27-Apr-2004
Title: Degrees of Separation
Chapter: 7
Authors: bonnejeanne and Laekin
Series: Chaotic Alliance
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Archived at: Currently at Love and Gundams and will also be at Katcom: http://katcom.squidkitty.org/
Pairings: Muraki x Watari, Tatsumi x Watari, Muraki x Oriya
Genre: Drama, Dark Angst, Psychological mindgames.
Rating for this Chapter: NC-17
CMA: Not intended for under-age readers.
Spoilers: None in this section.
Disclaimer: These characters are not ours. We seek no money from this endeavor, just having a bit of fun in the sandbox.
Feedback: positive feedback welcome
bonnejeanne@yahoo.com and/or seregill@aol.com.
Warnings and Author's Notes by Laekin:
Greetings! Well bonnejeanne and I ride again!!!! This time in the Yami no Matsuei universe. The following fic was collaborated on between us with Bonnejeanne handling Muraki, Tatsumi and a special guest star to be revealed later. I am responsible for Watari and Oriya.
Like "The Doll" this is a very dark fiction. It is psychologically complex, it deals with difficult situations as well as complex issues and it will not be to everybody's tastes. We ask, respectfully, that if you do not feel you can see Muraki as a three-dimensional character who is tragic in his own way, you pass over this fic. No need to explain why, we understand! Some may find the content, the emotions and the implications disturbing. If you are one of those who can be disturbed by such things, you've been warned. Any after effects are not our responsibility.
Bonne's Note: Muraki Friendly Fic, so skip if that's not your thing, no hard feelings.
Degrees of Separation: Part Seven
The workers at the house of KoKakuRou had standing orders to let the master know when a certain silver-haired man was waiting in the house for him. Or in this case, in the Garden.
Oriya was working on the quarterly statements for his international investors. His pipe was clenched between his teeth, unlit, and a warm robe of heavy ornate silk covered his powerful, well kept body. He was working on a particularly tricky bit of reporting when a young maid knocked shyly on the door.
"Yes?" Oriya responded, his deep tones low and calm. Everyone in the house knew not to disturb him unless it was *important* so he didn't anticipate the girl bringing him worthless news.
"My apologies, Mibu-sama, for disturbing you. But your orders. The Sensei is in the garden and awaits you to attend him."
Oriya froze and the pipe twitched as he clenched his teeth around the end. Then he relaxed his jaw and nodded.
"Thank you."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl bow and withdraw. Making one last note on his ledger, Oriya rose gracefully and walked towards the door. He wound his way to the back of the building and stepped into a pair of sandals waiting by the door. Exiting the house into the garden, the young master's keen eyes searched the night shrouded garden for his boyhood friend.
Muraki was standing at the edge of the garden path, head tilted slightly as he listened to the song of a bird perched in the nearby tree. He was dressed in the usual style of white suit, looking every inch the Muraki Oriya had known for so long.
Taking his pipe out from between his teeth and tapping it lightly against his hand to empty it, Oriya walked towards Muraki. His voice was casual, calm if perhaps a hint curious.
"I didn't expect to see you again so soon, my friend."
Muraki turned, as Oriya's approach startled the bird, which took wing.
"I came to tell you I'm leaving Kyoto tomorrow."
Oriya, used to Muraki's sudden appearances and his mysterious disappearances took the news with a calm face. Drawing up even with the doctor, he turned the pipe over and then reached into the pocket of his robe to pull out a pinch of the filling he preferred.
"Will you be entertaining your guest again tonight, Kazutaka?"
Muraki smiled. "Did you really throw a teacup at him? Not very host-like of you."
With the pipe once again packed, Oriya caught the stem expertly between his teeth. A match was drawn out of another pocket and lit with a deft flick of the young master's thumb. Puffing on the pipe, drawing the flame across the contents, Oriya stared at the glowing contents of the bowl as he answered.
"I believe I threw the teacup out the window. I don't remember throwing it at him. Though I dare say he would have dodged it without trouble, if he'd even cared to bother. His mind was otherwise occupied."
Muraki laughed softly. "I'm more curious about what *your* mind was occupied with," he said.
A gentle cloud of fragrant smoke circled up around Oriya's handsome features. His rich, burgundy-colored eyes were hooded behind his lashes as he puffed on the pipe, pensively.
"The same thing his was. You. You've been... different, since the last time you were in Kyoto."
"Have I?" The grey eyes seemed to mock Oriya with their clarity. "And why is that? Because I haven't imposed quite as much on your influence? Perhaps I prefer not to take a busman's holiday."
Turning to look up at the night sky, Oriya gave a bark of laughter. "Yes, I admit it's positively unnerving to have you in town and not have to pull a string or two to help keep certain... occurrences from gathering the wrong sort of attention." Inhaling a deep breath of smoke, the KoKaKuRou's master held it deep within his lungs before exhaling it through his nose.
"A holiday? Is that what you were doing with him?" Oriya continued. "You'll forgive me my suspicious nature, my friend, but you haven't taken a holiday since I've known you. You're too driven."
"Yes I suppose I am. Do you remember me telling you that there was nothing that could be done? That it was simply entered into my programming..." The doctor's tone stayed casual, almost reminiscing.
Oriya went perfectly still for a moment, then drew in another deep lungful of smoke. It was soothing, and the slight tingle brought to him from the contents of the pipe helped calm his nerves, a definite plus when dealing with Muraki.
"Yes, I remember our conversation."
"Had you ever thought to wonder what might happen if the programming should be... changed?"
Oriya's deep eyes flashed and his handsome features twisted into a grim expression. "I knew it. They have done something to you. What have they done to you, Kazutaka?"
It wasn't so much that Oriya minded not having to buy off high powered politicians to cover up his friend's homicidal habits, but he didn't like the idea of someone messing with Muraki's mind. Oriya had grown up watching his best friend's mind being constantly messed with, by his parents, by his brother, and Oriya found himself to be rather protective when it came to Muraki.
"I don't know... yet," the answer was made as Muraki turned, his ear catching the birdsong resuming in another tree further away. "Perhaps nothing. There are many factors that affect the way the brain functions. Even age and the chemical changes it brings. Tell me, have you ever heard if serial killers mellow with age?" It was absurd, but it was the safest of his several odd streaks of humor.
Oriya growled softly, pulling the pipe from his teeth and tapping it against his lips in an agitated habit. "In all honesty, I don't feel the need to study the habits of serial killers." Unspoken was the thought 'I have my own to deal with, I don't need to read about others.' Exhaling a deep breath, the young master of the KoKaKuRou shook his head, his long softly perfumed dark hair sweeping across his shoulders. "I *should* have thrown the damn cup *at* him."
"Jealousy is an interesting emotion on you," Muraki said with a wicked smile.
As Muraki could have predicted, his old friend snorted and used the stem of his slender pipe as a pointer. "Jealousy? Maybe back when I was a teenager. Now, I pity him, or I would if I didn't suspect him of somehow..." Oriya let his words trail off. He'd learned early that *telling* Muraki something about himself was a sure fire way to get the doctor to go out and behave in just the opposite manner in order to be unpredictable.
"Of somehow...?" Muraki prompted. "You know I will not allow you to leave such a tantalizing remark unexplained." His eyes gleam with a predatory pleasure.
Oriya grumbled softly but it was aimed at himself. He did know that Muraki would not allow him to leave such a remark unfinished and wished he'd caught his wayward tongue before saying anything. Shaking his head, the tall man moved gracefully along the path a little ways.
"If I didn't suspect him of somehow being involved in whatever they've done to you. Were it not for that, I'd pity him."
"I'm afraid it is more about what I have done to him, my dear friend," Muraki said. "But then I suppose we are all to be considered works in progress."
Shaking his head slowly, Oriya sighed. "I don't care about him, Kazutaka. I do care about you." Setting the pipe back in between his teeth he drew deep, trying to catch the last bits of the fresh contents before the whole little bowl was a cinder. "Though, I thought you were after the pretty dark-haired one. I've never known you to switch prey in mid-hunt."
Muraki laughed. "The pretty, dark-haired one has quite a sting. Let's say I shall be taking my time before returning to that hunt. I underestimated the amount of preparation I would need."
Pipe exhausted, Oriya once again began to tap it against his strong hands to empty it. "Ah, so this current one is a practice run?"
Oriya was not used to his friend dabbling with his amours. With the exception of one, Oriya could not remember the last time a lover of Muraki's had survived the night.
"I'm amazed to find you so curious," Muraki said, watching his friend.
Oriya gave his head a shake. "Only because it's unlike you and more reason why I'm concerned."
"And are you so fond of all my habits then? I begin to suspect you of having ulterior motives," Muraki said, not really thinking it, just needling Oriya because he always had.
Recognizing the needling pattern almost immediately, Oriya cast his eyes skyward. "Now, you're just being impossible, which is completely in character, so perhaps I shouldn't waste my time being concerned about you."
Though he said the words in an almost cutting tone, both of them knew that there was no truth to the claim. Though Oriya did not set his daily habits by Muraki, his childhood friend was never truly forgotten.
"You never should have wasted your time, which I've told you before," Muraki returned. "Now shall we continue to rehearse old exchanges, or perhaps you might recall your manners and arrange for our dinner..."
Oriya snorted. "I don't particularly remember you minding your manners when you killed that girl of mine in this very house. It took me years to calm and pay off the staff. Had I known what I was doing when I told you to make yourself at home..." Shaking his head, Oriya turned and neatly bowed Muraki to proceed him. "You might be pleased this evening. The cook has made sharkfin stew." The tall, dark haired man calmly turned the topic towards dinner, aware that it was unlikely he would get anything further in the way of information from his friend.
"Manners are your stock in trade, I hardly expect you to excuse yourself by taxing mine," Muraki returned. "I hope the stew is good. I feel unlike being disappointed this evening."
A dark eyebrow arched over deeply colored eyes. "And have you been suffering disappointments then?" Yes, Oriya's manners were impeccable, but there were still hints of the schoolboy relationship in his dealings with Muraki. "You know, of course, that the stew will be excellent, Cook never disappoints."
Muraki's smile reminded Oriya a bit of the predator they were going to eat for dinner.
"Since you asked, I have to answer that I have not suffered many disappointments lately. In fact, I have experienced several happy surprises." The gleam in the doctor's eyes had an unmistakable sexual connotation.
A dark eyebrow rose and Oriya chuckled, a low rich sound that came from deep in his chest. "You always seem to land on the best side of a situation. Though I will admit, he was a comely enough young man, a little paint and he could easily have passed for one of the girls. I know a few of them who would kill for hair like that."
As he spoke, the young master of the establishment lifted a strong hand up to push through his own thick, dark hair, grinning as he remembered one of his father's prized working girls, an old woman by the time Oriya had known her, teasing him gently about having hair she would have killed for in her day. It had been talking with her which had convinced Oriya to leave his hair long, and usually loose. It had proven to be a useful distraction when working with some clients.
"A pretty package is far from the most important of my interests," Muraki said, his eyes flickering over Oriya's attractive form. "You know how easily mere appearance bores me."
Oriya smiled ruefully as he did indeed remember how easily Muraki had disposed of the girl that one night. She had been one of the most beautiful the KoKakuRou had ever employed. And of course, Oriya was not unaware of his own charms and the fact that for years Muraki had shown very little interest in them, despite the occasional attempt of Oriya's part to draw the doctor's eye.
"I didn't imagine you were bedding him just for his looks. I must admit, I was bemused to find he had freed himself that night when you told me to free him an hour later. You're not usually careless about such *things* so he must have a working mind to have escaped."
The tall brunette frowned a little as he remembered that evening. He still wasn't certain how he felt about the changes he was seeing in Muraki and he wished he'd kept his temper and been able to talk to the blond a little longer.
"Such surprises are one of the perks, I am discovering, in consorting with the dead," Muraki's smile was almost vicious. "I admit, I am almost losing my interest in indulging the living."
Pausing by the door which would lead them into Oriya's private rooms, the tall man turned and looked at Muraki, his expression a mixture of curiosity and at the same time a certain wariness. Not wanting to know but feeling the need to know in order to not be unpleasantly surprised.
"And once again, I am left to wonder what have they done to you?" Oriya's voice had dropped to a thoughtful tone, his expression becoming fierce as his eyes tried to study his friend's face, as if trying to read the answer directly from Muraki's grey gaze.
"How far does your curiosity extend, my old playmate?" Muraki said, his tone only mildly interested.
Oriya let his eyes flicker across Muraki's handsome features one more time, then turned and pushed open the door, standing aside to let his guest precede him into the room.
"As far as it has ever extended, Kazutaka. It makes sure that whenever you knock, I open the door."
Muraki walked into Oriya's private place, pausing, no, slowing for a brief moment to play caressing fingertips along the young man's cheek and jaw before continuing inside as if the room belonged to him and not the other man.
"I thought it was your compulsive masochism that makes you answer the door when I knock," Muraki said, letting his eyes move over the tapestries of classical Japanese scenes of men and women, the subject matter hinting at relationships of usage and dominance rather than equality.
Oriya inwardly chastised himself when he felt the warmth of Muraki's fingers along his cheek and jaw all the way through his body. He knew better than to place too much emphasis on such slight, swift but welcome touches. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room behind Muraki and closed the door, sealing them off from the rest of the compound.
With their usual efficiency, his staff had laid out a tureen of the sharkfin stew and more than just one serving set. Taking off his sandals, Oriya moved towards the food, motioning towards it in silent invitation to Muraki.
The young master of KoKakuRou was silent for a couple of long minutes after the doctor's words. When he answered, he shrugged one broad shoulder almost delicately under the thick silken wool of his robes.
"Perhaps not an inaccurate assessment. After all, having you around is never *easy* yet I always find myself enjoying your company when you are in town. Still, I always wonder when you show up at my door, what has brought you back this time, so I would say that both answers are accurate."
"My recent indulgence seems to place a great deal of significance on my relationship with you. I suspect he wants to see it as an indication that I am not entirely devoid of human feeling," Muraki said, taking his seat. He did not bother to serve himself, knowing that Oriya would wait on him.
Oriya folded himself gracefully down onto his knees and smoothly began to serve out the stew. It was a long standing part of their relationship and the brunette didn't even have to *think* about it anymore. Setting a three quarters full bowl in front of Muraki, Oriya ladled some of the stew into a bowl for himself and sat back to partake of the delicious-smelling food.
After a couple of mouthfuls, which also helped cover a thoughtful pause, Oriya spoke. "Does he then? He is obviously rather idealistic isn't he? A hazard of the trade perhaps? Though, I don't know that I would claim you devoid of human feeling. However, you seem to find more use for them in others than in yourself."
"Ah... and *that* is why I tolerate you, Oriya-kun," Muraki said, "Indeed, I certainly do." Sampling the meal with flawless manners, his hands as precise when lifting a ceramic spoon as when wielding a scalpel or drawing a magic cipher, Muraki acknowledged the accomplishment of the chef with a brief nod.
Like a good host, Oriya returned the nod, acknowledging the guest's pleasure on behalf of his chef. He enjoyed a few more spoonfuls of his own food before continuing the conversation.
"If that is why you tolerate me, than I must admit to being curious as to why you put up with this idealistic individual. Especially if he is attempting the unthinkable of trying to logic out your motives?"
Muraki chuckled. "And what are you trying to do by speaking such a question aloud? However... I can only thank you for doing so. If you should become indifferent to my interest in another man, what would I use to torment you?"
The ceramic spoon, laden with stew, paused halfway between the bowl and Oriya's mouth. The muscles at the back of his jaw knotted as he clenched his teeth but this time he calmly set the spoon back in the bowl and put the bowl down, rather than throwing it across the room. Sitting back on his heels, the brunette regarded his guest with shuttered eyes.
"Well, it's nice to see you haven't completely lost your streak for cruelty. When you left this one alive, I'd begun to worry."
Calmly, Muraki continued to eat. But the pleasure at being able to pierce his friend's serenity practically oozed from him.
"So had I," he said, his eyes gleaming.
Folding his hands across his lap, Oriya drew on a lifetime's mental discipline to attempt to return to that serenity, or at least a facade of such. Shoulders straight, but not stiff, deep burgundy colored eyes regarded Muraki across the low table.
"Would you like me to prepare tea to with your meal, or afterwards?"
"Finish your meal," the tone was an order, given coolly, but that's what it was nonetheless. It was followed by a smile. "I prefer to enjoy my tea unrushed."
Slender muscles rippled along Oriya's jaw but he'd known Muraki for many, many years and he knew that senseless acts of defiance, however good they might feel in the short term, were usually more trouble than they were worth in the long run. Though he truly was no longer interested in the savory stew, Oriya unfolded his hands an picked his bowl back up. Very calmly he continued his meal, lapsing into what could almost be called a companionable silence.
"Your house has been busy of late," Muraki said, picking up the tone of dinner conversation. "Am I keeping you from anything which needs your personal attention?"
For a moment Oriya completely forgot his ire and tilted his head slightly, honestly pondering the question and mentally going over his calendar for the day and night's activities.
"Mm... no, at least not for a few hours yet. Most of tonight's guests have arrived, are settled and will be otherwise occupied until well into the hours of the morning. I was going over some paperwork when news of your arrival came to me, but it's nothing that cannot wait."
While Muraki had open run of the KoKakuRou, Oriya always kept a bit of an eye on his old friend when the doctor was on the property. It simply did not pay to turn your back completely on Muraki.
Oriya's reply seemed to please the doctor. He finished his meal and put his bowl and spoon aside, pouring from a ceramic sake bottle and drinking. He did not indicate any impatience but was clearly waiting for Oriya to finish.
Slightly bemused by his old friend's apparent pleasure, Oriya blew softly on his spoon of stew and mentally calmed himself rather than risk an unwise question. He refused to be hurried as he finished his dinner, enjoying his chef's fine culinary skills. Once he was finished, he set the bowl and spoon neatly off to the side and poured a drink from the same ceramic sake bottle that Muraki had used.
Shifting, he came off his knees and sat slightly cross legged on the low, large cushion, one long, strong leg folded outwards at a comfortable angle.
Muraki seemed to be watching him, and there was something reserved, and yet also slightly predatorial about the observance.
His eyes settled on Oriya, expectantly.
Oriya was not unfamiliar with such glances, though usually he was watching them enter the eyes of a VIP looking over the ladies offered at the KoKakuRou and while, at one time, he had desired to see such an expression in Muraki's eyes when gazing upon him, Oriya was no fool. He was well aware of how dangerous Muraki was and how unpredictable and an expression which should have been sending warm tendrils of anticipation through his body, was also sending along a certain cold chill.
Lowering the emptied sake cup, Oriya leaned to set it on the table, asking in a normal tone. "Would you care for tea? Or was there something else you were anticipating?"
"Only my tea. However, I see that I have overstepped what a guest may reasonably expect of a man such as yourself," Muraki answered, his tone pure, pleased malice.
Oriya knew that Muraki was baiting him. He knew it and yet he felt the civilly spoken barb lodge under his skin and pull a reaction out of him despite his best effort. Hands steady as he reached to begin the preparation of the tea, Oriya didn't bother to hide the way his jaw knotted, in fact it was possible that Muraki would hear the grinding of enamel as Oriya worked his molars against one another.
"You are being particularly perverse tonight, Kazutaka. Is there something in particular bothering you, or are you merely regretting not having indulged in a murder when you had the chance?"
"I prefer not to indulge in regret," the doctor answered. "Even the regret of how much this apparent 'change' in me has affected a friend who is ordinarily at least civil, no matter what provocation he may have to be otherwise."
Taking a deep breath, Oriya finished the complex steps of making the fresh tea, steeping it to the level he knew Muraki enjoyed and then pouring out two cups. Setting the first cup on a saucer in front of the guest, Oriya sat back and waited patiently for Muraki to proceed with the first sip. The handsome young master's face was once again serene, his eyes cast politely on the doctor's face without seeming to stare.
"Please forgive my ill manners, Sensei. As you said, there is a certain hospitality that a guest of the KoKakuRou may reasonably expect. How might my house serve you tonight?"
Muraki ignored the words and lifted the tea cup to his lips, his movements no less graceful or perfect in the custom than Oriya's.
Lowering the cup after a considering sip, he placed it back on the table and gave the cup a quarter turn.
"It is too hot."
Oriya had played this scenario out before with Muraki and though there was a different sort of feeling in the air on this night, he calmly moved through his steps in the dance. Leaving the first cup where it was, not snatching it away from the guest -Meifu forbid- he turned back towards the items he'd used to make the first cup and reapplied himself to the task.
Carefully measuring out the tea leaves and going through all the steps with unhurried yet economical movements, he remade the tea and set the fresh mug at Muraki's place, bowing slightly with the movement.
"See if this cup suits your taste."
Waiting until Oriya bowed over the tea, Muraki came gracefully to his feet. Leaning down, he brushed his fingers lightly along the back of Oriya's head, and then his fingers dug into the thick tresses draped across his neck, slowly taking a handful and getting a firm, strong grip.
In all their years as friends, Muraki had never touched Oriya in such a way. If anything, Muraki always seemed to go out of his way not to touch him except when necessary. Feeling those strong, deft fingers gripping his hair caused Oriya to feel a wide range of emotions. A certain thrill, a hint of pleasure, a rise of that anticipation so long suppressed and a feeling of fear. He didn't want to fear Muraki and until that very moment, he never really had. After all, Muraki's attention had always been otherwise focused, but now... now Oriya felt that penetrating focus and it made him wary.
Turning his head carefully in the grasp, he looked up along Muraki's powerful body until he could meet the doctor's grey eyes, natural and artificial. Oriya said nothing, but his handsome face could be extremely expressive when he allowed it to be, like now.
Grey eyes gleamed back. The grip in Oriya's dark hair tightened and then Muraki pulled upwards, drawing the young man around on his knees until he was no longer facing the table but kneeling, stretched up, in front of the doctor.
"Did you ever hear the story of the boy who lived next door to the tiger cub? The two played together and became great friends. Even when the tiger grew up to be large and vicious, the boy always looked and saw the cub he played with as a child. The tiger would go out and hunt, and it became a notorious man-eater. Villages were emptied, hunters came and were killed, but each time the tiger returned to its home, the boy, who was now a man, sheltered it. He became convinced that the tiger would always be a cub in his presence. Even seeing it return with blood on its claws did not lift his illusion."
Oriya's long, well toned body bent to Muraki's direction but there was a hint of restrained power that promised a fight, if the young master so choose to. Instead, he was still, almost limp in that hold, the way a kitten would be still in its mother's mouth, least it risk harm from her teeth. He listened to Muraki's story and the corners of his lips turned upwards in a sad expression.
Bending down once more, placing his lips next to Oriya's ear, Muraki... growled.
Oriya felt another thrill race along his nerves, making his skin feel hypersensitive as his breath came in a quick deep motion. Reaching up, he touched the side of Muraki's wrist with his own strong fingers.
"Perhaps," he began in a low whisper, "I am the very masochist you labeled me."
"And perhaps... you have been letting a tiger into your house all these years and mistakenly believing it would remain a cub, for you," Muraki whispered back. "Our games have always given me a certain nostalgic pleasure. But tonight... may be the last night I see you. You are right... something has happened inside me, but it was not the doing of the shinigami. If anything, it could have been the hand of their unholy master. But I will not be a pawn for anyone, man, demon or god. I feel an urge to test my claws."
Bending Oriya's head back, Muraki kissed the pulse-point over his jugular. Then he whispered, "Don't you think killing my childhood friend would be a good test of whether my will is my own?"
The pulse-point beneath Muraki's lips beat strong and hard. Oriya was an extremely fit man and it was rare that his pulse rose by much, but it rose now, and he knew that the subtle perfume of fear was being emitted from his skin. Despite these obvious indicators, he remained calm in the hold of his psychopathic friend, his eyes direct in their regard of the doctor.
"Would it?" Oriya asked in a curious tone. "No, I don't think it would, because you have always been driven to kill. Killing me would be seen only as *my* mistake for letting the tiger return to my house. Killing me would be about me, it would have nothing to do with you, or your will."
Turning his head very carefully in that hold, his regard never wavered, only softened a little bit. "No, I'm sorry Kazutaka-san, I don't believe it would be a test which would yield the results you desire. All it would do is rid you of the one person who knows how you like your tea."
"But the tea was not to my liking," Muraki murmured. "What price do you think you should pay to compensate for that oversight?"
Oriya's eyes, normally so fierce and intent, softened and saddened a little as he gave the only answer he could think of, given their relationship in the past, present and what it might be in the future.
"The price I have always paid for disappointing you. Your indifference."
Muraki chuckled softly. "But you are used to that. You are *comfortable* with it. It allows you to indulge your masochism without risk. It is not enough."
Slowly, he released his grip on Oriya's hair and straightened. "Take off your clothes."
Dark eyes flashed with quicksilver emotions, gone before they could be identified. Oriya did not move immediately to obey Muraki's command, watching his friend pensively and not without a certain wariness.
Eventually, he stood. In a slow, graceful movement, the young master of the KoKakuRou powered to his feet in front of his childhood friend and after a beat, reached for the elaborately knotted sash that helped keep the robe modest. Confident in his body, Oriya undid the knots with expert fingers, his eyes never leaving Muraki's face as he pulled the folds of the robes apart, letting the heavy silk hang down along his well toned form before shrugging out of the material and leaving it to puddle around his ankles.
Dark hair flowed across his shoulders and chest, covering one dusky nipple but leaving the other bare to the evening air, causing it to pucker in protest of the cool breeze.
Muraki waited until Oriya stood naked before him. Meeting the young man's eyes, he lifted his hand and in a movement too fast to anticipate, slapped Oriya's face with calculated strength, hard enough to knock him to the floor.
"Too slow."
Stunned, more by surprise than by the actual blow, Oriya lost his footing in the heavy silk of his robes and fell to his knees. He almost came right back up to return the attack, when his eyes happened to land on one of the tapestries hanging on his walls, depicting the power games played for centuries by men and women.
Stroking his tongue very slowly across his swelling lower lip, Oriya tilted his head around to look up at Muraki from his place on the floor. The long dark hair was slightly disheveled but he didn't reach to straighten it, putting his effort instead into settling tidily on his knees at Muraki's feet, and though it was against his instincts, he pulled his eyes off the doctor's face and focused his gaze on his old childhood friend's belt buckle.
He knew this game. It was played within the KoKakuRou's walls almost nightly in one form or another.
"Better than indifference?" Muraki asked, his voice soft and almost human.
Once again, Oriya's tongue came out to slowly caress his own abused lower lip and he tilted his head back to look up at Muraki.
"Do you intend to complete this game? Or was this merely another way to torment me?"
Muraki acknowledged the last question with a slight smile. "You have something to say about it," he said, in answer to the first. "How long have you wondered what it would be like to play such a game with me? This may be the only chance you ever have to do it."
Though he tried not to, Oriya's mind cast back to the last time Muraki was in Kyoto. To the conversation in his garden when Muraki said he was leaving and wouldn't bother him again. He remembered the pain he'd felt at the idea of his friend, gone and all the regrets he had for what had gone and not gone between them in the past.
Something about Muraki this time... it all felt like a second chance and perhaps a last chance.
Bowing his head back down, Oriya studied Muraki's hand sewn shoes, his voice soft and slightly muffled by his hair.
"If I have a say about it, then I would ask that we complete this game between us so that we both are free."
The doctor's answer was probably not what Oriya expected. He laughed. Softly, at first, but the sound grew until it filled the room.
Walking over to the wall behind him, Muraki lifted the beautiful sword from its rack and carried it back to where Oriya knelt. Reaching down, Muraki lifted Oriya's chin until his head was up and his back straightened for balance. He lifted it just a little more, as a headsman does to get a clean cut. Then he drew the sword and dropped the sheath to the floor.
Despite his intentions, despite the history between, despite the love he held and always would hold for Muraki, Oriya moved. Unlike his old school friend's blond playmate, he was very much alive and he had keen knowledge of the edge he kept on that sword. Moving instinctively and with an almost inhuman swiftness which was testament to his training, Oriya reached for the sword and for Muraki's other hand, seeking to immobilize the madman standing over him.
As fast as Oriya was, the madman was faster. Instead of pulling back to avoid the grab, he stepped forward, allowing Oriya to catch the hand not holding the sword, but avoiding the other. With a swift movement, he slashed with the fine steel.
Instead of catching any part of Oriya's body, the sword's edge came down on the inside of Muraki's own immobilized arm that Oriya held still, unwittingly, for the blow to strike. The steel parted wool and linen, and then flesh.
Throwing the sword at his feet, Muraki reach down and pulled the cut material of suit and sleeve away so Oriya could see the slice, straight across the arteries and tendons, blood spurting from it.
Then the blood stopped. And the cut began to close on its own.
The fear he'd felt earlier seemed insignificant to the terror which bolted through him when Oriya saw the sword's direction. He could not have moved fast enough to stop it and when Muraki cut himself and the blood began to spill, the young master reached towards the wound, intent on helping, but before his fingers could do more than close around the fabric of the sleeve, the wound was healing... right before his eyes.
Though Oriya had interacted with the shinigami, had fought young Hisoka Kurosaki, watched that young man take extraordinary damage and still keep moving, it was something all together different to watch Muraki's skin heal itself. Muraki, who he had chased around the school yard. Muraki who had collected the same number of boyish scraped knees as Oriya himself had; it was unnerving to see the same man's skin heal itself.
Kicking the fine sword against Oriya's knees, Muraki said, "There is your freedom, my dear friend. Mine, as you can see, is non-existent." And he wrenched the arm from Oriya's now numb grasp.
Falling back on his heels, a fine perspiration brought on by an adrenaline rush coating his handsome body, Oriya's lips parted as he panted a little. He looked at the sword pressed coldly against his knees and then back up at Muraki, bewilderment the dominant expression in his eyes.
"So you want to live after all," Muraki said, as if nothing of particular importance had happened. He took off the damaged suit jacket and began to strip off the likewise damaged shirt beneath. "I suppose in some odd way that pleases me, all though I think feeling the sword go through your throat might have given me a level of both pleasure and pain that could almost have been worth it to experience. Remember that impulse, Oriya-kun. Remember it the next time you hear a familiar knock on your door."
Though Muraki's bare chest was always a source of fascination, Oriya couldn't take his eyes off the other man's face. His expression was still bemused but his voice was low, warm... soft even.
"You don't intend to ever knock on my door again after this night. Do you?"
"It is less a question of intent than likelihood," Muraki said, a slightly cynical note in his tone. "The King of Hell does not give gifts without recompense. And Kazutaka Muraki does not acknowledge debts imposed upon him by proxy."
Oriya shuddered and shook his head, his gaze lowering until he was once again staring down at the ground between Muraki's shoes.
"I have never understood the demons that drove and commanded you, Kazutaka and I learned over the years and through harsh lessons that my voice would never echo above theirs." Tilting his head slowly, eyes cast up through long lashes at Muraki's face, Oriya smiled slightly. "You will do as you will, as you've always done, and I will be here as I always have been and will be."
Muraki's eyes narrowed at the mention of being driven and commanded. "Not a moment ago, you asked for your freedom."
"Did I?" Oriya's lips quirked in a wry expression. "How foolish of me to have done so. I may ask it but that doesn't mean it's something I'll ever truly attain. When you walk out those doors I will continue with my life, but always wait for that familiar knock. If you succeed in slitting my throat, I'll probably still wait for the familiar sound of your footsteps, your voice."
"And my footsteps... my voice... are those all you desire?"
Oriya took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly as his gaze fell and his head shook from side to side. "No, those are not all that I desire, though they are what I have learned to content myself with in our years together."
Slowly, Muraki began unfastening his belt. Then he unzipped his pants, and pushed them, along with his boxers, down over his hips and stepped out of them.
Oriya swallowed convulsively as he looked at the pooled fabric that had once adorned his old friend's body. Taking two quick breaths, he whispered in a tone that sounded as tormented as Muraki could ever remember hearing.
"Why, why?"
"Do you want me to leave now?"
After another deep breath, Oriya turned his gaze back up towards Muraki. "No, but I don't want you bedding me because you... pity me."
Muraki laughed softly. Then he bent and picked up his clothes, to put them back on. "In that case I'll leave you to company of your pride."
Oriya's head bent and he sat back on his heels, shoulders slightly slumped as he reached up and covered his face with one strong hand. He couldn't make himself watch Muraki dress to once again leave his life and at the same time he couldn't bring himself to reach out and ask his friend for something he had wanted for years.
Slowly, from behind his hand came a sound... it might have sounded like a sob, only it grew and as it grew it was obvious that it was not a sob but rather laughter. A harsh, not entirely pleasant sound, but laughter all the same. His words were muffled almost to indistinguishable behind his hand.
"Well, you did call me a masochist. I couldn't have indulged in that tendency with any greater skill than how I just managed."
Reaching down, Muraki lifted Oriya's face with a grip under his chin that could not be resisted. Slowly, he leaned down and brushed his lips across Oriya's mouth. Then his tongue flickered out and ran along the surface of the top lip and then the bottom. Finally he pressed his mouth to his friend's, and took advantage of it, plunging his tongue deeply into the other man's mouth.
It was the first time and perhaps the last time Muraki had, or would ever kiss him and Oriya took in detail he could. The warmth of his friend's mouth, the slight taste of tea and a hint of the spices from the stew mixing with the flavor of Muraki himself. The way the doctor's tongue felt, running along Oriya's own sensitive flesh and then the feel of that tongue pressing deep into his mouth, plunging in a way that made Oriya think of sweat damp bodies writhing against each other, locked in the most intimate of embraces.
He returned the kiss while Muraki's mouth was still connected to his own. He was not aggressive, or desperate, but firm, and welcoming, intent upon feeling the experience to its fullest, his own tongue slipping into Muraki's mouth for a gentle tease and deeper taste, but then Muraki was drawing back and away and Oriya's eyes opened as he watched his friend withdraw.
Muraki leaned back and stood up. "If you ask the tiger to become a man, you will, of course, be disappointed."
"I never intended to change you, Kazutaka. I just wanted the chance to love you."
Lifting the torn shirt and jacket to toss them over one shoulder, Muraki looked down at his friend and smiled.
"Haven't you always already done that?"
Taking a deep breath, Oriya forced himself to keep his head up and his eyes on Muraki as the other man moved to gather himself together.
"Yes," he answered simply. Muraki would know any other answer was a lie and if this truly was to be the last time he saw his friend, he would at least be honest.
The doctor's smile widened slightly.
"You still have time to beg."
Oriya trembled, a physical testament to the war waged in his mind but in the end, he shook his head gently.
"I've never begged you. If I did, you would have killed me years ago."
"Is that what you think?" Muraki shrugged. "Now you will never find out what happened to the boy the last time the tiger came back. But I will not forget. Perhaps I'll knock again, who knows?"
Turning, he walked to the door.
Head bent, still kneeling naked on the floor of his private room, Oriya Mibu continued to wage a war within himself. He knew that Muraki had from time to time "promised" never to return but had, yet this time... everything felt different. Muraki was different, the situation was different. This time, it felt like the "promise" was lip service to a truth both of them could feel.
As Muraki said, 'who knew' but still, there was the niggle, there was the risk... and there was this night.
Exhaling yet another deep breath, Oriya's deep voice was low but it carried easily across the distance to the door.
"Stay."
There was a pause and then, "Please."
Muraki paused with his hand on the door. His lips curved. "Asking is not begging."
Looking up from behind a curtain of dark hair, Oriya said again, "Please, Kazutaka."
Muraki did not turn around. "Are your employees so poor at their jobs as this? Beg me. Block the door with your body. Promise me anything I want. Promise to obey."
"You're not my 'job' Kazutaka. You're my friend and I love you and I'm asking you to please, please stay." Oriya's voice was still low and soft, but it had tightened with strain, his strong hands were clenched into fists against his thighs.
"Your love is a curious artifact, my friend. On occasion it interests me. At the moment, it does not. What I want is your pride. I'm curious to see which is stronger. I think the answer is obvious."
Reaching down, Muraki turned the doorknob.
In that instant Oriya turned and cast his glance towards the sword still laying on the ground with a thoughtful expression, then he moved quickly, powerfully and with surprising grace despite the awkward position his knees had been in for so long. He walked, taking deep shuddering breaths to where Muraki stood by the door and as he'd done the last time Muraki was in Kyoto, Oriya found himself sliding down to his knees in front of his friend, this time between Muraki and the door, hands lightly gripping the doctor's waist as he looked up at him with tortured eyes.
"Please, don't do this Kazutaka... I've always opened my door to you, despite the dangers, and I'm asking you... begging you to please stay."
Muraki looked down, his eyes gleaming. After a long moment, his hand released the door knob and slid down, fingertips playing lightly around the side of Oriya's upturned face.
Gently, he smoothed a strand of long dark hair back.
"I know that hurt," he said softly. "But it wasn't impossible, was it? There is one thing you have never understood. The devil must have his due. The beast must have his meal of blood and pain. He can't be appeased, nor pacified, nor cajoled. Better to cut off an arm and give it as an offering than to loose your head, my poor Oriya-kun. Or have him rip your heart out bleeding and eat it before your eyes."
Muraki's gaze was a little unfocused as he said these words, but his hand gently stroked the side of Oriya's face and his dark hair.
"I kept him from you all this time, buying his appetites off with others, but he's thwarted, and hungry, and if he can't have blood, he will have pain. Feed him tonight for me... do that for me..."
Muraki's gentle touch was almost like a balm to the pain Oriya felt in his heart, soul and spirit but the young master of the KoKakuRou couldn't seem to stop shaking. His head rocked from side to side against Muraki's hand, his eyes down but only because he was trying to see the answer for himself and failing.
"I don't understand... what is it you need?" His tone indicated that he wanted to give it but he didn't know what he was being asked for. Oriya couldn't ever remember being so confused... no... that was a lie, he could remember one other night, when the tiger had first shown up, with blood on his claws.
Dropping the coat and shirt on the floor, Muraki brought his other hand to pair with the first, cradling Oriya's face. The gleam from his artificial eye seemed to glow a bit brighter than the other one.
"The beast wants to eat... he wants blood and death but... but... he can't have them. He's angry, very angry... and hungry... you can't imagine the hunger, the way it gnaws and tears... without blood, he must have pain to feed on. I want you to feed him... feed him for me... do you love me enough to give me your pain?"
Slowly, finally something began to make sense and at least Oriya knew what it was Muraki was asking of him, and he was afraid. He trembled with the fear even as he forced himself to stand. He shivered with trepidation even as he leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Muraki's mouth. His mind screamed to push the doctor away, out the door, locking it behind him even as he heard his soft whisper give his assent.
"Yes."
~ * ~
The morning might have been a hundred years in coming.
The master of KoKakuRou became slowly aware the he was soaking in a warm bath. There was something in the water which smelled pleasant, and which also seemed to have a slightly numbing effect on his skin.
Arms lifted him from the water and he was carried, not a light burden, but somehow feeling as if his body were hollow, into his own bed, wrapped in a soft clean blanket and placed on his stomach. Familiar hands pulled the blanket back and something cooling was gently spread across the red marks that crisscrossed his back.
The room gradually lightened as morning leaked through the curtained window. His hair was lifted off his neck and laid on the cushions to one side. A light touch trailed over his cheek and then the figure beside him rose and began to dress.
There had been times during the night when Oriya wondered if he was in some sort of twisted nightmare, where familiar figures became terrible monsters. At times he'd almost been lost to the nightmare and just when he thought he was going to break, the gentleness would come and the monster would fade back into the familiar and the whole cycle would begin again.
His mind was foggy now, the pain having sapped his physical strength almost as surely as if he'd been bleeding, but he could also remember the dizzying heights of pleasure as Muraki has thrust deep within his battered body, striking that pleasure point with unerring accuracy until even the pleasure became so intense as to be deliciously painful. His cries had lunged up and down the spectrum from pleasure to pain and in between. His tears had alternated between tears of agony and tears of joy and his voice had begged, both for Muraki to stop and for Muraki to never stop.
But now it was over, and Oriya didn't know if he had the physical stamina to rouse himself enough to say goodbye, for what might be the last time, to Muraki. His deep dark eyes were hooded by exhausted lids but still focused as they looked over at his friend. He'd learned so much in the past night, yet he still had so many questions but not the strength at the moment to ask them.
As Muraki continued to dress, a flash of white, highlighted by the rising sun, caught Oriya's eye and he slowly reached up with a bruised and sore arm towards the head of his sleeping pallet, pulling the doctor's tie down from the board it had been tied to and holding it out towards the doctor. He couldn't quite reach Muraki, but he hoped the silent action would speak through to his old friend.
Muraki turned, and took the tie from Oriya's hand. However, instead of putting it on, he wound it loosely around his dark-haired lover's wrist.
Reaching down, he brushed his thumb lightly across a slightly swollen lower lip. Bending, he kissed Oriya's forehead and then his mouth.
"The tiger eventually savaged the man who had been his childhood playmate," he said softly. "But it seems, in the end, the man survived. Perhaps because he was a strong man who was too stubborn to give up," fingers brushed back a strand of hair. "And perhaps because in the end, the tiger held back from the killing blow. But if there was a lesson to be learned from it, the man was never able to tell anyone what it was. Goodbye my friend."
Oriya returned the light kiss to his lips and lay still as he listened to Muraki, a quiet understanding in his eyes. He waited till Muraki straightened before pushing words out across sore vocal cords.
"The man will still know the tiger's knock... and because he is stubborn... the door will open."
Muraki walked to the door and paused a last time. Without turning around, he said, "You wanted to be free, my friend. If this hasn't freed you, nothing ever will. Don't open the door to any more tigers. Sayonara, Oriya-kun."
And the door opened, and closed behind him.
TBC