Fifth in the series: Sanada. 1,491 words. Adult content warning for this part.
Kiss from a Rose: Sanada Genichirou
[November 2005 :: Posted December 26, 2013]
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill.
...I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
The blade descended, cutting through the air in a deadly arc. The cold gleam of the steel was precise, controlled, a flash of lightning in the night's gloom. If he strained, he could almost hear the roar of the cascading water, the frigid water soaking his clothes, chilling his skin, the cool autumn air on his skin. The red dragonfly and red maple leaves, the black of the bark. And the heather-gray eyes the color of sky during a thunderstorm.
He stilled.
When he glanced at the doorway, it was empty, as he knew it would be; Yukimura knew better than to disturb him when he was practicing with his katana. Yet the memory of those eyes fastened on him, watching his every movement, never failed to arrest his attention. The soul behind those eyes never faltered, was never unsure, throughout the thousand years that he had known it.
It thrilled him. It scared him. He had given his own soul willingly all the same. He had never regretted since.
A cool presence brushed against the edge of his consciousness. It was distinct from Yukimura's, which was how he could always pick it out; it was swift and light and dangerous. Like Suzuki grass, this one - sharp enough to cut even as it bent in the wind. And he had known him for almost as long as he'd known Yukimura. Only, unlike Yukimura, this one was a puzzle to him even after a thousand years.
The blade rose again, moving so slowly that stillness seemed to shroud its movements, and he began the next set of kata. Despite his best effort, however, his mind wandered, taking him back to the Heian court, where he was formally introduced to Yukimura, a month after their first meeting. Yukimura, only in attendance on cloudy days, was soft spoken, mysterious, charming, but strangely difficult to approach. But Yukimura favored his company and made no secret of it from the first day, when he challenged Sanada to a game of igo. He'd looked up from the goban to see intent eyes studying him, the same color mirrored in the sky as the first streaks of lightning began to flash through the clouds.
He had never been one for self-deception. Of course he realized his fascination went deeper than simple attraction. Nor had he hesitated to make his suit known to Yukimura. He remained undeterred even when he found out what Yukimura truly was, but then again, Yukimura had a unique ability to make any situation seem as if nothing at all was out of ordinary. He had fallen in love with Yukimura, wanted all that Yukimura was, and for it, he was ready to give all that he was. Certainty was his nature as it was water's nature to reflect the moon.
Around the same time, he was introduced to Yukimura's first and only childe, who eyes were as cool and blue as the autumn sky. Fuji intrigued him precisely because he could read nothing from him, and he'd never before met an opponent he could not read. Fuji wasn't antagonistic, exactly, but there was a sense of distance, like a wall of ice sprung between them. While seeming transparent, it nevertheless distorted the image of whatever was within, hid it from the view all the same. But Fuji was important to Yukimura, he could see that plainly, and so he accepted Fuji's presence as he'd accepted everything else.
It was not long after he first slept with Yukimura when drinking of the blood became part of the ritual. It had been a natural extension; Sanada would not have accepted Yukimura into his bed had he not been prepared to accept everything of Yukimura. His blood seemed to have a noticeably potent effect on Yukimura, and it secretly pleased him, that only he could affect Yukimura so. Indeed, when he drank from Sanada, Yukimura seemed almost drunk with a kind of ecstasy that turned his usually impeccable control into fine dust blown away in the wind. Perhaps it should have been expected all along, that the loss of control would eventually push Yukimura to go further than Yukimura was willing.
The idea of being Yukimura's for all eternity had never once bothered Sanada. But Yukimura had drawn the line, saying he did not wish to bind Sanada to him for selfish reasons. Sanada had respected Yukimura's will.
Or had he? Had he actually wanted Yukimura to go against his own words, and had encouraged Yukimura - subtly - to lose control? To this day, he was not sure. What he did know was that when Fuji stole into his room and offered the choice, he did not need to consider even for a moment. Locked in Fuji's arms, as the pain and pleasure gripped him, he wondered how long he had wanted this to happen. He wondered, guiltily, whether Yukimura's initial decision had felt too much like rejection in his mind, and just maybe, he had been pushing the whole time to override that. Yukimura already has Fuji at his side: did Yukimura simply not need another childe? Was Fuji something Yukimura wanted to keep all eternity, but not Sanada? Try as he might, he could not deny that doubt had plagued his mind at times, despite Yukimura's numerous assurances. He knew Fuji knew about this - Fuji never passed up an opportunity to needle him.
It was only after he was turned that he realized the complexity of the relationship between Yukimura and Fuji. For a while he refused to have anything to do with it; he tolerated the fact Yukimura slept with Fuji on a regular basis despite their otherwise exclusive relationship. But more, he would not do. It was only after Fuji seduced him that he felt the full extent of seductive powers that Fuji possessed and wielded on others with deadly accuracy. It was only after centuries that it occurred to him to question his own motivations for sleeping with Fuji.
There had been a vague curiosity. There had been undeniable attraction, at least on some level. Perhaps he wanted to level the playing field. Or perhaps it was a way of restoring balance among the three of them. Whatever it was, he felt more or less justified in his decision for their first time. But what about the times after, stretching throughout centuries until the present?
Are you jealous? Fuji always asked him in his mind whenever he found Yukimura in Fuji's bed, just before inviting him to join in. Sanada never answered the question, but never turned down the invitation, either. Jealous? Maybe. But of whom, of what?
The blade faltered. Sanada glanced at the door again, and started when he realized Fuji was there, watching him. There were no words, and seconds stretches into minutes, and he lowered the katana. Fuji crossed the dojo as soundlessly as a ghost, and even before Fuji reached for him, he was pulling Fuji closer, the sharp blade still in his hand. They had sex, and sparred, and had sex again. Fuji was fast as hell, and he always ended up with numerous shallow cuts all over him. Fuji's mouth was stinging and soothing and arousing at the same time, tracing each cut with eager tongue and languid hands. Fuji was sweet on his tongue as he fucked him roughly, right there on the dojo floor, the soft brown hair spread on the wood like a halo, drops of moon caught in the fine strands. The cerulean eyes never failed to steal his breath, first at half-mast, and then wide and unseeing. After they finished, Fuji stirred not long after, signaling for Sanada to withdraw and release him. Sanada particularly enjoyed staying inside Fuji after they finished, but Fuji always pulled away.
Instead of letting him go, Sanada pressed his weight down, hands tightening their grips, and heard a faint hiss from under him. He was about to nip at Fuji's throat when he found himself flung backward and land hard on his back on the wooden floor. Fuji loomed over him with a look of warning, and Sanada, unexpectedly even to himself, smirked, the challenge clear in his eyes. Fuji narrowed his eyes, and at any other time, would have taken him up on the offer. But Fuji stepped back gracefully, completely unconcerned about the state of his undress, and turned to leave. Fuji's feet made no sound as he left the room, and Sanada did not watch him go, staring at the ceiling.
Sanada loving Yukimura was simple. Yukimura needing Sanada was simple. Yukimura being with Fuji was not simple. Sanada wanting Fuji was not simple. Fuji was never simple. Sanada closed his eyes.
The light of the full moon caught the blade, a glint suspended in the moment, brilliance captured in an instant, surrounded by the stretch of a millennium. Then the light passed, and everything was still again.
