Hello again! I didn't expect to write another Sengoku Basara fic so soon, but it came to me suddenly and practically wrote itself.
This is my first attempt at writing them as a true pairing. I didn't have the guts to take it any further, but maybe I will try something truly smutty next time. I have to work up my courage first. For now, I'd be most appreciative of any comments or criticism you could offer on characterization or style.
Thank you for reading!
They had been fighting fiercely for hours now. The clanging of metal and grunts of exertion rang out over the small clearing where the two warriors faced off. The setting sun was disappearing over the tree tops, throwing out its last rays in a blaze of red light.
Muscles were beginning to feel the strain, breaths were coming more raggedly from heaving chests. And yet the flow of adrenaline kept them going. Neither man even considered calling it quits or postponing the conclusion of the fight. This was going to be the end of it, here and now.
Sanada Yukimura raised his red spears to a ready stance, observing his opponent and waiting for his next move. He had received several scratches on his shoulders and arms, but none were deep enough to warrant more than a momentary flinch. He had even managed to land a few shallow blows of his own, though they were even more superficial than his own wounds.
Still, he struggled on. This was his chance to prove himself. Again and again he had faced off against the one-eyed dragon, and each time they had been interrupted by the appearance of other combatants. More than once Takeda had stepped in at the last moment and prevented Masamune from seeing their battle through to its fatal conclusion. But this time was different. No one was around. No one even knew that the two were here. There was nothing to stop them from settling the score once and for all, as true warriors.
Date Masamune watched his opponent carefully. Despite his brave show he could tell Yukimura was tiring. As had happened in their past bouts, he would soon become slower, weaker. Even in this state, Yukimura was strong enough to take out the better part of an opposing army. But against the formidable dragon this weakening would be fatal. Masamune could see the almost inevitable end that was drawing ever closer. They had promised that this would be their final fight, the ultimate settling of old scores. Still, there was no animosity. He did not wish to take the young tiger cub's life. On the contrary, to do so seemed almost a sacrilege, to deprive Japan of one of its preeminent warriors. But to spare him would also mean a great dishonor.
Masamune prepared for what would be the last clash. He would settle this once and for all with his strongest attack. It had been fun playing with the cub. More fun than he could ever remember having on the field of battle before. But it could not go on forever. All good things came to an end, as Masamune knew only too well.
With all six claws unsheathed he rushed at Yukimura in a blaze of raw energy and power. The red warrior lifted his spears and plunged head first into a counter attack. He anticipated his opponent's move and tried to throw his momentum in the other direction to avoid the blow and knock Masamune off balance.
But Yukimura had judged wrong. Before he could utter a yelp of surprise the one-eyed dragon was grasping him by the throat, all but his main katana discarded. The sword pointed directly at his heart, hovering mere centimeters from his flesh. He was utterly defeated, vulnerable at his two most critical points. His mind reeled as he tried to comprehend how Masamune had achieved such a coup without giving any indication in his initial attack.
Yukimura could only drop his spears, not in a display of resignation but in acceptance and admiration. The one-eyed dragon truly deserved the name, and Yukimura felt a strange satisfaction in knowing that he had given his life to such a worthy opponent.
Masamune gazed down into Yukimura's face, seeing first the shock of realization and then the complacency of a warrior at peace with his own death. The rapidity of the transition shocked him. He had expected the young tiger to fight back, even at this moment of ultimate vulnerability. He had achieved a decisive blow, but he hadn't anticipated that Yukimura would simply accept it with equanimity. This wasn't how it was supposed to be at all. Yukimura should have fought him tooth and nail. There was no satisfaction in this.
"Idiot," he growled into the younger man's face, merely inches from his own. He wanted to see that desperate anger that Yukimura had shown only moments ago. Instead when their eyes met he saw a gentle expression. It conveyed warmth and admiration and forgiveness. Not the fire that he had expected to see.
This just wasn't right. Masamune had killed dozens, hundreds of men, many of them face to face like this. But he had never felt such a repugnance before. He contemplated the young man before him, and what it would feel like to watch the life drain from his body and those bright eyes go dim. Even if his victim seemed at peace with this outcome, Masamune realized that his own soul rebelled against it. Yukimura was vitality itself. Nothing would be achieved by extinguishing that vigor and passion. Masamune realized that what he desired, what he had always desired from their first meeting, was to capture that passion for himself, not to extinguish it.
Masamune had never been one for extensive introspection. He had come to the conclusion that what he needed from Yukimura was not his death, but beyond that he did not know what to do with him. Going with his instincts had always served him in the past, and so he gazed on his helpless opponent, deciding what to do next.
Without another moment of hesitation Masamune shifted his grip from Yukimura's throat to the back of his neck, using that hand to close the small distance between their faces, meeting the younger man's lips with his own. He discarded his sword and any other thoughts as their lips met fiercely.
They kissed the way they battled: with raw intensity and determination, each struggling for the upper hand. Yukimura had hesitated for only a moment, a strangled cry of surprise smothered before it could leave his throat. He had been expecting the cold bite of a blade, and instead was consumed with overwhelming heat. He had responded on instinct, taking this up as a new sort of challenge.
The kiss was urgent and brutal, with no hint of tenderness. Lips became swollen from the force, and blood trickled out where teeth met with lips and roaming tongues. Hands explored wide shoulders and broad backs, tugged at hair and clothing. It took several interminable moments before they broke apart, chests heaving.
When he could finally collect his thoughts again Yukimura looked up at his long-time rival, question and excitement both plain on his ever-expressive face. He looked equally ready to cut off Masamune's head or beg him for more. It was enough to make Masamune give an uncharacteristic chuckle.
"Since I have defeated you, Sanada Yukimura, your life and body are mine to do with as I wish. Prepare yourself."
Masamune could have laughed out loud at the look of astonishment that accompanied Yukimura's fierce blush. Still, he offered no complaints. Before his serious façade could slip Masamune turned on his heel and began to march off the battlefield. He stopped a short distance away to see that Yukimura was still standing stone still in shock.
"That means you're coming with me, tiger cub."
He turned and continued on, smirking to himself as he heard the younger man scramble behind him. His instincts had been right again, he thought. This was a much more satisfying outcome. He'd probably have to face the wrath of Takeda eventually, but life would be much more interesting with his greatest rival by his side from now on, together where they were always meant to be.
Interesting, indeed.