This fanfiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Minekura Kazuya. No copyright or trademark infrimgement intended, and no profit made.
A/N: This story contains dub-con.
It was still early when Yaone left the prince and his swordsman, returning to the kitchen to tend to the dishes before retiring to her room. Kougaiji was doing his best to clear the dark air the surrounded Dokugakuji, but they had all seen this before and knew that there truly wasn't anything that Kou could do to help. Even Lirin's usual vivacity had been affected during the evening meal and she had run off immediately afterward, calling out half-hearted apologies as the door closed behind her. Yaone finished her usual tasks and then made a brief appearance in the common room to bid the men goodnight.
Kougaiji offered his thanks for the meal and a cordial goodnight wish. Doku, his mood even fouler since supper and well into his cups by this time, barely managed to acknowledge her presence with a curt nod and a dark look. Still, she offered them both what she hoped was a pleasant smile and left the room quickly. It was winter, and the gloom of the grey sky outside seemed to creep in through the walls, chilling her as she walked the length of the hall to her rooms.
Yaone shivered, though the fires in her suite blazed bright. Thinking to take her mind off things, she began her nightly rituals, with a bath. She ran the water as hot as she could stand it and sank low into the deep tub, staying there until her skin was pink from the heat. Yaone had washed her hair, and rather than binding it back up, as was her habit, she opted to leave it down. She slipped into a cream coloured negligee of silk and lace; the shade and the 'v' neckline of the sleeveless nightdress suited her, complimenting her beauty and colouring. The slit on the side allowed for comfort, movement and (had there been anyone to see it) an enticing expanse of thigh
Settling on the low stool before her vanity, she ran with extra care through the routine of skin care that her father had created. Even through all the harsh sun and fierce weather, these things kept her feeling civilized and feminine. Besides, it made her feel closer to her dearly missed parents, to do so. They had taught her so many things, and she was grateful every day that she could bring that knowledge to bear here, with her beloved prince and the little family that he had created around himself.
That same chill ran its fingers over her spine again as she picked up a dusty bottle and examined it for a moment. The pale amber liquid inside wavered in the light, throwing tiny reflections against the vanity top. Yaone wavered, too. After a brief hesitation, she set her jaw firmly and held the bottle at arm's length. The other hand reached for the atomizer attached to the spray nozzle and squeezed once, gently. The rich color of the liquid faded into a fine white mist that settled coolly over her throat and chest, touching off another shiver.
Yaone sighed at her reflection in the mirror and returned the bottle to its place. She hated to see Doku like this. He was in so much pain, trapped in the memories that he refused to allow rein most of the time. He didn't talk to any of them about it, but they all felt his pain, wishing that they could help and having to settle for just being by his side. It would pass as it always did, but Yaone knew that it would get worse before it got better. Doku hadn't yet hit reached his nadir.
Goosebumps pricked out on Yaone's arms as the sounds of Kougaiji leading Doku down the hall and cajoling him to get some sleep drifted to her ears. Shuffling footsteps, the prince's low, calm voice and Doku's rumbling, sullen tones echoed through the corridor outside. Yaone looked at the door, another sigh escaping her. Kougaiji would get Doku settled in and then retire for the night, himself. She nodded a little as she told herself that, and that it would all be better in the morning.
Jien! Don't leave me alone, Jien!
Dokugakuji slapped his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to block out the voice in his head. For days, he'd been hearing it, louder and louder with every passing hour - her words, her voice - tearing through him like a chipped blade.
You're the only one that Mother loves, Jien!
Screaming in his mind, her sobs and her tears, and her grasping, clutching hands on his shoulders.... Most of the time she stayed where she belonged - in the past and behind his back - but she had a way of slipping out every so often, and that's when he wound up alone in the darkness of his room, cringing, raging, and never anywhere near drunk enough.
Doku had let Kou drag him to bed, had promised to stay and to sleep, had agreed that yes, he'd feel better in the morning. He wanted to believe his own words, wanted to keep those promises to his prince, but she was just so loud.
Jien, give Mother a kiss.
And it was those words, oh, so much more than the shrieks and wails, which ripped into Doku's gut, spilling the awful truth to the floor in an acidic rush. The times when she didn't throw things or hit little Gojyo were worse in their way. Oh, yes...it was the memory of her eyes, wide and bright, not shimmering with tears and rage, her hips swinging as she walked, hands reaching calmly for him instead of clawing desperately at him that burned. Even now, his stomach roiled at the images in his mind, and he hated them all. Hated her for what she had done to him and to his little brother, hated Gojyo for being young and weak and adorable and for loving her so much that he'd been willing to die. Hated himself because...
Because, gods help him, he still wanted her.
Doku rolled over, curling up on top of the covers of his bed. He could feel the throb in his groin, the one that came with the other memories. As much as her fits and tantrums, Doku remembered the way she had felt in his arms and beneath him in bed, the way she looked when she smiled and how the colour flushed her cheeks and breasts when she came. Even now, so many years and so many miles away, separated from every reminder, she came back. She came back, and the edge of guilt and shame served only to heighten his arousal.
He reached down to press a palm against the hard bulge of his cock, beneath his pants, groaning at the jolt of pleasure that shot through him. It was late, and he was alone in the darkness of his own room. No one would come in, no one would ever see, or know...he pressed again, shuddering as he followed the length to the base and back up. All Doku had to do, to relieve his suffering, was to reach inside his pants and - no. His jaw clenched hard enough to hurt as he yanked his hand away. No, he would not do that. He would absolutely not lay there on his bed and jerk off to thoughts of fucking his mother, and pretend that nothing was wrong with that!
Fuck that. If he could get it up, then he obviously hadn't had enough to drink. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand. There was more alcohol in Kou's den. Maybe, if he were very, very lucky, it would be enough to drown her. He stalked to the door and jerked it open, stepping out into the wide hall.
No sooner had he closed the door behind him, than Doku caught faintest trace of a scent in the air. It seemed...familiar, somehow, tugging at his mind, at his memory. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch more, to trip the thing niggling at the back of his mind, to bring it into the light. Turning, he sniffed a few more times, following it a couple of steps down the hallway before he was able to get a good enough dose to recognize it.
In an instant, Dokugakuji's consciousness shattered. All coherence fled, chased out and replaced by a dark, blank rage and a desire so deep that it was physically painful. The years fell away, and he was back in that little cabin in the woods, everything in that room infused with the scent of her perfume. Except that it wasn't the cabin, it was the castle, and what the fuck was she doing in the castle?
Jien growled, a rumbling, feral sound that echoed through the corridor and returned distantly to his ears as he traced the scent down the hall. His mind raced, a cacophony of thoughts tumbling through his head. It was her perfume, that same cool jasmine smell of her, and it was wrong, so wrong. She was far away and long ago and never, ever could she be here, but...but he could smell her, right behind that door. He reached for the handle, pushing it down and warily swinging the door back on its hinges.
The scent grew stronger, drawing him in; Jien stepped into the doorway, his eyes adjusting slowly to the semi-darkness inside. The room was familiar, strange, known and alien. The smell of her was so strong here, tightening the grip of the disgraceful yearning that burned in his belly, and it had to be her, even though it couldn't. How far would he have to run before she released him?
A rustling to his left caught his attention, and he glanced that way. There was movement on the bed, and a sleepy voice called out softly, "Dokugakuji?"
The name rang in his ears, rage and shame exploding in him in a sudden, blinding flash. Jien stepped forward, pushing the door to behind him. The rattling slam registered distantly, but his attention was on the woman now slipping out of the bed.
"Don't you dare," He breathed, barely audible even to himself. He moved slowly, gaze locked on the pale apparition before him. She was ethereal in the dark, shimmering as though she might disappear at any moment. An illusion, an apparition? If he reached out to touch her, would his hand touch flesh, or pass right through? Gods, his head was hurting.
"Doku?" she called again, and then he was on her, flesh in his hands, soft and so, so real. That scent in his nose, maddening, fogging his mind and fuelling the fire in his body.
"Don't you call me that!" Jien growled, shaking her roughly, fingers digging into her arms bruisingly tight. "That name doesn't belong in your mouth!" He ignored her whimpered protest, snarling at her through bared teeth, "You can't be here! How are you here?" Eyes squeezed shut, Jien shook his head hard, but it didn't help. She was still there when he opened them again.
She took a deep, shaking breath. "Jien?" she asked quietly, her voice tremulous.
"Leave me alone," Jien pleaded, "Why can't you just go the fuck away?"
"Jien, please, just-"
Jien, please...
Those words, echoing back over the years, snapped his tenuous hold on himself and reality. She was here, and everything he'd done to put his past behind him was crumbling to dust under her feet.
"Mother...." Jien moaned miserably, gripping her shoulders tight, lifting her until she grimaced and a tiny whine escaped her. Large eyes lifted to meet his gaze from beneath long eyelashes, their colour lost to the darkness. Her lower lip trembled, and he couldn't stop himself. He dipped his head, crushing her mouth beneath his, tongue thrusting forcefully against her lips. He swallowed her whimper, half-pushing, half-dragging her back to the bed, and tossed her onto it.
She fell to the side, her long hair covering her face and her limbs sprawling. Jien was darkly amused to see her pull her knees together, as if there were any room left between them for modesty. The negligee she wore pulled tight against her, one strap slipping provocatively from her shoulder. Jien climbed up after her, kneeling his way across the mattress to where she lay, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. He reached out, tracing a finger along her collarbone, then down over the swell of one breast and into the cleft between them.
"Jien! Jien, listen to me-" she began, but he grasped her chin in his large hand, closing her mouth and lifting her face to look into her eyes. For a moment he just glared, the muscle in his jaw working furiously. He jerked away, and her head whipped to the side as if he'd slapped her.
"Shut up," he rumbled through clenched teeth, dropping to his hands to hover over her. A grim smile stretched Jien's mouth as he leaned down and spoke against her lips, "Not another word." She raised her hands to his chest, pushing ineffectually at him as he kissed her again and slid a hand down her side. Jien inched the fabric of her negligee up until he felt smooth skin under the pads of his fingers, rumbling deep in his throat as he slipped them between here thighs.
Startled, she jerked away, instinctively squeezing her legs together. She shoved at his chest again, crying out brokenly and turning her head to the side. Jien chuckled darkly by her ear, taking advantage of her movement to bite down on the pale expanse of her neck. Her legs were pressed tightly around his hand, but he was stronger; he twisted his arm, pressing hard against the inside of her thigh until she gasped and he pushed them apart. She always had been quite the actress, his mother.
Jien ravaged her throat, lips and tongue sliding over soft, perfumed skin, the taste of her different now, than it used to be. He moved lower, taking the lace at the edge of her gown between his teeth and pulling it back to reveal the dark flesh of an aureole and a peaked nipple. She arched beneath him as he flicked his tongue out over it, then sealed his lips around it and sucked hard. His fingers searched higher, rubbing roughly against her as he swung a leg over hers and pulled it to a wider angle so he could settle between her thighs.
Hands braced against his shoulders, she whined in the back of her throat as he pushed two fingers inside her. She was slick, hot and close around him, and his cock was aching almost painfully; he wanted - needed - to see her. Leaning back on his heels, he hooked the fingers of his free hand under the edge of her gown and yanked it down to catch under her breasts. He couldn't see her colour in the darkness, but he could feel the wet response of her body, and the minute tilt of her hips as he thrust his fingers into her.
She raised a foot, managing to get purchase on Jien's thigh and shoving hard. He had to pull out of her to grab her ankle and slip her foot from his leg. Falling forward, he scooted his knees up to prevent a repeat, one hand reaching to fist in her hair, the other sliding between them to work the buttons on his pants.
"Oh, no you don't," Jien snarled, "You can't just be here, and then expect me to let you turn me away." A deep groan of relief rumbled through his chest as he freed himself from the confines of his clothing. The wet heat of her against the head of his cock was the threshold between heaven and hell, the sound of her harsh breath sweet in his ears. He had been everything for her for all those years; finally, now she would belong to him. She would give what he needed, payment in trade for everything that wasn't and hadn't ever been, since he was a child.
Still she struggled weakly against him, crying out as he thrust roughly into her, his own satisfied grunt lost beneath it. He covered her mouth with his hand. "Shh." She nodded, and he released her, quickly taking her lips in a hard, demanding kiss instead. Jien pulled his hips back, catching her sharp little breath in his mouth as he slammed back into her body. He could feel his control beginning to slip, and he prepared to give himself up to the need, sliding his arms under her shoulders and curling his hands around them.
Burying his face in her neck, Jien began to move in earnest, using his hold on her shoulders for leverage to pull her to him as he thrust into her. It was so good, so good finally to be inside her, feeling her hips rocking up to meet his, taking him in to the hilt. There was no sound of bedsprings here, just the sharp slap of skin on skin and their mingled grunts.
Jien's breath shortened to panting as he fucked her, his movements becoming desperate and losing rhythm as he gained speed. He could feel his climax building, the rush of blood in his ears growing loud enough to block out the sound of her moans. He didn't notice when her legs encircled his waist, didn't hear her the words she spoke, didn't feel her hands on his back.
Lost in sensation and memory, Jien simply did as he had always done, riding her body until the wave broke over him and he stiffened in her embrace, coming deep inside her with the murmured name, "Mother," on his lips.
Yaone waited, knowing that between drink and exhaustion, Dokugakuji would sleep. She lay as he left her, sprawled and messy, damp with sweat. When she was certain that he was asleep, the faintest edge of a snore in his breath, she rose and went into the bathroom to freshen up. Her gown was stained, though not torn, and there were livid red spots on her arms, where Doku had grabbed and shaken her. They would be easy enough for someone of her skill to cover up. Moving slowly, her own body worn to the limit, Yaone removed any visible trace of what had happened and changed into a similar gown.
When she returned to the bedroom, Doku hadn't moved, laying on his side, his knees drawn up slightly and his arms tucked in close to his chest. Yaone opened the drawer in the stand beside her bed and drew out a small vial. With great care, she sucked some of the contents up into the dropper attached to the cap, It was difficult to be precise in darkness, but she managed.
Climbing up onto the bed, she gently slipped the dropper between his parted lips and under his tongue. Three perfect squeezes to the bulb, and it was done. Once the tincture mixed with the residual alcohol in Doku's blood, he would have a nice, hazy recollection of the events just past. It was the way it should be, Yaone had decided.
He would die of shame if he knew.