Demon
Chapter 16

Sakuragi Hanamichi noticed the ash falling from the roof though half lidded, lazy eyes. He watched it trickle into a small pile on the floor, growing steadily larger. For the first time in many hours, his eyes changed from a dull brown to brilliant yellow. Kyota noticed the change in him and paused mid-sentence.

Sakuragi didn't move, his chin still resting lazily on one hand, his head tilted slightly, his right ankle propped horizontal on his left knee. His soft red hair curled gently back from his handsome face giving him a pleasing, youthful aspect. But his size and his seat at the top of the dais made it obvious that he was the single locus of power in the hall.

The ash continued to fall. It shifted as if a breeze were playing about its surface. Moving it this way and that, forming strange patterns and shapes in the dust.

A few others had noticed it too and were watching curiously. Sakuragi ignored them. He had no interest in the Hellspawn around him these days. In the past, he reflected, he'd been a great leader. Nowadays he was lazy - merely a tyrant.

The ash took on a form of its own, becoming solid, shaped, moving in otherworldly breezes until it formed arms, legs, body, head, lips, a pair of tattered wings that hung limp, their surface patchy with holes and ragged edges.

The demon who had materialised from the ash was small and thin. A face that had been handsome once, made old by the dust that clung to him and his neglected state. He had the stench of an outsider, wretched and wraith-like. Silently, he lifted his eyes - dull sea green, deep set, and more than a little mad. He tilted his head, his eyes fixed on Sakuragi. A chilling smile caught his lips.

Around him, the others drew back in distaste, as if he were pestilent. Only Sakuragi grinned at him, showing his teeth, sharp canines making gentle impressions against his lower lip.

"Fujima," he greeted the odd newcomer in a low rumble.

Fujima's eyes flickered over the other assembled demons. They were all members of Sakuragi's council, within his confidence, most of them several steps above competent. They were all staring at him.

Fujima hissed at them playfully and they stepped further away in revulsion. This seemed to delight him.

"Go," he told them.

They didn't move.

He moved his arms in a flapping motion. "Get out," he tried to insist, to no effect.

Sakuragi watched Fujima in amusement - perhaps enjoying the sight of him squirming in his own weakness. Fujima lacked any quality of leadership or authority. He didn't have the presence that would have enabled him to be commanding. The very thought of Fujima being powerful seemed laughable. The demons around him were clearly skeptical of this strange, dusty thing.

Eventually Sakuragi relieved him by giving the briefest of nods and lifted his hand in indication. At his casual signal, the demons immediately retreated and left them alone.

Fujima never looked like much. He was shameless in his weakness. He paraded it purposefully. Most made the mistake of underestimating him. Such a mistake was unwise, and Sakuragi was no fool.

"What do you want Fujima?" he demanded, feigning irritation.

Fujima straightened and turned to Sakuragi, giving a coy tilt of his head. "Your stare," he answered, a note of allure in his words. He ran his fingers down his own neck, brushing temptingly against his throat. "Your attention. Your censure. Your disgust."

"Go and bother someone else," Sakuragi said dismissively, "You have plenty of favourites." He gestured as if to wave him away, but there was an undercurrent of tease in his voice. It was a little game they were both familiar with.

Fujima put his tongue to his teeth. "The gate is open," he explained with a purr. "You're always at your best when the gate is open. No one is as good as you. Besides," he brought his fingers to the edge of his robe and fingered it teasingly. "I'm sure you also want to release some of your frustration."

Sakuragi smiled. If he had been more of a fool, he might have attempted to keep his distance from this particular individual. Fujima was not what he seemed, and Sakuragi knew that better than most. Fujima liked to trade in half-dreamed secrets and vulnerabilities. Those mad eyes knew things. This threat was one that had to be handled directly, to avoid as much damage as possible.

So Sakuragi lifted his arm, the playful aspect not vanishing from his face. "Then remove your clothes," he ordered. "And kneel."

A shiver of pleasure ran through Fujima at his words. He moved obediently, letting his robe fall, so he was standing naked. His wings trailed low and limp from his back like a cloak dragging against the ground. Sakuragi's eyes took in the familiar sight of his body. Skinny and undernourished. Ragged skin on bones, sunken eyes and lank hair. There seemed to be no strength to him. Next to Sakuragi's physical massiveness - all muscle and power - he appeared as if he might break at the meanest touch. But that was, like so many things about Fujima, an illusion.

Fujima dropped to his knees as Sakuragi had commanded and bowed his head, waiting.

Looking down at him, a familiar prickle of pleasant electricity moved up Sakuragi's spine.

"Crawl," Sakuragi instructed him, a cruel glint in his eye.

Without hesitation Fujima put his palms on the marble floor and crawled forwards towards Sakuragi's throne-like seat, equal parts awkward and alluring.

In spite of the danger, the game Sakuragi knew Fujima was playing, he couldn't help but let his tongue flicker over his dry lips.

Fujima crawled up the three steps of the dais, finally reaching Sakuragi's knee. He reached out his hands eagerly to brush Sakuragi's calf and thigh, but Sakuragi put a foot flat against Fujima's chest and kicked him away in reprimand for his forwardness. Fujima tumbled pathetically down two steps, striking the floor with his hip, unbalanced, all helpless long legs, ankles and twisted wrists.

Fujima looked up at him from where he was sprawled. Far from being hurt, his expression had turned slack with arousal.

Sakuragi kicked off one sandal, and then offered his foot, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Fujima crawled back to him at once, opening his mouth wide, his tongue hanging out like a panting dog.

Sakuragi scoffed. "You're really fucking pathetic, Fujima," he sneered, pushing his toes into Fujima's mouth.

Fujima gave a groan deep in his throat. He suckled, swirling his tongue, lapping eagerly, filling the air with wet sounds.

Sakuragi leant back in his chair and sighed as he relaxed, his eyes lifting to the ceiling, tolerating Fujima's hot, wet tongue licking over his foot, around his heel, gently biting at calloused skin, cleaning it meticulously as he prostrated pathetically on the floor.

Fujima worked over every inch of skin adoringly until eventually he pulled away, salvia visible on his lips and chin, and began to reach for Sakuragi's other foot. Yet before Fujima could set his mouth back to work he asked, "Are you thinking about him?"

Sakuragi's expression did not change, his eyes still on the ceiling. "Who?" he responded off-handedly, despite knowing exactly who.

Fujima looked amused. "The Third."

Sakuragi only tutted crossly and let the provocation go. It was always best to ignore Fujima's manipulations. But it was hard. Because Fujima took as much pleasure in torturing him as pleasuring him. And he was, Sakuragi knew all too well, equally adept at both. He forced himself to relax again, to simply accept Fujima's touch. It was safer, he knew, to just focus on his body. Better to make it wild and feral. Don't think too much.

Fujima set his tongue upon Sakuragi's second foot. He again took liberties, his hands moving teasingly up and down Sakuragi's leg as he sucked on his toes.

Fujima's hands reached up as far as they could, kneading his inner thighs, slipping under the fabric of his clothes, ticklish over sensitive skin. Eventually he again drew back, his face eager and pleading.

"Please," he begged, eyeing the tented shape between Sakuragi's legs. His tongue roamed hungrily over his sloppy lips.

Sakuragi grunted carelessly and moved to undo the sash of his robe, bringing his erection out into the air. It stood thick, long, and proud much like the rest of him. Fujima's eyes became a little dazed, gazing at it longingly. He opened his mouth and moved closer.

"Are you imagining that I'm him?" he asked at the last moment, before his lips closed tightly around Sakuragi's cock and sucked hard.

Despite knowing better, Sakuragi couldn't help reacting. Fujima always knew how to provoke him. He reached out with one hand to seize the hair on Fujima's head in a fierce knot. Fujima gasped, and Sakuragi gave a powerful flex of his arm, forcing Fujima's mouth right down his full length until his nose was pressed flush against the soft red hair at the base.

Fujima panicked, choking and lurching as the massive organ pressed deep into his throat. Sakuragi held him there as the seconds crawled by, watching Fujima gag, and then roughly wrenched his head back again and Fujima came free, gasping helplessly for air.

"So what if I am?" Sakuragi hissed at him, his eyes a deep violet, cruel and unnatural.

Fujima's doe eyes opened, watering weakly with pain. He cracked a broken smile and licked his lips. "Again," he begged him, "please. Deeper." He let out a lewd moan. "Please."

Sakuragi fought back the urge to slam him back down again.

It wasn't possible to win against Fujima, he reminded himself.

Helpless, half dangling by his hair caught in Sakuragi's fist, Fujima was panting eagerly. Irritated, Sakuragi released him with a rough shake and Fujima returned at once to Sakuragi's erection, sinking back down to his knees and setting his tongue against it, closing his eyes blissfully. Sakuragi stared down at him with a mixture of arousal and disgust.

Finally Sakuragi settled his hands on the arms of his throne, his fingers curling tightly around the ornamental bulbs at the ends, the gold metal warm and soft in his grip. He tried to control his breathing, his emotion, letting Fujima's tongue wash it all away. But if he'd not been thinking about Rukawa Kaede before, he was certainly thinking about him now. No doubt that had been Fujima's intention; the manipulative little slut.

It was always easy to imagine. To pretend. To close his eyes and replace Fujima's mouth with Kaede's. They were different in so many ways. But then again, there were those unique characteristics they shared.

His hand moved back to Fujima's hair, curling the thick, dirty locks between his fingers, imagining they were darker - black, not brown. He bit back a groan and gripped tighter, forcing Fujima to move with a more punishing rhythm, pulling him back and forth. Fujima's body went limp in response, ragged apart from the sensation of his hot, sucking mouth, his throat open and willing, as Sakuragi struck the back of his throat again and again.

Kaede-

Sakuragi gave a shudder, and pulled Fujima off.

Fujima gazed up at him dazedly, dishevelled, already looking half drunk on Sakuragi's vitality.

Sakuragi gestured to his lap, and the proud erection that stood prominent between them.

"Sit," he invited.

At once Fujima climbed eagerly into his lap. Sakuragi watched with yellow eyes. But when Fujima made to straddle him, Sakuragi shook his head in disapproval and pushed him back.

"Close your wings," he instructed.

Fujima immediately did as told, the dusty remnants of his tattered wings vanishing at once.

Sakuragi then motioned a circle with one finger. "Turn around."

At this, Fujima smiled. He willingly turned his back, revealing the flawless expanse of his skin to Sakuragi's inspection. His knees rested on either side of Sakuragi's thighs, the huge throne more than large enough to accommodate them both. He looked, Sakuragi noted vaguely, much better naked than clothed. Despite his thinness, his almost sickly pallor, there was something very sensual about his body right then. The shape of him, his waist, his skin, the noises he made, the way he arched his back to offer himself for view. He could easily have been someone else. Sakuragi's erection twitched in anticipation.

Kaede...

Sakuragi did not waste time readying him, but only seized his hips and pulled him down, watching with fascinated attention as his organ pressed into Fujima's unprepared body, inch by inch, tight and dry. Fujima was so small compared to Sakuragi's thickness, it didn't seem like it would fit.

A small, distressed sound came from Fujima's throat as Sakuragi mercilessly forced him open. Pleasure at the noise immediately rushed through Sakuragi like a wave, brightening the corners of his mind, igniting every sadistic bent in his desires. He lifted Fujima's body up and away only to drag him back down again, harder than before, impaling him as far as he could go, this time making Fujima really cry out with pain. The sound was inordinately arousing, so Sakuragi did it again. And again. And again. Not caring for the damage he was doing to Fujima's body.

Fujima tried to resist, pulling away as if he could escape Sakuragi's assault, but Sakuragi tightened his grip on his hips and did not let him go.

Punish him, thoughts swirled brightly in Sakuragi's mind. Make him beg. Make him scream. How dare he come here and mock me. This little slut. This little whore.

At each impact, the sound of Fujima's suffering echoed through the hall and the pleasure began to concentrate, overtaking him, blurring his vision, dulling his hearing. He moved his hands upwards, clenching one fist in Fujima's hair and wrenching his head back to expose his throat. The other hand he wrap tight around his neck, fingers digging hard into his windpipe, squeezing hard. Every muscle in the smaller demon's body tightened instinctively in fright, gripping Sakuragi's shaft and heightening Sakuragi's pleasure as he continued to force his body roughly up and down, faster and faster, winding pleasure and friction tight around his length. Fujima's pain and fear drifted through the air like perfume.

"No-" Fujima tried to gasp around Sakuragi's grip, his fingers clawing uselessly at Sakuragi's thighs. "No – no – stop - eugh – ah!"

Sakuragi ignored him.

Gradually Fujima's tortured muscles began to lose their strength as Sakuragi repeatedly tore them open, blood running freely. The smaller demon cried and snivelled wetly, turning limp and weak in his grip, but Sakuragi had no mercy at all.

His dazed eyes took in the sight of that blood, so beautiful, running hot and wet down his shaft, pooling at the base. How he loved to see it.

Fujima's blood was silver. Like molten metal. Like purity itself. It was enough to make Sakuragi's eyes roll in pleasure.

He could recall Kaede's blood just like this. How it had smudged over his skin, pooling on the ground beneath his ass. How his body had moved, just like this. Limp and helpless. His head thrashing back and forth while they held him down and fucked him one after another after another after another. The pleading terror on his lips. And the sight of his innocence so wholly and utterly fucked into ruin. How Sakuragi had felt swirling his cock right into Rukawa Kaede's pride. And that... that...

His fingers began to twitch uncontrollably around Fujima's neck. No - tearing into Fujima could not compare to that.

Even just remembering it was more than he could control.

All at once, Sakuragi couldn't hold it back. Pleasure sent his eyes sightless.

Kaede Kaede Kaede-

He groaned deep in his throat, into the hot air, a meaningless grunt, spasming hard as he let himself free against the walls of Fujima's body, imagining Kaede. Gorgeous and broken, speared helpless on his cock.

With a last shudder, Sakuragi fell back, panting, releasing his hold on Fujima, and feeling the echoes of orgasm shimmering blissfully through him.

But it faded too quickly. The pleasure dissolving while the discontent still lingered on. A small black bitterness. Frustration. Because no matter how vivid his imagination, no matter how he sought to play it out on Fujima's body, it wasn't the same. Nothing would ever be the same.

After a long minute, Sakuragi cracked open one eye to observe Fujima.

Still impaled, Fujima stayed still. His shoulders heaved with his breathing. His back glittered with sweat. There was cum dribbled on his thighs, dripping down onto Sakuragi's chair. It seemed Fujima had orgasmed in the midst of it all but Sakuragi did not know when, and he did not particularly care.

Fujima's torn muscles twitched weakly against Sakuragi's still-buried length.

The stillness and the silence caused Sakuragi to wonder if he might have actually hurt him. Damaged him. Whether his roughness had finally proved too much.

But when Fujima spoke, his voice was perfectly calm, exactly the same as before. It was as if Sakuragi's vicious violation had never even occurred.

"I always wonder..." Fujima murmured thoughtfully, "...what you feel for him."

Sakuragi let out a breath, feeling a little disappointed. It wasn't possible, he reminded himself all over again, to win against Fujima. The best he could hope for was not to lose.

So he leaned back again in his chair, closing his eyes as if he would doze, giving no answer.

"Why don't you just bring him home?" Fujima continued curiously. "He belongs here. With us. With you." He lifted himself up, separating them with a wet noise, and stepped off the chair and away from Sakuragi, staggering slightly. Silver blood ran down the inside of his legs. He sunk to the ground at Sakuragi's feet.

"They hide in the lunar mansions and think they are safe," Fujima complained, staring across the empty hall. "At Yoku-shuku. At Ki-shuku. At Chou-shuku. They rely on the sacred grounds to hide them and yet none of that compares to the power of the gate." His small hands wound gently around Sakuragi's calf and began to stroke his skin adoringly. "Your gate," he corrected himself. "They really are arrogant fools."

Sakuragi gave a dismissive grunt and a shrug.

Fujima frowned, looking up at him. "Why don't you bring him here?" he repeated. "You could keep him at your feet, just like this. You could have him every day. Fuck him every day, if that's what you want. There's no one who could stop you. Why don't you do it?"

Sakuragi eyed Fujima suspiciously. Then he gestured with one hand. Fujima obediently put his face to the floor in a deep bow, and Sakuragi rest his foot on the back of his head. Fujima closed his eyes, a shudder passing through him.

Sakuragi stared down at Fujima's naked body. He could recall the times he had put his claws into that beautiful back and made it run like a river with silver blood. Yet no matter how Fujima had screamed, nothing he'd ever done seemed to truly hurt. Nothing ever lasted. No scars, no marks. Sometimes he wondered if Fujima only screamed to mock him.

He tried to relax. It could be Kaede instead, naked under his feet. Straddling his lap. Writhing with agony. Begging him to stop. That at least, he consoled himself, would be real.

And it would be, as Fujima had said, easy enough to achieve.

Did he want that, though?

"You let him do whatever he likes. Go wherever he likes," Fujima continued, his voice now muffled by his position against the floor. "He has slaughtered demons by the thousands. You sacrifice so many to him. Why? I don't understand. If it is lust that you have for him, why don't you bring him here and use him for your pleasure? And if not, why don't you just kill him and free yourself of this weakness you have that persists for him?"

Sakuragi still made no answer. He relaxed back a little more, his limbs becoming heavier, pressing Fujima harder against the ground.

Fujima paused, mulling over his words. "Sometimes I wonder if perhaps you don't actually want to hurt him. If you might actually... care about him."

Sakuragi cracked open one eye.

"But that's impossible," Fujima continued, dissatisfied. "You don't have any capacity for care. For... love. The fallen feel such things. But hellspawn like you? It's not possible."

"Perhaps he amuses me," Sakuragi suggested, deciding to give Fujima a little inch of rope to tease himself with.

Fujima scoffed at the idea. "Amusement lasts for a moment," he pointed out. "But your obsession with him is a thousand years old."

Sakuragi snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Then perhaps I'm just living with false hope."

Fujima seemed to think about this. "What false hope?" he asked.

Sakuragi twisted one wrist in a careless gesture. "Perhaps I just want to fuck him again."

"You could have him whenever you want," Fujima pointed out.

Sakuragi shook his head dismissively. "No. No. Not like he is now. What interest do I have in the fallen? Ugly, dirty, cheap things like you." His foot on Fujima's head increased in pressure, causing a thin, nervous noise to sound in Fujima's mouth. "I fucked an angel. And that..." Sakuragi smiled wistfully, "...perhaps that is what I want."

There was a moment of silence. And then there was laughter. Cold laughter from down by his feet.

"Pathetic," Fujima sneered.

Sakuragi's eyes abruptly turned red, but Fujima's amusement did not cease.

"What you're saying is that you've destroyed the very thing you want most," Fujima laughed. "You took him, and you broke him, and now you can never again have him as he once was. But you cannot accept it. You continue to pursue him. To desire him. I never took you for such a fool."

Irritated, Sakuragi made to press down harder with the weight of his foot, perhaps fracture Fujima's pretty little skull against the floor, but Fujima's hand reached up and locked around his ankle with surprising strength, preventing him. Though Sakuragi scowled, for all his monstrous power he could not move from Fujima's grip.

Sakuragi grit his teeth. After a moment which persisted long enough to prove that Fujima's superior strength was incontestable, Fujima's hand released him. Sakuragi moved his foot away, and Fujima sat up, still on the floor, his hair tousled, and looking as deceptively pathetic as always. Sakuragi glared at him. It was rare, very rare, for Fujima to break the illusion of his weakness. It made Sakuragi irritated.

"Can it be true?" Fujima looked up at him, still smirking through his disarranged fringe. "Did the demon lord fall in love with the same innocent that he raped?"

Sakuragi managed to swallow his anger back down. Rising to Fujima's bait had been an elementary error. He should have known better. Through force of will, his eyes faded from red to a brittle blue, and he scoffed coldly and shook his head. "Love? Impossible. You said so yourself."

"Yes," Fujima tilted his head. "Sad, isn't it?" He smirked momentarily. "Just imagine if you'd been made a different way. In a different body. You could have been beside him. You could have been his companion. He might even have loved you back. Instead you were born cursed. Everything you touch you break. Everything you desire turns to ash in your hands. This strange love you have for him has been doomed from the start, and it's not even your fault. You are just a slave to your nature. You truly are a pitiful thing, aren't you?"

Sakuragi scowled at him. "You're not much joy yourself," he retorted, annoyed.

"No..." Fujima shrugged, "...but at least I can say I made my own choice." He glanced up at Sakuragi, his eyes brightening. "Did I ever tell you the story of my fall?"

Sakuragi's look became openly wary at this unexpected change in topic. It was unusual for Fujima to voluntarily offer information about himself. Sakuragi began to realise that whatever purpose Fujima had come here for, whatever twisted plan he had for causing Sakuragi pain, was still underway.

"No," he answered suspiciously. He narrowed his eyes. In truth he had wondered a few times. Fujima was very different to most of the fallen. Some sort of succubus, he supposed. Feeding on sex and desire. Seductive and sly. Useless for anything except opening his legs and begging. And yet he was ancient even beyond Sakuragi's years. He was possessed of no small power, but the manner and the limits of his strength were hard to comprehend.

Fujima gave a tepid smile. "I'm not a fighter; I wasn't out there slaughtering innocents," he let out a laugh. "I fell in love," he declared, and when he sensed Sakuragi's full curiosity upon him, he added, "with a mortal."

He observed the change in Sakuragi. The narrowing of his eyes, turning slowly orange, effusing towards red. Knowing that Fujima was baiting him, trying to resist his pull and yet already caught. A fish on Fujima's line.

"Did you know?" Fujima added casually.

"Know what?" Sakuragi's voice was a warning growl.

"That fucking mortals is forbidden? A true cardinal sin." Fujima's smile was innocent. "Ah..." he whispered quietly in the face of Sakuragi's slack silence, "No, you didn't know."

Sakuragi glared silently at him.

Fujima licked his lips delightedly, but then his expression soured. "I married her, you know? And I was happy. For forty years. For forty years of my life I was happy Hanamichi, I truly was. Despite what they did to me. Despite the price they made me pay, I loved her. All I wanted was to be with her." He let out a cold laugh. "But you know what? Mortals… they die. And now I can't even remember her name." He shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it at all."

Sakuragi's expression was cold. "Do you have a point?" he snarled.

"Perhaps. I just thought it seemed rather ironic." Fujima turned his face away to hide his amusement. "He hates you for what you did to him. You caused his fall, you ruined him, so it's only natural isn't it? That he would despise you. But now... now..." he gave a dark chuckle, "...he chooses damnation anyway."

He waited. And Sakuragi's voice did not disappoint. It was stretched to breaking as he snarled, "What are you talking about?"

Fujima turned back to him and smiled sweetly. "That mortal cock he's been rutting on, of course."

The red in Sakuragi's eyes turned black. The silence stretched between them long and taut.

"That's impossible," Sakuragi decided. "Kaede? No. He's too-"

"-frigid?" Fujima suggested with a smirk. "Proud?" He shrugged. "That mortal boy can make him stretch his legs like a whore." Fujima put his fingers to his mouth and licked them thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind a ride on that cock. If he can seduce even the infamously frigid Third, he must be really very good."

Sakuragi's expression was half fury mixed with abject astonishment. "Impossible," he repeated, but then he added, "How do you know this?"

"Because unlike you..." Fujima examined his fingernails casually, "...the walls of Yoku are no barrier to me."

All the muscles in Sakuragi's face tightened until his expression was a mask of anger. He rose slowly to his feet. Fujima shuffled back away from him swiftly. Sakuragi's eyes had darkened to void-like black. His wings unfurled behind him to their fullmost extent, huge and horrible. Tension radiated from him like a force. A loud crack echoed through the air and Fujima lifted his eyes to see that the marble wall had fractured from floor to ceiling. A black, broken line across the white surface. The fabric of reality bending itself to the pressure of Sakuragi's emotion.

Fujima had never seen Sakuragi so angry. He lifted his eyes up to admire him in all his glory. He realised he could see the warm flickering light of flames moving inside the pulsing veins of his wings. A delighted thrill overtook him. He felt his body rise again in arousal at the sight of him standing there, strong and dark and cruel.

"What are you going to do?" Fujima piped sweetly.

Sakuragi's hand came down and wrapped tight around Fujima's neck. He hoisted him physically up into the air like a rag-doll and gave him a shake. "Tell me how I can cross the threshold of Yoku," he demanded.

Fujima's slack, naked body hung limp and helpless in his grip. Yet he giggled.

"My sweet child," he purred. "I have already told you that."

Sakuragi paused for a short moment, thinking back over their conversation. Then he released his grip, and Fujima hit the floor heavily.

Sakuragi turned away, sparing no further acknowledgment for the smaller demon where he'd fallen. The smell of burning lingered after him. The swirl of his concentrating power sucked at the air so that it felt like a breeze through Fujima's hair. Fujima shuddered with a soft sigh of appreciation. He watched as spider webs of fractures burst across the marble floor with each step Sakuragi took as he left.

In three strides, he was gone.

Alone, Fujima gazed after him longingly for a moment, before he got up, wincing just a little, and went to sit naked on Sakuragi's throne. Silver blood smeared carelessly onto the velvet seat. He tilted his head and rested his chin on his small palm. The throne dwarfed him.

Fujima dragged his fingers thoughtfully over his slack lips.

The thought of the Third slaughtered amused him. As for the mortal boy, it seemed inevitable that he would die slowly. A shame to waste him, perhaps. Fujima would have liked to have ridden him. Taken him to the brink of ecstasy and death. His favourite kind of fucking.

He closed his eyes and slid his fingers along the golden ornaments of the throne, his long fingers caressing the moulded precious metals.

Ah.

How strange.

The millennia pass, but the sentiments, the love, the loss, all remain the same.

Was it worth it... he asked silently, ...Toru?

From under the drift of his fringe, his eyes shimmered a little - but whether it was tears or anticipation, it was hard to tell. Likely, after so long, Fujima himself no longer could tell the difference.

Rukawa Kaede. He considered thoughtfully. I wonder if he might succeed where I failed?

He twisted his tongue in his mouth. It seemed very unlikely.

Still, deep inside, he felt the ache of the knife slowly twisting. He hissed with the same long-felt agony. He squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the pain to subside.

Mortal love was never meant to last forever, right, Toru?

False hope, he reflected bitterly, was truly the worst kind.