Spellbound
*(1/6)
By Sakata Ri Houjun
Warning: Chichiri may seem a little OOC, but it'll be
explained.
**********
It was raining when he landed at the airport. He'd
slept nearly all the way across the Pacific. And the
dreams had chased him. He went through customs,
rented a car, and changed money. As he completed the
tasks, he tried not to dwell on the idea that he might
be having some kind of breakdown.
He climbed behind the wheel, and then simply sat
wondering what to do, where to go. Suddenly an odd
chill raced through him, and he thought, for just a
moment, that he heard the cry of a strange bird.
Just stress, he told himself. But why would he be
stressed when his career was advancing by leaps and
bounds? He was still in his early twenties, a
successful photographer who could name his price, call
his own shots. And it liked it that way.
If he was having a breakdown, it could only be cured
by relaxation, and a change of scene. That's what
he'd come to China for. He started the car and began
to drive aimlessly.
He'd had dreams before, when he was a boy. Temples
and palaces, bandits and a man with hair the color of
the sky. He'd spoken to him sometimes with a strange
high-pitched voice. And sometimes he'd spoken in a
language he didn't know - but had understood
nonetheless.
His parents had been concerned when he seemed to see
things, to speak of places and people he couldn't have
had knowledge of. They'd worried over him when his
sleep was disturbed night after night. As he grew
older, feelings and needs for the azure-haired man that weren't
innocent had begun to stir.
He was here only to prove to himself that he was an
ordinary man suffering from overwork. He would soak
up the atmosphere of China, take the pictures that
pleased him.
He drove along the storm-battered road. Rain pattered
the windshield, and fog slithered over the ground. It
was hardly a warm welcome, yet he felt at home. As if
something, or someone, was waiting to take him in from
the storm.
He would eventually find some bar or inn and get some
sake to warm him up, but for now he had to see more of
this haunting landscape. His ancestors had roamed
these spearing cliffs, these rolling hills. They had
to have been great warriors, he thought.
The scene that burst into his mind then was viciously
clear. The flash of swords clashing, the screams of
battle in full power, the burn as metal pierced flesh.
Looking down, he saw blood welling on his thigh.
Genrou found he had stopped on the side of the road. Had
he blacked out? Was he losing his mind? Trembling,
re reached down and ran his hands over his jeans.
There was no wound.
Jet lag, he decided. Jet lag and stress, that was
all. He needed to find a place to stay. Hell, he needed a
drink. He would find some quiet place where he could
rest his mind. And when the storm had passed, he
would get his camera and go for a long walk.
He continued along the winding road.
*~~~*
The ruins came into view as he rounded the curve.
Perched on a hilltop, it shimmered with power and
defiance despite its tumbled rocks.
Out of the boiling sky, one lance of lightning speared
and exploded with light. He swung onto the narrow
dirt road that led up. He wanted a picture of the
temple, and then he'd be on his way.
So intent was he on the light and shadows that played
on stone that he didn't see the dwelling until he was
nearly upon it. It was so charming, so unexpected.
It was white and smoke trailed out of the chimney. A
sleek white cat napped beside a wooden chair on the
little covered porch. Someone made a home here, he
thought, and tended it.
Suddenly, there he was, standing in the lashing rain,
the wind swirling around him. Though Genrou hadn't
heard the approach, he was halfway between the cottage
and the old temple.
His hair was wet, transformed into a deep cerulean
that was tied away from a face that might have been
carved out of ivory by a master. His mouth was soft
and seemed to tremble as it curved into a smile of
welcome. His eyes were burgundy and powerful.
"I knew you would come, no da. I've waited for you."
He raced the distance between them, his voice lilting
with the high-pitched squeak before his mouth crushed
Genrou's.
There was a moment of blinding, searing joy. Another
of dark, primal lust. The other man's taste, sharp,
potent, soaked into his system as the rain soaked his
skin. Genrou was helpless to do anything but absorb
it. His arms were chained around his neck, his slim
body pressed intimately to his, the heat from it
seeping through his sodden shirt and into his bones.
His mouth was as wild and edgy as the sky thundering
above them. And it was all terrifyingly familiar.
He brought his hands to the smaller man's shoulders,
then eased back and held him at arm's length. He was
beautiful. He was aroused. And they were, he assured
himself, strangers.
The cerulean-haired man gave Genrou a smile and let
his fingers linger in his fiery-red hair. "Welcome to
China and the Temple of Suzaku, no da."
Genrou's gaze shifted towards the ruins. "Is that
what this place is called?"
"That's its name, no da." He offered a hand, as he
would any wayward traveler. "You've had a long
journey. Come, sit by the fire and have some sake, na
no da."
"You don't fucking know me." He made it a statement
rather than a question.
"Won't you come inside, Kou Genrou, and get out of the
rain, no da?"
He felt his body tremble. "How did you know my name?"
"The same way you knew to come here, no da."
Genrou pushed the front door of the small house open,
and the warmth struck him instantly.
"Make yourself at home, na no da."
Genrou stepped near to the fire and studied the room
with the sharp eye of an artist. Quiet colors, he
thought. Absently he crouched to pet the cat who had
followed them inside. The creamy white fur was warm
and damp. Real. He had some important questions to
ask his host - and he wasn't going anywhere until he had
answers.
"Won't you have a drink, Genrou?"
"How the fuck you know my name?" he asked while
downing the offered cup of alcohol.
"Daaa. I'll explain what I can." His eyes were
turbulent with emotion. "Do you have no memory of me
at all, no da?"
"I don't know you," he said defensively.
"I am Ri Houjun, guardian of this holy place, no da.
You're welcome in my home, Kou Genrou."
"You said you knew I would come, you knew my name.
How?"
He couldn't lie to the young red-head - honesty was part
of his pledge. "I've waited for you all my life," he
said quietly. "And a millennium before it began."
Raising his hands, he laid them on Genrou's face.
"The memory of your touch has haunted me every night
of my life."
"That's bullshit."
"I can't lie to you, no da. It's not in my power.
You're not ready to hear, to believe." His eyes
softened a little, fingertips stroking his temples.
"Genrou, you're tired and confused, no da. It's rest
you're needing now and ease for you mind. I can help
you, na no da."
Genrou's vision grayed, and the room swam. He could
see nothing but Houjun's eyes, deep burgundy, utterly
focused. His scent swam into his senses like a drug.
"Rest now, koi."
He felt Houjun's lips brush his before he slid
blissfully into the dark.