By Rykea Night
A derisive breeze coursed through the depth of the tainted forest, dead foliage fluttering through the air like thousands of powdery moths. An array of melted gold, crimson and harvest moon consumed the wondering spirits and apparitions, feeding their loss to the decaying soul of the wood. It was a place of death and life, betrayal and trust, freedom and pain. A place they knew they would never forget.
Kantarou Ichinomiya gazed upon the remains of the stone seal, disheartened and consumed by mixed emotions. This place meant too many things, too many abstract images, too many promises foretold. He sighed, closing his eyes, sensing the many spirits of the woodland fading for another season, fading to wherever summer's essence goes.
"You look consumed."
The folklorist cast his crimson stare upon the oni-eating tengu standing beside him. He rested nonchalant, cold, detached, denying his face of any expression or thirst, sentimental or humanity. Though it was there, hidden behind his many shields and veils, vulnerable and innocent to the touch of a mortal.
"Where's Youko-chan?" Kantarou asked gently, his expression unwavering.
"She's waiting back at the Edogawa manner. She said it was still too painful, vivid."
Kantarou nodded, placing his hand upon the shattered stone. "Perhaps she is right."
Haruka positioned his hands within his pockets, staring deeply at the folklorist as he seemed lost within his own web of sticky thoughts. The boy clasped his hands together and bowed, whispering a spell of peace upon the wood, and with each word a simple memory of her smile pressed against the tengu's mind.
"Haruka?" He felt warm flesh upon his wrists and gazed harshly into Kantarou's perplexing eyes. "What's wrong?"
The oni-eating tengu shook his head, finally noting his clenched fists. He drew a sharp breath, turning away from his master. "Your mortality is a snare," he said calmly, gathering his composure.
The boy looked away, his silver hair flowing across his vision with the autumn winds. "As is immortality," he replied softly.
Haruka shook his head. "Throughout my life, I've seen hundreds die; shatter at my touch. And even though it was my choice to stay within your hold, I see you age with each passing moment; I see you wither within my gaze. And then I see her face, so young, now lost to another world of its own, untouchable and deranged."
"Regretting your decision?"
A note of silence passed between the two, wavering and deafening to the ears.
"Though is it truly mortality's extent you fear, or is it—" The boy reached his hand out to the demon, wrapping his arms tightly around his companion's chest. "—mortality's frailness?"
Haruka closed his eyes, pain coursing through his veins, burning like malicious acid. Every movement, spoken word, denied thirst—was it to shield the boy? Protect him from his immortal snare?
"Let go," he whispered harshly, spite held tightly within his voice.
"I'm right, am I not?"
"Let go."
The boy dug his fingers into the tengu's clothing, lifting his gaze to meet that of a darkened soul. "You're afraid not of the fact I will age, but of the fact I will die within your arms, blood staining your flesh."
"Let go, Kantarou."
"No," he said softly, a sensual flare flooding his features. "You won't hurt me, Haruka. Your touch is not venom to my blood." And with a single movement, he wrapped his arms around the tengu's neck, pressing the length of his body against the beautiful demon's.
He tensed, unwanted feelings of desire prickling at his immortal skin and tightening his groin. He took a shaky breath, trying to place some distance between himself and the passive folklorist, the object of his sinful craving. But Kantarou would not let him push away, and pressed against him harder.
"It's alright," he soothed.
Despite his wishes, Haruka found his fingers trailing down Kantarou's neck, caressing the collar of his robe. Gently, possessively, his hands slid within the pallid fabric, pulling it away from the boy's pale chest.
"Haruka," he said weakly, breathless, and it broke the tengu's last strand of restraint. He pressed his lips against Kantarou's, hard, desperately, exploring every inch of his mouth as he viciously shoved the boy to the leaf-veiled forest floor.
Kantarou pressed his hands against the tengu's breast, removing his robes and pulling them from his shoulders as onyx wings exploded from the demon's back, coating them both in a spray of feathers.
Haruka's tongue slithered down the boy's chest as his hands rendered him naked and vulnerable. Kantarou gasped, pressing his head back against the soft bed of leaves as Haruka took his fullness into his mouth, leisurely sucking away at his condemned soul. The boy breathlessly whispered the demon's name as he slithered back up his victim's thin body, pressing their wet lips together, tasting the same sticky, sweet fluid.
A humid breath of wind rushed over their beings as Haruka lifted Kantarou's legs and unexpectedly thrust into him with a relentless force. The crimson-eyed boy screamed, digging his nails into the earthy ground with each movement. The sensation vigorously throbbed, bordering that indefinable line between excruciating pain and improbable bliss. And with each thrust, each blade of heavenly vigor, he felt himself begin to fade.
The world fell mute as Haruka pressed the line of his body firmly against Kantarou's, both men panting, exhausted. Regaining his sense of humanity, the tengu hesitantly looked upon his master's face, fright feeding upon his conscience.
Weary, Kantarou smiled back, the scent of sticky sweat filling the air. "I told you," he said breathlessly. "You won't hurt me."
As the tengu pressed his face against the firmness of his master's chest, he couldn't help but realize that maybe the gap that separated them never truly existed. Maybe things were meant to be this way; within one another's arms, body, and heart.