’s legs. Goemon begged and pleaded, sobbing and moaning as Jigen’s tongue licked the underside of his shaft and teased his entrance. He stared up at his reflection and watched as Jigen administered Goemon’s first rimming, and suddenly he understood why he’d been given the enema. His eyes bugged and rolled back; his breath hitched. When that was over, the harnesses were removed and Goemon was turned over onto his stomach. He had neither the energy nor the desire to move, and so he put up no resistance when Jigen placed a number of pillows beneath him so that his backside was elevated as if in anticipation of a spanking. All he wanted was Jigen. He wanted Jigen’s hands on his body, Jigen’s tongue caressing the insides of his orifices; and if Jigen would ever get around to it, Goemon wanted the gunman’s manhood plunged deep inside him.

Goemon then received his second rimming, which ended when a long, probe-like plug was inserted into his anus. And when Goemon had calmed down a bit, Jigen flipped a switch at the base of the plug and it began to pulse and vibrate.

“Please,” Goemon begged. “Jigen, I need you, please.” He gasped and moaned as the vibrator took him. “I want you to take me now, please.”

Jigen turned the vibrator on high and stepped back to watch Goemon writhe.

“Jigen!” he moaned, panting and bucking, and clenching his inner muscles when he discovered that doing so made the vibrating plug press harder into his prostate gland. “Jigen, please, I need you. I want to feel you inside of me. I need to feel you inside of me! Please...”

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

“Goemon, buddy, wake up!”

“Please...”

“Goemon!”

Goemon awoke with a startled cry, shaking and trembling. His eyes darted around and finally fixed on Jigen, who looked both relieved and concerned as he sat at Goemon’s bedside and smoothed his hair back from his brow.

“Goemon, are you okay?” Jigen asked. Goemon nodded, panting, and sat up. There was a terrible, throbbing ache in his loins and backside, and he knew of only one way to cure it. Before Jigen could blink, Goemon latched onto the gunman and kissed him deeply and desperately.

“Whoa, what the hell...?”

“Take me.”

Jigen’s eyes widened in extreme surprise. “Care to repeat that?”

“You have been pulling me into your dreams,” Goemon ground out, trying to ignore his painful erection. “You have been slowly torturing me with your tenderness and passion. You woke up and left me hanging. So if you don’t take me right now and finish what you started, I will reunite you with your ancestors!”

Jigen smiled and chuckled to himself, holding Goemon and restraining him as he thrashed and pleaded for release, even threatening more horrible consequences than death if Jigen did not comply. He waited until Goemon calmed and relaxed, then laid him down on the bed. Goemon panted and moaned, actually wishing that Jigen would fall asleep again so Goemon could return to that slow, sweet torture. But then he heard Jigen undress, and he felt Jigen remove his gi and hakama. He swallowed as Jigen knelt between his legs and leaned down for a kiss. And this time Goemon cooperated. This time Goemon had the chance to reciprocate. This time Goemon was given the pleasure of feeling the real Jigen stretch and lubricate his entrance. He was given the pleasure of feeling not a tongue or a vibrator, but Jigen’s manhood enter and thrust into him while those nimble, calloused hands caressed his body and that clever tongue teased his nipples. He was given the pleasure of a long awaited release.

And Jigen got to see Goemon lose control in a fit of raw pleasure. He got to see Goemon writhe in desire and shame. He got to see Goemon shatter under his attentions and was allowed to pick up the pieces.

Wish granted, fantasy fulfilled.

But as with all wishes, there was a price.

~***~~***~~***~~***~~***~

Jigen found himself in a dark room illuminated only by candlelight. He was naked and secured to a strange, ring-like apparatus that forced him into a kind of spread kneeling position. If flipped one way, he was face-down and looked ready for a cavity search; if flipped the other way, he was face up and looked ready for castration. At the moment, he was perpendicular to the floor, head up and ass down, and could see out into the room. He was surrounded on all sides by mirrors and could see only blackness where the mirrors didn’t reach. No matter where he looked, up, down, to one side or another, he would be able to see what was happening to him from any number of angles. In one of the black gaps stood a table that held a number of items, most notably a water pitcher, a can of shaving cream, a straight razor, a number of alligator clips of various sizes, and a large, ridged vibrator the size of a small coffee thermos. He didn’t like where this was heading.

Goemon entered, clad only in a pair of black slacks and holding two items: a large sponge and ping pong paddle.

“I knew you’d be waiting here for me,” Goemon said. “You’re so obedient. But you’ve been rather naughty lately, and must be punished.”

Goemon flipped Jigen face-down and swatted Jigen's bottom just hard enough to allow the gunman to feel the smooth, unforgiving surface and yelp.

“But don’t worry,” the samurai continued, rubbing the pink mark on the rounded flesh of Jigen’s buttocks, “when it’s all over, sensei will take good care of you.”


(Payback's a bitch, isn't it? ^_^)