Two ficlets

Prompt: Medicine Seller/Kayo, masturbation as a ritual
Words: 335
Warnings: explicit (het) sexual content


At first it is merely a sharp tugging, as if on a string. He can almost feel it tightening around his little finger, cutting into his flesh, insistent.

"Ho...?" he murmurs. Curious now, he tugs back, follows that glowing red line to its source.

He finds it in the form of dusky skin shining with sweat, cherry-stained lips parted and gasping, dark hair in glistening disarray. He crooks one brow, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

"How dangerous... Kayo-san."

She does not hear him, of course; does not see him there, watching from above. Nor can she know just what it is she's doing, calling out to him in heated whispers like that, one hand moving between her legs, the other moving up her body to cup the heavy spill of one breast. Her eyes squeezed shut, her brows knitted with feverish intensity, she calls for him again and again, each another sharp tug on the line between them. Suddenly she throws her head back, and her body arches up, shuddering; she muffles her cry with the back of her fist.

Her eyes flutter open as her body relaxes, looking straight at him. Slowly, they widen, and he can see the beginnings of some sort of realization dawning there. He has been seen - or perhaps she only senses and knows by the prickling at the back of her neck, the sudden chill over her sweat-dampened body.

In her shock she has dropped the string, and he is returned abruptly to himself.

"You mustn't, Kayo-san," he says softly. "You mustn't meddle in such dangerous things."

He will admonish her when next they meet - as they surely soon will, after what she has done. He imagines that her cheeks will flush hotly, rose-pink even through the darkness of her skin; imagines her horrified stammering, her panicked embarrassment. A dull ache curls warm and pleasant through his loins. "It seems... it can't be helped," he says, lips curling.

He cannot bring himself to be sorry.

Prompt: Medicine Seller/otherself, Fangs
Words: 171
Warnings: Explicit (homosexual) content


Sometimes, it is like this: his other bound and growling, straining to break free.

He smiles, a baring of sharp, neat little teeth. "No..." he murmurs. "Your part is done here... for now."

Sometimes, his other comes to him willingly, remembering their purpose, their one desire. Sometimes, it is like this.

By the time he is guiding his other's cock inside him, sliding down onto it with a hissing breath, his other's fangs are sinking into his flesh; he jerks, grimacing as his skin tears, as his other laps at the blood that flows forth. To maintain balance (in retaliation, he admits to himself with a smirk,) he winds his hand in that silvery hair and yanks his other's head back, scrapes his own fangs down the long, brown line of his other's throat. The blood that trickles between his lips is incidental; the same blood runs through both of their veins.

His other gasps, jerking up with a strangled groan, thrusting deep inside. The resistance never lasts for very long.