~ Oneshot Collection: Loved ~
VI.
Body and Soul
In the shiro of the One-Eyed Dragon at Oushu, there is a certain room that no one enters but Date Masamune.
It is in a wing that is empty, and there is no reason for any visitor to wander that way; it is unlit, the gardens untended, the walls overgrown, the sparse furniture covered with dust. Still – it has one occupant, and it is because of him that the wing has not been torn down completely.
It is because of him that a single room remains opulent as an Imperial harem.
During the day, that wing is silent – but during the night...
During the night, it echoes with screams of terror and passion, hatred and lust.
And love, too - maybe.
Or was that just once?
"It's for your own good, you know. You could never handle the truth; you could never just deal with reality – the world is the way it is, you see?"
Dead eyes stare back at him – the glint in them gone, the light dimmed past even the potential of sparkle. Part of Masamune misses the fury and the raging and the days when every moment was a fight; part of him is glad that Yukimura seems finally to have accepted things the way they are.
He reaches out a hand and brushes shaggy hair away from Yukimura's cheek; he frowns. Even the flinch is gone.
"I promised I'd love you forever; you do remember, don't you? Forever, Red."
His hands stroke the skin of his lover, his rival – the one he had conquered once and forever, and then could not let go of.
Yukimura makes no sound, does not move even when Masamune has pressed himself deep into his body.
Yukimura is remembering the first time. He is remembering love, the feeling burning him, so strong, so impossible – the forbidden, cliché desire.
I am a samurai, who loves another samurai.
He has seen the prints and the pictures – he has flushed nearly purple at the sights and his own imagination's immediacy in imprinting Masamune's face, and his face, on those salacious images. When it happens, and Masamune's hands are touching him, the calluses are exactly where he thought they would be; his hands are strong and rough and oh, so gentle -
And then there is pain, a moment's brief and passionate pain, such lovely pain...
For the first time Yukimura feels complete, and it is more than the pleasure, though that is sharp and delicious and new.
It is Masamune -
And he breathes the words in that moment without thinking of the future that they paint.
"I love you – I love you – I love you -"
Two weeks later came the wedding. Masamune and some woman. Yukimura has never allowed himself to acknowledge her as more than that; he has never forgiven her in his thoughts, because he cannot hate Masamune for her presence even though he tries, cannot despise him even in the deepest terror, can only fight, and succumb, and fight, and succumb.
To the inevitable pleasure; to the inevitable pain.
The pain he had tried to avoid with angry words –
"You have your woman now, you have your wife! You will never have me again; you will never touch me, do you understand? I will not be only a body to you, only a secondary distraction!"
He had known it was coming, someday – he had not thought it would be so soon. And then -
The hilt of a blade striking his temple, quick and bright as a flash of lightning. A whisper, following him into the dark:
"I'm sorry, Red, but I can't let you go. Not now...not ever."
Waking to blackness, and silence, and no one -
Waking to find himself a prisoner, forever bound.
In the now, he can feel what Masamune is doing to him; in his body, there are sensations that he knows he should find pleasing; in his heart, there are shards of darkness beating in time with his blood.
Lub-dub, and that woman..
Lub-dub, and my Dokuganryu...
Lub-dub, and I am a caged beast...
Lub-dub, and I hate you, Masamune..
Lub-dub, and I love you, too.
Yukimura wonders if there is really any difference.
It doesn't matter.
Someday, Masamune will make a mistake...
And then it will all be over.
Yukimura knows it will end in red.
The day comes sooner than he thinks. The household staff know better than to bother Masamune in this one place, in this one room – but Kojuurou comes to find him one night, only to stare wide-eyed at what he sees...
And then turn away and speak in low tones that Yukimura hears with terrible resentment.
"Masamune-dono, your wife has begun her labor."
For the first time, Masamune gets up from Yukimura's body and tosses on a robe without bothering to wash the scent of their sex from his skin, leaves without stopping to check if the chains that hold Yukimura are solidly and safely locked.
It is the mistake Yukimura has been waiting for.
When Masamune is gone, and Kojuurou with him, and the room is quiet and dark again, Yukimura stands and sways and takes a deep breath, and there is a clatter as the chains fall free.
Yukimura does not leave; it has been weeks, months, and those who knew him probably think him dead. His muscles are weak and atrophied; his stomach rumbles with hunger and his head spins when he takes six steps across the room.
The lunch he did not touch is still sitting; quickly, he eats, not bothering with chopsticks or napkins or tea. He gulps the soup, inhales the rice and roasted meats, empties a platter of fish and another of steamed dumplings.
Then he lays back and closes his eyes, and listens – and waits...
When he opens his eyes again, the room is completely dark. The lamp has gone out and not even a sliver of light is visible from outside.
I must have dozed off.
He hears the sound of an infant, wailing – loud in the still night – and then the cheers of many men.
A son.
The thought is spiteful.
Well, so you finally got what you wanted, Dokuganryu.
It is not long after that before Yukimura hears the footsteps that he knows so well, coming back toward his room down the empty halls of Yukimura's empty wing.
Yukimura takes a knife from the table that holds the remains of lunch.
I must be quick as the serpent.
Masamune opens the door, and Yukimura sees his eye, reflecting the light of the lamp he carries into the dark.
He takes three steps forward, and slashes once, twice. Masamune's eye goes wide with surprise and sorrow; he does not make a sound.
Blood gushes thick and red from his throat.
Yukimura leans close, and whispers near his ear.
"We'll be together now just like you wanted, Dokuganryu."
The knife slides home easily between Yukimura's ribs, up into his heart.
Lub-dub.
Lub.
Dub.
The fallen lamp catches blood and silk and flesh alike, sends smoke curling up into the night, ignites screams of fear and grief and frustration.
One spirit coils in agony, reaching out.
One spirit rejects with all that it is.
They come together regardless, bound timeless beyond the coiling illusions of this world.
And amidst the smoke, the sound of an infant crying -
And a woman wailing -
And the breathless night.
Premise: Either Yukimura or Masamune is married; what are the consequences?
Prompt: Hours
A/N: Hmm...well, now...a bit of difference, a bit of distress...a bit of dark and deviltry, so – don't forget to check Naqaashi's "Beloved" which is of course updated in counterpoint with this one-shot collection. Also should mention, these have been completed for quite some time. But...somehow...we...managed to forget that they existed. Um...Oops? Anyway, they were discovered because we're at work on number seven, so hold up hope and...tada? XD
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