Author's Note: I know, it's been quite awhile. There were several items I wanted to release at once. Think of this as another contribution to the campaign for increased hotsexay Oriya lovins. ^_^
Warnings: OriyaxHisoka, more Oriya backstory made up on the spot, return of the revenge of the OCs
Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei is the property of Matsushita Yoko - I'm just borrowing a few things. The plot is definitely mine, though. I mean, really, who else would do this sort of thing? Okay, don't answer that...
VI. What Is Left Behind
I really had to stop waking up before six. If nothing else, it was getting rather tiring, even if the sunrises were soothing to the soul. Unfortunate it was that bouya seemed not to be benefiting from the peaceful sanctuary I offered. He was physically stronger than he had been when Muraki first brought him to me, it was true, but his spirit was still very weak. And that, in turn, was interfering with his recovery.
Sleep continued to elude me and so I made ready to face the day. Perhaps bouya's partner would finally arrive and take him back to Meifu. For reasons I dared not explore, it wasn't what I wanted. But whatever Muraki had done, I could not undo it. All other considerations aside, staying with me would mean giving up his magic, possibly forever. Even if it was what he wanted - and I knew it was not - I could not allow him to make such a sacrifice.
And then there was the matter of the cutting. Nothing I did had any impact on the boy, as frustrating as that was. I didn't have the experience, either with cutting or with bouya, to deal with the situation. And somehow I doubted what experience I did have with depression would be enough to help. It was maddening, in a perverse sort of fashion.
He was caught in the throws of another nightmare when I returned, thrashing violently in his anxiousness to be free of whatever terror had snared his sleeping mind. I could no more stand idle and watch him then I could prevent his nightmares in the first place. Kneeling at his bedside, I reached out to gently shake his shoulder . . . and was rocked back as he lashed out instinctively, waking only when his arm didn't return as he had expected.
"A nightmare, bouya," I soothed, releasing his arm.
"Aa . . . gomen," he murmured, rubbing at his wrist awkwardly with his injured hand as he sat up and hunched over his knees.
"Have they always been this frequent?"
"Aa . . . yes. No. Sort of."
"Sort of?" I asked, unable to hide the quiet amusement at his answer, though I knew he was trying to be serious.
"They . . . they get worse right after. . . . It . . . takes time to make them fade again," he explained, unthinkingly worrying at the watch on his left wrist. I wondered if he even realized what he was doing. Whatever he had been dreaming, it had disturbed him deeply if even his sliced hand wasn't bothering him. Or perhaps it was and it was that pain off of which he was feeding his veneer of calm.
"Go back to sleep, Bon. You need your rest if you are to heal. . . ."
"Hai . . . arigatou, Mibu-san."
I settled the blanket about his shoulders, watching over him as he fell back to sleep almost reluctantly. My own mind was in chaos, selfish desires conflicting with what ought to be. Not wanting to burden him unduly with my own confusion, I retreated to stand beside a rear window, allowing my mind to wander as I watched the smoke from my pipe join the morning mists wending around the ghostly forms of the silvered maple trees. Though I still called him a boy, he was old enough to be a man, entitled to making his own choices. And he would choose to go back to Meifu, never to return, of that much I was certain. It was the right decision. So why was I feeling uncharacteristically reluctant to lose his company? He was snappish, cold at the best of times, standoffish, and constantly pushing away. All in all, he was a far cry from an ideal companion. And for five nights in a row I had been haunted with images of those emerald eyes and a youth forever trapped in a body that had not yet started it's final growth spurt.
Madness. Complete and utter madness. I did not need companionship so badly that I would turn to a teenager who all but hated me, no matter how beautiful he was. I would not be so easily dragged into whatever mad scheme Kazutaka was plotting this time.
I drew in a deep breath, savoring the tobbaco smoke until it burned my lungs, then exhaled in a controlled stream. Blue-grey smoke swirled away in ethereal strands, meandering through the mist-darkened trunks of the maple trees beyond my window. A living shield that granted privacy both to myself and to my neighbor. A wall that hemmed me in as surely as any stones would have done. The rustling leaves whispered of duties and responsibilities not yet met and that would not go away or diminish, no matter how I ignored them. My life was no place for a wife, but it was what was expected.
"He's trapped us both."
Bouya's voice startled me out of my thoughts, haunted eyes staring up at me. He shivered, then drew the blanket around himself more tightly, looking surprisingly vulnerable. He had taken to looking out the window as well, but his eyes were vacant, unseeing.
"You in your hopelessness and me in my rage. He's laughing at us, you know. . . . Laughing at how easily he can manipulate us. Do you really think he feels anything for you? He's not capable of it! You think he could ever love you? He thinks love's a waste of time!"
"Do you delight in reminding me!" I yelled at him, anger surging upward with alarming speed. "Do you take pleasure in seeing my pain?!"
"I. . . ."
"I've known him for more than half my life; you think I don't know what he's like??"
"I . . . Mibu-san . . . you're hurting me. . . ."
And it was true. In my rage, I'd thrown him against the wall, pining his shoulder to the window frame. The blanket had fallen to the floor already and his tunic had slid askew, baring the pale skin of his too-thin shoulder and making his trembling all the more obvious. A physical desire I had been fighting to deny fed on that exposed flesh, becoming a haunting voice in my thoughts that hungered for more.
"Aa . . . forgive me," I murmured, releasing him to turn away as I fought to bring myself back under control. I could feel his hesitation, fingertips barely whispering against the fabric of my kimono. There was no logic to the desires that bubbled up with that touch - we fought daily over the most trivial of things. And yet. . . .
"I . . . you had a right to be angry," bouya murmured at length. "You'd think I'd learn. . . ."
"Learn?" I asked, turning slightly to peer at him from the corner of my eye. Hugging himself tightly, his eyes downcast, he was both painfully beautiful and terribly vulnerable. The strident voice of longing urged me to gather him into my arms, to kiss away the tears he held inside, but I resisted. I could not force myself on this beautiful boy!
"His faces . . . his lies. . . ."
"Then . . . am I forgiven, bouya?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it, my control similarly slipping as I completed my turn to face him. He was still hugging himself tightly, still avoiding my gaze. Silence hung between us, interrupted only by the quiet sounds of morning, as if we were frozen in a moment of time.
I was beginning to wonder if he intended to say anything at all when his voice, a bare whisper, reached out and touched something deep inside: "There's nothing to forgive. . . ."
"Then forgive me this," I murmured, closing what little distance remained between us to tilt his chin upwards and brush a whisper of a kiss across surprisingly soft lips. Wide green eyes blinked up at me, too shocked to do anything as my touch faded from his skin. Another tremor shook through him and then he fell to his knees.
"No . . . this isn't happening . . . this isn't happening. . . ."
I knelt before him, gently brushing away the tears that threatened to spill down alabaster cheeks. He drew in a few shuddering breaths, trying to bring himself back under control. I tried to still the whispered urges I was feeling, but it was a futile battle, those forbidden desires fueled by his lack of revulsion. A battle I conceded entirely when, with eyes tightly closed, he pressed my hand to his cheek.
"I don't want to be alone anymore," he whispered, so perfectly echoing my thoughts as to be almost eerie.
"Then stay here, bouya. Stay with me, my Hisoka. . . ."
Only a handful of words, and yet I had betrayed his welfare with my selfish wants. I pulled my hand free, eliciting a tiny whimper of protest.
"Mibu-san. . . ."
"Oriya. My given name is Oriya."
"Oriya," he murmured softly, as if tasting the sound of the name on his lips. He shivered then, an incongruous reminder that he was still a virgin. Not physically, not in the most literal sense, and yet . . . he still radiated a certain purity, an innocence that was intoxicating.
Though I tried to tell myself I was drawing him closer so he didn't have to feel so cold, it was a weak lie at best. A soft smile dared to pull at the corner of my mouth as the boy willingly rested his head against my shoulder with a quiet sigh. Eyes closed, there was a measure of trust being exuded that I hadn't experienced in . . . a long time. I gently turned his head, brushing a light kiss across his lips. As much as I tried to tell myself that it was enough, the voice of need was not so easily subdued. So I stole another kiss from unresponsive lips, unable to stop the sigh that followed.
"Is something wrong?" he murmured, eyes filled with confused concern.
"Only how much you don't know," I replied quietly, waiting for him to open his mouth to speak before sweeping in for another kiss. Gently suckling on his lower lip, my hand slipped under the hem of his thin tunic, tracing faint lines across his lower back. Surprisingly needy whimpers caught in my Hisoka's throat, all the encouragement one could want.
"Mibu-san. . . ?"
I don't know how I missed hearing Seiya's geta in the passageway or the rustle of the door sliding open, but her voice was quite another matter. I turned to admonish her for intruding without knocking, but the words died unsaid at the embarrassment I saw in her posture. Brilliant crimson had blossomed across her cheeks, though she tried to hide it in her intense study of the floor, thin fingers absently toying with a tassle on the breakfast tray she had been sent to deliver.
"I didn't order breakfast."
"I . . . I know, Owner, but. . . ."
"But what?" I demanded, annoyance seeping into my voice when I realized bouya had moved himself back to the bed and firmly wrapped himself in the duvet, as if embarrassed to have been seen in such intimate contact. His cheeks were nearly as flushed as Seiya's and I had the rather frustrating suspicion that yet another precious moment had been lost.
"Sonashi-kaasan had to go out early. Cheisa-san is already nearly panicked; Kurouga-sama wishes to meet with you this evening."
"One of these days I will impress upon him the importance of scheduling these things in advance," I muttered, more to myself than for Seiya's benefit, though I knew she would say nothing of my words. "Very well. Tell Cheisa I'll met with her as soon as I've finished."
"Hai, Owner," she murmured, still not willing to look at me directly as she hurried out of the room. In other circumstances, I mused as I watched her hurry away, her embarrassment might have been amusing. Even endearing. But it was not what I wanted.
Breakfast was a hurried and silent affair, at least on my part. Hisoka was still poking at his when I left to assist Cheisa in making sure all was right with the Ko Kaku Rou by that evening. Not a particularly difficult series of tasks, but they did keep me away from my guest all day, to my annoyance. And though I knew he was well tended - Nyassa spent the day with him in the guise of honing her skills as a silent companion - my mood was less than pleasant when Aiichirou arrived.
"Ah, Mibu-kun, I do hope I haven't upset your plans too greatly. . . ."
"You are always most welcome here, Kurouga-san."
He only smiled and, despite sly attempts, blithely refused to admit to any agenda save wishing to see me until after dinner was completed and we had retired to the garden, I with my pipe and he with his cigarettes. I shivered at the unintentional reminder of Muraki and wondered what he was planning.
"Something weighs on you, Mibu-kun. And it is not merely my unexpected company, though I confess to some surprise that you should find me such ill companionship."
"I would never feel that way, Kurouga-san. . . ."
"A silver tongue can be a gift in the floating world, but if you think you can fool your patron. . . . I've known you for too many years, Oriya."
I watched the thin curl of smoke rising from the end of my pipe to keep from facing those knowing slate eyes. Aiichirou had watched over me since the day of my parents' deaths, arguing fervently with Sonashi and Yuriko until they had bowed to the unhappy truth that, though I was a man, the Ko Kaku Rou sat on my family's land and could not be taken from me. He had been my sponsor, aiding me in getting into the finest schools, for few, it seemed, were those who could resist his charms. Though the years had peppered his dark hair with grey, it made him seem dignified rather than merely old.
"Why have you come here, truly?"
"You are not as young as you once were, Oriya. Perhaps it is time you took a wife, yes? My daughter Nanko would be a good match for you."
"Kurouga-san. . . ."
"I worry for you, Oriya. All this loneliness is not good for you."
"I would hardly call myself alone," I snorted, gesturing vaguely to the house and grounds around us.
"Business. And that man. Not appropriate, as well you know."
"I am aware of my duties, Aiichirou," I whispered, watching the night sky. The hour had grown late and I found myself wondering yet again about the childlike shinigami hidden away in my room. Was he still awake? Would he be angry with me for leaving Nyassa with him all day? Thoughts that were inappropriate to my current situation and yet, would not leave me alone.
"Perhaps it was wrong to force you into this position," Kurouga mused suddenly. "Perhaps another solution should have been found. This is your family's land and you the only heir, but . . . I wonder if my sponsorship, my insistances, did more to harm than to help. . . ."
"I don't understand. . . ."
"Aa, just the idle musings of an old man. Pay them no mind, Mibu-kun. Indeed, I should probably be going home. Particularly since you seem so preoccupied with something."
We walked to the entry in the sort of companionable silence that was almost enough to make me forget about his earlier proposal. Almost.
"Think about what I've said, Mibu-kun," Kurouga said with quiet firmness as he paused in the door. "If not Nanko . . . perhaps someone closer?"
He cast a significant look over my shoulder, then walked out to the waiting car. Looking back, I was surprised to see Seiya all but clinging to the shadows like one trying not to be noticed. With eyes tuned by my sponsor's words, I studied her anew. She was young yet, a dozen years my junior, but with a certain poise that spoke of a natural aptitude. She was a swift and patient student, intelligent dark eyes watching the world with shrewd interest. She had much to learn yet, of course, but her beauty alone would make her an acceptable wife for any man. And with a start I realized she had been assigned to my dinners with Aiichirou more often than not in the past year. Indeed, in the last three days, Sonashi had sent her with my breakfast twice and I could not ignore the possibility that there was something more than idle coincidence at work.
I closed the distance between us, turning her chin when she tried to look away. A brief flicker of fear, swiftly replaced by the confidence of knowing she had done nothing wrong and the wariness of not knowing what I wanted from her. My thumb drew a brief line along her jaw, lingering a second too long against smooth skin.
"You'll do," I murmured, releasing her. I could feel shocked eyes watching me as I walked past her, but she made no move to follow. I held back a smile, strongly suspecting that she would run either to Cheisa or Sonashi and beg for an explanation. I could almost wish to know what either would say.
Bouya was alone when I reached my room, propped up in bed with yet another hefty book. Irreverently, I wondered if he had taken it upon himself to read every book in my library. He only glanced over the top of the spine as I entered, paying me no real attention as I moved about the room. As if he were trying to avoid me as much as the limited space would allow. An understandable reaction, I suppose, given the morning's events, but not one I intended to simply accept from him. Not when strident desires had returned to nest in my heart.
"How was your day?" I asked casually, hoping to draw him out that way.
"Fine," he murmured, still not looking up.
"I hear you were asking after a train schedule."
"Yeah, well. . . ."
The subtle approach having failed, I decided to take more decisive action. Pulling the book away with one hand, I clasped his chin, forcing him to look at me.
"I'd rather you stayed," I murmured before capturing his mouth in a lingering kiss. Whatever his intended response, it was lost to him, replaced by a faint, needy whimper. I drew him closer, drinking in the gentle warmth of his mouth, the youthful contours of his body. I wanted him then, all of him, more than I had wanted anything since those first days with Kazutaka. If my Hisoka was passive, then it was only because he knew nothing else.
With a gasp he pulled back, his hands flying up to ward me back as he lay collapsed against the headboard, panting. As much as I wanted to pull him close again, I respected his silent request for space, waiting for emerald eyes to open once more.
"Too . . . much," he panted. "Want too much, too fast."
I blinked down at him stupidly, taking several seconds before understanding clicked into place. His empathy. Of course he had responded to my advances - he was feeling everything I was feeling. For all that I had sworn not to push myself onto him, it seemed I had done so anyway.
"Gomen ne, my Hisoka. I'll leave. . . ."
I was just about to get up when his hand suddenly clamped down on my wrist. Startled, I looked back and found myself nearly lost in those jadeite depths.
"Please stay," he whispered with surprising urgency. "I don't want to be alone."
How could I refuse?
"Then you mean to stay in my bed? Even with me in it?"
"Aa . . . even with you in it."
His shy smile tugged at me anew, a smile of my own catching at the corner of my mouth. He released my hand and, with a silent promise to return, I got up to tend to the room's lights. The darkness of night folded around us swiftly and I returned to my bed to find him already burrowed under the blankets, half curled on his side. With a silent sigh, I slipped into the bed, drawing his slender frame into my arms. He wriggled momentarily, then sighed in contentment as he found a more comfortable position.
"Good night, my Hisoka."
"Good night, Oriya."
I felt him drift into sleep swiftly, his body releasing all of it's tensions as dreamless sleep claimed him. Though I knew I could not hold him forever, I clung tenaciously to consciousness, savoring every moment. He could not stay; intellectually I knew it to be true. I had perhaps only a few hours more. How could I squander them on sleep?