Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
NOTES: AU. Ancient Japan; Sengoku jidai (Warring States period). Symbolism. Bad smut.
Banreki
～万暦～
[BGM: 荒山亮 - "寰宇傳說"]
After four hundred thirty-seven calendar days, the wandering traveler returned to the mountains from which he came from.
As he meandered through the forest path, he expected the woodland fragrance of cedars and maples of the past, from four hundred something calendar days ago and beyond. When he failed to pick up the scent, he wondered if the fatigue from long travel had dulled his senses. Or, had the smoke of war fires and the stench of battle savagery contaminated the forest land?
Akuto continued making his way up the heights, the fiery leaves falling from the trees paved him a path guiding him home. Autumn approached its end, and soon winter would wander into these mountains. Even on his way home, he already mused of leaving it. Before winter sets foot on these mountains, he would embark on another expedition.
The single wooden house on the mountain was his destination. The light leaking from the windows declared human occupancy in the wilderness while also welcoming him home.
The one waiting for him must have expected his return. Or maybe, he knew not of his arrival, and the unfaltering light merely proved his long patience.
He tapped at the front door. Waiting for it to open, Akuto examined himself from head to toe and pulled off the browning leaves that rode his kimono to their final resting grounds.
The door slid open. A youth emerged.
Renji.
Akuto greeted then studied the familiar face. His auburn colored hair, neatly trimmed. His lidded eyes. His calm composure. His long nose and the neutral line set between his defined lips.
The youth stepped aside to let the wanderer in.
In the wild, a lone wolf called out seeking companionship.
...
At first, the two exchanged not a single word. And he understood it to be the other's consideration for him, that he wished for him to settle in with the silence.
So he used the opportunity to take in his simple surroundings. His companion boiled water for tea in the other room.
When Renji returned to the main living area with the teapot of brewed tea, his wanderer companion stood by the window gazing at the portrait of the night.
Under the untainted silver moonlight, the luminous sea of leaves turned red and orange by autumn appeared much like waves of blood flowing from the corpses of fallen warriors. Faraway, ribbons of gray smoke ascended to the sky like hurt beasts crying to the moon. Even though the nearby waterfalls and gurgling brooks drowned out all other sounds, their experienced ears still made out the faint, yet aggressive rhythm of war drums.
Akuto stood still, unmoving. Yet, Renji saw through him, into his soul, where his blood boiled from the heat of conflict, and his desire to stay and to journey again waged civil war.
Because the other came from chaos, he would return to it. Perhaps such was the true nature of men一to be drawn towards chaos however their hearts yearned for peace.
Disregarding the disquiet in the distance, Renji knelt and set down the tea ware. He poured the amber liquid into two porcelain cups and offered one to his returning companion.
Akuto accepted in appreciation. The first sip soothed his dry throat quenching his thirst. The second sip warmed his body. The third dissolved his loneliness crystallized from his solitary travels. The fourth melted his weary.
Then he opened his mouth to tell him a story. Of a legendary tea master and his two companions: a warlord and a medicine master. Of his sheltered life and the turning point where the encounter with another traveling tea master provoked his own wish to travel the land to broaden his views. Of how his request to travel got rejected by his warlord friend, and how he sought ways to finally obtain his permission. Of how he traveled the land, visiting tea plantations, tasting varieties of tea, and finally cultivating his own tea. And finally, of how he returned home, the sole purpose of his journey to faraway simply to return back home.
They finished the first pot of tea just as Akuto ended his story.
Usually, he carries nothing when he journeyed, just as he returns with nothing. The sleeves of his kimono are as light and empty as the wind that carry them.
However, this time, he pulled a bundle from a kimono sleeve.
As fleeting as human life was, the tea master's legend lived on. And the tea that he originally cultivated continued to be produced.
Banreki, Akuto introduced. The tea that counted the tea master's traveling days.
Banreki, Renji affirmed. The tea that would count his companion's days away from home.
...
Once upon a time, when the poet, Lotung, sipped tea, he wrote,"The first cup moistens my lips and throat, the second cup breaks my loneliness..."
If what he stated was so, if tea truly had such miraculous properties, why was it that after six steeps, after thirteen cups of liquid amber, he felt more ill from loneliness than before, than in the other's absence?
On the futon, Renji reached out to the sleeping figure beside him, to the one who would be gone by day tomorrow.
He pushed aside the thick cover they shared, exposing them to the chill of late autumn. When the other finally opened his eyes, finally decided to face him, face the pretentious modesty hovering between them, Renji had already rolled on top of him.
He stared down to the embers in the older youth's dark eyes questioning whether they served as the manifestation of the other's hidden desires or a reflection of his own lust.
His inner thigh brushed against a heated hardness.
Renji lowered himself down to lie flat on his abdomen. He lifted the other's yukata, nudged aside the cotton fundoshi underneath to free his manhood.
The mouth that once opened and closed to share deep analysis and witty sarcasm now opened and closed to occupy his length. The tongue that once cut away at faulty arguments and logic now soothed his painful heat. Neither the sharpest blade nor the best swordsman could sever the concentration adhering his two brows.
Renji did not say anything. Because words could not save anything. Not the little time left they have together. Not the fleeting night. Words could not prevent their separation.
Words could not save anything. Not spoken. Not written. Thus, peace treaties did not work. And men continued fighting with foreigners, with kins.
Akuto did not say anything either. He did not halt Renji's advances. The hand he placed on the younger's head to prevent his hair from blocking his vision almost encouraged his actions.
He grunted, feeling the spark spill out of him. Akuto blinked, watching Renji rise to wipe away the residue on his lips.
Then, Renji sat on his knees to untie his obi and slip out of his own dark yukata.
Beneath was a body unexposed to sunlight. His skin resembled the color of the porcelain tea ware they used to drink tea before. The nubs of flesh on his chest were the budding plum blossoms of winter.
Renji straddled his hips, so his own delicate erection brushed against his recovering hardness.
Akuto sat up, his hands cradling Renji's cheeks as he dipped his tongue into his parted lips. His tongue saught his like a carp mingling with another.
Akuto's palms slowly slid down his body, trying to map out each curve and prominence in the darkness. His fingertips brushed against collarbone, his chest, the fleshy nubs... A muffled gasp escaped Renji's throat when he pinched the prominences as if picking sprouted tea leaves.
His lips lifted at one corner.
His touch trailed down the smooth descending spine; he caressed the curve of his companion's rear.
The calloused hands pulled the parted flesh outward, exposing the hidden orifice hidden between the crevice. He tried at the entrance with one finger, then two, to find no resistance.
The radiating heat he felt against his shoulder where Renji buried his face silently told of the other's thorough preparation. He ran a tender hand down the back of his head to comfort him. With his other hand, Akuto guided the tip of his hardness to Renji's puckering entrance.
He slipped in slowly, carefully, ensuring the other's adjustment. Renji let out a shaky breath once the other sheathed himself completely. He gripped tightly onto Akuto's shoulders, his knuckles blanched from the tension.
In the beginning, Akuto maintained his deliberate movements, trying to ready them both. Doing so, he also tested Renji's scorching passage attempting to find the one spot that would turn the other's discomfort to pleasure.
With patience and attentiveness, he found the area when Renji shuddered as he stroke a certain spot.
Smiling inwardly, he gripped his hips, thrusting into him.
He probed at the area tirelessly, feeling the other's passage clench around him each time in reaction.
Soon, he plunged in and out of him at an intense speed, accurately striking the other's sensitive core like countless arrows hitting the eye of the target.
Renji's trembled violently like a young tree in the squall; he would surely be stripped bare of his leaves and branches once the storm subsided.
Feeling himself nearing pleasure's peak, he released the other's weakening figure so he could withdraw.
Instead, the other wrapped his arms around his neck as his passage tightened around his manhood, preventing his leave.
Akuto attempted to coax him with reason. But Renji only shook his head in adamance.
He argued no more, for it too was his secret wish as much as it defied natural law.
With a few more deep plunges, he groaned and spilled inside the other warmth that contradicted his outward aloofness.
He winced, feeling the same liquid flare against his skin.
Finally, Akuto attached their lips in a long union. Holding him in his embrace, he pecked at his swollen lips as if apologizing.
For being the cause of his discomfort. For being as cold as the season he was born in. For departing so soon. For the thousands of apologies he could verbalize but did not.
...
When morning arrived, Akuto disappeared like the darkness before the arrival of light. He left no goodbyes, no "I will see you again." Renji did not know when he will see the other again. But their small partings do nothing to weather away their mental proximity.
He rose from the futon normally as if the empty space on the bedding beside him did not exist.
He purified his body in the hot spring as he cleared his mind.
Afterwards, he dressed in yukata of the purest white, like the snow that would soon fall upon these heights.
And he planted himself down on the veranda facing the sunrise. Kneeling, he brought his palms together before him.
Like the previous four hundred something calendar days, he prayed for the safety of his confidant, his mentor, his brother, and along with it, the peace and relief of the world whose woeful moans and groans he hears so clearly in the distant waterfall.
END NOTES:
Banreki translates to "ten thousand calendar days." It is (you've guessed it) the name of a koicha matcha from Itoen.
Fundoshi is the traditional male undergarment/loincloth.
I've always wanted to write a story with no dialogue. I find it rather amusing that I've completed (cheated) this challenge with the pairing that possibly has the most vivid verbal exchanges.