Title: Last Night: "Close Your Eyes" and "Hold On"

Author: MsJadey

E-mail: slashingmsjadey@hotmail.com

Archive: SaiSa, so far.  Anyone else: you want it, you ask, and you got it.

Rating: R

Warnings: sexuality, possible non-con, language

Summary: Two sides of the same morning, from two different perspectives.

Disclaimer: It all belongs to Watsuki-sensei; I hope he never finds out what I've done to his boys.

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Author's Note (not essential and sometimes weepy):

You may remember "Close Your Eyes" from the first time it was posted a while ago.  I have made a few alterations to it since (mostly working out tense errors and awkward sentences), but it's basically the same fic.  However, the idea has moved far beyond a single one-shot.  Beyond two one-shots actually.  The whole Last Night couplet has become the prequel to another fic, Red Sky at Morning, which will show up only after Dreaming and another fic, Suppress It (humour this time; the prologue has been posted at sanas_yl, and possibly the SxSAS as well, but I can't remember), are done.  Red Sky is going to run for several chapters (more than five, less than ten, I think) and will definitely conclude the story started in Last Night.

"Hold On" is the new fic, the companion to Eyes.  As promised, it is Sano's versions of the events.  Hold On has a significantly less satisfying ending than Eyes (not that Eyes was very satisfying either), which is why I mentioned the continuation series above.  I have been working on it for a while, and I think it's about the best thing I've written so far (which is why I spent a week being depressed because it wasn't perfect T_T).

I had a ton of help with it, as well as with Eyes, and I'd like to give a huge hug to my six (count 'em, six!) beta readers.  Sabina: for hating my writing style and RK, but beta-ing anyway.  Erica: for being one of the only two betas who actually knew the series.  Melanie: for beta-ing on the toilet.  Ray: for writing more jokes than actual corrections.  Jacqui: for being late with perfect timing.  And Amy: for making me her grammar bitch.

Also, a great honour has been bestowed upon me by the lovely Yomegane Kenosuke (the_fenril_knight)--she's adapted Last Night into a doujinshi!  Starting with Sanosuke's actions after waking up abandoned, she follows him until he finds Saitou, and then illustrates (okay, bad pun) what ensues.  It isn't exactly what I have planned to happen in Red Sky at Morning, but the her interpretation and extrapolation is just as likely and definitely entertaining and interesting, just as I hope Red Sky will be.  Plus, the artwork is absolutely spectacular!  For a first-time doujinshika, Keno-kun does a kickass, professional-type job.  ^_^ 

Check out Keno's doujin, Stay Away, at Queen Yokozuna'a SaiSa archive:

(It's listed under my name, not Keno's pseudonym.)

Lege!

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Close Your Eyes

Warnings: sexuality, possible non-con

Summary: A "morning after" one-shot in Saitou POV

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Regrets and retrospect should not precede coffee and a cigarette.

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   I wake to gentle snoring.  The sky is dark, but dawn threatens to appear.  I am aware of the warm body curled beside me.  One of his legs drapes over both of mine, and my body is slumped against him, an arm around his shoulders.  His hair tickles my nose.  I can feel the warmth of his hands on my chest, and I find myself moving to kiss him.

   He stirs, rolls over, and continues to sleep.

   His right wrist is bared, lying beside his head, and the position makes him look like a young child.  I hesitate.  What have I done?

   I carefully lift my arm.  If he wakes, it will make the situation worse.  In the intensity of last night, I didn't stop to question myself, and I realize with horror how much my control slipped--beyond slipped.  It was completely shattered and discarded for the touch of this boy.

   His honest company was supposed to be my reward, a well-earned respite from dealing with scum on the streets and scum in the government.  To sit in a tavern with him and just talk was an innocent rest.  I enjoyed listening to his stories of life as a no-good bum, tales of odd jobs, exaggerated fights, interesting people, rescued kitties, and games of chance.

   He welcomed my presence as well.  I assume it was the sake that made him amiable toward an old antagonist, or the chance to reminisce about the greatest adventures of his short life with someone who had been there, had seen it.

   I wasn't surprised that he'd left Tokyo.  Unlike Himura, his life is far from over.  He may never find greater battles than those against Shishio and Enishi, but he has decades left in which to try.  Yes, he showed sense in leaving that old dojo, but the price on his head must have been a factor.  Trust this moron to piss of a powerful and corrupt politician like that worthless Tani.

   It was strange; he never seemed worried that I would arrest him, either too naïve or too drunk to recognize danger, as has always been his way.  And even knowing this, I took advantage of him.

   It was not my intention when I had first noticed him in the tavern, chatting up a young waitress.  I was sitting back in the shadows, waiting for a very overdue contact.  When it became apparent that I'd been stood up, I decided to sit with the boy, for entertainment's sake.

   It was my tragic error, a moment of weakness in which I allowed loneliness to overcome control.

   Our conversation carried on past midnight, and though I consumed no alcohol, the mere atmosphere of the place wore at my indifference, as did his sweet, low voice.  I remained aloof, not letting myself fall to his level of ribaldry, but his earnestness and rough charm began to appeal to me.  His attractive face took on new meaning.

   As the moon rose outside, it became difficult to remain condescending and detached.  My distraction grew until I found myself staring at his lips and stroking the knuckles of his hand.

   Lying beside him now, I could try to pass my actions off and excuse my weakness.  Blame the fatigue of a sleepless week, the stress of a deliberately large caseload, or the weight of five years self-imposed sexual abstinence.  But I have regained my composure; I will not wash this over, I must acknowledge my failure.

   His hand wasn't soft, not with the fighter's life he'd led.  But--with the exception of the blood of the wicked--it was the warmest thing I'd touched in a long time.  I remember his eyes widening and words slowing as he realized my movements.  Then he stopped talking altogether and leaned forward, brown eyes bright with drunkenness and lips slightly pursed.  He'd intended to kiss me in a public tavern.  Impetuous child.  I stopped him, my hand spread across his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat and quickened breath.

   I wasn't the only one in lust last night, but he was without judgment.  It was my responsibility to correct him.

   I failed.  I told him "not here" in response to his foolishness.  I didn't laugh at him, smack him, or cease my actions.  I didn't tell him no, never, to go away, or to stop looking at me.  I said "not here," and watched as the words registered for him.

   He sat back slowly, staring at me.  Then, flashing a goofy smile, he jumped up from the table, nearly tripping on legs sore from time spent sitting, and left the tavern.  I waited a few seconds, understanding his conclusion, but not reacting.

   What were my intentions as I stretched my own cramped legs, tossed a bit of money on the table, and followed him?  Did I mean to finally say "no," and send him home to sleep it off?  Or had I abandoned my very last pretense of self-control to the tidal wave of hunger unleashed in me?  None of that mattered when I stepped into the street and his warm arms.

   He tried to kiss me again, but it was still too public for my tastes.  Instead, I ran fingers through his soft hair, pulled his ear to my mouth, and commanded him to lead us to an appropriate place, whichever inn he was staying at.

   He would have run in eagerness if he weren't stumbling in drunkenness, pulling me by the hand.  I revelled in his immature exuberance and beauty, allowing it to become my own.  And once in the room, I took all that innocent beauty and crushed it to the wall, kissing and bruising it with all the force I could muster.

   If I could meet the man I was last night, I would kill him out of sheer disgust.

   How many times before did I abuse this child's body, always keeping in mind his limits, never pushing him much farther than he could go.  Last night I didn't bother, taking what I wanted from an innocent who couldn't defend himself from my appetite.

   Never once did he struggle, though.  That was the worst part of my transgression.  That I stole, not from one who tried to fight back, forcing me to acknowledge my crime, but from a boy who didn't even know what he did or did not want.  It allowed me to pretend that I was what he wanted.

   The sun is finally rising, and I remove myself from his side.  As I dress, I observe every part of his body so that the image remains in my mind as evidence of the danger of weakness, of what can happen when I forget myself.

   I am sickened.  Himura, who is only the shadow of a man, would look down upon me now.  I must rise against this.

   As his body shifts in slumber, I memorize the fingerprint bruises on his neck, chin, and hips, the broken, bleeding, and still swollen lower lip, and the scraped elbow from when I threw him to the floor.  I preserve in my mind every scratch made by my fingernails as I tore his clothes off, and even the ugly bite mark on his shoulder.

   On my body, I can feel his own marks, but they are petty.  They will fade too quickly to serve as reminders of my shame, but I refuse to rely on external sources for reprimand anyway.  Last night proves that the slightest laziness or lapse in vigilance is inexcusable.  And I alone am equipped to control myself.

   There will be no more lapses, no stress, no loneliness, and no desires of the flesh.  The boy was a regrettable mistake, but I cannot reverse it, only prevent its reoccurrence.  I will not go near him again.  He may try to thwart my intentions, but his predictable, unsubtle behavior should make avoiding him simple.

   Fully dressed, I smooth the wrinkles my hakama gained from spending the night on the floor, and remember first approaching him, and how he recognized my preferred undercover disguise and laughed.  Only this moron would reminisce fondly about grave injuries.  I don't regret inflicting those particular wounds, though; he should have stayed down.

   Will he relent now?  It was difficult enough to turn away Tokio after we fulfilled our duties as husband and wife.  But she was sensible and eventually learned to be the proper wife, to raise our sons to serve their country.  This is the only use I have for her; the memory of her warm touch haunts me no longer.

   This child sleeping at my feet is a greater danger to me.  His fierce spirit has invaded me like her gentle one never could.  Yesterday morning, and all the time before, I never gave a thought to him.  Now, I cannot stop agonizing over him.  I doubt he realizes his ability to attach himself to anyone who gives the slightest opening, likely a leftover reaction from his childhood of abandonment.

   Irritatingly, even with the shame of last night hanging in this room, his face provides temptation.  I would kill him if I could detect the slightest justification, but what he so boldly branded on his back is only another of his foolish misconceptions.  There must be another solution.

   If I can't remove him from the physical world, I require time to eradicate him mentally.  Withdrawing won't be difficult; I can easily retreat to where this infantile outlaw can never follow.  His memory and scent will be harder to elude, but I can overwhelm them with the preserved sight of his ravaged body. 

   I will leave him here; the room is paid.  With any luck at all, he will get lost on his way out of town and end up in America, far away from me, so I may peacefully eliminate his traces from my skin and soul.

   As for his eyes, which never looked on me with fear, no matter what liberties I took with his body, and the lips that kissed my cheek softly after I raped him--I would like to tear them out of his face as a testament to the danger of reckless affection.

   This is why I prefer to contend with the evil, rather than the pure.

   Turning, stepping over a pile of shredded bandages, I leave the room.  Sliding the door shut, I don't look back.  I have seen enough of his sleepy smiles.

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Feedback: Is it confusing in flow, language, or meaning?  Are you getting a clear image of the scenes and events?  What do you think of this particular characterization of Saitou?  How do you like the ending?  Are you interested in seeing where this all goes?