Fanfic by Blueroseulan

December 29, 2004

DISCLAIMER'S NOTES: RK doesn't belong to me. It belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki-sama.

AN: This is an A/U fic meaning nothing like this ever really happened in the anime. Also, this is a bit rated for the language and terms that I sometimes used. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this… KnK rawks!

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ON WITH THE STORY!

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A whore can never have any living standards, more so morality. A woman branded as the given title is given only one job to do; that is to fuck a man till he tires himself.

Harsh as it may sound, it was the bitter truth. And you rather take the offer or starve you and your family to death, literally. A girl cannot be permitted for a job. For girls are rather soft and shy by nature. A woman is what it called for. Given were the perfectly sculpted bodies, milky white skin and graceful figures, given were the beautiful eyes and sexy sultry looks…

But sometimes, a man can only see much.

They never realized that behind those sexy teases, one nightstand fucks and money exchanging was a woman… or rather, a girl crying for her lost innocence, weeping over the spilt morality on her bed. Behind those graceful movements, the slender curve of one's waist is a soul desperately lounging, grabbing for whatever decency she might grasp, wishing in silent prayer to go back to the day she chose prostitution as her lifetime job, and change her hastily made decision.

Whores can still feel.

As a woman lays on her bed, a man hovering above her and joining her body with his, she lays motionless… unmoving. Allowing the man to hold her, touch her and use her. After all, she was really getting paid for the job. But while whores remain impassive of any emotions, their eyes foretell a painful secret no one has ever been told.

Pain, Longing and Suffering.

No matter how benumbed a woman had been, no matter how bitter life has made her to be, she will always feel the hot sting of tears secretly cascading down to her beautiful smooth cheek, forever marring it with a scar, ugly to the soul, rough for the spirit. Her face turns into an odd angle as she reaches her orgasm. The once ecstatic careless pleasure now curved in a twisted torment. One had had to admit that the first few tries would have been pleasurable and enjoying for the body, no matter how guilty and dirty it made you feel after wards. But years allow change, and change happens even to whores. Gone were the pleasurable feelings, accompanied by the balm of ecstasy to the stinging hurt of guilt. Replacing it was the bitterness you felt in your heart, reminding you that with every man who touches your body, you become dirtier to the eyes of people, weighing down your soul with a heavier burden to carry.

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Maeba Kiyoku watched as her girls made ready for the night's show. The old hunched woman who possessed a toothless grin made sure all of her performers did well. No mistake was allowed. No flaw, everything must be perfect. Your grace, your poise and yes, even the amount of money you brought to the teahouse must be faultless. Many a time she had pushed a weeping woman out of her doors. Morality, innocence, ethics and purity must be thrown in the darkest corner of the teahouse, spat and stomped about. Virginity was never an issue. And never will it be. For Maeba made sure her girls bade well. The green wicked eyes never missed a thing, even a small flaw would find fault.

As she walked further inside the room, she noticed a particular woman with the unmistakable flowing jet black locks cascading down her back in front of the mirror expertly tying an obi around her waist.

"Kamiya."

Said woman turned to gaze at the shorter woman beside her.

"Yes auntie?"

Maeba frowned and tugged the obi tighter making it almost impossible for her niece to breath.

"I expect you to do well. It's a Saturday. Bring many men tonight."

With that the old woman walked off, missing the hasty look of desperation on her face before covering it up with an impassive mask.

Bring many men tonight

It was an order, straight from her aunt and she dared not to disobey it, for she knew she owed her life to the woman. Her aunt having saved her from death and starvation by raising her and making her a well- knowned prostitute in Kyoto.

Bluerose

Her title made its way on her lips, escaping as a breathless whisper while she adjusted her hair and her clothing to show ample cleavage. For once, she was thankful to her aunt for giving her that calling, that alias. Bluerose was a person devoid of any emotions. A great fucker and a favorite amongst politicians. Yes. Bluerose was the person who danced for the audience outside the stage, the woman who pleasured men and earned money for the teahouse.

Yet Bluerose was a far cry from Kaoru Kamiya.

Kaoru felt disgusted and revolted with the way men touch her, how Maeba could order her about and how she allowed herself to rot in this kind of place with this kind of dirty work.

Bluerose never felt guilt, Kamiya Kaoru did.

She was the diamond among the others. She certainly knew that. She was the star of the night, treated better from the others, protected most because of her impeccable quality. Maeba made sure she only bed a man who can pay the right amount, which so to speak is very high. She was the most expensive and she brought a large amount of money in the teahouse.

Yet Kaoru could never feel redemption.

And she never will.

"Kao—I mean Bluerose-san?"

She turned to see Tsubame, wearing a daring kimono herself.

"You look beautiful Kaoru-san…"

"Arigatou Tsubame." She managed to give off a grateful smile.

Indeed she was; wearing a midnight blue kimono that fell off from her shoulders slipping past her elbows and showing an ample—if not too much—cleavage. Her hair was arranged in curls, halfway tied on the topmost crown of her head while the rest bounced all the way back. Her pale skin contrasted by the inky color of her tresses and her face wore make-up.

"It's your turn to perform… Gambatte yo..." the fifteen year old teenager said.

Nodding, she made her way towards the stage, face hardening and banishing any emotions. And as she faced the crowd and performed her number, she felt Bluerose take over the person she had become.

It was weird saying really how she felt like a completely different person when she did her duties as a whore. Bluerose became her façade, and she was thankful for it, because it helped her not to feel the guilt and emptiness afterwards. But still, there would be many nights when Bluerose and Kamiya Kaoru warred and her impassive persona waned making her guilt and emptiness twice the pain, as she lay exhausted on her futon.

She heard her name called and slowly she began to ascend the flight of step leading towards the stage, the music ringing in her ears. Deliberately performing her dance with precise grace and practiced fluidity, she allowed her senses to feel the sound, the gentle rhythm of koto strings. It had since been a long time she had mastered the art of the fan and the woman felt at ease, relaxed and instead enter her own graceful world, forgetting the men, the noise and the vulgarity of things around her midst.

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The Hitokiri Battousai watched as the woman he had eyed for a week performed her graceful dance. It was unusual for the shadow assassin to be found inside a teahouse watching a woman obscured by people. Normally he would be home by this time, reporting for his boss, doing his duty, and killing someone… All but finding himself inside this wretched place.

Yet something had caught his eye the night when he accompanied Kogoro Katsura inside the Red Dragon Teahouse.

That woman.

He heard the men call her Bluerose and he wondered over the name. Rumors had it that men who paid a large amount only touched her. Normally by politicians they say.

He frowned at the thought.

His curiosity rose and she intrigued him, so he decided to watch her, the next day and the next until it became a week and she had become something akin to an aphrodisiac.

And so, the famous Hitokiri Battousai found himself in one of the hidden parts of the room, paying the caretaker a large sum of money for the sake of having her for a night.

A foolish notion it was really.

When she first entered the room wearing an almost ethereal yukata, she saw a man with flaming red hair resting at the far corner of the room. At once, her curiosity was aroused. Is he? Is he the Hitokiri Battousai?

When he turned his eyes to look at her, he was almost shocked with how she looked.

Rumors had it that she resembled a goddess.

Rumors had never been so true.

Her face was pale and glowing in the moonlight and her inky black locks contrasted the white of her skin. Her eyes held a lapis lazuli shade and her lips were perfectly shaped.

It was as if she was a goddess.

Yet even if her form was beautiful, perfect and without flaw, the man could feel her sadness, loneliness, emptiness and whatever dark emotions she harbored in her ki.

She advanced him, almost mechanically; this part the first step of her job and it gave the swordsman the opportunity to study her.

Her eyes were beautiful, but haunting. Cheeks were perfectly, sculpted, yet somehow, he could still see the invisible lingering traces of her tears. She did not speak, but her eyes spoke volumes, enough for him to feel the ache and loneliness she felt. From then on, the man realized something and quickly made his decision.

She was more than surprised—shocked maybe—when he suddenly stood up, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" her voice was confused, eyes perplexed. Why pay if leave?

"Why?" she asked, her tone betraying amusement, relief and something far more complicated.

His answer was simple enough.

"You don't look like you can fuck one more man tonight. If I bed you, my money would be wasted."

Painful, but true. Inwardly, Kaoru flinched, surprised by the frankness and harshness of his voice.

Surprise soon followed when he held her hand and led her towards the window. Astonishment further flickered in her eyes when he spoke.

"I am going to give this night to you. I'm going to help you escape this teahouse, for just a night. It'll give you the chance to do whatever you want, whatever you're not allowed to do inside. If I bed you, my money would go down the drain, but if you follow me, the money I paid is with worth for I pleasured both you and me."

She could only nod whilst he looped his arm tightly around her waist and leapt away from the high window. Kaoru had never even dared in her wildest dreams to use the skylight, as means of escape for it was far too elevated. And as they landed with a heavy thud on the ground, the prostitute could not help but feel grateful, indebted and… drawn to the man?

There was a spring nearby for Kaoru could hear water in her senses. Panic overcame her when she saw his retreating figure.

"Where are you going?" she asked her voice thick with alarm and urgency.

"To the spring. Comeback there an hour before daybreak. I will take you back."

He was gone after then. And she was left alone, standing in the middle of a forest glade.

TBC…

AN: Some notes to consider:

I'M NOT A PROSTITUTE! Just so you guys would know. If you're wondering why I used my penname as Kaoru's alias in this fic was because I couldn't think of any name suited to her situation anymore. So after days and days of racking my head for an appropriate name, I thought of using my penname instead and the name stuck. (I hope nobody flames me on this ;)

Secondly, Battousai isn't as cold and as deadly in this fic. I hope you guys understand that. For him not to bed Kaoru on their first night is proof enough that he isn't as brusque and as cruel as some think of him to be. He has a softer more passionate side that will be shown in the latter chapters that I hope you guys will appreciate.

I hope things got cleared up… on with the next chapter!

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BLUEROSE