Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5257487.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Metal_Gear
  Relationship:
      Big_Boss/Kazuhira_Miller
  Character:
      Big_Boss, Kazuhira_Miller, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Alternate_Universe_-_Prostitution, The
      Author_Regrets_Nothing, Slow_Build, Illustrated
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-11-21 Completed: 2016-02-01 Chapters: 16/16 Words: 41162
****** The Pleiades At Dawn ******
by statisticsfag
Summary
     Hanamachi AU. Set in 1890s Japan. Kazuhira is a young prostitute,
     sold into indentured service by his relatives after being orphaned.
     One night, a foreigner appears at his brothel...
     (Kaz is 17 at the beginning of this fic, so I tagged it as underage.)
Notes
     At last I'm putting this idea to paper! This is purely self-indulgent
     (again), as I'm such a huge sucker for the Hanamachi games and male
     prostitution in fiction. This will be my first story with multiple
     chapters as well, so please bear with me. The first chapter is pretty
     boring, just world-building and such. ;)
     The Pleiades is an open star cluster in the constellation of Taurus,
     visible in some places even during daytime.
***** Chapter 1 *****
 

                                            
As the sun set on the last evening of the fifth month of the year, the red
lights district of Yokohama came to life. The ubiquitous red paper lanterns
were lit by brothel workers, creating an atmosphere of vibrant life inside the
walled area. Summer was still blossoming, not yet reaching its sweltering peak,
with violet wisterias cascading from wherever they were allowed to climb.
Floral arrangements featuring white and purple irises were seen in the front
rooms of many establishments in the quarter, at least in those who deemed
themselves respectable.
The main road of the pleasure quarter was already alive with the evening’s
first prospectors, some rushing in as soon as the gates were opened, to see
their favourite courtesans on display before a wealthy customer would snatch
them away for the night. The entire area was closed off during the daytime,
hidden behind a high wall, in the hopes of keeping the pleasure business
controlled by the government with the young Meiji emperor at its head.
Naturally, a wall works both ways. It bars the entry of unsolicited visitors
during the day, but also hinders the escape attempts of those workers who feel
that they no longer wish to sell their bodies for a living. For many of those
who served clients at brothels and teahouses were not volunteers, but had most
often been sold to the house to indentured service. Orphaned children and those
fallen out of their families’ graces were a common life story for many of the
workers. A few had even been sold to settle their families’ debts.
One of the brothels, just off the main street, was called Lotus Shadow. It was
a middle-sized business that had only male prostitutes serving only male
clients. Such establishments were not uncommon in the red lights district, but
they were in the minority. As the Master of the House rang a bell, several
footsteps pattered down the lacquered wooden stairs, with the preened
prostitutes making their way to what was called the display room.
The room itself was bright and warm, with colourful patterns covering the thin
walls. The outer wall was a wooden lattice, the bars painted a vivacious red.
The floor was covered in simple mats, with small stands for each worker to have
their own teapot and cup on. Here the men presented themselves to those passing
by, hoping to catch someone’s interest enough for them to spend coin. Although
the basic service was the same for each prostitute, they tried to adapt a
persona, like an actor adapts a role. The cheerful one, the sultry one, the shy
one, the haughty one… And the exotic one.
The exotic one was named Kazuhira. Only his looks were foreign, with his blonde
hair and blue eyes, but in the country which had only during the last decade
started to open up to the Western world, he was still a rarity. Especially
sitting on display in a brothel. His mother had ironically enough been a
prostitute, his birth not a desired one. But she had kept him, the baby boy
with eyes blue like the sky, until she fell sick and eventually perished. His
father had been a foreign man, a one-time customer passing through the town on
his way somewhere else. Neither Kazuhira nor his mother heard of the man again.
His presence was always with Kazuhira, in the clearly Western features gracing
his face; the blonde locks and pale skin.
Although Kazuhira had spent most of his childhood and youth being ridiculed and
tormented because of his looks, he had not given up his spirit. Foreigners were
not as rare as before, after the emperor had begun his grand modernization of
Japan, but Kazuhira was not a foreigner. He was Japanese, born in Japan to a
Japanese woman, but with the ugly look of a white man.
When he was fourteen, with awkward, gangly limbs and a broken voice, a man in
plain clothing had approached the relatives he was staying with. They were only
too happy to sell Kazuhira off, being rid of the monster growing under their
roof. He was dragged off into the pleasure district, to become a prostitute.
The bespectacled Master had explained to him that he would be trained first for
three years, which would be added into his contract. Then, he would work at the
brothel, Lotus Shadow, for seven, eight, nine, even ten years, until he had
earned back the money he was bought for.
On this May evening, Kazuhira was seventeen years of age, having debuted as a
prostitute only a month ago. He walked last in the display room, taking his
position on the far right side of the room. He was dressed in a light blue
kimono with patterns resembling waves, wearing a pale sash with embroidered
petals. A bright red overcoat hung on his supple shoulders, his blonde hair
pulled back in a ponytail.
The Lotus Shadow wasn’t as luxurious as some other brothels, but the Master
nevertheless expected high quality of his merchandise, as he called the men
working there. Lotus Shadow didn’t have the half-scripted loud drama that was
almost expected in the display rooms of some other brothels, usually those with
female workers. Sometimes the shrieking of their theatrics could be heard all
across the bustling quarter, all for the sake of interesting customers. No, the
Master allowed his merchandise to develop personas as long as the men kept
their base at soft, demure and elegant. Fighting was not one of these graces.
Four of Kazuhira’s companions sat with him in the bright display room, all
dressed up as beautifully as possible in colourful, patterned kimonos. They all
wore the bows of their sashes in the front instead of the back to express their
status as sex workers. This practise also altered the silhouette of their clad
bodies, making them appear to be arching their backs and pushing their hips
out.
“Hey there cutie, what’s your name?” An older man with a thick voice approached
the red lattice, looking at one of Kazuhira’s co-workers.
“I am called Yuu, my lord,” the prostitute answered cheerfully. He cocked his
head to the side, letting his long black tresses fall over his shoulder. “Would
you like to have some fun, my lord?” he asked, batting his eyelashes
surrounding his large, almond shaped eyes. Kazuhira would have snorted if he
didn’t know Yuu’s tricks to work so well.
And sure enough, the man ceased to be a passer-by and entered the first floor
of the wooden building, with staff announcing the arrival of a customer. Once
he was shown to a room, Yuu was called from the display room to join his
customer.
“I wonder where Norio is?” asked one of the young men on display, this one
dressed in orange colours, patterned with flowers and leaves.
“Probably still preparing himself,” Kazuhira answered. “It doesn’t matter how
late he arrives, he doesn’t have to sit here long anyway!”
The remaining prostitutes sniggered. Norio was the prized jewel of Lotus
Shadow, a man with graceful features and a body that would have made ladies
swoon outside the Quarter. Norio had also worked the longest at Lotus Shadow,
the day of his release creeping closer and closer.
Kazuhira had realized how lucky he had been to be taken into this particular
brothel. They catered to a male clientele and not the poorest ones either. A
night with any of the Lotus Shadow courtesans would cost a shopkeeper his three
months’ pay. That meant that the house had a sense of quality to it and that
the young men working there would be taken care of. Kazuhira had seen what the
conditions could be in the poorer houses, and considered himself blessed as the
prostitutes of Lotus Shadow were rarely beaten and were fed and clothed by the
house.
Two members of the staff, barkers, came out to the street and started calling
out to people, enticing them to step closer to the red painted lattice to
admire the beauty of the flowering youths on display. The barkers would
exaggerate the prostitutes’ talents and allure, depicting them as the closest
thing to heaven a man would find while still on this earth.
Kazuhira received very mixed attentions, as usual. Others would find his grown
blonde hair beautiful, his pale skin dazzling, and his blue eyes stunning,
while others would curse at him for being a disgrace to his kin. He certainly
stood out with his exotic looks, which the Master saw as an asset. The Master
believed in the emperor’s dream of an open and modern Japan, and had seen the
change in attitudes towards anything Western. Even now, court officials paraded
around in black and white suits, while many others opted to combine the new
with the old, adding bowler hats with their traditional Japanese garb or a
Western jacket with hakama trousers.
A pair of soldiers in their dark blue uniforms stopped in front of the
building, openly staring at the young men on display. The barkers ran up to
them immediately, urging them on to pick their favourite of them, all of whom
would be more than pleased to accompany a man of the Imperial Army. The
soldiers were hesitant, scoffing at the high praise, asking if they would get a
discount due to their positions. The barkers with their silver tongues
suggested that their prices were already low for the marvellous adventures the
men would get as customers of the house. Eventually, the soldiers decided to
move on.
Kazuhira had watched the scene with interest, finding the soldier’s lifestyle
fascinating. In some ways, he thought it to be similar to his own; there were
the uniforms, the idea of serving someone, the companionship of fellow soldiers
and the training. Of course, Kazuhira didn’t see the customers as enemies to
fight against, but still. Something about soldiers intrigued him.
The sliding door of the display room opened, and Norio appeared in the doorway.
The other courtesans bowed their heads in respect at his arrival, and waited
with their heads down as he closed the door behind him and sat down, the hems
of his pale violet kimono rustling against the mat. The door was slid open
again, this time the Master appearing.
“Norio, you’re late. I rang the bell already a while ago,” he said sternly from
behind his round glasses. Although everyone knew that the Master gave Norio
special treatment because of the cash he brought in, there was still the
pretence of scolding.
"Oh, I am ever so sorry,” Norio replied, his thin eyebrows arching with evident
sadness. “My breath was taken away by the colours streaking the sky tonight. A
sight to behold, yes, surely you must forgive me, Master,” he continued,
actually managing to sound apologetic with his flimsy excuse.
The Master only huffed and mumbled something about a punishment for next time
before shutting the door with slightly too much force. Kazuhira, as well as the
others, knew Norio would receive no punishment, or if he would, it would a mild
one, purely for show.
Another man approached the lattice, dressed in the garb of a monk. It was not
unusual for monks to visit male brothels, although Kazuhira found their
activities in the room to be quite monotonous. Apparently something in the
scriptures they read encouraged them to touch the prostitute as little as
possible, and so they rarely laid a hand on Kazuhira for more than was
absolutely necessary. The young men in the display room cast glances at the
monk, each trying to seduce him before a word had been said.
“Thou must be Norio,” he said with his archaic form of speech, leering at the
courtesan in question. “Truly, thou art as fetching as my fellows described. I
would verily wish to try thine graces for myself,” the monk continued. Kazuhira
was this close to rolling his eyes at the wooing attempt. There was no need to
court a prostitute, you only needed to walk inside and give a name to the staff
and the man of your choice would come. But Norio only smiled meekly.
“My lord, I am indeed the one they call Norio, and I would be honoured to
attend to such a man of spirit as yourself.”
The monk rubbed his rosary in his hands, hurrying inside the brothel to claim
his prize.
“Kazuhira, look!” The youth next to Kazuhira nudged him with his elbow,
whispering loudly. “A foreigner!”
Kazuhira craned his neck to see whom Renichi had seen. The man was tall, so it
was easy to spot him walking on the street. He was dressed in simple Western
clothing, with a dark jacket that reminded Kazuhira of the soldiers before. The
foreigner’s trousers were light grey in colour, with dark boots covered in mud
on his feet. Instead of wearing a neat scarf around his neck as many
respectable men dressed in Western gear did, he wore a scarf around his head,
the long tails flailing after him. Around his waist he carried a knife and a
satchel of some kind.
Kazuhira couldn’t help but stare. Was that the kind of man his father had been?
He always felt a fleeting connection looking at any Western person, the
ridiculous notion of hope sizzling in the back of his head. Hope, that maybe
that person knew Kazuhira, maybe they could understand him and what he had gone
through, maybe even knew his mother or his father. Kazuhira knew this to be a
folly, but couldn’t suppress the thought springing up.
“Look, look look! He’s turning this way!” Renichi was abuzz, nervously fixing
the collar of his dress. The courtesan with the shy persona had a lust for
Western men, claiming they were all so good in bed. The barkers eyed at the
foreigner, unsure whether to approach him with a sales pitch or not.
“My lord, what a handsome man you are!” Renichi started and stood up to get
closer to the lattice. Kazuhira supposed he might be handsome by Western
standards. The foreigner had chestnut brown hair that was cut short, and a pair
of sharp blue eyes. The bandanna on his forehead made his expression seem to be
in a deep frown, covering his eyebrows completely. His face was framed with a
short, trimmed beard with a moustache to match. The man couldn’t have been more
than thirty years of age.
“How do I meet you?” the foreigner asked with surprisingly good Japanese. His
speech was curt and terse, straight to the point. Renichi became flustered at
the gaze of those serious eyes, fidgeting with his sleeve.
“My lord, it is quite simple. All you need to do is walk right in through the
entrance and give my name – Renichi - to the front staff,” he cooed, the shy
persona forgotten. “The staff will guide you to a private room on the second
floor, and I will follow you there shortly.” He reached between the lattice
bars to touch the foreigner’s chest. “My lord, I will take very good care of
you,” Renichi continued, practically throwing himself on the man.
“Not you, him,” the foreigner said and pointed at Kazuhira. The blonde gave a
tight smile, having dreaded to be in this situation again. While Renichi would
have loved to have all the Western customers for himself, he would often be
disappointed as they wanted something more familiar instead. The shorter
courtesan at the lattice clenched his jaw, smiling patiently.
“My lord, surely a great man like yourself would be excited to try something
new instead of having what you have always had?” he tried, doing his best to
maximise his charm. But the foreigner’s steely gaze didn’t shift.
“What is your name?” the foreigner asked, blue eyes meeting blue.
“Kazuhira, my lord,” Kazuhira answered, bowing his head.
The foreigner contemplated something for a while, ignoring Renichi’s
flirtation. His intense stare unnerved Kazuhira somewhat, stories about all
Western men being brutal beasts skimming his mind. He wasn’t going to get hurt,
right?
Renichi accepted his defeat as the foreigner started for the entrance, paying
him no mind.
“Why do you always get them?” he asked Kazuhira, but only mock-angry.
“Always, you say, when you’ve been working here longer than I have!”
“You’ll have to tell me everything tomorrow,” Renichi demanded, before the
sliding door slowly opened.
“Kazuhira, you have a customer.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     And the rating bounced up to Explicit. Take notice.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Kazuhira felt slightly nervous as he halted in front of the room where his
customer was waiting for him. He could hear his fellow courtesan’s titter from
the opposite room, no doubt in response to a joke heard a thousand times
before. Kazuhira took note of the black leather shoes on the hallway floor in
front of his room. He knelt down parallel to the sliding door.
“Excuse me,” he said, loud enough for the customer inside to hear him, but not
too loud as to bother the other rooms. The walls were thin after all although
the rooms at Lotus Shadow were all private. Kazuhira had heard of brothels
where two or even four customers could be served simultaneously in one room,
each separated from each other by just folding screens. At least having a room
gave a greater illusion of privacy.
“Come in.”
At the command, Kazuhira pulled open the screen - always elegantly with the
fingertips of both hands - and bowed his head down in courtesy and respect.
“My lord, I am called Kazuhi—“
“Kazuhira! It’s been a long time!”
The blonde youth lifted his head in surprise. The man sitting cross-legged in
the room wasn’t the foreigner he had seen outside just now, but someone he
knew.
“Lord Nishigawa!” he exclaimed with what he hoped was enough glee and surprise
to disguise his sudden disappointment. Had he been looking forward to seeing
the foreigner that much? Shaking every thought of the blue-eyed stranger from
his head, he made to close the sliding door with the proper procedure and
elegance required. First he stood up, only to take a few steps inside the room
and kneel down again on the straw mat to slide the door close. It had taken
Kazuhira plenty of patience to learn all the intricate rules of behaviour
expected of him.
“Were you expecting someone else, hmm?” Nishigawa asked, amused. He was a
government official in his fifties, representing the prefecture at court. The
man had a round, pleasant-looking face, with a neat black moustache above his
upper lip. Dark, intelligent eyes peered at Kazuhira. Even at this late hour,
he was still dressed in a smart three-piece black suit, the chain of his pocket
watch peeking under his jacket. His short, black hair was parted on one side
and forced into neatness with hair wax, giving it a shine in the soft light of
the room.
“I did not see you outside, my lord, so I was pleasantly surprised,” Kazuhira
smiled, rising on his feet. The long hem of his kimono trailed at his heels as
he sauntered to sit next to his patron. The room was decorated with simplicity
and lit with candles instead of electricity. Only the Master’s office had
electrical lights, making use of the town recently being incorporated in the
electric grid. So candlelight it was for the rooms where customers were
greeted, glowing with softness from the raised paper lanterns.
Nishigawa sat behind a small, low table of polished wood with a sake set,
beckoning Kazuhira to come closer. There was not much else in the terms of
furniture in the room; a futon bed of vermillion fabric and a folding screen
painted with motifs of vibrant flowers and dainty butterflies. A shamisen lay
on a small side table. The walls covered with woven bamboo were painted with
pink cherry blossom petals descending from the ceiling and collecting at the
floor level.
“How are you, my lord?” Kazuhira asked and poured more sake in his customer’s
shallow cup.
“All is well, my flower,” the older man replied agreeably, taking a small sip
of the room-temperature liquor. Kazuhira had a special connection with the man,
as Nishigawa had been his very first customer. Apparently, Kazuhira had not
disappointed him, for he had come back twice already in the short month after
Kazuhira’s debut.
“My wife sends you her greetings,” Nishigawa continued. “She already thinks
that our marriage has improved with my visits here. Truly a mutually beneficial
liaison!”
Kazuhira bowed his head, letting the hair gathered in a ponytail fall over his
shoulder. “I am most pleased to hear that, my lord,” he said while reiterating
the mantra of soft, demure, elegant in the back of his mind. It had not been
easy for him to fit in with these ideals, as his own personality was far from
them. Eventually, he had been taught that he shouldn’t try to change his own
personality, but slip into a role of a courtesan when interacting with
customers. Indeed, if one had listened to the prostitutes taking a bath in the
morning, they were like completely different people with their uncouth speech
and loud laughter.
“Could I please my lord further with some music?” Kazuhira asked, glancing over
to the shamisen in the corner. The prostitutes at Lotus Shadow were not high
class enough to be required skills in all fine arts such as the geisha in some
teahouses, but instead were allowed to specialize in one art of choice, whether
it was shamisen or koto, song or dance, poetry or calligraphy.
“Not tonight, my blossom, I promised my wife that I would be at home for the
night so I shall not stay for long,” the older man said courteously, emptying
his cup of liquor. Kazuhira was quick to pour him some more, as it would be
impolite to make his client ask for more sake.
“Ah, Kazuhira. You are truly beautiful as a shining jewel. Nothing along the
likes of the foreigner I saw in the front room,” Nishigawa continued, setting
down his cup to caress his young lover’s cheek.
“Oh? I thought I saw him enter. Did you see what happened to him?” Kazuhira
asked, expression tinged with perhaps a dash too much of excitement. But his
customer only chuckled.
“I gathered that he was a first-timer, because the staff was explaining the
house rules to him,” he explained, outlining Kazuhira’s soft lips with his
thumb.
“In the end, I’m not sure what the problem was; his reluctance of handing over
his weapons or the slightness of his coin purse.” The hand on Kazuhira’s face
slid downwards, fingertips reaching just inside of the collar of his kimono,
evoking the smallest of gasps from the youth.
“So… he left then, my lord?” Kazuhira asked, carrying on the conversation. He
sensed his breath quickening at the slightest of touches, his young body primed
for this kind of response.
“I suppose he did,” Nishigawa scoffed. “And I say good riddance; the man looked
like a ruffian.” The hand slid against Kazuhira’s skin with a little more
strength, forcing the fabric to slide off a slender shoulder.
“Absolutely nothing like you, Kazuhira, my flowering youth,” he continued,
placing a chaste kiss on the revealed skin, just above the collarbone. Kazuhira
kept still as he had been taught, allowing the customer to mould him as he
pleased.
“Your soft skin… your lustrous hair… So beautiful,” Nishigawa carried on
showering his young lover with praise as his hands and lips explored more skin.
The courting of a prostitute just didn’t make sense to Kazuhira. They were
already at the customer’s disposal, their willingness arranged with the tawdry
exchange of coin. Both parties were fully aware of the spectacle presented
between them; the customer pretending that this prostitute was the only one he
visited, and the prostitute pretending that he had no other clients. A poor
mimicry of an affair, where the words spoken were as empty as the hearts of the
transitory lovers.
Kazuhira also knew the trouble and danger of feelings involved in this line of
work, especially from the side of the courtesan. During his training, he had
witnessed the dramatic events that romantic feelings could evoke when a
prostitute had rather killed himself than continued to live without his loved
one. Therein laid the danger of living in such small circles; the world itself
seemed to be reduced only to the mockery of love, a distorted view foreign to
those outside the pleasure quarter.
Although for the courtesan, it was beneficial if he could stir feelings of
attachment of some kind in his customer. A few would always fall madly in love
with their prostitute, or rather, with the image their prostitute projected
during their time together. But it was easier to ban troublemaking customers
than to quench the poor heart of an unlucky courtesan.
The pair had moved to the lush futon, Kazuhira being laid on his side with his
patron behind him. Kazuhira could feel the older man’s stiff member pressing
into his backside, his hands roving on his body, dipping between the layers of
his kimono. He crowded into the embrace, spreading his legs. His breathing was
considerably louder now, drowning the rustle of silk and cotton rubbing against
each other. Soft, demure, elegant, rang the mantra in his head.
Nishigawa was a typical client in the fashion that he touched Kazuhira
everywhere except his genitals. Some customers didn’t care whether the
prostitute got off or not while others were pleased with simply looking at
their aroused state. In their discussions, the workers at Lotus Shadow
suspected that some customers tried to avoid recognizing them as males although
none ever asked the customer. Then there were the exceptions that did touch the
prostitutes’ cocks, even making sure they orgasmed as well.
“Ah!” escaped Kazuhira’s lips as his butt was squeezed. Touching his rear was a
sure-fire way to get him hard although he wasn’t sure whether the reaction was
a conditioned reflex or just something he really enjoyed. Not that the source
mattered at this point anymore.
“You really like that, my blossom,” Nishigawa said, voice husky, lifting up the
hem of Kazuhira’s kimono above the sash at his waist. Another typical quirk of
his customers; they would often only reveal what was needed of Kazuhira’s body,
and leave the rest of his body dressed. The same applied to the customers
themselves though.
“Yes, my lord,” Kazuhira whispered meekly, reaching for a small pillow to bury
his face in. Demure, demure, demure he kept chanting internally, feeling
shivers run up and down his body as his customer pressed a finger to his
entrance, rubbing in soft circles. He knew he shouldn’t give into the pleasure,
that he should keep his wits about him and stay in control of the situation,
manipulate the scene. But his experiences with sex were still fresh, not set
into boring routines and touches that wouldn’t excite him.
“Would you prepare yourself for me, Kazuhira?” the older man asked, releasing
Kazuhira from his embrace.
“Yes, my lord,” the youth repeated and rose on all fours to be able to reach
the small earthenware jar at the head of the futon. The contents of the jar was
a jelly-like substance made from grating yam, the result being a grease light
in colour and soft in texture. Kazuhira dipped his fingers in it, keeping the
jar close by as he brought his hand to his rear. Leaning on his forearm, he
spread his legs for his customer to see better and pressed a single finger
inside.
His patron rose to remove his jacket, and draped it neatly on the folding
screen while Kazuhira worked himself open with small gasps and the tiniest of
moans fleeing his lips.
“Come now, Kazuhira,” the man said, stroking himself through his trousers.
“Don’t be shy. I like to hear those cries of yours.”
Kazuhira only mumbled something inaudible into the pillow, adding more
lubricant and hurrying up the work of his fingers. He could hear his patron
unbuckling his belt behind him, and the swish of fabric as he pulled his
trousers off. Those, too, were neatly placed over the folding screen, so that
the man would look presentable even after he left.
A string of short gasps escaped Kazuhira’s lips as he delved his fingers
deeper, his own erection jutting hard between his legs. He felt Nishigawa kneel
behind him, felt the warmth radiating from his body. Kazuhira knew he would be
flushed by now, a warm pink colour spreading from his cheeks to his chest,
painting a streak or red down his back.
A hand was placed on his lower back, so Kazuhira withdrew his fingers from his
body and braced himself on his forearms. Closing his eyes, he felt the blunt
head of his patron’s prick poking at his entrance, the hot hardness pressing
inside his supple body.
“Ahhhn!” Kazuhira cried out as the cockhead breached him, trying his best to
keep his body relaxed. While Nishigawa’s was not the largest member he had
taken, it was still wider than the two of his fingers, and so different in
feeling. He was breathing heavily now, further aroused by the hand gently
soothing his rear.
“You feel always so good, Kazuhira,” the older man murmured, sighing audibly as
he got as close to Kazuhira as he could, pushing the youth’s legs further
apart.
“That’s it,” he continued, “Accept me, my flower.”
Kazuhira moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew that being lewd was in poor
taste, but what could he do when a man’s prick up his ass felt this satisfying?
Or perhaps this sensation was just the result of very good training, so good
that even his mind and body were fooled into enjoying the act.
It didn’t take long for Nishigawa to start thrusting in earnest, hands on
Kazuhira’s slim hips for purchase. Soon the slapping sound of skin against skin
and Kazuhira’s gasps permeated the room, peppered with his patron’s carnal
grunts.
“H-how can you always feel so tight, my blossom,” the older man faltered in his
words, apparently racing towards a quick release. Kazuhira had tried to keep
still under his customer’s onslaught, but couldn’t help rocking his hips back
in time with each thrust, urging Nishigawa to go faster, go harder.
“I will--, ngh—paint your beautiful skin,” he said, speeding up his thrusts
until Kazuhira had to bite down on the pillow to muffle his cries.
“Oh, oh, Kazuhira--!” the patron cried, and quickly pulled out to release his
seed on Kazuhira’s lower back. The blonde youth held his breath, arms and legs
trembling as he felt the hot liquid spill on his back, drops sputtering with a
groan from his client.
When his breath had settled, Nishigawa took a handkerchief from the breast
pocket of his vest and wiped himself clean with it. Supporting himself on
Kazuhira’s frame, he stood up and made to redress himself.
“So soon…?” Kazuhira asked, breathless, flopping down on his stomach, his
erection trapped between skin and fabric. His customer only hummed in
agreement, pulling his trousers on and buckling his belt.
“I told you, my flower, I promised to return to my wife for the night,” he
explained with warmth in his voice. He looked at the mess he had made of his
young lover; the dishevelled state of dress, the blonde strands escaped from
his ponytail and the cum dripping down his back.
“I look forward to our next meeting.”
Kazuhira shivered, but made himself to pull up and sit on his knees, awkwardly
trying to cover his erection with his kimono. His breath shuddered as he bowed
down, keeping his eyes cast downwards.
“Thank you, my lord. I hope to see you soon again,” he said, words trembling.
“Farewell, Kazuhira,” were the parting words of Nishigawa. Kazuhira continued
to keep his head down, listening to the sound of the sliding door opening and
closing. It wasn’t until he heard the staff downstairs bid farewell to the
client with loud cheers of “thank you, sir!” and “please come again, sir!” that
he let himself slump down on the futon, groaning.
He reached into the sleeve of his kimono and procured a worn piece of cloth,
doing his best to wipe his back clean. With a sigh, he let his hand wander to
his prick, starting to jerk off with a muffled noise. He couldn’t think
straight with all the lust in his blood, he had to come and clear his mind. He
breathed loudly through his nose, hand speeding up in pace, the motions
familiar. Kazuhira kept his head blank, focusing completely on the sensations
burning through his body. He could feel getting close now, not needing many
strokes more to come.
But as his release washed over him like the rushing wave of the ocean, his mind
suddenly conjured up, unbidden, unwanted, the image of the blue-eyed foreigner.
Chapter End Notes
     Who knew that a day would come when I would be researching the
     history of personal lubricants for a fic. :D
     Follow me on statisticsfag.tumblr.com for (nsfw) fanart. :)
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hover over foreign language text to see a translation in English.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Recovering from the night’s first customer was always the most strenuous. After
the second or even third customer – if it was a busy night – Kazuhira found it
easier to clean himself with a damp cloth, retie his hair and redo his kimono.
But after the first client left, he was always overwhelmed with the desire to
just go to sleep or at the very least, do absolutely nothing for the rest of
the night. He couldn’t explain why it was like this, when theoretically he
should be more tired after the third customer of the night than the first.
He carded his fingers through his blond locks, gathering them atop his head,
when a small voice called out to him. Before Kazuhira had time to answer, the
sliding door shifted open and a young boy bowed low enough that his forehead
hit the floor.
“Ah, Shou, thank you.”
The boy, a trainee, dashed into the room and lit sticks of incense. Kazuhira
had done the same tasks many times over, refreshing the room between the
courtesan’s customers. Shou never looked at Kazuhira directly, keeping his eyes
to the floor as much as possible. Kazuhira wasn’t sure whether the raven-haired
boy did it out of respect or some kind of disgust.
The trainee in his simple dress continued to tidy the room, rolling up the red
futon to replace it with a fresh one. It was a comical sight as the rolled up
futon was larger than the boy. Kazuhira let him patter along with his business,
fixing the state of his own dress to be presentable again. The boy disappeared
and reappeared once more, this time with a new bowl of ice to keep the liquor
cool.
“Master says that you have a booking,” Shou said timidly as he finished
flattening the fresh futon. Kazuhira smiled and reached into the sleeve of his
blue kimono.
“Thank you again. Here, have some candy,” he said, presenting a small pouch of
wrapping paper. But the trainee just bowed deeply again and sprinted out of the
door.
“Huh. I guess he doesn’t like me,” Kazuhira thought aloud. He put the pouch
back into his sleeve and knelt down next to the small table. He tried to clear
his head of all thought, finding energy in calmness as he was taught. He could
still feel the usual jitter before meeting a customer. He told himself it was
useless to wonder what kind of person the next client would be, as he would
soon find out.
Before long, he could hear footsteps stopping in front of his room. Kazuhira
perked at the sound of shoes scuffling, forming a look on his face which he
hoped would be elegant and welcoming.
“良いなぁ、こんな所で顔なじみなんて,” spoke the man happily as he passed into the room. Indeed,
the very same man Kazuhira had spotted outside earlier; the foreigner wearing
the curious bandanna.
“Ah- huh?” Kazuhira blinked, giving an awkward smile. He did not understand the
foreigner’s words. But he had spoken Japanese outside the shop earlier, right?
“You… don’t speak English? Français? Русский?” the man asked, gesturing with
his hands.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I can only speak Japanese,” Kazuhira
explained meekly, lowering his eyes.
“Ah well, should’ve guessed,” the man said with a click of his tongue. “I
thought you were a foreigner too. It would have been nice to talk in English
with someone,” he said, clearly disappointed.
Kazuhira could feel his cheeks starting to burn in embarrassment. Although he
had realized before that this kind of situation might happen, he certainly
didn’t expect to have a customer barging in, spouting strange words at him like
that. Why didn’t he ask first?! And where had he gone before?
“But you are so skilled at Japanese, my lord,” Kazuhira complimented, trying to
salvage the situation. “Please have a seat and let me pour you some sake, my
lord.”
The dark-haired man scowled, apparently weighing his options. “I suppose I
could,” he agreed eventually, slouching down to sit cross-legged next to the
small table. Inwardly, Kazuhira wondered why the man chose to sit
unconventionally with his back towards the door. He wouldn’t be able to see if
someone came in, essentially leaving him defenceless. Did he have nothing to
fear, or was he just careless?
“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kazuhira, and I will be serving you
tonight,” Kazuhira prattled out, realizing his err in etiquette. He raised his
head, capturing his client’s eyes. His trick was to rise back up slow enough
for the customer to catch a peek inside his kimono, just a glimpse of his bare
chest really, but hopefully enough to spark an interest to see more. He felt
immediately some of his confidence return as he noticed the man’s eyes linger a
moment too long on his body to be courteous. The young prostitute poured the
cool, clear liquid into a clean cup and pushed it towards his customer with his
fingertips.
Kazuhira used the moment to get a better look at his new customer. He was older
than Kazuhira, that much was certain, but not by decades. His hair didn’t have
any grey in it, and although his face seemed worn and rugged, it didn’t have
that many lines on it. His blue eyes didn’t have the weariness of an older man
either.
“I thought I saw you outside, my lord. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?”
Kazuhira asked politely, unable to keep his eyes wandering across the man’s
features. He wished the man would take the strip of cloth around his head off,
so that Kazuhira could see his eyes better. Perhaps he was hiding something
under it, something like a scar?
“Not really. I didn’t realize I’d have to leave my sidearm with your people and
the gun I was carrying…” The man’s words slowed down until they halted. He
shrugged his shoulders, taking another sip of sake. “I went back to my lodgings
and left it there instead. And when I came back, the guy at the front said you
were busy.”
Kazuhira nodded with reaffirming sounds while his customer spoke. He wasn’t
sure whether his patron was lying, making an excuse for not having enough
money, but it didn’t really matter after all. “Are you a soldier then, or a
policeman, my lord?”
“John.”
“My lord?” Kazuhira was perplexed.
“Call me John,” the man replied, the gruff creeping back into his voice.
“As you wish, lord Joon,” the blonde smiled happily, mangling the name. But
John only groaned.
“I’m not a lord so don’t call me one. Just John, please.”
Kazuhira nodded uncertainly. Did he not want to be respected? Kazuhira had
thought that part of the experience at Lotus Shadow was the resplendence of
being waited on hand and foot, exceeding the ordinary respect towards a
customer of any kind.
“As you wish, lo-… Joon,” he spoke softly.
“John. Anyways, I’m a mercenary. A soldier for hire,” John explained.
Kazuhira’s sky blue eyes widened.
“A mercenary? That sounds fascinating!” he burst out in amazement. John let out
a small laugh.
“Do you travel a lot? Where did you come from?” Kazuhira continued barraging
his patron with excited questions, before getting the better of his curiosity.
“Th-that is, if I may ask.”
“Sure, I don’t mind. I’m originally from America. But I’ve travelled a lot with
mercenary work. I came to Japan from Shanghai. I actually visited a place like
this there,” John said in a conversational tone, looking around the room.
“In Shanghai?” Kazuhira tilted his head, interested in hearing more.
“Yeah. It wasn’t as open as this place though, not any man could waltz in and
order a girl.”
Kazuhira nodded, leaning over to pour more sake for his customer, and if he
accidentally bumped his thigh into John, well, it couldn’t have been on
purpose.
“I got in via a friend of mine. It was a nice place, although most of the time
we just ate with the girls. I don’t really understand why anyone would want to
pay such large sums for that.”
“Oh, so they weren’t courtesans?” Kazuhira asked, referring in his mind to the
high-class teahouses in the district. The women who worked there were
definitely prostitutes.
“They were, but… I don’t know, it was pretty complicated. The girls wanted to
marry their clients… The food was really good though.”
Kazuhira was impressed with John’s language skills. He did have that strange
lilt in his speech that most foreigners had, and together with the softer
consonants they sounded like they had a perpetual cold. He couldn’t criticize
John anyways, not with himself only knowing yes and no in English.
“My lo--,” Kazuhira started wrongly again. “…Joon. Could I entertain you with
some music?”
“Music? Sure, why not,” John said, emptying his cup, seemingly accepting the
mispronunciation. He reached for the ceramic flask at the exact same time as
Kazuhira did, and their fingertips touched on the cool surface of the flask.
“…Joon. Please, allow me,” Kazuhira said, eyes downcast, a small smile playing
on his face. This man was certainly strange, stranger than any other foreigner
Kazuhira had met. Starting out in a different language, sitting on the wrong
side of the table, not wanting to be called lord, attempting to pour his own
drink… Most unusual. And it felt so strange to call him by name.
John receded, viewing the little ceremony of Kazuhira pouring more sake for
him, pulling the sleeve of his kimono back to present a slender wrist. The
blonde courtesan proceeded to fetch his instrument from the side of the room,
placing it comfortably on the top of his thighs. He kept quiet as he picked up
the white wooden plectrum, tortoise shell or ivory being far too luxurious for
Lotus Shadow. He plucked the strings experimentally, making some final tunings
to his instrument. The song he wanted to play came quickly into his mind.
“This tune is called ‘A Good Day for a Journey’,” Kazuhira said, nerves acting
up again. It seemed that no matter how much he practised the shamisen, he never
felt completely confident with his skills. He took a deep breath, closing his
eyes for a moment, before strumming out the first notes. It wasn’t a happy
tune, but a more soulful one, not the kind you dance and make merry to. It
reminded Kazuhira of the times he’d stared out from behind the lattice covering
his window, wondering about the world beyond the few acres of the pleasure
district. Somehow he felt it fitting to the situation. After a few introductory
bars, he raised his voice in song:
“The distant waves, the rust-coloured lull of the sea
The sepia clouds that flow past, where are they going?
I carry with me the dream of the days spent
Chasing fox silhouettes, and so I go West
Ah, somewh--”
“Can you stop--?” came the anguished plea of his customer. Kazuhira had been so
wrapped in his music that he had failed to notice John’s increased squirming.
He froze mid-word, a few solitary notes drifting in the air between them. He
didn’t even get to the best part of the song!
“I, I’m sorry, you didn’t like it?” Kazuhira asked. He was simultaneously
embarrassed and angry; did the man have no manners at all, interrupting his
performance like that?! The term ‘uncultured swine’ floated to the front of his
mind.
“Ah, the tune is nice, I guess, but your voice… I suppose I’m not used to the
Japanese way of singing,” John offered lamely. Kazuhira flushed red, shocked at
such direct words of abuse. He was very well aware that his singing voice
wasn’t the best in the Quarter, or even in the House, but that was uncalled
for. Kazuhira gritted his teeth, doing his utmost to not storm out of the room.
Soft, demure, elegant, he repeated in his mind over and over again.
“I will practise singing more, Joon,” he said with patience, and continued to
pluck the three strings on his shamisen with less tension now. As the wistful
melody played on, Kazuhira could see his customer relaxing, even closing his
eyes for a moment. At least he seemed to like the instrumental music, Kazuhira
supposed. As the melody ebbed and the final notes disappeared into the summer
night, Kazuhira bowed once more, returning his instrument.
“You know, you can call me Snake if you want to,” John said, openly staring at
the young courtesan’s backside.
“Snake? Like the animal?” Kazuhira asked, turning just in time to see where
John’s eyes had been. Perhaps this would turn into a good encounter yet, the
blonde thought with a smirk.
“Yeah. You’re not the first one who has trouble pronouncing my name. My
mercenary buddies gave the name to me,” he pointed out. Kazuhira thought it
somehow suitable, an animal for a nickname. It wasn’t the first odd thing about
the man.
Kazuhira strode back to sit next to his patron. “Why would they call you a
snake? You don’t look like one,” he joked cheerfully. John chuckled, a good
sign.
“I fight like one. I’ll creep on the ground, so quiet that you won’t hear or
see me coming,” he described, hunching his shoulders as if demonstrating his
stealthy advancement. “And when I’m close enough, I’ll attack!”
Kazuhira let out a gasp as he was abruptly pushed down on his back, pinned by
his wrists to the floor, John’s face above his. “You won’t see me coming until
it’s too late,” John said with a lazy smirk.
Kazuhira could agree on the swiftness, John’s surprise attack came out of the
blue and the speed of his movements was amazing. He could easily now see the
similarities to a snake, lashing out with a sudden attack. The blonde thought
he must have got quite the scare, because his heart was beating fast and loud
in his chest. His sky blue eyes stared into John’s, imagining they were the
colour of the ocean. Why was his heart beating so loud, his nerves making their
appearance again?
It could only have been a few moments until John let go of Kazuhira’s wrists,
even though it felt like hours. Kazuhira was mesmerized, staring at this
strange foreigner, and without really knowing why, reached up and wrapped his
arms around John’s neck, pulling him down for a crushing kiss.
“Hmpf!” It seemed that John was not expecting it, judging by the muffled sound
of surprise he let out. The initial shock wore off in a moment; John’s eyes
fell shut, his forehead relaxing. Kazuhira felt dizzy as John started to move
his warm lips, feeling the texture against his own smooth ones. The other man
smelled different somehow and his breath had the homey taste of sake and
cigarettes and something sweet. Kazuhira thought it was honey, sweet and
sticky, dripping down his lips with each passing moment and further into his
mouth. John braced himself on his forearms on either side of Kazuhira’s head,
fingers entangling themselves in his soft hair.
The blonde let out a soft sigh as John traced the seam of his lips with his
tongue, taking advantage of the sound to slide his tongue inside Kazuhira’s
warm mouth. As their noses bumped, Kazuhira’s eyes fluttered close, he had
never felt a kiss like this. Open mouthed, sure, but not like this. Not a kiss
that was liquid honey, now trickling into his mouth, down his throat, into his
lungs. Yes, that must have been the reason he felt short of breath. He smoothed
down John’s shoulders, feeling a strange tingling sensation in his own
shoulders.
Ah, Kazuhira thought. Maybe John truly was a snake, a venomous snake, and now
Kazuhira was bitten.
        [https://40.media.tumblr.com/0942c512cb52ec01eb88897121d72004/
                     tumblr_nz6vz2By151uhb4l0o1_1280.jpg]
Chapter End Notes
     Okay so in real life, a Japanese person wouldn't have a lot of
     trouble to pronounce 'John' properly, but for the purpose of plot...
     ;)
     The song referenced is Ii_Hi_Tabidachi,_Nishi_E by Chihiro Onitsuka.
     Originally the song is by Momoe Yamaguchi, but I like Chihiro
     Onitsuka's lyrics better than the original.
     Also a big hug to everyone who reads and comments on my silly little
     story. <3 Special thanks to elfriniol for the special support ;)
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Added some artwork to_the_first_chapter. :)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Kazuhira had never been poisoned before, but he knew the symptoms. Enlarged
pupils, increased rate of breathing, heart beating faster and louder. As the
kiss went on and on, becoming wetter and hotter, he just knew, or at least
hoped he was poisoned. Because if he was this aroused by a customer, he might
be in trouble. Could he control himself, restrain himself from letting go and
at worst, forgetting all about the customer’s pleasure? This was exactly the
kind of thing he had been warned about. Get excited, yes, but not overmuch.
John slid a rough hand under Kazuhira’s kimono, caressing the soft skin of his
chest, tentatively touching his pink nipples. Kazuhira let his hands drop from
around John’s neck, letting them flop on the mat-covered floor. He had to be
quieter, stiller, in order to make up for the mistake of rushing his client
with a hungry kiss like that. John pulled away from the kiss, his trimmed beard
scratching and tickling the prostitute’s skin as he took his mouth lower to
join his fingers playing on Kazuhira’s chest.
Kazuhira bit his lip as John tugged at his kimono, pulling it loose to reveal
more skin. John’s breath was warm against his skin, the trail of his lips
burning and Kazuhira feared his heart might burst out from his chest. His
nipple was teased until it hardened into a peak, John closing in on the other
one with his mouth. Kazuhira had to clench his fists, fingernails biting into
skin as John licked around his nipple, breathing hard through his nose.
“You don’t… like this?” John suddenly asked, raising his head. The bandana he
still wore made his expression seem like a scowl; his eyes staring directly at
Kazuhira, lips shiny with saliva. Kazuhira nodded eagerly.
“I-I do like it,” he breathed out, rubbing his legs together. He could already
feel lust making him swell.
“You’re not responding,” John stated, sitting up. He wasn’t going to leave, was
he? Panic grasped Kazuhira.
“But the ideal male lover is soft, demure and elegant!” he blurted out quickly.
“What?” John sounded stupefied. “Is that some kind of cultural thing? And what
do you even mean by ‘demure’?”
“It means restrained, quiet, modest, chaste…” Kazuhira went on, embarrassed to
have to say it out loud, shrinking into himself.
“Chaste?” John let out a rumbling laugh. “If I wanted someone chaste, I
wouldn’t go to a whorehouse now, would I?”
Kazuhira blushed. The man had a point, sort of. But what about selling a dream
to the customers, an ideal of a perfect, devoted lover, even if it’s just make-
believe. Was it really so different abroad? Were all the prostitutes just flesh
to be sold, instead of an image of something lovely?
“B-but…” Kazuhira started, stammering.
“Listen. I’m not Japanese. I don’t want you to act like a dead fish when I
touch you. If something I do make you feel good, I want you to tell me. It
doesn’t have to be words, but I want to know.” John’s voice was admonishing and
Kazuhira felt he was getting a scolding, or a lecture.
“As you wish,” Kazuhira agreed, forehead wrinkled. Everything about this man,
this John, was so different, so peculiar. But also new and astonishing and
remarkable. And contradictory, clearly stating that he was buying a whore for
the night, but at the same time caring about Kazuhira’s pleasure.
John pulled at Kazuhira’s sash, failing with a grumble to work out how it was
tied. This was more familiar to Kazuhira, so he jumped at the opportunity to
help, deftly undoing the bow on the petal-embroidered sash. He had to lift his
hips to loosen the long sash enough to unwrap himself.
“Maybe the futon would be more comfortable?” Kazuhira suggested, gaining back
some self-confidence. Although the tatami mat did give some beneath footsteps,
it felt hard under his back and it couldn’t be nice for John either. The older
man agreed, rising from the floor. Kazuhira was pleased to see his trousers
bulging at the front. At least John wasn’t completely put off by that episode.
He started to undress himself, popping open the buttons on the black vest he
wore underneath his jacket. He turned to watch Kazuhira get up, his kimono open
but still hanging from his shoulders, framing his lithe body. There was a
splotch of red on Kazuhira’s chest, flush blooming on his skin, if the state of
his erection wasn’t enough to convince John of his enjoyment.
“Just how old are you anyways?” John asked, eyeing Kazuhira’s body from top to
toe, sounding slightly hesitant. He shrugged off his coat and vest, pulling the
tails of his shirt from his trousers.
“I’ll be eighteen next week. You’re welcome to join the party,” Kazuhira said
with a smile he hoped would be seducing as he approached the futon.
“Huh, not bad. Eleven years younger than me then,” John commented off-hand,
shuffling to get out of his trousers. Unlike Kazuhira’s previous client, John
didn’t bother draping his clothes over the folding screen, or even folding them
nicely, he just let them fall to the floor in heaps and puddles. Apparently
mercenaries didn’t place much value on the neatness of their clothes. John wore
a pair of light coloured drawers beneath his clothes, the thin textile leaving
nothing to imagination. His body was muscular, a wide chest and slender hips,
the strength of his body evident.
“Leave it on,” John instructed as Kazuhira tried to shrug off his kimono. It
didn’t exactly cover a lot while open, only his arms in the long sleeves, but
Kazuhira was happy to comply. At least it wasn’t any different than with his
usual customers. John had sat down on the red futon and was pulling at the blue
fabric, tugging Kazuhira closer.
“It looks good on you,” John murmured as he pulled Kaz down into his lap,
raising his knees to trap the younger man there. Kazuhira couldn’t help but
blush again. There it was again, praise for a prostitute. Why didn’t a
compliment from John feel trite? The thought slipped his mind as John skid his
hands under Kazuhira’s kimono, those calloused hands finding his rump and
softly caressing.
“Oh!” Kazuhira gasped, tilting his hips back into the touch. His hands flew to
John’s shoulders again, only now noticing the crisscross of scars and old
wounds marring his skin, such a contrast to Kazuhira’s own unblemished skin.
“That’s better,” John praised. “How else am I going to know what makes you feel
good?” His hands squeezed gently, eliciting another quiet gasp from Kazuhira.
“Why do you want to make me feel good? I don’t… understand,” Kazuhira exhaled,
hands roaming across John’s shoulders, his chest, fingers returning to caress
his face.
“I don’t like dead fishes, remember?” John said, taking advantage of Kazuhira’s
collarbone situated just above his mouth, nipping and kissing the bare skin,
hands caressing his back.
“But-“ Kazuhira started, still not understanding John’s odd mindset, but was
cut off by another searing kiss and a warm tongue delving in his mouth.
“Just let me enjoy you for now,” John warned between the wet noises their
mouths caused. Kazuhira kept his questions in his heart for now, hoping he’d
get a chance to talk more with this man. But John was right; he was not here
for a discussion or a lesson. He was here for sex.
Heartened, Kazuhira brought his hands up again to cup John’s bearded face,
fingertips trailing the edge of the dark blue bandanna. “Can I take this off?”
he asked carefully, not actually moving to remove it before gaining permission.
Seeing all the scars on John’s body made Kazuhira believe even firmer that he
was hiding an ugly scar on his forehead underneath the strip of fabric. John
hummed an affirmative, and Kazuhira tipped the older man’s head back, sliding
the fabric off his brow. To his amazement, there was no scar. John’s forehead
was smooth and unmarred as the rest of his face. Apparently, this amazement
showed on his face.
“What were you expecting?” John asked with amusement in his voice. Kazuhira
only shook his head.
“I don’t know myself either. You look so handsome without it though,” he said,
his compliment candid, fingers trailing John’s face with adoration. Kazuhira
thought he could feel John’s prick twitch at that, and reached down to loosen
the string holding his underwear. He felt John’s eyes on him, hungry and
ravenous, as he slipped his hand in to pull John’s manhood out. Kazuhira met
that gaze, seeing the lust in those blue eyes, and closed his hand around
John’s cock, caressing slowly and smoothly. John’s prick was so swollen, a dark
red in colour, tip glistening with clear drops of liquid. Kazuhira couldn’t
help but whimper as he felt the full veins pushing through the silk-thin skin,
already imagining how it would feel inside him.
John kept his hands in the vicinity of Kazuhira’s buttocks, never straying far
up his back or sides or down his legs until returning, kneading, spreading,
fingers dipping closer to his hole each time. The blonde felt the pressure of
lust swirling inside him, making his prick throb and his ass clench in
anticipation.
“John, please let me prepare myself,” Kazuhira whispered heatedly, shifting his
weight in order to reach the earthenware jar. John’s hands loosened around him,
letting him rise to his knees.
“Hey, you got it right this time,” John commented with a smile, shuffling to
remove his underwear. Kazuhira chuckled nervously.
“H-how do you want me? Hands and knees?” he asked, heart thumping.
“No, as you were, on your back,” John said, moving over to make space for
Kazuhira on the futon. The blonde just nodded, placing the jar on the futon
before rolling down on his back. Dipping his fingers in the jelly-like
substance, he spread his legs and got to work, wasting no time in pushing a
finger inside. His own cock was erect against his abdomen, throbbing with each
push and pull of his finger. He was still somewhat loose after his previous
customer, and could have maybe done without any additional stretching. But he
did enjoy greatly the way John licked his lips, eyes glued to the place where
his finger disappeared inside him. John’s hands couldn’t keep off his skin,
smoothing his inner thighs, caressing his knees, making Kazuhira shiver.
John settled closer, crowding the space between Kazuhira’s legs, his body
radiating heat like a furnace. Kazuhira whined and added another finger, and
then yet another, to quickly check whether he could take what his customer was
expecting of him. He felt only little irritation, so he removed his hand,
spreading his legs even wider, pushing his hips towards John.
Kazuhira could only stare in awe and expectation as John took himself in hand,
lining himself up. From this angle, he did look like a beast to Kazuhira,
something primal and unforgiving in the way he held himself, an animal lurking
under the guise of a human. His first instinct was to cover his mouth with his
hand as John pushed in, the stretch forcing the air from his lung, making his
spine twist.
“None of that, remember?” John grumbled, swatting his hand away. “I want to
know how you feel.”
Kazuhira couldn’t understand that sentiment, he just couldn’t. Why would John
care like that for someone whose services he had bought?
“Good—It feels good,” he wailed, perhaps a bit louder than he intended. John
started rocking into him with small movements, setting off sparks in his body,
clouding his head. Kazuhira was only distantly aware of the sounds of the
street below them, everything narrowing into their two bodies connecting, the
loud breathing between them.
John leaned over the blonde, dipping his head to capture Kazuhira’s lips again.
His strong hips thrust forward again and again, pushing out sweet moans out of
Kazuhira. The blonde’s eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, his muscles
contracting around John’s prick with every plunge. He was utterly pleased to
see the tormented frown on John’s face, to hear the soft grunts between
feverish kisses.
“Ahh! There, right there!” Kazuhira cried out suddenly, head falling back hard
against the futon. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like he should be
ashamed for saying that out loud, practically begging.
“See?” John asked, panting. “Not so hard after all.” He moved up, grabbing
Kazuhira’s hips for better purchase. Kazuhira felt his legs shaking against
John’s back, his breath sputtering with each forceful thrust. He couldn’t help
his hand gripping his cock, pumping in time with John’s pushes, a slew of
embarrassing noises spilling from his lips. He was so close now, he could feel
his muscles twitching, contracting, making him curl up on himself.
“John, Joh- ah- Snake!“ he panted, words a jumble on his tongue as he came,
white liquid sputtering over his stomach and his chest. He didn’t know whether
it was his release or the nickname, but something in that moment turned John
wild and feral, his thrusts becoming painfully hard, skin slapping harshly
against skin.
“Aah! Ah! Snake!” Kazuhira cried out in desperation as he was fucked through
his orgasm, body shuddering against the onslaught. But John just kept on
moving, lost in finding his own pleasure now, seemingly not caring about
whether his lover was in anguish or not. He was panting roughly, and soon his
thrusts turned erratic in pace, hips moving on their own volition, unable to
stop himself, before finally spilling his seed inside Kazuhira. The blonde felt
rubbed raw and dizzy, letting out an undignified whimper when John pulled out,
soon to be followed by a trail of come.
“That… was amazing,” John breathed out, rolling to the side with a groan. “I
need a smoke,” he said, crawling to his trousers and the leather pouch attached
to it. Kazuhira only hummed, his breath evening out, feeling so worn out. Soon
the scent of a cigar wafted in the air, a smell of smoke and fresh grass.
Kazuhira sighed, shuffling on the futon, body relaxing completely. The desire
to sleep was overwhelming now and he knew he wouldn’t be able to entertain any
more customers tonight. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts, the warmness
becoming heavy in his limbs, so he just watched as John started to find his
clothes, slipping back into them.
“I hope you’ll come again, John,” Kazuhira finally spoke, not caring how
enamoured the words might sound.
“Let’s hope so,” John replied cordially, snuffing the cigar out after a while
in a small glass jar, also from the pouch. Genius, Kaz thought. There was so
much worldliness to John that Kazuhira wanted to discover. He gathered himself
with a groan upright to properly see his customer off. John was quick to dress,
already fastening the bandanna around his head. He looked down at Kazuhira, a
grin playing on his features. Kazuhira could only imagine how dishevelled he
looked like, but apparently John liked it.
“Thank you for visiting,” Kazuhira said quietly, bowing down. He heard the
rustle of cloth and footsteps, expecting to keep his head down until his
customer had left the room. But instead, he felt a hand pulling him up by his
shoulders, placing a last, quick kiss on his reddened lips. Kazuhira’s eyes
widened for a moment, his mouth hanging open as he stared confused at his
customer.
“See you around… Kaz,” John said with a grin before he turned on his heels and
left.
“Kaz…” the blonde repeated, bewildered, touching his lips with the pads of his
fingers. What on earth had he gotten into?
Chapter End Notes
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***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“He-hey, look at that! He’s walking!” came the shouted greeting when Kazuhira
appeared at the communal bath house, clutching his towels. At the sound, many
heads turned, and those friendly towards Kazuhira burst in laughter. After a
moment of awkward silence from Kazuhira’s part, the prattle of bathers
continued on.
“What?” Kazuhira bristled. He appeared to be the last one from Lotus Shadow to
arrive at the bath house, his colleagues already washing themselves on the
small wooden stools or bathing in the heated water. The bath house was not only
for Lotus Shadow workers, but for any in the district. Male and female sides
were of course separated, and many chose to stay grouped with their fellow
housemates. Prostitutes would usually wake between nine and eleven in the
morning, initiating the day with a bath before breaking their fast.
“’Aaah, Snake, aah, yes, yes, fuck me harder!’ I bet the entire Quarter could
hear you scream last night!” his colleague, Yuu, performed, complete with
dramatic gestures with his washcloth. “What kind of a weird name is Snake
anyways?”
“Stop lying, you rat, I didn’t say that! Besides, he asked me to!” Kazuhira’s
face flushed red, mortified. Had he really been that loud?
“Ohh, so you were acting? You should be in the theatre then, you would’ve
fooled me into thinking you were really enjoying yourself!” Yuu laughed
heartily.
Kazuhira just grumbled quietly to himself. He started preparing himself for a
bath, dropping his towel and washcloth in order to remove his plain cotton
robes. Indeed, by night the courtesans dressed in flashy, lustrous kimono, like
flowers attracting honeybees. But by day, when they were off-duty, they wore
kimonos of cheaper materials, with duller colours and far less details,
resembling weeds more than flowers in bloom.
“Well, how was he, the foreigner?” asked Renichi, with a mix of jealousy and
impatience in his words. He scuttled closer to the edge of the large
rectangular bath, resting his arms on the edge of the bath. Kazuhira looked
down, to the side, avoiding eye-contact with anyone close by.
“He was… nice,” Kazuhira finally offered, embarrassed further by the energetic
hooting from his colleagues.
“Look at that face! Nice, he says, with a grin like that! He’s besotted!”
Kazuhira turned his back to his colleagues to try and salvage some of his ego.
He had not meant to grin or even to smile, but when he thought about John his
face just reacted on its own. It wasn’t like he had been lying awake last
night, thinking about the strange foreigner. And even if he had been thinking
about John, it was just because there were a lot of things Kazuhira still
wanted to ask him about the differences in their culture, about the world
outside the Quarter and outside Japan, whether he had a wife somewhere, what
kind of things he liked and how it felt for him to kiss Kazuhira and—
“I’m not besotted!” he protested, using far too much energy to wash his body
and face. “He’s just a nice customer,” Kazuhira tried, realising how feeble his
arguments were. Yuu giggled on the neighbouring stool, patting Kazuhira on the
shoulder.
“’S alright, Kazuhira. I’d fall for a man like that too, with a cock big enough
to fuck you senseless—“
“Yuu! Fuck off!” Kazuhira shouted, flailing now, tormented by his colleagues.
He knew they meant no harm, but he still would have liked to bathe himself in
peace. He had enough difficulty in the bath house anyway, the place where his
different skin tone really stood out among many naked bodies. Another round of
laughter bubbled through his friends.
“Can you please keep it down? My head hurts,” groaned another courtesan,
rubbing his temples in the far corner of the bath. “I had to drink so much to
make it through that last geezer… Kept telling the same two stories over and
over and over again…”
“Alright, alright, leave the poor boy alone. Itou, how’s that poem coming
along?”
The prostitute in question raised his head from the edge of the pool, where he
had been mumbling by himself before Kazuhira’s entrance.
“I still can’t even memorise it, and I should be reciting it tonight!” he
lamented with a sigh. “’Stormy winds, bring up the clouds and paint the heavens
grey; lest these fair girls… no, maids. Maidens? Misses? Women? Bloody hell, I
never get it right!” Itou spouted in desperation. Kazuhira used the moment of
shifted attention to step up to the bath, dipping into the hot water, body
cleansed. There was always that initial sensation of scalding when he sank in
it, but it abated within moments, the heat of the bath relaxing him, loosening
up his muscles and softening his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, just
enjoying the water reaching his shoulders and the warm air, the sounds of
splashing water and endless gossiping of fellow courtesans.
“Seriously though, Kazuhira,” came Renichi’s voice at his side. Kazuhira opened
his eyes, casting a defensive look to his friend.
“Did you get the impression that he could buy you out? If not, then you should
really be careful. You remember what happened to—“
“Yes, I remember,” Kazuhira replied quickly. He knew very well the dangers of
feelings in their line of work. Usually feelings meant misery, at least for
someone. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He was just so different, you know? Like, from
another world or something,” he continued quietly. He knew he could confide in
Renichi with this.
“I’m not sure I know, actually,” his fellow prostitute chuckled. “Speaking of
buying out, did you hear that Norio got an offer?”
“Really?” Kazuhira asked, excited, and the other courtesans appeared around
them in the blink of an eye.
“What!!”
“Who was it?!”
“I bet it was the Kotetsu heir!”
“Where did you hear this?!”
And so the babble went on, last night’s elegant courtesans reduced to a
cackling weaving circle the following morning. But this kind of easy
companionship was important to Kazuhira, knowing that to some extent at least,
he could trust his co-workers. At the same time, he knew how fickle good graces
could be in such a small world. Stepping on the wrong person’s toes could get
you bruised if you were lucky, or sold into the worst kind of whorehouse if you
were unlucky. But the Master seemed somewhat protective of Kazuhira, determined
to hone his exotic asset into a brilliant jewel to rake in as much profit as
possible.
~~~
The bath house was just a short walk from the brothel. The Quarter was slowly
waking up, the first restaurants and wineries opening to serve those living in
the district. It was a sunny day with white wisps of clouds gliding gently
across a bright blue sky. Kazuhira stopped and closed his eyes for a while,
listening to the peaceful sounds of lesser cuckoos chirping and the district
life; sand and pebbles crunching under shoes and wheels, people’s voices and
the nebulous hum of life all around him.
Returning to the House, he heard sounds of argument coming from the Master’s
office. Before he had a chance to get closer and maybe eavesdrop a little, the
door flung open and Norio burst out of the room, storming off. Kazuhira peeked
into the office, but only the Master was there, hand on his forehead in
frustration. Had it been about the offer Norio had received?
“Ah, Kazuhira. A word,” the Master said as soon as he noticed Kazuhira hovering
in the doorway. His tone of voice was business-like as always. The courtesans
knew very little about the Master’s personal life; where he was from, what he
had done before buying Lotus Shadow, whether he had any family. Apparently the
Master felt that business and personal lives are separate worlds that should
not be mixed. Of course, because very little was known, plenty of rumours
circulated about the stern manager.
“Yes, Master?” Kazuhira asked, stepping into the Western-style office. The
space was dominated by a large wooden desk with a sizable ledger on it, as well
as a telephone. A bookshelf and a small couch were also in the room, meant for
business negotiations only.
“I heard some less than favourable reports of your behaviour last night,” the
bespectacled man said, going back to write digits into the ledger. “Am I to
understand that you need more training, or do you have an excuse?” The way he
mentioned training sent chills up Kazuhira’s spine. Most likely training meant
some sort of punishment, he thought.
“The customer asked it of me,” Kazuhira said, squaring his shoulders. He wasn’t
going to be intimidated. “He wanted to know if I felt good.”
“Did he explicitly ask you to be loud? Or did you think of no other way to
express your feelings?” the Master asked with disdain lacing his tone. He
didn’t even raise his eyes from the book in front of him, but kept scribbling
away as the discussion went on.
“I… I cannot say that he did,” Kazuhira deflated. It had just felt so natural
to just let his voice out and not care whether it was lascivious or obscene or
even just too loud. “I apologize. I will be mindful in the future, Master,” he
added with a bow of his head. “But, if I may add…?”
The Master looked up and noticing Kazuhira’s expectant face put his pen down.
“Yes?”
“What if foreigners don’t like our ideal, Master?” Kazuhira suggested. “Jo--, I
mean, my customer last night said that I resembled a dead fish when I acted
upon our ideals. Maybe we could use this knowledge to our advantage?” he
continued, excitement growing with each word. This was something he also had
been thinking about.
“’We’? ‘Our’? You seem to forget your place as merchandise, Kazuhira,” the
Master retorted coolly, arms crossed.
“Hear me out, Master,” Kazuhira resumed anyways. “If foreigners, or at least
some of them, like their prostitutes loud and racy, why shouldn’t we cater also
to them? It would bring in a lot more money when word spread that our
courtesans can meet their needs,” he finished, eyes sparkling. He thought his
business idea was brilliant and should be put into motion immediately, tonight.
Unlike some of his colleagues, he could see the workings of the house in a more
rational sense. The prostitutes received a small wage, of where the costs for
their upkeep, food, clothes etcetera were deducted from. Each worker had a
price, and when they had earned that price, they could buy their freedom from
the House. So more customers meant more money and more wages for the
prostitutes, right?
The Master stared at Kazuhira with an amused look on his face. “I’ve never
heard you talk like this before. But no, I will not allow it,” he said. “If
they want cheap whores who scream and moan, they can find them at the docks.
You may go,” the Master said with a wave of his hand, returning his attention
to the ledger.
“…Yes, Master,” Kazuhira sighed, defeated, and exited the room. He was sure his
idea was good, so maybe he just needed to work on the sales pitch more. Now was
not the time, as his grumbling stomach reminded him of. Now, it was time for
breakfast.
~~~
At Renichi’s suggestion, Kazuhira wore his hair down that night, foregoing the
process of tying his hair up. His colleague ensured him that it was important
to try out all kinds of styles to see which attracted most customers. Kazuhira
himself thought he looked like a girl with his blonde tresses falling over his
shoulders, but he was willing to try. It might have helped that Renichi
mentioned that to his knowing, foreign men liked it. Although his colleagues
had all but dropped the subject of his strange foreigner, Renichi kept
reminding him about it, sometimes just hissing like a snake to him across the
breakfast table to get Kazuhira all worked up again.
Despite Kazuhira’s efforts in preening, John did not return that night, or the
next, much to Kazuhira’s disappointment. He knew it was foolish to wait for him
to return so soon, and perhaps to return at all. For all he knew, the soft pull
of attraction may have been completely one-sided, and John wouldn’t even
remember him when morning came. John might not even be in the town anymore, or
even in the country, sailed off to some new adventures and new arms to fall in
during the night. But hope dies last, as he had heard someone say.
Other clients, new and familiar, kept him busy enough during the nights,
Kazuhira being content that John’s presence in his mind didn’t hinder him from
servicing others. With each encounter, he learned to ply his trade better,
learned to analyse the customer’s expressions, to read them better and
therefore respond to them better. He experimented to find the right angle to
tilt his head ever so charmingly, the best moment for his lips to softly fall
open with a sigh, the most effective way to glance at a man with his blue eyes
to make him swoon. His eighteenth birthday came around, and a banquet was
arranged at the first floor of the House for all customers to enjoy.
When he received foreign customers, he would try and discreetly fish
information about John. He was very soon informed that ‘John’ was the most
common English name for men, so going only by a first name was impossible. Many
of the foreigners he serviced weren’t as skilled in Japanese, so any sort of
dialogue above yes, no and some hand gestures, was off the table. He asked
soldiers of the Imperial Army about mercenaries, but didn’t hear anything about
someone matching John’s description. He did hear a lot of other war stories
though, most likely embellished with each time they were told. Kazuhira even
inquired at other brothels under the guise of swapping stories about customers
with other prostitutes at the bath house. But no one had seen John.
After a few weeks, Kazuhira’s hope started to fade. With each passing night, it
seemed more and more improbable that John would visit Lotus Shadow. Perhaps he
truly was a fool for thinking so much about a customer who only had visited
once. Maybe this would be a good lesson to him for the future, to guard his
self better against feelings of this kind.
Then came a damp, drizzling night in June, when the streets of the Quarter were
quiet of footsteps with only a few people trotting about under their umbrellas,
shoes dirty with mud. Kazuhira was nigh shivering in the display room, the
sudden coolness of the weather taking the courtesans by surprise. He rose to
fetch some overcoats for him and his colleagues, and when he returned, a
familiar figure was leaning against the red-painted lattice.
“Hey, Kaz.”
Chapter End Notes
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***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Kazuhira entered the same guest room as the last time with John, remembering
with a smile their reversed roles. Now, it was John sitting at the small table,
waiting for Kazuhira. But the courtesan did not barge in speaking another
language; instead he went through the formalities as expected. The season had
not changed yet, still weeks away from the worst heat waves of August, and so
the décor of the room was still the same. Lotus Shadow had a different
arrangement than many other middle- or high-classed brothels, where the
prostitutes each had their own bedrooms where they lived, slept and serviced
their clients. The workers at Lotus Shadow had separate bedrooms, tiny shared
spaces with only a simple mattress and very few personal items. The Master
thought that the arrangement would raise a sense of togetherness in the
prostitutes.
“Welcome back, John,” Kazuhira spoke, standing at the sliding door with his
hands covering his lap. He was wearing an emerald kimono this time, the
trailing hem dipped in black. Flowers of different colours and shapes appeared
to grow upwards from the bottom of the fabric, camellias and magnolias shooting
towards the bronze-coloured sash tied in a simple bow at his front. The long
sleeves were decorated in a similar manner, a few stray blossoms climbing over
a shoulder like a vine. He wore his blonde hair down, tied neatly to the back
of his skull with the longest strands reaching the middle of his back.
“How have you been?” he asked politely, blue eyes soft as he looked at the man
who had occupied his thoughts so many times during the past weeks. John rubbed
his chin, eyes traveling up and down Kazuhira’s figure.
“Mhmm. I got a bonus from my last mission, so I decided to spend it on
something nice,” John said, unable to stop staring, blue eyes deep like the
ocean. Renichi’s words suddenly echoed in Kazuhira’s head, the warning to not
fall for someone who wasn’t financially able to give Kazuhira his freedom. If a
bonus was required for John to even visit Kazuhira, then there would be no hope
of John buying him out. It was not sensible to get attached to this customer.
“And you’re the nicest I’ve had in a while.”
Their eyes met. Kazuhira remembered hearing about cobras who could supposedly
hypnotize their prey into paralysis by staring at them with cold, unblinking
eyes. But John’s eyes weren’t cold like a serpent’s; instead there was a
definite flash of desire in his gaze. Kazuhira’s mouth went dry at the words,
the heavy tone of his voice, dripping with venomous honey. How could he think
sensibly after that, when those few words caused all his pining to resurface
again?
He crossed the room with long strides, bare feet thumping against the thick
straw mat covering the floor. John followed every move with his eyes, almost
anticipating his movements. With a whisper of fabric, Kazuhira was straddling
John’s lap, capturing his face between his hands. The force of his kiss almost
tipped John over, causing him to steady them both with a hand behind him.
“Kaz…” John murmured softly between the clashes of their lips, answering the
blonde’s passion with equal strength. The sound of his nickname - given by this
man - made his chest tighten, not enough air in the room. What he wouldn’t give
to hear John call him that every day. John’s warm hands were gripping his
shoulders, sliding down against the soft fabric to his waist as desire sparked
between them. Kazuhira could feel lust burgeon in his body, milky skin
flushing.
“John, John,” Kazuhira chanted, near drunk on the fever-hot kisses. He sucked
on John’s full upper lip, hands already shifting to work on the buttons on his
shirt, impatient to undress the man.
“Not so much dead fish now, huh?” John breathed out, earning a gasp when he
cupped Kazuhira’s ass, fingers splayed against the kimono.
“I learn fast,” Kazuhira replied, mentally hitting himself. What if John
thought he was just faking it in order to please a customer? He was frustrated
that his hands were trembling, clothes not coming off John quick enough. He
wanted to be closer to John’s skin, his scent, his taste, his soul. Kazuhira
ground down his hips, lips releasing John’s in order to kiss his face instead,
pressing his lips chastely against the sides of his mouth or grazing his teeth
across an earlobe. His mahogany hair was slightly damp, smelling like grass and
rain and the wide world outside. Kazuhira got John’s shirt open enough to slide
his hand against bare skin, fingers tracing scars and the dark, sparse hair
covering his chest, twirling around a dark nipple.
John answered with an errant cant of his hips, thrusting up into Kazuhira’s
lap. His hands felt about for the long ends of the bronze-coloured sash,
pulling the tie open like a ribbon off a present with much more ease than last
time.
“I learn fast too,” he grinned for a moment, before his mouth found better
things to do at the pale expanse of Kazuhira’s throat so close and exposed to
him. The blonde tipped his head back with a sigh for easier access, rubbing
against John’s side with his bare knee. He felt John scraping his collarbone
with his teeth, tongue worrying over the sensitive spot at the juncture of his
neck.
“Ah, no marks, please,” Kazuhira whined, regretting the words as soon as they
were out in the air. He wanted John to suck and bite at him, to leave a chain
of love bites on his skin to remind him of John even when he wasn’t there.
“The rules state-,” he continued with a tint of worry in his voice. He did not
want to think about other clients now, and most importantly, he didn’t want
John to think about other clients doing these same things to him. Because John
wasn’t the same as the others, their touches didn’t feel the same as John’s;
their gazes didn’t lure him in like John’s. And they most certainly didn’t make
Kazuhira feel like a first-timer again, heart trying to claw its way up into
his throat.
“I know, I know,” John answered, dragging the soft kimono off Kazuhira’s
shoulders. “I won’t get you into trouble.” Kazuhira wanted to believe that.
John patted on Kazuhira’s thigh, lifting him off his lap and nodding towards
the futon. The distance was not more than a few steps, but it seemed to take
forever with their mouths pulling together for searing kisses like moths drawn
to the flame. Kazuhira was already naked, but John’s clothes were so much
slower to take off, with too many pesky buttons and buckles. Kazuhira slid
John’s shirt finally off, his hand catching on a strip of gauze wrapped around
a bicep.
“What’s this?” he asked, mind a little hazy. “Are you hurt?” The gauze was
clean with no blood seeping through it, so at least there was no immediate
danger.
“Just a scratch,” John replied with a shrug, using the opportunity to remove
the clothing from his lower body as well. Kazuhira wondered whether John was
hurt during his mission. He wanted to ask what kind of mission it had been, as
he knew nothing of the practical side of John’s work. His thoughts ran wild.
What if John had killed someone on his mission? What if John had killed someone
in order to spend time with him? It was certainly a thrilling thought, but
Kazuhira couldn’t say whether that was a magnificent or a horrible one. He
would have to ruminate it later, when John wasn’t lying down on the crimson
futon, propped on his forearms. John’s body was truly an amazing one, and so
different from Kazuhira’s own; strong muscles and tanner skin from spending
more time outdoors. He had more hair on his body too, dark in colour, winding
down from his chest in a thin trail to his stomach and into a thicker cluster
between his legs. The dark curls accentuated his rigid cock even more, jutting
out with red hot desire.
Kazuhira moved over, nudging John’s legs apart to kneel between them. He stared
at John’s prick, hearing John’s breath hitch as he wrapped his hand around it,
sliding over skin. Saliva formed in his mouth, and he let a dollop of it fall
from his lips on John’s member, coating it with the warm liquid. He bent his
head down to give the rounded tip a kiss, enjoying the hiss of pleasure it
brought out of John. The kiss widened, lips stretching over the head before
pulling slowly back with a loud smack.
He could feel John’s sweltering gaze on him, on his hand that played with
John’s dick and on his mouth that kissed and licked at the sides. Kazuhira knew
men liked to watch, and for John, he wanted to give a good show of his skills.
Teasing him with only taking him in his mouth for the shortest time, bobbing
his head once, maybe twice, before letting go with a wanton gasp. He looked up
at John every so often, pleased in the band of flush high on his cheeks. John’s
mouth was gaping a little, soft pants warming the air, eyes half-lidded with
pleasure.
“Wh-where’s that jar of yours,” John eventually asked, voice hoarse. “You need
to get on me right nnn—“
Kazuhira sank his head deep, mouth full with John’s cock, the tip tickling at
the back of his throat. He pressed his tongue flat against the underside of the
hardness filling his mouth, sucking and swallowing around it until John groaned
loudly and his hand pulled at Kazuhira’s blonde hair.
“Yeah, okay—“ John panted. “You’re good at this, I get it.”
The blonde smiled at the backhanded compliment as he released John’s throbbing
cock from his mouth, licking his lips obscenely. He climbed on all fours over
John’s thighs, settling down to straddle his hips once more. John’s hands flew
on his waist in an instant, holding Kazuhira in place to grind his slick cock
against his ass. It made the blond whimper, feeling the hard thickness pressing
into his cleft.
“You’re so skinny,” John commented, hands trailing over Kazuhira’s leaner body,
splaying his fingers across his waist. “Don’t they feed you properly?”
Kazuhira’s chuckle was cut short when John’s hand smoothed over his hard prick,
pumping slowly.
“We’re fed enough, don’t worry.” It was no secret that most men coveted a
youthful appearance, at least in their male prostitutes, which included a slim
figure with as little defined muscles as possible. So they were fed enough, but
not to fatten, and regular, strenuous exercise off-duty was not recommended.
Kazuhira leaned over to reach the lubrication, dipping his fingers in it when
John interrupted him with a hand on his wrist.
“I’ll do it this time,” the older man said, taking the container. Kazuhira
nodded and leaned back down, lips kissing the side of John’s neck. His breath
hitched as John’s thick, oiled finger pressed right into him, delving in to
explore.
“Hmm…” he murmured thoughtfully, prodding with the pad of his finger before
suddenly adding a second one with little resistance. Kazuhira moaned, head
falling against John’s shoulder, not expecting such a sudden breach.
“Not your first tonight, I think,” John said quietly, stretching the blonde
open with ease. Kazuhira’s back arched, canting his hips against the delectable
sensation of John’s rough fingers inside him.
“S-sorry,” he managed between harsh breaths. What he really wanted to say was
that if he had known John would be coming, he would have refused any other
customers for the night, waiting only for John with bated breath.
“I think I can feel some of their cum still inside,” he growled. John’s fingers
curled, pressing hard into that special bundle of nerves and Kazuhira’s hips
bucked with an anguished cry.
“Ahh—too rough, John, please!” he babbled, the thin sheen of sweat on his neck
breaking out into droplets. Was John punishing him? Oh, he wanted to be only
John’s, never to take another customer again, to remember only John’s body
against his own.
John pulled his fingers out and guided Kazuhira’s face to his own for a
soothing, apologizing kiss. Their breaths mixed with huffs of air, tongues
twisted in a slow rub. Kazuhira was the one to break off first, rising to
steady himself with hands on John’s chest, hips grinding back against the
insistent hardness. Taking the hint, John guided himself to Kazuhira’s
entrance, allowing him to sink down at his own pace.
“Mmh!” Kazuhira bit his lip to stifle a moan as John’s impressive girth entered
him, stretching him taut. His eyes were screwed shut, brow twisted in pleasure
as he sank lower and lower at a torturously slow pace, etching the sensations
into memory. John kept his trembling hips still until he bottomed out,
Kazuhira’s body flush against his. They were both panting roughly, Kazuhira’s
heart beating like the rain outside.
“C’mon,” John urged, thrusting upwards ever so slightly, eyes glazed over with
lust. And Kazuhira obeyed with a sensual roll of his hips, starting with
slower, wider motions, letting out a soft gasp each time John slid in deeper
again. John’s hands roamed on his body again, smoothing over thighs, coming up
his sides and pinching his nipples gently.
“You like that?” John asked, voice low, admiring the way Kazuhira’s abdominal
muscles rippled with every shuddering breath. The blond nodded, closing his
eyes again and increasing the motion of his hips, knees digging into the soft
bedding.
“…I like it too,” John said with something akin to uncertainty in his tone.
Kazuhira realized that the palms of his hands were pressing onto John’s nipples
and shifted his weight to his other hand to be able to touch John easier. John
answered with a sudden hiss as Kazuhira traced around a peaked nub before
pinching it, just like John had done to him. He could feel John twitch inside
him as he continued teasing his nipple, manipulating it between his fingers and
rubbing it with the palm of his hand. He wanted to lean down and lick and suck
at the hardened nub, but the angle was all wrong and he couldn’t twist his body
low enough. The reaction he got from John was interesting enough, something
he’d store away to bring back for their next encounter. He prayed that John
would come back again.
John’s panting came in ragged breaths as he clutched Kazuhira’s hips and held
him still. He began to thrust hard into the blonde’s body, weary of the
agonizing pace. Kazuhira felt John bend his legs for better leverage, his ass
hitting John’s thighs with each rough thrust. His gasps melted into moans and
whimpers, grabbing John’s arms for purchase.
“Kaz—I’m going to—“ John panted, curling his arms around Kazuhira’s waist and
pounding hard, manipulating the younger body as his own need dictated. He
lifted his upper body, Kazuhira’s leaking hardness trapped between their sweat-
slicked bodies. The blonde idly wondered whether he could come like this,
without a hand on his cock.
“Yes, John—Yes—“ spilled the broken words from Kazuhira’s lips, unable to move
himself anymore in the confining grip of the older man. Just like a
constrictor, he thought wildly, unable to stop the string of indecent sounds
coming from him.
“Snake,” John mumbled, mouthing against Kazuhira’s shoulder. “Call me Snake—“
“Snake!” Kazuhira cried out as John just kept ramming into him, his body
forcing itself in and around Kazuhira, swallowing him whole. He would come too
any second now, if he only got some air into his lungs through the strong
embrace he was held in. Just as he was afraid he’d pass out, he felt John pulse
inside him, hot seed gushing into him as John howled desperately out something
that resembled Kazuhira’s name, orgasm wrenched out of him.
The sound alone was nearly enough for Kazuhira and as soon as John’s grasp
abated a fraction, he rushed his hand around his aching cock to stroke himself
into completion. It didn’t take long with John’s cock still buried inside him,
ass throbbing around the thickness with each flick of his wrist. John thrust
his hips up one final time, and that was the tipping point for Kazuhira,
falling over the edge with a silent scream. His seed spurted on his hand and on
John’s stomach, ribbons of white splattering on heated skin.
“Please stay, Snake,” he pleaded quickly, eyes hazy and mind clouded, dirtied
hands capturing John’s face. The older man blinked several times, brow
furrowing as if he couldn’t really comprehend the words Kazuhira said to him.
“Stay?” he parroted, breath evening out. Kazuhira nodded eagerly, a smile
tugging at his mouth.
“Stay, until dawn.”


Chapter End Notes
     THE END
      
      
     ...just kidding, sorry for any heart attacks. xD We're about halfway
     through this story! I added some art to Chapter_Three. As always,
     check out my_tumblr_account if thou art thus inclined. I tag stuff
     related to this fic with "pleiades". :)
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Until dawn? Wouldn’t that be bad for your, uh, business?” John asked
cautiously, hands still fixed to the small of Kazuhira’s back. Despite his
words, he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, the room now fragrant with the
scent of their heated bodies. The patter of rain was still a steady beat
against the outer wall of the room, cool air seeping through the junctures of
the building.
“It’s raining, so business will be slow anyway,” Kazuhira smiled, perhaps a bit
too warmly than he intended to. The thought of spending more time with John
thrummed in his chest. “The Master allows us some accountability to our work.”
“Accountability?” John echoed. Maybe it was a difficult word for him, Kazuhira
thought.
“Yes. He’ll give us a warning if we’re not making enough money, and… Never
mind, it’s not a problem,” he finished. Perhaps telling John how any prostitute
who wasn’t bringing in enough money would be resold to a much nastier place
wasn’t going to encourage him to stay.
“We can… talk, if you’d like,” Kazuhira suggested, biting his lip. Why was he
nervous now, asking John to stay and talk, after having sex with him? With a
small noise, he pulled himself off John and shuffled to sit next to his prone
body. Sex was simpler though, and easier. Much easier than talking.
“And at dawn, I can accompany you out and we can see the last fading stars
before sunrise.”
“Hah! What a line!” John laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Do you say
that to all your clients?” Kazuhira was mortified. He didn’t mean it as some
kind of trick of the trade, a cheap line to be repeated like an actor to a
crowd. He thought it would be nice to watch the stars with John, but their
current room didn’t have a window.
“It’s not a line! I meant it,” Kazuhira said, almost pouting. “I’d really like
to talk with you,” he added, fighting the sense of having his hopes crushed.
John raised an eyebrow, the bandanna across his brow skewing.
“I can’t decide whether you’re a really good whore or a really bad one,” he
said with a light in his eyes, the sides of his mouth twitching. Kazuhira
huffed, crossing his arms. He didn’t like John calling him a whore, even if it
was true. Most other patrons only used it as an insult, but then again, John
was not like most patrons.
“And I can’t decide whether you’re a good customer or not!” he replied, with
not enough bite in his words to make his offense believable.
“All right, all right,” John placated, raising his hands in surrender. “So what
do you want to talk about?” He twisted up from his prone position with easy
exertion of his abdominal muscles. Kazuhira just stared at his physique,
admiring the dimples low on his back when John walked over to pick up the
entire small table, bringing it over with the sake dishes clinging against each
other.
“Anything, really. About you, for example. Where you’re from, how did you end
up here,” Kazuhira said, trying to sound nonchalant. Do you like me, why did
you come back to me, why do you make me feel these things I’ve never felt
before?
“Huh.” John gave him a curious look, raising an eyebrow and setting the table
down next to the futon. Had Kazuhira said that last part out loud as well? He
scrambled over to pour him some sake and at John’s invitation, poured some for
himself as well. He only drank liquor when his clients asked it of him, having
heard too many accounts of prostitutes developing strong addiction for the
stuff. For some, it helped the dreary nights pass faster and gave them deep
sleep for the day. Some the overuse of liquor made sick, their bodies not
withstanding such lengthy abuse. It was another risk in the mire of dangers
working as a prostitute.
Whether it was the drink or the lingering afterglow, Kazuhira didn’t know, but
John humoured him and began talking, telling him about himself and answering
any extra questions Kazuhira had. John had come from the United States, born
during the Civil War. Perhaps it was this early influence that led him to leave
his family at 16 to enlist into the Regular Army. John himself claimed it was
boredom that compelled him into the world, but he and his superiors quickly
noticed his inherent skill in battle. After nearly a decade of service, he
joined some of his comrades to form their own unofficial unit, to travel around
the world to places of unrest. A group that galloped into the oncoming storm
instead of running away from it. The group broke off eventually, the members
interests veering into different directions.
“I’ve been in a lot of fights since then,” John said, puffing on a cigar. They
had the cover of the futon pulled over them, to keep them warm against the cool
air. Kazuhira lied on his side close to John, head propped up on an arm,
listening intently. John’s descriptions of all the places he’d been were vivid
in detail, although Kazuhira thought he detected a special affinity for the
different sorts of foods he had tried across the world.
“The biggest were in Dahomey and Manchuria,“ he continued, looking into the
distance. “After each battle, I’ve learned something new. So I figured I’d
travel and learn as much as I can of different battle techniques before finally
returning to the States. There, I’ll teach everything I’ve learned to my
countrymen.”
Kazuhira hummed. It seemed like such a noble plan, to travel around the world
in order to strengthen his own country’s armed forces. But listening to John
talk about fighting and wars, it sounded like he really enjoyed the deadly
situations, the adrenaline singing in his blood and the uncertainty of the
scenes. He couldn’t decide whether it was truly a dignified quest, or a plainly
selfish one.
“You must be really lucky then,” the blonde commented, eyes bright. “To have
survived so many fights, I mean.”
“Nah. There’s no luck on the battlefield. Only skill. ‘Practise lasts long and
therefore is a second nature to man’,” he recited, shaking his head.
Kazuhira absorbed every word of every story, marvelled and horrified of the
wonders overseas. Strange creatures and odd people, exotic landscapes and
curious habits; so much that Kazuhira wanted to see for himself. Maybe it was
his infatuation obscuring his faculties, or maybe it was the drink, but for a
fleeting moment, he could see himself following John into all these unusual
places, fighting alongside him in his quest for techniques.
“What about you? How did you end up in here?” John asked abruptly, turning over
to direct his attention more effectively at Kazuhira. The younger man reddened
nervously, not exactly expecting to be under such candid scrutiny. But he
acceded and told his story as well, of the unfortunate circumstances of his
birth and how his path eventually brought him into this room, this evening.
“You make it sound like it’s not a big deal, having to work here,” John
commented. There was softness in his eyes again, his hand rising to gently cup
Kazuhira’s face, thumb caressing over his cheek.
“It’s not something I would have chosen for myself, but it could be worse,”
Kazuhira answered gingerly. “And it’s not forever, after all.” He took hold of
John’s larger hand, placing a kiss on his palm. Even the palm of his hand was
different, not smooth and soft like Kazuhira’s own, but rough with struggle
around weapons.
“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” John said, his ears turning red. He
ducked down to kiss Kazuhira’s lips, inhaling hard when he responded, warm
mouths moving against each other to convey thoughts that neither could put into
words. John’s hand snaked around Kazuhira’s waist, gathering him closer.
Kazuhira thought he’d never get tired of kissing John, of the contrasting
feeling between his soft lips and scratchy beard, or of the low gasps he pulled
from John when he licked at the sides of his mouth. He placed his hands against
John’s furred chest, feeling his heart pound under his skin. He lifted his leg
around John’s waist, slotting their bodies flush together. He could feel
himself getting excited again by John’s proximity, slowly rubbing his groin
against him.
“You want to…?” John asked, perplexed, a trail of saliva hanging between their
reddened lips. Kazuhira replied by attacking his mouth and sealing it with his
own, teeth clacking together awkwardly. He captured John’s upper lip for a
gentle kiss in apology, before slipping a hand between their bodies, feeling
John come to life under his grip.
They spent the rest of the night enjoying each other’s company, both physically
and mentally. Between rounds of lovemaking, they’d exchange heartfelt stories
of the things they had experienced. John would tell stories of the world and
Kazuhira tried to explain the Japanese culture to him as best as he could.
There were many seemingly simple and fundamental matters that were very
different between their cultures. It seemed to be easier for John to
understand, having already travelled abroad.
“I wonder how long places like this can exist here,” John commented almost off-
hand while chewing on a rice ball wrapped in seaweed. Kazuhira had poked his
messy head out of the door enough to have someone fetch some snacks for them.
Sure enough, a while later there had been a voice at the sliding door and
Kazuhira wrapped himself in his kimono loosely in order to take the offered
tray.
“What do you mean, places like this?” Kazuhira asked, wondering if John even
stopped to taste what he was eating, or whether he just wolfed down everything
offered.
“Your government is being pressured into Western laws to be able to trade with
us,” John continued, licking the last of the rice off his fingers. Kazuhira was
still confounded.
“This kind of… prostitution,” John offered, gesturing around.
“What? It’s not legal in your country?” Kazuhira asked, amazed.
“It is, but not… this,” he tried again, waving his hand between them, looking
for the right words. “Between men,” he tried.
“Prostitution between men isn’t allowed?” Kazuhira suggested, raising his
eyebrow. That sure sounded bizarre, but John had told of many stranger things
already.
“Sex between men is illegal. And your government will most likely be pressured
into banning it here as well,” John finally said.
“What?” Kazuhira’s face was a mixture of expressions, astonished and bewildered
and a little angry.
“How can it—I mean that’s just—Listen, John. Have you thought about the lotus?”
“The lotus?” John repeated.
“There are many different coloured lotus flowers. Yellow, pink, red, white,
purple… They’re all beautiful, right?” Kazuhira spoke, a fierce determination
in his eyes.
“Some people like yellow lotuses over pink ones, but they’re still all
beautiful flowers. How can you ban one colour of love and allow another?” he
asked incredulously. He had held a kind of admiration for the Western
philosophies, but this was just too strange for him.
“Huh. I’ve never heard anyone say it like that,” John said. “Maybe we’re not as
superior and enlightened as we think,” he continued with an apologetic smile.
Kazuhira only shook his head, not comprehending the idea at all. Forbidding
organized prostitution he could have somehow understood, but not this. The
world beyond the walls was indeed more curious than he had thought.
When the bells rang outside on the street with men walking around the Quarter
shouting that dawn was here and closing time imminent, the last few guests
trickled out of the various buildings. The rain had let up, but its traces were
still on the ground in the form of puddles and mud. Kazuhira and John had
dressed themselves as presentable as was needed to say goodbye outside a
brothel. Kazuhira could have passed if it wasn’t for the matted hair at the
back of his head, evidence of being thrust against the futon time and again.
John didn’t look too much worse for wear, but he was tired as well even with
the infinitely content look on his face.
“Look, John, up there,” Kazuhira said, pointing to the eastern sky. The dawn
sun had not yet broken the horizon, only the promise of a new day glowing below
the dark heavens. Once again, night would be conquered by the light of day.
John turned his head to where Kazuhira was pointing, at the two bright spots
low on the sky.
“Do you see the brighter one? It’s actually not just a single star but many.
They’re called—“
“The Pleiades, I know. The Seven Sisters,” John finished with a tender
expression.
“Seven Sisters? But there are only six stars there,” Kazuhira argued, dropping
his hand.
“Seven, according to what I’ve heard. That’s why it’s called the Seven
Sisters.”
“But—how can that be? Even the name means the united six!” Kazuhira worried,
once again baffled. Surely the stars in the West were the same stars as here?
“I don’t know, I’m not an astrologist,” John grumbled. “Maybe it is just six.
Or maybe the six are united under the seventh, how about that?”
“Hmm…” Kazuhira pondered. He had heard a lot about stars in poems and stories
that his peers would recite to their patrons, finding them to be somehow
romantic in nature. Small sparks of light across a huge distance, some being
visible to the sharpest eyes even during daytime. Like scars of the nights
past, wounds being reopened every night with more light bleeding out, until the
searing light of the sun cauterized their faint glow in a never-ending cycle.
“Be that as it may,” Kazuhira said diplomatically, brain too tired to squeeze
out good arguments. “Will you come back for the Star Festival?”
“Star Festival?”
Kazuhira’s eyes lit up. “The best festival of the year! The whole Quarter is
filled with decorations, there will be parades and music and fireworks and food
and most importantly, we’re allowed to take part in the festivities!” he
explained like a child on the eve of his birthday. John rubbed his beard, boot
toeing the ground.
“It sounds fun. I’ll try to,” he replied tersely. A man in an official-looking
uniform approached them, looking warily at the pair.
“My lord, the Quarter is closing,” he said, gesturing pointedly towards the
exit. John nodded and Kazuhira took a step back in order to bow formally to his
guest.
“Thank you for visiting, my lord,” he said with a hint of mischief in his
voice. “Please come again.”
John said his goodbyes and headed for the exit, politely dogged by the man in
the uniform. Kazuhira could see him stop and light his cigar again, breathing
out long tendrils of smoke to irritate his follower. His wide smile transformed
into a yawn, so he turned around to find some rest of his own. What a
marvellous night it had been!
Chapter End Notes
     Dahomey is what's known today as Benin.
     "Practice, my friend, lasts long, and therefore is a second nature,
     in the end, to man." Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics.
     Added art to Chapter_Six. You can see all the art also on_my_tumblr
     as usual. :)
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The sun was already close to its zenith when Kazuhira finally awoke. The rest
of his so-called roommates had vacated their beddings some time ago, leaving
Kazuhira to sleep. They weren’t responsible or even that willing to wake him up
in time for breakfast, knowing full well how tiring staying up until dawn could
be. Kazuhira had a mild throb in his head and his throat was parched, surely a
combination of the cups of sake he had had and the lateness of his retirement
for the evening.
With a yawn, Kazuhira heaved himself up and dressed in a pale beige cotton
kimono, throwing a moss green sash around his waist and tying it in a simple
knot. Memories of last night flooded into his groggy mind, provoking a wide
grin on his face. John had actually stayed with him all night and talked, not
to mention their amorous couplings that had Kazuhira shuddering with warmth. He
had learned so much about the world beyond these few hectares of the Quarter.
And he had learned that John wasn’t as serious as he looked, but quite funny at
times, although some jokes Kazuhira didn’t quite grasp without explanations.
Especially the one about cardboard boxes escaped him. The only use he knew for
the things were to transport moths and their eggs to silk makers.
All in all, he was in a happy mood as he trotted off to start the day, but
stopped short when he heard a voice from one of the other bedrooms.
“Water…” the voice said, and it sounded a lot like Norio. Kazuhira approached
the room, indeed finding the House’s most valued courtesan inside. His long
black hair, usually the pride of his beauty, was tangled with sweat, tresses
sticking to his face, his covers were thrown off and he was panting.
“Norio? Are you all right?” Kazuhira asked, even if he knew just by sight that
something was wrong.
“Kazuhira, puppy, please bring me water,” Norio all but croaked, not even
lifting his head from the mattress. He had always called Kazuhira a puppy,
because that was his first impression of the blonde boy with large blue eyes
and hunched shoulders; a wary look on his face like a kicked puppy trying to
regain his trust towards humans. Kazuhira ran off to fetch some, wondering.
Norio could usually hold his liqueur, so it was rare to see him hung over that
badly.
When he returned, Norio had sat up, leaning heavily against the wall. Kazuhira
placed the jug of water on the floor, pouring the lukewarm liquid into a cup
for the other courtesan.
“What happened?” Kazuhira asked as Norio chugged down the water, coughing and
sputtering when he drank too much too fast.
“That damn Kotetsu heir had me drugged last night,” Norio explained weakly in
his gentle, flutelike voice, slumping back against the cool wall. Kazuhira knew
instantly what he was talking about. The drug, or ‘medicine’, acted as a kind
of guarantee for the patrons who paid up front. Should the prostitute be
unwilling to service his client, the patron had the choice of requesting
another prostitute or to ensure his willingness with a dose of the medicine.
Kazuhira had heard that it made you feel like your body was on fire, like there
was an itch just beneath your skin that you couldn’t scratch. It made you
painfully aroused, and you would do anything to make it stop. It could deprave
a man of all sense of shame, driving him near crazy.
“The Master allowed it?” Kazuhira asked, doubtful. As it were, only the Master
had access to the medicine.
“Of course he did. He wanted to appease the lord after I rejected his offer,”
Norio continued, reaching out his cup for Kazuhira to fill again.
“But why did you reject him in the first place?” Kazuhira asked, curious, and
not just for the gossip factor either. “He would have bought you your freedom!”
Wasn’t that the secret wish of every prostitute in the Pleasure Quarter, for a
wealthy patron to purchase their freedom from their Houses? For the women, it
often meant marriage as well.
“Oh puppy, do you really think that’s going to happen if someone buys you out?”
Norio said, an almost motherly care in his voice. “I don’t think you understand
that they’re not buying your freedom; they’re buying you.”
“Isn’t that better than staying here?” Kazuhira enquired.
“A matter of perspective. Sure, you’ll only have to service one man, hopefully,
but you’ll still be his servant, his bed-warmer, dependant on his every whim.
And when he tires of you, or you’ll grow too old for his tastes, I assure you,
he’ll throw you out like rotten meat,” Norio nearly seethed, exhausted. “Women
have it easier,” he finished quietly, drinking more water to quench his thirst.
“Besides, when summer ends, so does my term,” he continued, words gushing out
like he was telling a secret he had been holding in for so long. “Then I’ll
really be free. I want to travel to Kyoto and become an actor.”
“I think you’d make a marvellous actor,” Kazuhira smiled. He did understand
Norio’s point. When his term would end, he’d be a free man and not just change
his master. But it wasn’t enough to deter his demeanour towards a possible
patron buying someone out. It just had to be the quicker way out of indentured
service at the brothel.
After assurances that the older prostitute would be alright now, Kazuhira
continued his morning routines; washing up, eating and exchanging ribald
stories with his fellow courtesans. Later in the afternoon, Renichi found him
practising his shamisen and pestered him endlessly about his night with John,
yanking every last detail to satisfy his curiosity.
“I didn’t know he could be so tender,” Kazuhira chattered on, his instrument
set aside on the straw-matted floor. Sheets of music were placed on a special
holder, allowing the player to read them while playing without craning his neck
too much. “I mean, he certainly doesn’t look like it, but the way he kissed me
and the way he said my name – and do you know, he calls me Kaz, I just…” he
ended with a sigh.
“You have it bad, Kazuhira, you do,” Renichi shook his head with a laugh.
“You’ll be in trouble yet, believe me!”
At that same moment, the sliding door opened and the Master appeared in the
doorway. “Speaking of which…” Renichi mumbled under his breath.
“Kazuhira, a word,” came the command. Renichi excused himself and left them
quickly, noticing the extra ire on the Master’s face. Kazuhira waited patiently
for the Master to begin his rant; most likely he had received some complaints
about Kazuhira again.
“I came to check on you. Strip,” he ordered, closing the door behind him.
“Why?” Kazuhira asked, stiffened. This wasn’t something that was usual for the
Master. Apart from his initial inspection, only doctors and clients wanted him
naked.
“I said, strip,” the Master repeated, his tone admonishing. Kazuhira obeyed,
baffled, rising to his feet to remove his clothes. He undid the sash at his
waist and shuffled out of his kimono. The Master’s eyes raked over him from
head to toe, paying extra attention to his midsection.
“I knew it. Look,” he said, pointing to Kazuhira’s hips. He looked down at
himself and found dark spots, light bruises in the shape of fingertips on skin,
fingertips holding on to him too tightly. Kazuhira blushed, embarrassed. How
had he not noticed it last night?
“I’m sorry, Master, I—“ Kazuhira started, not sure why he was apologizing. He
felt nonetheless that it couldn’t do him any harm.
“I will not have any customers damaging my merchandise,” the Master said
flatly, crossing his arms into the wide sleeves of his overcoat. “If he won’t
adhere by the rules, he won’t be allowed here. You know this, Kazuhira.”
The thought of John being banned from seeing him shocked Kazuhira. He looked
forward into seeing him again so keenly, he thought his heart would break if he
wouldn’t see John again. The thought caught up with him. Heartbreak? How had
that happened? It was one thing for him to not notice how hard John’s fingers
left their impression on his skin, but onto his heart as well?
“How did you know?” Kazuhira asked, running his fingertips on the marks on his
skin.
“He looks like a beast,” the Master answered with a level stare. Kazuhira
wanted to argue that yes, he may look a little scary, but he’s not cruel at
all, he’s actually--
“Practise your shamisen. You’ll be working the floor tonight,” the Master
concluded, leaving Kazuhira alone and naked in the room. What the Master had
meant was that he wouldn’t be taking any clients tonight, not with the marks on
his skin. Instead he’d sit in the foyer greeting incoming customers, bowing
deeply and welcoming them, playing songs for them if they had to wait for their
courtesan to be available. He would chat with them; entertain them, like a
barmaid instead of a whore. He abhorred it, even though he had no reason to. It
was nearly the same as sitting in the display room, getting gawked on by
passers-by, enduring various comments about his exotic looks. But at least he
didn’t have to talk to them in the display room, didn’t have to entertain them
until they requested him and paid the house. And most importantly, didn’t have
to act the simpering fool.
A few nights later, when the marks on Kazuhira’s skin had faded, he received a
customer as usual. Kazuhira hadn’t met this particular patron earlier and
neither had his colleagues. He was in his thirties, a man with a heavy build.
His head was shaved bald, but he had a trimmed beard lining his jaw. He seemed
pleasant enough and requested Kazuhira to play for him. Apparently he liked
music, because he asked for song after song, humming along with melodies he
recognized and clapping in rhythm of merrier tunes. He drank many cups of
liquor as well, draining the flask of sake while Kazuhira played.
Ultimately Kazuhira felt like the strings of his instrument would be leaving
permanent dentures into his fingers, so he put down his shamisen. This was
getting tiring, so he’d try another tactic.
“My lord. Are you nervous?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
“What do you mean?” his client asked, apparently not taking Kazuhira’s words at
face value. The blonde shuffled closer on the floor, leaning towards the other
man.
“You haven’t made any move to touch me, my lord. Do I…” he let the words hang
for a dramatic moment, turning his head away. “Do I not please you, my lord? I
know I must look strange to you.” The words were chosen with felicity, phrases
to be used when he wanted to speed up an encounter, so that it would also end
faster.
“N-no, it’s not that, I just,” the patron stumbled over his words, glancing at
the now empty flask of sake. Kazuhira took his hand and guided it innocently to
his pale cheek.
“My lord, it would please me greatly if you touched me,” Kazuhira near
whispered dramatically, staring intently at his hesitant patron.
“Right. Uh. Right. I will. I can do this,” the customer mumbled mainly to
himself, freeing his hand to push Kazuhira down on his back. There was nothing
sensual about his touch and Kazuhira wondered if this was a first of some kind
to his client.
“What do I… what do you like?” The customer was blushing now, a reddish hue
staining his tanned face. Definitely a first, Kazuhira thought. He reached over
for the jar of lubrication, bringing it closer to hand.
“Anything, my lord,” Kazuhira almost purred, arching his back off the floor,
spreading his legs and letting his kimono fall off them to reveal bare skin.
The client still didn’t seem to know what to do, so Kazuhira walked him through
the motions. Perhaps he wanted to be told what to do, to be ordered. He tried
to touch his client, but his hand was swatted away whenever he tried to ease
his smallclothes off. So he kept his hands on safer ground.
After much groping and fondling, Kazuhira was naked and his customer in his
smallclothes. Kazuhira noted with some disappointment that the man wasn’t that
hard, even with all the salacious acting from his part. Kazuhira was stroking
himself with small, wanton moans escaping him, all but demanding his client to
put his fingers inside him – after coating them with the oily substance.
The man was hopeless, his fumbling tedious and frustrating. Kazuhira closed his
eyes and tried to enjoy himself, licking his lips and conjuring up images from
his latest encounter with John. It helped, some, to imagine it was John’s
fingers inside him, stroking him. It was difficult to keep up with his fantasy
when he had to give so many orders at the same time.
“My lord, please, put it in,” he finally gasped, theatrically writhing about.
His client cleared his throat several times. “I, uh, I don’t think. I might
have had too much to drink, you see,” he said apologetically, gesturing towards
his soft member. “I-is that a problem?”
“These things happen, my lord,” Kazuhira smiled. “You have already pleased me
greatly. There is no need to continue if you do not want to, my lord.”
“I think…” the customer began, clearing his throat again. “I’d like to make you
come, with my, uh, my fingers, if I can and if that’s alright I mean.”
Kazuhira’s smile was straining now. “I would be delighted, my lord,” he
nevertheless said, continuing to work his dick with his hand, setting a nice
pace for himself. When he felt the fingers inside him move again, thrusting
deeper, the client moving closer to get a better angle, he closed his eyes
again and thought of John. His overpowering gaze, the muscles in his body
working under Kazuhira’s hands, the soft groans and occasional foreign words he
let slip.
It was working, he could feel himself becoming more and more excited, arousal
twisting in his gut. If he shifted just so, the angle of the customers fingers
pushing into him was much more satisfying.
“Yes, my lord, just like that,” he encouraged the flustered man on, his own
hand rubbing his cock with more squeeze now. His eyebrows scrunched up, his
breathing coming quicker. John would spur him on, would bend down to mouth at
his lips, nibble at his jaw and push him towards the edge. He would feel John’s
beard scratch his heated skin and fear he’d fall apart completely.
“Oh… oh…!” Kazuhira would moan and wail, as he did, pumping his dick faster,
feeling that familiar clench inside him, warning him of his impending release.
He would cry out John’s name and then be corrected as John didn’t like his real
name being used during sex. He felt his balls draw up and was finally coming,
his orgasm pulsing through him, making his thighs quiver. Spurts of white seed
stained his belly, and he was so engrossed in his fantasy that the only word
that fell from his lips with heartache was…
“Snake…!”
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter was difficult for me to write, I had a thousand more
     things I wanted to include but...
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It was finally time for the Star Festival. Although there were different kinds
of celebrations all summer long, the Star Festival was Kazuhira’s favourite. He
found the story behind the festival inspirational; two star-crossed lovers
separated by a river of stars, allowed a meeting only on the seventh night of
the seventh month. And if it rained, the river overflowed and they couldn’t
meet at all, having to work hard for another year in hopes of a clear night the
next summer.
Various paper decorations were hung up the Quarter; streamers with long,
colourful paper strips waving in the fragrant breeze, colourful cranes and
kimonos made of paper. The Pleasure Quarter was not the only place to gather
for the festival, but definitely the most popular one. And the festivals at the
Quarter were always a bit flashier, gaudier and bigger than outside the gates.
Several vendors lined the streets, selling delicious foods ranging from grilled
meats on sticks to savoury dumplings and shaved ice with syrup. Others were
selling festival masks, hair ornaments, perfumes, while others hosted small
games.
Kazuhira walked alongside his patron, Nishigawa, who had booked him for the
festival. The lord was dressed in traditional Japanese clothing for the
festival, a cool grey kimono with a muted patterned overcoat. Kazuhira wore a
one-layered kimono in a dark cobalt blue with white butterflies and flowers
cascading around his figure. His sash was a bright orange with small pale
petals, tied in the front with a drum bow. His hair was tied up to a small bun
on the crown of his head, both to show off his neck and to escape the heat of
the short night. On his feet, he wore wooden sandals.
All around them, people were in a festive and cheerful mood, vendors crying out
their wares, street performers dazzling young girls with their tricks, dancers
on high pedestals surrounded by torches, with the ever-present sound of music
filling the air. Smells of the different foods mingled with the luxuriance of
greenery; orange blossoms and moon flowers seemed to shine softly in the
darkness of the hot night.
Kazuhira was bubbling with excitement, even if he wasn’t in the company he
wished to be in. But Nishigawa was a good customer, pleasant and kind, and of
course with a lot of money. He had already purchased a small hairpin for
Kazuhira from one of the market vendors, the silver pin adorned with small
glass flowers. As they advanced through the crowds, Kazuhira kept trying to
discreetly scan the throngs of people for John. Though even if John was there,
Kazuhira wasn’t sure how he could meet him, with Nishigawa at his side.
It was easy to tell who visitors were and who belonged in the Quarter from the
placing of the bow of their sash, as only prostitutes wore their bows in the
front. Many had a patron at their sides, but there were those who walked with
their colleagues, purely having fun, or were tasked with attending to the young
trainees. Kazuhira grabbed his patron’s arm and pointed to the grove of potted
bamboo trees with colourful notes of paper hanging from each slender branch.
“My lord, shall we not go and write our wishes?” he asked, eyes alight with
excitement. Nishigawa patted his hand and agreed with a warm smile, heading
over to a stall with colourful papers cut into shape and ink-brushes. They had
to wait a while before their turn, as so many others were also keen on the main
attraction of Star Festival – the wishing.
Out in the world, boys wished for better penmanship and girls for better sewing
skills, but inside the Quarter, the wishes were a bit different. Some were
general, like happiness or good health or beauty, while others were more
specific, such as rich clients, a quick end to a term or better fellatio
skills!
“Will you write my wish, my lord?” Kazuhira asked as they approached the stall.
Around half the nation was literate, but a whore’s son was not among those. He
could recognize some characters, such as his name and some very basic, one-
character words, but not enough to read or write. There was a service at the
stall, for a few coins someone else would write your wish for you on paper.
“Of course, my blossom. What is your wish?” Nishigawa asked, dipping a brush in
the inkwell, ready to write on Kazuhira’s choice of yellow paper. Kazuhira had
thought long about what he would wish on this special night, but had to take
into consideration the fact that he wouldn’t be writing the wish himself.
“Please write ‘peace’, my lord,” he beamed happily.
“Oh? Your namesake then, Kazuhira,” Nishigawa chuckled. “What kind of peace are
you thinking of? Peace of mind, peace between nations, or perhaps peace and
order?”
“Peace between nations, I think. John--, I mean, a customer told me that we are
even now at war with China. But we don’t know it because the battles are fought
far away from here,” Kazuhira explained, cursing himself for his accidental
slip.
Nishigawa arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? How clever you are. I shall write it
down then,” he said and began to paint the strokes, bold lines appearing on the
small strip of paper. The two characters flowed together with Nishigawa’s
penmanship, almost like a single continuous line, a small river of ink with a
story to tell.
“Thank you, my lord,” Kazuhira beamed, accepting the strip of paper, staring at
the characters for peace on the surface. “What will you wish for?” he asked
curiously. As the paper wishes were hung on branches for everyone to see, they
were no secrets. Though some believed that they should hang their wishes as
discreetly as possible and not tell anyone what they wished for, otherwise it
would not come true. But with traditions as old as the Star Festival, there
were bound to be variations.
“I think I shall wish for ‘peace’ as well,” Nishigawa replied with a strange
glance at Kazuhira. He dipped the brush in ink again, and wrote down his wish.
Kazuhira peeked at the blue strip of paper and compared it with his own.
“But, that’s not the same as mine,” he exclaimed. The characters were the same,
but they were in a different order. As soon as the words came out of his mouth,
he realized that Nishigawa had written Kazuhira’s name on the paper.
“You’re right, my flower. This is a different kind of peace,” he said with a
smug smile on his face. Kazuhira let out a laugh, and thought no more of it.
They approached the bamboo trees, each choosing a nice branch to hang the
papers on. The slips of paper along with the paper decorations would be set on
fire when the night was over and placed to swim down the small river on the
side of the Quarter. The flames would burn the earthly aspects and raise the
hopes and wishes to the heavens.
Kazuhira closed his eyes and brought his hands up to prayer, bowing his head.
In his mind, he explained to whatever spirits that were listening that his
peace should very much also include John, but he couldn’t write it down because
of the circumstances. He was sure the spirits would understand his situation.
“Do you like grilled sweetfish, Kazuhira?” Nishigawa asked, stirring Kazuhira
from his silent prayer.
“Oh yes! Can we get some, please, my lord?” he asked, already bouncing back
towards the food stalls.
Their path was blocked with a parade, though. The greatest courtesan of the
Quarter was the star of it, her numerous escorts outlining her path. She was a
sight to behold. Tall blocks of black, lacquered wood were fastened to the
soles of her sandals, elevating her high above the hordes of people. Her gait
was delicate and slow, each step a lazy, complicated dance. She had to hold on
to the shoulder of one of her escorts, a piece of silk between them, of course.
Kazuhira stood in admiration, staring at the procession. The courtesan’s eyes
were fixed to the distance, her chin held high, truly a royal creature from
another world. Layers upon layers of the finest silks dressed her, her pale
skin accentuated by the gigantic black hairpiece on her head, worked into
multiple rolls and buns. No more than eight hairpins were placed in her jet
black hair, some with delicate metal strips tinkling with each step. Several
layered sashes were tied around her waist, the largest one of black silk and
threaded silver, reaching down all the way to her bare toes. If the Quarter had
a queen, she would be it. Artists were following her course, trying to memorize
every detail to paint later. Tomorrow they would be the hottest items on sale,
prints being sold to every interested person. Photographers could not take a
good picture in the dark of the night, so they would invite the great courtesan
over into their studio for a photograph.
“She’s exquisite,” came Nishigawa’s comment from Kazuhira’s side, his patrons
arm wrapping around his waist. Kazuhira leaned into the touch as he was
instructed, pressing into his client’s side.
“Oh but she is. Everyone wishes they could be as elegant as her, as graceful
and lovely,” Kazuhira sighed as the parade passed them by. He started again for
the stall from where he could smell the aroma of sweetfish, grilled to
perfection on wooden sticks. But there, on the other side of the path that had
formed behind the parade, he spotted a tall foreigner in a dark blue coat. It
was John. Kazuhira’s stomach was tingling from the moment he laid his eyes on
John, who was apparently trying to choose the best grilled squid from the stall
next to the sweetfish.
“Come, my lord, the sweetfish!” he said excitedly, hoping his nervousness
didn’t reflect in his voice. He skittered out of his patrons arms and made his
way to the stall. He made a show of looking at the aromatic pieces of fish,
leaning from side to side, before noticing John “by chance”.
“John, you came!” he greeted him, wanting to touch his arm but aware of his
patron closing in on them. John turned, now a stick of grilled squid in hand, a
warm smile on his lips. Kazuhira hoped the smile was for him and not for the
squid.
“Kaz, there you are. I asked for you at your brothel, but they said you were
occupied,” he said, taking a bite off the delicacy, chewing in a not too
civilized manner. “Are you alone?”
“Kazuhira is with me,” replied Nishigawa before Kazuhira could open his mouth.
His patron inclined his head courteously to John. “My name is Nishigawa, how do
you do,” he introduced himself in a stiff manner.
John bowed back, a little surprised. “John. A pleasure to meet you,” he
replied, eyes narrowing when Nishigawa’s hand returned easily around Kazuhira’s
waist.
“Indeed. A good night to you, sir,” Nishigawa said coldly, turning them both
away from John and back to the matter of sweetfish.
Kazuhira looked back desperately to John, pleading him to wait for him with a
silent gaze, to not leave. Trying to convey to John that he’d much rather be
with him than Nishigawa, but that he couldn’t ditch his customer either. He saw
something dark pass over John’s features, before he stalked off with tense
shoulders.
“I assume he was a client as well?” Nishigawa asked when John was out of
earshot. Kazuhira tried to keep his expression neutral, instead of showing the
disappointment of his moment with John being interrupted so quickly.
“Yes, my lord. I’ve seen many of our customers here tonight,” he said,
attempting to make little of John’s appearance.
“You haven’t made that kind of face when you’ve seen others,” Nishigawa
commented and paid the vendor for two sticks of grilled fish. Kazuhira’s face
burned with shame as he accepted the food with a thank you. He stayed quiet for
a while after that, enjoying his fish and hoping his patron wasn’t angry with
him.
At midnight, there was a show of fireworks. There was no need to find a good
spot to enjoy them, as they illuminated the whole Quarter with their dazzling
colours. A sound of excitement coursed through the onlookers with each new
burst of light against the dark night sky. The moon was waxing, almost full,
its light minor in comparison with the fireworks and lights of the festival
below. Kazuhira applauded with others in the crowd, his earlier excitement
returned with the sight of fireworks.
Soon after, Nishigawa bade them to return to Lotus Shadow to end their evening.
After all, Kazuhira wasn’t paid only for his company. During the months after
his debut, Kazuhira had found that his encounters with Nishigawa were quite
predictable. He would call Kazuhira his blossom or his flower, never remove his
kimono and always had Kazuhira on all fours. Tonight was no different, Kazuhira
thought, face red with exertion as his patron thrust into him, panting and
gasping as skin slapped against skin.
Ever since the night when Kazuhira had accidentally cried out John’s name with
a customer, he couldn’t truly relax with his clients. He was constantly worried
he’d make the same accident again and tried to keep as quiet as possible,
directing all his focus on his patron. That time, he had gotten away with it,
threatening to tell everyone that his customer was impotent in exchange for his
silence. It had been childish, but so far, it seemed to be working, or at least
the Master had not heard of it.
Something was different tonight, however. Kazuhira thought Nishigawa was
nearing his release, when his patron suddenly reached around and started to
pump Kazuhira’s prick.
“M-my lord?” Kazuhira asked, panting, turning his head to catch a glance of his
patron. It was a welcome change to be sure, but still.
“You’re tense, my flower,” his patron said. “Relax.”
Kazuhira pressed his forehead back into the pillow with a moan as Nishigawa
synchronized his movements, making small, jabbing thrusts with his hips while
jacking the prostitute off. Kazuhira couldn’t help the feeling of wrongness
seeping through him, the hand on his cock feeling foreign instead of welcome.
He clenched his fists, doing everything he could to keep himself in the moment,
instead of looking inside for inspiration and pleasure from his memories. True,
he was aroused by the mechanical simulation, soon leaking in his patron’s hand,
keening when he felt close to climax.
Nishigawa was relentless, his motions quickening until Kazuhira was trembling
in his grasp. Kazuhira bit his lip until he felt the copper tang of blood in
his mouth, determined not to embarrass himself as his release washed over him,
tendrils of pleasure curling in his veins. His patron finished soon after, his
hand sticky with Kazuhira’s release on his hip, staining his skin and the
fabric of his summer kimono.
“I’ll come visit you again tomorrow,” Nishigawa said before leaving. He had
waited long enough for Kazuhira to clean himself up and arrange his clothes
again before saying his goodbyes, another surprising change to his routine.
“I will be waiting for you, my lord,” Kazuhira said with a deep bow. He waited
patiently for the sliding door to close, then began to pace around the room.
What were the chances of John still being at the festival? If he left now,
could he still find him? Would he be angry? There was no reason, though,
rationally speaking, as John knew very well what Kazuhira’s job entailed. He
couldn’t forget that look on his face though, almost like John was hurt.
No, he would take his chance and look for John. He dashed down the stairs,
telling the staff downstairs that he would go back to the festival to pick up a
new client.
Which could have been true.
Chapter End Notes
     Here is a contemporary_example of the oiran 8-step walk. Here is a
     clip_from_the_film_"Yoshiwara_Enjo", which was another inspiration
     for this fic. :)
***** Chapter 10 *****
Ultimately, it was the other way around. Kazuhira was found, instead of
finding. After wandering about the festival area for a while without finding
John, he ventured outside the commotion. A simple shrine was enclosed by a
myriad of green leaves, bringing immediate calm in contrast to the energetic
atmosphere of the festival. It was there Kazuhira meandered, desperate enough
to ask the spirits for help. They had to be benevolent on a night like this, he
thought. The shrine was naught more than a path of stone steps leading to a
raised altar-like structure. A gate made of stone held the name for the shrine
and its patron deity, two simple pillars with horizontal beams at the top.
He heard a sound in the dark shadows and moved to inspect it, when suddenly
something grabbed him, the world spinning uncontrollably for a few precious
moments. The motion came to a rather abrupt halt when the back of his head
connected with the tall stone pillar of the shrine gate. A hand was pressing
against his chest, forcefully, holding him pinned. Kazuhira’s first reaction
was to punch his assailant, swinging his fist in a wide arc in reflex, but the
punch never landed, as John caught Kazuhira’s wrist.
“John!” Kazuhira exclaimed, surprised and relieved. But John’s face still wore
the same dark look from before, at the food stalls.
“Did he touch you, Kaz?” John growled at him, a gleam almost predatory in his
eyes, lighted by the summer moon.
“Wha- John?” Kazuhira asked, head still spinning from the sudden attack on his
person. He felt like the air was knocked out of his lungs and a pain was
throbbing in the back of his head.
“I said, did he touch you?” John asked again, crowding Kazuhira, moving closer
to him.
“You mean Nishigawa? That man you saw me with? Of course he did!” Kazuhira
scoffed, annoyed by how things played out. He didn’t mean for them to meet like
this. John must have followed him around and now snuck up him, angry.
“Where?” John insisted and continued when Kazuhira didn’t seem to grasp his
meaning. “Did he kiss you?”
“What are you on about?” Kazuhira raised his voice. Did John have some sort of
voyeuristic streak? Kazuhira felt exasperated. “If you really want to know then
yes, my client did kiss me and more.”
Without waiting for elaboration, John crushed his lips against Kazuhira’s,
although the youngest of the pair would hardly call it a kiss, more like an
assault. Kazuhira did assent though, relaxing minutely against John’s dry lips,
allowing John’s tongue to invade his mouth.
“Wh- what are you doing?” Kazuhira had to ask after a moment, his hands pushing
John away. John’s movements didn’t feel like a kiss at all, his tongue
persisting inside Kazuhira’s, licking and lapping systematically around, with
purpose.
“I’m… cleaning you,” John said quietly, the fight in him abating. His eyes
darted off somewhere downwards, an almost pained look on his rugged face.
Kazuhira just stood there, baffled, something like the beginnings of a question
coming from his mouth. John’s lips returned against his mouth, continuing the
incessant licking. Kazuhira tried to respond to the strange kiss, but found it
difficult. He did like the sense of urgency in John’s movements, the way his
body kept him against the cool stone at his back and the noises John kept
making. The hand on his chest started sliding downwards, around his waist and
onto his backside. With spread fingers, John squeezed, his middle finger
dipping between his buttocks, crumpling the thin fabric.
“And here? Did he touch you here?” John asked, voice deep and raspy. It sent
shivers down Kazuhira’s spine, a small gasp escaping him at the forceful touch.
“Yes,” Kazuhira answered truthfully, still not quite comprehending John’s
actions. “But why do you—“
“Turn around,” John interrupted and when Kazuhira didn’t react quickly enough,
spun him around to face the pillar.
“What the hell?!” Kazuhira said, severely forgetting his manners. Not that John
seemed to mind. Kazuhira craned his neck, turning his head to the side to see
John. The older man was falling on his knees, rucking up the hem of Kazuhira’s
summer kimono all the way up to the sash around his waist. His hands stayed on
Kazuhira’s ass, keeping the fabric away, lightly rubbing.
“I told you,” John mumbled, leaning close enough that Kazuhira could feel his
breath on his skin. “I’m cleaning you.”
Kazuhira yelped in surprise, jolting, when he felt John’s face against the
sensitive skin of his ass, that wet tongue making its appearance again to lick
into his cleft. John let out a puff of hot air, making Kazuhira squirm at the
sensation, his breath hitching. When John’s presence moved back, it was quickly
replaced with a globe of spit falling from his mouth, after which he was back
with his clever mouth. John moved his hands, trying to carry out both keeping
the kimono away and spreading Kazuhira’s behind, his beard scraping the edges
of soft skin.
“A-hah, John!” Kazuhira gasped out when John’s tongue slipped inside his loose
hole, the slick muscle repeating the same licking and lapping that was recently
done on Kazuhira’s mouth. It felt unbelievably good, hot and intimate and new,
as nobody had serviced him in such a way before. Kazuhira could only gasp and
moan softly as John continued his actions, alternating between thrusting his
tongue in and out and laving at the skin at his disposal. He could feel himself
growing hard, cock twitching to life in the confines of his kimono.
“A-are you sure they don’t call you Snake becau- because of your tongue?”
Kazuhira panted, pushing his hips out, supporting himself against the pillar.
It felt like John’s tongue could reach so deep into him, writhing inside him,
the tip pushing adamantly against his walls.
“I hope not,” John chuckled, breathing heavily. “Could you hold this?” he
asked, indicating the rumpled fabric he was clenching. Obeying with pleasure,
Kazuhira put his hands on his back, clutching his kimono. He had to lean
forward to gain his balance, his hips jutting out, resting his shoulder against
the pillar. Kazuhira could hear John sucking on something, soon to find out it
was his finger that now poked at the puckered muscle at his hole.
Kazuhira had all forgotten about their surroundings, brain focused on the
singular sensations John was giving him as his two fingers delved inside him.
Even John’s fingers seemed to have a mission, prodding and curling in his
channel, scooping out evidence of his encounter with Nishigawa. It seemed to
become a habit. Kazuhira had the faintest thought of John sucking poison out of
him, like venom from snakebite. Suddenly, John added his tongue into the mix
with his fingers, spreading him, manoeuvring his tongue just inside the rim.
“Ohh, that feels good,” Kazuhira keened, the hot, intricate feeling making his
hole flutter with anticipation. Too soon, John removed himself, standing up to
nuzzle Kazuhira’s neck, his face moist from his earlier actions.
“Kaz, I—“ he started, unsure, words blowing hot air into the younger man’s ear.
Kazuhira let the back of his kimono fall down again, turning to face John,
finding him in a state of anguish.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” John ground out, forcing the words through
gritted teeth. It sounded like a guilty confession, like someone saying they
can’t stop biting their nails, or an alcoholic admitting they can’t stop
drinking.
“I know that you sleep with others for a living. But seeing you back there, in
this thin little thing—“ John’s hands moved to caress Kazuhira’s chest,
gathering said cloth of his summer kimono in his fists.
“—with that man’s hands on you, I just…” John pressed even closer, his body
flush against Kazuhira’s, layers of cloth crinkling between them. Kazuhira
could feel John’s hardness, both moaning faintly when Kazuhira rocked his hips
experimentally. A hand snaked around his neck, fingers threading into loosened
locks of blonde hair.
“John…” Kazuhira breathed out quietly, their faces close enough for him to feel
John’s breath on his skin. Something seemed to be lodged in his throat,
constricting his airways. John couldn’t stop thinking about him? John was
jealous? Kazuhira didn’t know how to react to this. A part of him was
overjoyed, to think that his feelings were reciprocated, that John felt
something for him, but another part was afraid. This wasn’t how Kazuhira had
anticipated it at all; John was supposed to just leave one day never to return,
like in the love songs, to leave Kazuhira to sweetly pine for him. A sudden
realization dawned on him.
“You’re not paying me,” he stated, hand on John’s shoulder, slipping under the
lapel of his coat. “So you’re not my customer, you’re my…” he trailed off,
swallowing loudly. How could he be so excited and nervous at the same time?
“Lover,” he finished with a whisper, the single word weighing heavily between
them. Kazuhira peered into John’s eyes, searching for encouragement, for
bravery to go through with this folly. For he knew it was a poor idea and meant
nothing but trouble for him, possibly for John too. His heart thumped in his
chest so loud that he was sure it reverberated in John’s body as well.
“Kaz,” John said, softly, stroking Kazuhira’s cheek with a rough thumb. “Can I
kiss you?”
Kazuhira replied by overwhelming John’s mouth with his lips. It was different
this time, really a kiss, lips moving hungrily against each other. Kazuhira
thought the taste of himself on John’s tongue was a little strange, but the
thought was quickly forgotten as John’s hands started roaming on his body
again, smoothing down his arms, his sides, slithering up against his chest. He
ground their hips together, rocking against Kazuhira, who responded eagerly,
creating a pleasant friction between their bodies. Kazuhira’s hands cradled
John’s head, ardently soaking up the earnest kisses.
“What are you doing?!” came suddenly a voice from the edge of the grove. Both
men jumped at the sound, John readying his pistol in the blink of an eye.
“Yuu?!” Kazuhira asked in disbelief. His colleague with the usually cheerful
demeanour stood just a short way from them; his features clear in the
moonlight. Seeing the stern look on Yuu’s face made Kazuhira sense that this
was not going to end well.
“I have to tell the Master,” Yuu said solemnly, exchanging looks with both men
at the shrine gate before turning around to run off.
“No! Yuu, wait, please!” Kazuhira pleaded, smoothing down his kimono as best he
could. “How didn’t you hear him?!” he hissed at John, who stood there
dumbfounded with pistol in hand.
“I was distracted,” John responded flatly, holstering his firearm. Kazuhira
felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been splashed on him, dousing off any
desire in his blood.
“I—I have to go after him,” Kazuhira called out, wooden soles of his sandals
clacking against the stone tiles as he dashed after his colleague. He could
hear John cry out behind him, but didn’t turn back, focused on racing Yuu down.
If he just caught him before he reached the House, he could surely persuade
him, even bribe him if needs must, he thought desperately. He could see Yuu’s
running figure weave across the festive crowd, gaining distance. Plenty of
people reprimanded him loudly for bumping into them, slowing his advance. It
didn’t help that he was taller than Yuu, not being able to slink as easily
between the throngs of people.
Kazuhira ran as fast as he could, but it was not enough. As he arrived to the
House, he burst inside and saw the Master’s office door open. He rushed into
the office and saw immediately that it was too late. The Master knew.
“I had thought to ask you whether this was true, Kazuhira,” the Master said,
looming over his desk. “But I need not. Your attire speaks volumes,” he said in
an icy tone, glancing Kazuhira over.
“No, Master, please, it’s not what you think--!” Kazuhira tried, rubbing his
hands together. Yuu just stood there silent, arms crossed. Kazuhira thought he
could see some hidden resentment in his dark eyes, or perhaps it was envy.
“You son of a bitch!” Kazuhira shouted, lunging at his colleague, grabbing his
collar with the intent of wiping that accusing look off his face with his
fists. At the first sign of violence, the Master shouted for the barkers, who
quickly separated the two fighting prostitutes. Both combatants were panting
harshly, Kazuhira struggling against his captor, cursing his colleague.
“Leave him,” the Master said, gesturing towards Yuu. “Tie this one up,” he
ordered.
Colour drained from Kazuhira’s face at those words, at the punishment he would
receive. He would be bound with rope, his legs and arms tied tightly to his
body, all the way from ankles to shoulders. He’d then be placed outside to sit
on the ground, just to the side of the entrance, to be shamed by passers-by and
clients alike. He would sit there all night, enduring the mockery and ridicule
of others, as it was a well-known type of punishment in the Quarter. Lashings
were also fairly popular, hindered by the fact that only the prostitutes’ feet
could be whipped so that no marks would remain seen.
“Tried to run away, did ya?” asked a drunk man wandering by, laughing loudly at
Kazuhira, bound and embarrassed. It was humiliating and demeaning to be put to
the stocks like that. “You look like a proper cocksucker,” he slurred, wobbling
dangerously. “Wha happ’n? They bring you a pussy instead? And you went
shrieking to the gates!” he bellowed on, satisfied at the angry growl his
victim shot back.
“Get lost, you old fuck!” Kazuhira replied with animosity. “I bet a sad fucker
like you can’t get any without paying!”
“Now listen here, you little bitch--!” the drunkard garbled, raising his hand
for a slap.
“That’s enough!” came the Master’s clear voice. The man ignored him and brought
his hand down anyways, but his aim was so off that Kazuhira didn’t even need to
dodge, the palm of his hand connecting with Kazuhira’s shoulder instead of his
face.
“Deserves a beating, this one,” he spat, but started to wobble away from
Kazuhira and the Master. The latter slid his hands into the sleeves of his
overcoat, as was his custom, and gave Kazuhira a pitiable look. Kazuhira stared
at the Master with fierce resentment burning in his eyes. After a moment of
silence, the Master spoke.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he started, squatting down to Kazuhira’s level.
“I’ve made some inquiries about your John.” The name was pronounced with
loathing. “Did he tell you he’s married?”
“What?” Kazuhira asked, dubious. Was this some kind of plot, a stick in the
wheels to discourage his affections, or the truth?
“And he has two boys, twins,” the Master continued.
“How would you know?” Kazuhira questioned.
“I have my sources. So, you see, he’s not worth all this trouble.”
Kazuhira’s shoulders sagged as his heart sank. If it was true, then why hadn’t
John said anything? Was he hiding it? Kazuhira had thought about the
possibility that John was just some swindler, someone who would get into good
graces with someone just to leech off them whatever he could get. He didn’t
want to believe it, recalling the sincerity he thought he heard in John’s words
just a few hours earlier at the shrine. Or was he just that naïve, ready to
fall in anyone’s arms that showed him kindness?
“Oh, and before I forget,” the Master said, rising back up. The moonlight
glinted off his spectacles, hardening his features.
“The lord Nishigawa will make a very generous offer to you tomorrow. You will
accept it.”
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     Boring and predictable chapter ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you!
Late in the following morning, Kazuhira was getting dressed. He had Renichi to
help him physically and in particularly in the form of mental support,
distraught with the meeting he would be attending. His attire for the day would
be more formal than usual, a crisp, dark cerulean kimono on top of a pure white
under-kimono. He held up the folded fabric at his waist, allowing Renichi to
fasten it with a thin strip of cloth. The sash he would wear on top of it was
black with silver-coloured threads crisscrossing like spider webs, simple yet
elegant. On top of it all would be worn a thigh-length black overcoat.
“What do I do?” Kazuhira asked, devastation clear in his voice.
Renichi circled to his front, tying the thin belt into a knot. “What do you
want to do?” the shorter courtesan asked wisely.
“I… I don’t know! But I don’t want to be sold to Nishigawa,” Kazuhira sighed,
shoulders sagging.
“It’s not often that a prostitute gets a serious offer so soon after debuting,”
Renichi said in a neutral tone, fetching the long sash from the floor. “And the
lord seems like a reasonably pleasant man. I’m sure you’ll be happy working for
him,” he continued.
Kazuhira raised his arms to allow his colleague more space to work the sash
around his waist. “I’ve been telling that to myself all night,” he sighed.
“What if I just refuse him? Or, or run away?” A glint of hope sparked in his
blue eyes.
“Kazuhira… You’re not in a position to turn him down,” Renichi sighed, knowing
how hard this sudden change was for his friend. Especially the circumstances
leading to it.
“Norio refused his offer! Why can’t I?” Kazuhira insisted, flapping his arms
for good measure.
“He’s different. He’s popular enough that he doesn’t have to sit on display
anymore. He gets offers right and left,” Renichi explained, like telling a
child why the sky was blue for the tenth time. “And Norio hasn’t been caught
red-handed with a lover.”
At the mention of last night’s events, Kazuhira sighed again. Even with the
long night spend bound outside thinking about his situation from all angles, he
wasn’t sure at all what to believe. Could it really be that John was some sort
of fraud, that Kazuhira had been too childish and saw only what he wanted to
see? Or was the Master just fabricating facts to discourage his pursuit of
John? In the end, he figured that it wasn’t the fact whether John was married
or not that shocked him, but that he hadn’t told Kazuhira. Plenty of married
men visited brothels, including Kazuhira’s own. But he thought they had a
connection with John, something special.
Perhaps John had just used him. Those stories were abounding in the Quarter as
well. They start off as a secret lover to a prostitute and then start asking
for small sums of money, for medicine to their daughter or to settle debts.
Then the sums start growing and growing and soon the besotted prostitute is
swindled of all their money, forcing them to stay even longer at their brothel.
Not that John had exactly been showering him with words of adoration and
flowery declarations of undying love like these crooks use to do.
“I swear I’ll kick the daylights out of Yuu if I see him today,” Kazuhira
warned, body jerking as Renichi yanked the sash to tighten it.
“He’s just envious,” Renichi said.
“Why are you defending him? I thought you were my friend,” Kazuhira pressed,
ready to get hurt all over again.
“He’s sick, Kazuhira. The doctor diagnosed him with syphilis yesterday,” the
black-haired prostitute said quietly in order to keep the words inside the
room.
“Syphilis!” Kazuhira repeated. While it was not the most common disease among
prostitutes, it was a slow but certain death. Some said that mercury could cure
it, but most died of the treatment before getting well again. Yuu wouldn’t be
able to service patrons and if the sores and lesions grew numerous and large,
he’d be shunned from the society at large. He’d die alone, an outcast. The
thought made Kazuhira feel a tinge of guilt.
“I bet that’s another reason the lord is buying you out so soon. He wants you
healthy,” Renichi remarked. Healthy for bed warming didn’t need to be said out
loud.
“Renichi,” Kazuhira said, suddenly serious. The colleague helped him into his
overcoat, even if it wasn’t necessary. “If…” the blonde continued, faltering.
“If John comes asking for me, will you tell him where I am? Please?” Kazuhira
wanted to hear the truth from John himself. He didn’t want to believe that he
had been so wrong.
“I will. I promise,” Renichi nodded, smoothing Kazuhira’s attire like a nervous
mother. “There, everything’s just right. People will stare at you in awe when
you leave these gates!”
---
The actual meeting was more of a formality at this point with Kazuhira
accepting his fate. It was held in the Master’s office with the participants
gathered around a table. On one side were Kazuhira and the Master, and on the
other were lord Nishigawa and his wife. She was dressed in Western clothing
from head to toe, a mauve dress with full upper sleeves and a full back skirt,
accentuating her slim waist. She wore a hat on her head, decorated with lace
and ribbons. She was younger than her husband with smooth skin and dark eyes
slanting upwards. Kazuhira thought she would be beautiful if she smiled, but
her serious demeanour suggested that such an action was a rarity.
“As I’m sure you already know, I have made a generous offer to the Master of
this House,” Nishigawa began, indicating the neat stack of notes on the table.
“I am offering you a position in my household as a servant,” he continued.
Kazuhira tried to keep a neutral face and hoped his melancholy wasn’t too
visible.
“You will be paid, of course.”
“What would be my duties?” Kazuhira asked, even if he had a fairly good idea of
what his duties might entail.
“You will be a personal servant to both me and my wife,” he nodded towards her.
“You will do whatever we request of you, within reason of course. Nothing you
would be… unfamiliar with.”
So I’ll be at your beck and call all day and all night, Kazuhira thought
bitterly.
“What about you, my lady?” Kazuhira questioned. The lady sat up even
straighter.
“I would mostly require your company for social events when my husband is
away,” she answered, her voice sombre.
“I love my husband, but am unable to fulfil some of his desires,” she
continued, peering straight into Kazuhira’s blue eyes.
A moment of silence ensued, in which Kazuhira gathered up enough courage to
challenge the Master’s decision to let him go.
“Master, what about my position here? My assets and qualities in regarding the
House?” The way Kazuhira had understood it, he was supposed to be valuable to
the brothel, an exotic creature whose distinction would be his forte.
“As you have displayed no rebelliousness up until this point, I was willing to
forgive your transgression,” the Master said. Kazuhira would have been hopeful
if it wasn’t for the past tense the Master was using.
“But the offer lord Nishigawa made was generous enough to change my mind.”
Kazuhira took a deep breath, bowing his head in understanding. If he hadn’t
been caught, he could have refused this offer. All of this was actually John’s
fault, he thought in vain, as it was John who initiated any amorous activities.
But stopping him didn’t even occur to Kazuhira, so infatuated was he with the
foreigner.
“I…” Kazuhira started, Norio’s words echoing in his mind saying that the lord
will grow tired of him eventually. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing after
all. He could consider it another term of indentured servitude, after a
fashion.
“I would be honoured to work for you, my lord, my lady,” he said, bowing as
deeply as he could over the table. He thought he could hear the Master exhale
at that, apparently hesitant about what Kazuhira would say after all.
“Excellent,” Nishigawa said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. The atmosphere of
tension seemed to melt away in the room, leaving only Kazuhira unsure of his
future.
Kazuhira was invited to leave with them immediately, the lord and Master doing
some paperwork to finalize the transaction. It was not like Kazuhira had
anything to pack; all his items belonged to the House. Even the clothes he wore
now would be returned to the brothel once his new employer would grant him new
ones.
As he left the office, he found his colleagues gathered in the foyer.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?” Renichi asked, seeing the answer in Kazuhira’s
demeanour. He just nodded with a hum.
“I’m so proud of you,” beamed Itou, clapping him on the shoulders. “You’ll be
happy, I just know it.”
“Goodbye, Kazuhira,” Norio said with a wistful tone.
Kazuhira heard someone sniffing and spotted Yuu standing behind the others. He
didn’t even look at Kazuhira and didn’t say anything. Kazuhira thought it might
be better if he didn’t say anything either, knowing he couldn’t forgive his
colleague for a while.
“You make it sound like I’m dying,” Kazuhira said, attempting a cheerful tone.
“I’ll come visit you when I get time off! Then you can tell me all about the
filthy dogs I’ve been fortunate to miss,” he laughed, the mirth transmitting to
his colleagues. Renichi surged forward to grab his friend in a hug, making him
promise to come and visit.
“Thank you for everything,” Kazuhira said, bowing formally to the others. They
responded in kind, waving him off as he exited the building with his new
employer. Two rickshaws were hailed for them outside, the pulled carts rushing
over. It was a good source of employment for men with enough strength in their
bodies.
He watched the Nishigawas getting on their wider rickshaw, a lush red pillow on
the seat, the canopy folded back. Kazuhira followed suite, realizing he’d never
rode one before and having to look to his superiors for example on how to climb
aboard.
After a while of traversing and getting away from the immediate vicinity of the
Pleasure Quarter, Kazuhira was happy that he was seated alone. There was so
much for him to see and marvel at, after spending so many years in the
miniature world of the Quarter. He couldn’t remember all the buildings he saw,
large wooden ones with multiple floors built in the traditional style, side by
side with the modern Western stone buildings. He saw theatres, hotels, banks
and shops of all kind and every once in a while, he could glimpse the ocean,
the smell of salt and seaweed clear when they travelled closer to it.
The streets were bustling with energy, people coming to and fro, children
shouting and running past the rickshaws. They passed by many shops with
colourful hand-painted signs and flags, some texts seemingly different to
Kazuhira’s untrained eyes. He had also thought people would stare at him for
his looks, but not many paid him a second glance. It seemed that foreigners
were more accustomed to than he thought.
When they finally arrived at his new workplace and home, Kazuhira was abuzz
with excitement. The world seemed to have changed so much during his years in
the Quarter. He couldn’t wait to get time off and explore the city, even if he
hadn’t even begun his work yet.
The Nishigawa house was a traditional-looking home with two floors and plenty
of space around it. The curved ridge roof covered dark walls with large windows
letting in light into the building. The wires coming from the electricity poles
were tethered into the house. Once inside, Kazuhira was overwhelmed by the
Western interior. He stopped in awe in the foyer, soaking up the dense curtains
and patterned rugs, lavish armchairs and small couches in a whole other pattern
dotted every room that he passed. The walls were decorated with paintings and
electrical lights and there was so much of everything that for a moment,
Kazuhira felt claustrophobic, drowning in the myriad of objects.
Another servant, introduced as Midou, came to guide Kazuhira into the servants’
part of the house. There weren’t many servants; Midou as the butler, a maid for
the lady and two persons working in the kitchen. Their quarters were simpler,
without garish wallpapers and an overflow of furniture. There was no time for
Kazuhira to settle in at the moment though, as he was expected to change
clothes and begin working as soon as possible.
The outfit waiting for him on his new bed was a suit in Western style, as he
had thought. He shucked his old clothes off and folded them neatly on the bed,
taking a moment to caress the last remnants of his old life softly. Because
that’s what was happening here, wasn’t it? A new page in his life was being
turned, for better or for worse.
Getting into his new attire wasn’t as easy as it seemed after observing clients
do it. The trousers felt itchy and too tight, the white button-up shirt didn’t
seem to stay in place and he had no idea how to tie his necktie. At least he
supposed it was a necktie, a thin, long strip of black fabric. He was slow to
do up the buttons on the grey vest and felt that he couldn’t do anything with
his arms after pulling on the black jacket. It was at this point that he
realized he should have put on socks and shoes before the coat, so he had to
remove it again. How anyone could do anything in these clothes, he didn’t know.
Perhaps he’d get accustomed to the sense of fabric constricting everywhere. He
slipped his feet into the leather shoes that were picked out for him, tying the
laces and stepping around uncomfortably. The leather seemed to rub against his
toes and heels, further creating the sense of being prisoner in the suit.
He opened the door to his room with the supposed necktie in hand, asking Midou
to help him tie it. It was a surprisingly simple matter of tying it into a
ribbon to the front of his throat and folding the collar down.
“Do you have a family name, Kazuhira?” Midou asked while looking Kazuhira over
to decide whether he was dressed properly, opening the lapels of his coat for
inspection.
“I can’t remember having one,” Kazuhira confessed sheepishly. No one had ever
called him other than Kazuhira, although now that he came to think about it, it
could have been written in some papers at the brothel.
“Do you have any family? Their names?” Midou insisted, re-buttoning the cuffs
of Kazuhira’s white shirt.
“My mother was called Kona. I don’t know how it’s written, other than it was
just one character,” Kazuhira confessed sheepishly. How ignorant he must seem
in this modern environment, like a peasant who couldn’t even read or write.
“Hmm… Kona with one character. Then it must be the same character as in the
word ‘miller’. Quite a lowly name,” Midou surmised. Kazuhira laughed nervously.
He could sense some sort of disdain from the distinguished butler, but whether
it was due to his origins or the duties he would perform, he wasn’t sure.
“Right,” the butler said, tucking down the sleeves on Kazuhira’s jacket. “Now
the last thing to do is cut your hair.”
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Another boring chapter. ;) Originally I planned this story to span 12
     chapters, but it seems we're not quite there yet. My new estimate is
     at 15 chapters.
Kazuhira couldn’t stop staring at his reflection in the handheld mirror. His
blonde tresses had been cut radically shorter; instead of reaching deep between
his shoulder blades, his hair was now only the length of his index finger. The
servant who had cut his hair with a shearing knife had also given him a small
tin of sumac wax to slick his hair back with, which was apparently very
fashionable at the moment. The wax smelled rancid, being just a by-product, but
it was also cheaper and suitable for a servant.
He looked at himself from all angles he could reach with the small mirror, a
wide smile on his face. He thought he looked dapper and handsome even in the
reflection, more like a customer instead of a prostitute. His blue eyes
positively sparked as he touched his new haircut again, fixing some imaginary
strand in place. He couldn’t wait to get back to the House to show off his new
looks, not to mention how John would react when he saw Kazuhira again.
Right now, Kazuhira felt so happy that he downright refused to believe that he
wouldn’t meet John again. There was absolutely no possibility that he would
have left the town or country, or that John wouldn’t visit the brothel again to
seek Kazuhira out. Although, Kazuhira thought, what if John was put off or
offended by the way Kazuhira had dashed away from the shrine without as much as
a goodbye. Nevertheless, at this moment he couldn’t believe such a thing would
happen. They’d meet and the whole marriage thing would be a big
misunderstanding and everything would be all right again.
Kazuhira was positively brimming with glee when the butler called for him,
ready to start working. Those first days were exhausting, following Midou
around and trying to memorize so many things in such a short span of time. Most
of his time was spent nodding and bowing and repeating “yes, sir” or “I
understand, sir” as the butler explained everything to him. He got the
impression that a good servant is a temperate one, mild-mannered and sort of
blends in the décor, so his tenure as a courtesan was actually useful in that
way. He could don a mask when he was working, just like at the brothel. This
mask was just a little different. At night, he slumped into his bed exhausted,
asleep before his head hit the pillow.
His employers were not concerned about his illiteracy as much as his ignorance
in table manners and other Western etiquette. After all, he could not be a
suitable servant for this house if he didn’t know both rule sets; the
traditional Japanese way and the Western way of functioning. He spent hours and
hours memorizing the names and functions for all the silverware, where they
should be placed on a table and in what order. The amount of rules and decorum
seemed ridiculous, but he supposed it was the same for foreigners coming to
Japan as well. He just hadn’t thought about the rules and customs of his own
culture before being presented with something different.
After a week, his shoes didn’t rub anymore. The blisters had dried up and
hardened the skin on his feet. He was getting dressed and undressed faster
every day and didn’t have to ask again about everything. He still followed
Midou around as an apprentice of sorts, assisting him in various duties around
the house. Nishigawa hadn’t called upon him yet for any other kind of work.
Kazuhira had started to worry, thinking he might have broken a rule or gone
against etiquette; that perhaps he should offer himself up or ask the lord if
his services were required. But at the same time, he was enjoying his current
schedule of sleeping all night and working all day, like people in the outside
world did.
The change had been so sudden that Kazuhira still couldn’t wrap his head around
it. Technically, he was now a free man, without monetary debts to anyone. Of
course, he owed a debt of gratitude to his employer for taking him on and away
from the Quarter. He supposed what Norio said made sense now. He was only
technically free and would stay that way until he was relieved of his
responsibilities. But now, he could walk around town freely, as long as he did
it on his free time and told Midou where he was going. How did they trust him
not to run away? He remembered not wanting to be here and frowned at his week-
old self. That kid was gone now and in his stead was a new man, an adult of
eighteen years.
The first time he got the evening off, Kazuhira knew exactly where he would go.
He’d go back to the Quarter and visit his friends, whom he was sure worried
about him. He remembered the way back fairly well, having taken note of so many
buildings and landmarks on the way to the Nishigawa house.
After walking for the better part of an hour, he arrived. He stopped at the
gate, ornate with woodcuttings of flowers and goldfish, lit up against the
darkening evening. It was still closed, but would open in a minute to him and a
few other eager clients. Kazuhira breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. It felt
so different this time, to enter voluntarily and knowing he could leave any
time he wanted. Summer was peaking, the heat at zenith almost intolerable and
still wholly warm, the afterglow of day burning into the night.
He started walking again as the gate was opened, the very ground beneath him
feeling different by extent of his shoes. Life in the Quarter seemed to roll on
as usual, bells ringing across the area to signal the start of the evening.
Police officers were at the gate to supervise and keep an orderly conduct, at
least orderly by the Quarter’s standards. Kazuhira couldn’t help becoming
slightly nervous at the sight of the officers, even if his brain knew that they
wouldn’t catch him and drag him back to the House.
A smile played on his face as he approached Lotus Shadow, seeing the familiar
surroundings again from such a different angle. He was excited but also a
little homesick, having spent so many years at the House.
“Hey darling, how much for a night?” Kazuhira drawled when he stopped in front
of the display room, barely containing his laughter as he leaned against the
lattice. Renichi bounced up immediately at the sight, rushing to meet his
friend.
“Kazuhira! Wow, look at you! You’re all dashing now,” he gleamed.
Kazuhira waved at the others sitting on display and received a mixed response.
It did nothing to dampen the wide grin on his face though.
“How are you, Renichi? Everything good?” Kazuhira asked, peering into the
display room. Norio was nowhere to be seen, but there was no one new either to
have replaced Kazuhira yet. It would only be a matter of time.
“Same old really,” Renichi laughed. “Feels so strange without you though.
Heavens, you’re really doing well for yourself.”
Kazuhira did a little spin, showing off his new attire.
“So, tell me already! What kind of work are you doing?” Renichi pressed,
seating himself close to the lattice. If the Master would come and check, he
supposed it would be all right this once, chatting with someone who wasn’t a
prospective customer. So Kazuhira told him everything that had happened so far,
about the people he met and what the house was like, complained about the
multitude of rules he had to learn and the oddities encountered.
“To wear shoes indoors? Isn’t that dirty?” Renichi asked, nose wrinkling.
“I guess, but that’s how they do,” Kazuhira shrugged. He was undoubtedly
pleased to have such a good friend as Renichi, even if they weren’t working at
the same place anymore. When they were talking, it felt like he hadn’t been
away at all, but just picked up at where they left off.
“Has anyone asked for me?” Kazuhira queried after a while, impatient to get his
answer but at the same time deeming it impolite to ask directly.
“A few people,” Renichi said with a mischievous look on his face. He stayed
silent after that, watching Kazuhira suffer in anticipation.
“Well?!” Kazuhira finally demanded, fingers twiddling the cuffs of his shirt.
“Alright, alright,” Renichi finally chuckled. “Your precious John actually came
by the next day of your departure.”
Kazuhira nodded, listening eagerly.
“I told him where you are, but he said he wouldn’t do anything with that
information. Instead, he told me where he’s staying.”
“Really? Where? Is he still there?” Kazuhira bombarded his friend with
questions.
“Slow down! It’s by the docks, a lodging house called the Sleeping Fox.”
And so Renichi explained what John had told him, repeating the instructions
given. He told Kazuhira that he would recognize the place from the picture of a
sleeping fox on the sign. Kazuhira nodded away, trying to remember every turn
and landmark, but it wasn’t as he knew anything about the route to the docks
and figured he’d probably have to ask for advice again on the road. It wasn’t
too far, less than half an hour if you knew where you were going. Renichi
didn’t know whether John would still be there, so Kazuhira reckoned that the
only way to find out would be to visit the place and ask for him.
“I can see you’re all eager to get away from here now,” Renichi teased. “No
love for your friends,” he sighed theatrically, wiping away a mock tear.
“You’ll be here if I come back tomorrow,” Kazuhira retorted, glancing back
towards the gate.
“And how would you know! Maybe someone has an offer for me too!” Renichi
continued the theatrics, before breaking the spell with a smile. “It was nice
to see you, Kazuhira. Come visit us again!”
“Thanks, Renichi, you’re the best. See you!” Kazuhira said, already turning to
the gate, feet carrying him on their own. He had a good feeling about this,
certain that he’d find his way. How hard could it be to find the ocean anyways?
Walking briskly, Kazuhira’s head kept turning left and right, both to absorb
everything he saw and to discern any landmarks Renichi had mentioned. Electric
lines criss-crossed above him, poles like antlers carrying electricity. He took
a right turn at the first crossing, as advised, and continued northeast towards
the sea. The narrow streets were lined by buildings on both sides, shops and
houses built tightly together in a town block. As a result, when a fire started
somewhere in the block, it spread quickly to neighbouring buildings, tearing
down the wood in the buildings before anything could be done. Trees and other
greenery were aplenty, squeezed between buildings and overflowing in gardens.
Kazuhira looked up and noticed the heavy clouds upon him. He hastened his step,
wanting to arrive before any possible rain would fall. There were people around
on the streets, some seeming to head towards the pleasure district, others
perhaps only enjoying an evening walk, or on their way to a restaurant to drink
with their friends. At the next large intersection, Kazuhira heard a rumbling
noise and quickly turned his head towards the source of the sound. It wasn’t
thunder though, but an automobile that crossed his path. He stopped and openly
stared, never having seen one in real life before. The black metal shined in
the streetlights, a steady rumble emitting from the vehicle.
For most of his way, he didn’t need to ask for directions but kept his main
course towards northeast, deciding to reach the waterfront first. He came
across a large park, remembering it from Renichi’s directions. Only a few lamps
lighted the park, so there weren’t many people around. The scant light made the
surrounding darkness even worse, giving Kazuhira shivers as he hastened through
the green area.
At that moment, the heavens opened, cold rain beating down suddenly. Kazuhira
rushed to the nearest building, taking cover under the lip of its roof. He
would be wet in an instant, his hair and attire all ruined. And there was no
guarantee that John would even be at the Sleeping Fox. Even as he realized the
foolishness of his venture, Kazuhira sprinted into the rain, running as quick
as he could, the soles of his shoes making wet noises against the ground.
He passed by a brick building with towers, another landmark telling him he was
on the right path. Hopping over puddles created by the evening downpour, he
raced forward, breathing hard. The flow of oncoming people soon trickled to a
halt as smarter folks stayed indoors for the duration of the rain.
After a while, the buildings became sparser and lower, turning into warehouses
and customs buildings and embassies with colourful flags. Kazuhira thought he
could smell the ocean now and started to look for the lodging house, apparently
frequented by sailors and other folk traveling through the port. He was
drenched to the bone now, clothes wet and ruined, dripping hair clinging to his
temples. The rain drummed on the roofs, dulling out any other sounds.
“Hello! Excuse me!” Kazuhira hollered, waving his hand, as soon as he saw
someone. The man he stopped had an umbrella folded underneath his arm, deciding
that the rain was too hard for the material of the umbrella. He knew about the
lodging house though, and pointed Kazuhira towards the right direction. With a
wave of thank you, Kazuhira dashed off again, feet squelching in his drenched
shoes.
It wasn’t long before he spied the sign of a fox curled on itself, sleeping
with one eye open. Warm light spilled out onto the street, inviting Kazuhira
in. He pushed through the door, only stopping when he was inside. He panted and
heaved, resting his arms against his thighs, taking deep, stabilizing breaths.
“What the hell!” came a voice across the front room of the lodging house. “Did
ya take a swim?” An older woman, nearly grey, stood up from where she had been
wiping off a table. She was wearing Japanese clothing, even if the setting
around her was all Western and modern.
Kazuhira shook his head, gasping for oxygen. “No ma’am, it’s just raining,” he
replied, wiping his brow uselessly.
“Yer gonna catch a cold like that, young man,” the woman continued in her crude
speech. Kazuhira got the feeling that she was perhaps not the owner of the
place, more like hired help, or maybe the begrudged wife of an owner. “Are ya
here to rent a room or what?”
Kazuhira took a deep breath, feeling the hammering of his heart slow down to
normal levels.
“Actually, I came to see someone. Do you have a guest named John staying here?
A man, tall, American?” Kazuhira asked, gesturing with his hands.
The woman mulled over this description for a second. “Oh yeees, he’s a nice
fellow. Always pays on time too. Not here now though. Gets usually back around
this time,” she chatted on while doing her tasks, clearly used to juggling many
things at once.
“Oh, alright. I’ll wait then,” Kazuhira said, looking around for a place to
sit. All he had to do now was to wait.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The ambience of the lodging house’s front room was warm and pleasant, even with
the old lady’s muttered complaints about every little detail. As minutes
passed, first five, then fifteen, Kazuhira began to feel the cold in his now
soggy clothes. He walked about, shivering imperceptibly at first. He realized
his foolishness and vanity, agonizing over his wet attire and above all, his
blonde hair now darkened by water, plastered along his skull. He tried to comb
it back with his fingers, getting the worst off his face. This was not the
image he wanted to impress John with.
Outside, the downpour ceased as suddenly as it has started, dark clouds
drifting away. The atmosphere was still thick with moisture, infusing the heady
smells of summer rain with that of the docks; wood and tar and brick and the
salty ocean mixed with scents of green carried on the wind. Inside, Kazuhira
peeled off his jacket, setting it to dry on the back of a chair. The old lady
paid him and his shivering no mind, and Kazuhira started to regret this whole
venture. Maybe he should just go back to the Nishigawa house and come back some
other time.
“Evening,” said someone, entering the front room. Kazuhira turned his head at
the sound of that familiar, gravelly voice. He had to blink a few times to
ascertain what he saw, as the man he had been waiting for wasn’t dressed in his
usual getup, but in a dark, forest-green summer kimono, a striped thin sash
just above his hips. The kimono emphasised his broad shoulders, the v shape of
the collar leading one’s eye down his chest and stomach, the bottom forming a
perfect oblong shape.
“John!” he exclaimed from the side of the entrance, overjoyed. John turned
towards him and lifted an eyebrow.
“Who the… Kaz? You look like a drowned rat,” he all but snorted, laughter
twinkling in his blue eyes. Kazuhira frowned, blinking rapidly, not sure if he
should feel offended or apologetic.
“Ya know this kid? Said he’ll wait for ya,” chirped the old lady, hands never
stopping in their task of polishing surfaces.
“I know him all right,” John chuckled. “He’s my guest. I’ll take care of him.”
“Not my business,” the old lady said and shrugged her shoulders. Kazuhira
thought this must have been some sort of permission granted, because John
started for the hallway, inviting Kazuhira with him. The blonde was flustered
as he picked up his wet coat and made to follow John deeper into the building.
“I suppose you got caught in that rain?” John asked conversationally with mirth
in his tone as he walked to the end of the hall, sandals clattering against the
floor with every step.
“Yeah. It wasn’t raining when I left, but then suddenly…” Kazuhira offered in
way of explanation, not bothering to state the obvious.
The lock on the correct door opened with a click, allowing both men into the
room. It was a plain one, as expected, lacking the extravagance of Kazuhira’s
employer’s chambers. A window allowed light into the room, there was a simple,
metal-framed bed with white linens that ruled the right side of the room with a
chair serving as nightstand. The chair was probably from beneath the small
writing desk next to the window. In one corner was a chest of drawers, and to
Kazuhira’s immediate relief, a small stove of cast iron radiating heat in the
opposite corner.
“Seems like we’ve switched,” John noted, gesturing at their outfits. “Here,
I’ll lend you something dry to wear.” John turned to the drawers, fishing out a
fresh shirt and simple trousers. “Might be a bit big for you,” he warned,
offering the clothes and a towel.
All the while, Kazuhira had been quiet, almost sulking, so disappointed in the
humorous reception he got. He had half a mind to just let it be and go, but the
offer or warmth and dry clothes weighed heavily in the scales.
“I didn’t mean to get wet, you know,” he defended himself, taking the offered
pieces of clothing. John didn’t say anything, just raised his hands in
surrender, a smile tugging at his lips. Kazuhira towelled off his hair as best
he could. He started to strip down, but four buttons down his shirt, he
realized all of a sudden how the thin material of his shirt clung obscenely to
his body, the wet fabric almost see-through.
John was leaning against the desk, arms crossed, staring intently at Kazuhira’s
stilled fingers. He raised his gaze, meeting Kazuhira’s eyes, and quickly
turned his head away. It was hard to see in the dim light of the room, but
Kazuhira was sure he saw a flush colouring John’s face. Somehow, the change in
their dynamics created awkwardness, neither one really knowing the rules
anymore, if there ever were any.
“So, uhh, your, er, friend told you about this place?” John said, eyes fixed on
an invisible spot on the wall.
Kazuhira turned around, back towards John, and continued undressing. “Yeah, I
came as soon as Renichi told me,” he said, berating himself too late. Did he
always have to seem so eager? He peeled the wet shirt off his shoulders and
arms, hands getting stuck behind his back in the cuffs he had forgotten to
unbutton.
“Here, I’ll help you,” John offered, crossing the distance between them. He
pulled at the bunched fabric behind Kazuhira’s back, twisting the younger man’s
arms further. Kazuhira was overcome with a fleeting vision of being on his
knees, hands bound behind his back and John pounding into him, skin slapping
hard against skin. A shiver ran through him. No, he told himself, that wasn’t
why he was here. He was here to talk, to clear up the misunderstanding.
“John, I’m sorry I left you at the shrine,” Kazuhira started, clearing his
throat.
“Don’t apologize. I heard it caused you a lot of trouble,” John replied,
pulling the shirt off and busied himself with hanging it properly on the wicker
chair, back turned towards Kazuhira once again.
Kazuhira thought back to the chase and the long night spent bound and
humiliated. He bent down to remove his shoes and nasty wet socks. “Yeah… But in
the end, it turned out all right,” he continued, kicking off his trousers and
realizing even his underwear was wet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that
John was still facing the window, and quickly cast his underwear aside to
shuffle into the trousers John had given him. They fit surprisingly well. The
white shirt was looser around his upper body, folds forming as he stuffed the
tails into his trousers.
“I actually wanted to ask you something,” Kazuhira began again, turning to face
John. “I know it’s stupid, it’s just something I heard and it’s probably not
even true,” he rambled, nervous. “John. Are you married?”
John’s dark eyebrows shot up. “What?” he asked incredulously. “Where did you
get that idea?”
“The Master told me, after, after the festival,” Kazuhira said. “He probably
just said it to discourage me or something.”
“No, it’s true. Does it matter?” John stated squarely, arms crossed, defiant.
Kazuhira blinked. Does it matter? “Of course it does! How can you be dallying
with me if you have a wife and children waiting for you back home? I thought
you had some kind of morals!” Kazuhira cried out, disenchanted. “I thought—I
thought I meant something to you, but a fat lot that’s worth!” He balled his
fists, raising his voice. He knew it! The Master and Norio and everyone were
right and he was just a naïve kid. “How can you sleep with others if you love
your wife?! I bet I’m not the only one either, I bet you have lovers in every
country, every town you visit, you—“
“Who are you to talk about fidelity?” John cut in strongly, his voice
commanding, interrupting Kazuhira’s tirade.
“It was for work!” Kazuhira argued loudly, not realizing the contradiction in
his thoughts and the reality he himself had worked in. Why was it so important
to him that John, of all people, stayed faithful? “It’s not like I had a
choice,” he finished weakly, the fight gone from him.
John sighed, exasperated, rubbing his forehead. “We’re only technically
married.”
“What?”
“Look. Eva’s my friend. Sort of,” John said, keeping his voice calm and level.
“She wanted children, but not bastards. We were both being pressured into
marriage by our families. So we made a deal,” he continued, looking beyond
Kazuhira’s shoulder as if looking into the past to draw his words from. “We’d
get married, I’d father her children and then we’d go on living our own lives.
I left the country soon after,” he said with a shrug. “So we’re only
technically married.”
Kazuhira squinted his eyes, brow furrowing. “That… has to be the most idiotic
thing I’ve ever heard,” he said flatly. A deal? John’s reasoning made a sort of
vague, outlandish sense, but still. “You have children, but you don’t care
about them?” he continued, trying to get to the bottom of this strange affair.
“They’re not my kids. I never wanted any, so this suits us both just fine. Are
you happy now?” John pressed.
“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Kazuhira said, eyes at his bare
toes. It wasn’t his business after all to meddle in, particularly with his own
circumstances.
A silence ensued, with only the occasional cracking of wood in the stove to be
heard.
“I do, you know, care for you,” John confessed, shifting his weight around.
“It’s, uh. I’m not usually interested in anyone,” he said, the words forced
into the open. “So. That should answer all your accusations.”
Kazuhira stood there, hands on his sides, feeling the distance between them
like a wide chasm instead of the few steps. “Oh,” he said, his wit failing him
terribly.
Another bout of silence fell in the room.
“C’mere,” John beckoned with a huff, spreading his arms.
Kazuhira obeyed once again and moved closer. John slid his arms around
Kazuhira’s waist, his forearms pressing gently against Kazuhira’s sides. It was
a curious feeling, Kazuhira thought, mimicking the motion on John. It didn’t
tickle, but it felt… nice. Warm. Safe. He stared into John’s eyes, searching
for an answer. Was this how home felt?
“I guess we’re both idiots,” John said quietly, chuckling under his breath. He
leaned his forehead to meet Kazuhira’s.
The younger man smiled. “I suppose so.” They stayed like that for a while, just
enjoying the intimate space they created between them, holding each other,
breathing the same air. Kazuhira drew back a fraction to press a chaste kiss on
John’s lips. “I’m mad for you,” he whispered ardently, not finding better words
to express himself with. Apparently John understood, for he kissed him back,
giving Kazuhira all the answer he needed.
Soon their hands started to wander while their kisses stayed unhurried and
tender. John’s hands felt like hot iron on Kazuhira’s still cool skin through
his shirt where they roamed against his back, slipping to caress his shoulders,
his neck, carding his fingers through his blonde hair.
“Huh?” John said suddenly, freezing in place. The hand on the back of
Kazuhira’s head moved and groped around, feeling his neck before coming back up
to the crown of his head. “Where’s your hair?”
Kazuhira rolled his eyes and laughed. “I had it cut when I started my new work.
Did you seriously only just notice?”
John grumbled something unintelligible in response and Kazuhira extricated
himself from their embrace.
“You could warm me up with your body heat,” he said, the feeble excuse making
him drop his gaze to the floor again.
“Oh yeah. A survival technique,” John commented and seemed to genuinely ponder
on this so-called technique.
Kazuhira rolled his eyes and was once again stripping down with efficiency. He
scrammed quickly under the covers, glancing back at John.
“Well? Are you getting in or what? Weren’t you supposed to warm me up?”
Kazuhira huffed.
“Right,” he said, working quickly to remove his simple clothing. Kazuhira felt
the bed dip when John lay down next to him and flipped the covers over them
both. They were both on their sides, facing the wall, Kazuhira nudging slightly
to press his back against John’s front. John placed an arm and a leg across
Kazuhira, tightly holding him close. He pressed his nose into Kazuhira’s damp
hair, breathing in deeply.
“I kind of liked it long,” he mumbled sotto voce. His warm breath tickled the
nape of Kazuhira’s neck, making his skin tingle.
“It’ll grow,” he replied off-handed, much more focused on revelling in the
fuzzy warmness spreading in his body, radiating from John.
“I don’t think I’ll be here to see that,” John lamented, taking another deep
breath through his nose.
“Are you leaving?” Kazuhira asked quietly, even if he knew the answer. When the
storm of conflict would dissipate, he’d leave peace behind him and go, chasing
the next storm in a new place.
“Eventually,” John answered truthfully, nuzzling Kazuhira’s neck with his nose.
Leave peace behind him.
“Let’s not think about that right now,” Kazuhira said, voice a little tight
around the edges. John nodded against the back of his head, agreeing on keeping
the focus on the immediate present instead of an ambivalent tomorrow.
They stayed like that for a while, resting under the meagre covers, breathing
deeply. So deeply in fact, that Kazuhira thought John had fallen asleep, until
the hand on his chest started moving, fingers tracing circles on his skin,
rubbing gently along his chest and stomach.
“Still cold?” John asked, finger brushing over a nipple, tracing soft circles
around the nub, making Kazuhira’s breath hitch.
“Freezing,” Kazuhira gasped slightly into the touch, desperate for more.
John’s hand slid lower, palm dragging to the junction of Kazuhira’s leg,
mapping out possible interest. The younger man arched his back in response,
pressing against John’s crotch without a word. He twitched when John wrapped a
hand around his cock and started bringing it to life with slow, easy motions.
“Better?” John asked while he stroked Kazuhira’s swelling cock, rolling the
foreskin smoothly back and forth, adding just a tiny bit more squeeze to the
motions of his hand.
“Getting there,” Kazuhira answered, pushing his leg back to give John more
room. He was almost embarrassed how quickly he hardened in John’s grasp and
reached blindly behind him under the covers to repay the favour. It was
awkward, so John nudged him to turn around to face him.
John filled in his hand, a pleasant weight on his nimble fingers, the look on
his rugged face something that Kazuhira would etch into memory. His mouth was
lightly agape, eyelids relaxing the more he touched John. Suddenly his hand was
swatted away and John hooked a leg over his hips, slotting them tightly
together.
“Oh,” Kazuhira sighed as his cock was crowded with John’s in the tight space
between them, his hips rolling on their own volition to rut against John. It
felt wonderful and Kazuhira couldn’t keep his mouth away from John’s, breath
quickening between eager kisses, hands kneading wherever he could reach.
“Kaz,” John interrupted all too soon, stilling the grinding of his hips. “Would
you like to switch?”
Kazuhira raised an eyebrow. “Switch?”
John rolled them over and sat up straddling Kazuhira’s waist, revealing their
bodies from under the covers. “I’d really like to try and ride you,” he said,
licking his lips.
Kazuhira looked like he was on the verge of a stroke, eyes popping wide open
with alarm written all over his face, a strange choked sound coming from his
mouth.
“What? Did I say that wrong? Or you don’t want to?” John worried, tilting his
head.
“No! No,” Kazuhira replied instantly, hands flying on John’s muscular thighs to
keep him there. “It’s just, I’ve, ah, never really…”
John blinked a few times before understanding. “Don’t tell me, another brothel
rule?” he asked with a tired sigh, but leaned down to kiss Kazuhira again,
muffling any answer he might have had. “Then I’ll be your first,” he murmured
quietly into Kazuhira’s ear.
It felt like something grabbed hold of Kazuhira’s heart and squeezed tightly at
those words. John reached under the pillow to procure a bottle of oil and
placed it in Kazuhira’s trembling hand. Kazuhira could only stare in wonder as
John scooted a little up his body for him to reach John easier. He dipped his
fingers in the oil, rubbing them together to warm the viscous fluid.
“Are you sure?” he asked in a shaky breath, looking up at John’s face.
“Completely.”
Kazuhira snaked his hand around and pressed a single finger at John’s entrance,
just putting a little pressure on it. His other hand came to rub John’s rump,
feeling hair as he got closer to his cleft, spreading his cheeks. He increased
the pressure of his fingers slightly and found John’s body easily allowing his
finger inside. It felt curious, doing this to someone else instead of him. John
was hot inside, muscles gradually relaxing around his finger.
Kazuhira kept looking at John’s face for any sign of discomfort, but was met
only with a mischievous sort of grin. Perplexed, Kazuhira tried his luck in
sliding a second finger in, and that, too, breached John easily.
“I take it you’ve done this before?” Kazuhira asked hesitantly, doing his best
to spread the oil inside John.
“Uh huh,” John nodded, licking his lips again. He hissed when Kazuhira started
to scissor his fingers and bore down on them. John had definitely done this
before, Kazuhira thought with some excitement.
“Did you do this to yourself?” Kazuhira asked, his own tenseness easing up.
John only nodded again, encouraging Kazuhira to move his fingers more.
“Was it here?” he demanded and got a low, guttural moan in response. The sound
went straight to Kazuhira’s groin, his cock dribbling at the sight of John eyes
closed and so obviously enjoying Kazuhira’s fingers. He was nervous and excited
at the same time, highly aroused but also worried that he might do something
wrong or even hurt John. So he kept on his preparations, pulling his fingers
out only to apply more oil on them and then return to his task.
“Don’t fuss,” John said, breathlessly, patting Kazuhira’s arm to make him stop.
Kazuhira nodded and put the oil away, wiping his hand on the sheets. He just
laid there in awe, watching as this big, burly man squatted lower on his body,
taking Kazuhira’s cock in hand and aligning it with his entrance. John cast him
a last, warning look, before focusing on his task. Kazuhira’s eyes were riveted
to John’s face, wanting desperately to see every little expression crossing his
face.
Kazuhira’s eyes lost focus when John lowered himself down, his head breaching
the tight ring of muscle. His head lolled to the side with an uncontrolled
moan. It was good, it was so good. The feeling of John sinking down on him was
incredible, the oil making his entry sweetly slick, John’s walls clenching
tightly around him with an unbelievable grip. Kazuhira’s breathing was uneven
and rough, completely blissed out and unable to concentrate on anything but the
velvety heat engulfing him so readily. His breath was tinged with a whine,
amazed at he could feel boneless and excited simultaneously.
“You doing alright there, Kaz?” John asked short of breath with an amused grin
on his face, voice laced with pride. “You should see yourself,” he breathed out
with a groan when was all the way down on Kazuhira’s cock. “Good God, the sex
appeal of an 18-year-old.”
“John…” Kazuhira tried to sigh, mouth sluggish and not co-operating with his
brain anymore. “Oh… Oh John…” He might have heard John’s laugh turn into a moan
as this astonishing and wonderful man above him started to lift himself back
up, but all that was lost to him. It felt so amazing, but suddenly it felt too
tight, too hot, and Kazuhira’s boneless sensation disappeared quickly with one,
two spasms of his abdomen.
“John- wait, John—Don’t! John!” But it was too late. Kazuhira’s body was
convulsing, a white glob appearing with a squelch as he spent himself just at
the rim of John’s ass, fingernails pressing into soft flesh. His orgasm was
tinged by shame and embarrassment, hands flying to cover his face.
“Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I ruined it—,“ he whined from under his palms,
face a brilliant shade of red. He wanted to crawl under a rock and die, but
John pried his fingers away, turning his head to look at him.
“Hey. It’s all right,” he said in a soothing tone, caressing Kazuhira’s burning
cheek with the side of his thumbs. “It happens.”
“I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Kazuhira rambled, mind still
hazy at the edges, even if most of the blissful sensation evaporated with his
ill-timed release. John shook his head and moved to lie down on top of
Kazuhira, hands cradling his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and Kazuhira could feel John’s burning
hardness against his stomach. ”Although, you being so young and all, I’m pretty
sure you’ll be up and coming soon again,” John quipped, making Kazuhira groan
in shame again.
“I guess. We can do other stuff in the meantime,” he suggested, licking his
lips slowly.
John’s eyes lit up at that invitation, and he rolled them over with a laugh
from Kazuhira’s part.
“You’re damn right we can.”
Chapter End Notes
     statisticsfag.tumblr.com
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
     Warning: dark themes ahead.
A few days later, Kazuhira was terribly busy in helping prepare an important
dinner event. Nishigawa had invited some foreign delegates to enjoy a meal in
their household, to emphasize the modernity of himself and by extent, his
country. Kazuhira didn’t know about the smaller details of their guests, and in
all honesty, didn’t care to know. He was a little apprehensive about the event
as he had yet to wait on others than the lord and lady.
In the morning, after Nishigawa had left, he followed the lady in her favourite
mauve day dress to the markets, buying and carrying all the necessities for the
event; ingredients for the food, fresh flowers, imported wine and so on. She
wouldn’t be attending the dinner herself, but took part in the preparations
nonetheless. After the shopping trip, Kazuhira felt more like a mule than a
human being, shoulders aching and arms feeling like they had lengthened to the
floor. He didn’t have Midou anymore to lead him on, but having the least years
of service, was treated like a newcomer and got charged with all kinds of tasks
around the household.
During the busy day, every now and then, his mind reeled back to the night
spent with John. He recalled his walk back to the house, a skip in his step,
humming a happy melody and even breaking into song. His second time, so to
speak, was more satisfactory to both parties involved. He was continually
astonished at how much trust John placed in him and the feelings that attached
them together, those few precious words hovering in the air without being said.
He also remembered his thoughts about John leaving, but had finally come to the
conclusion that eventually, all relationships end. He should make the most of
the time John was still here instead of dreading the day he would be gone.
For the rest of the day, he was running around the house, polishing tables,
helping out in the kitchen, holding flowers for the lady to arrange in vases
and whatever else anyone needed aid with. He understood that the foyer and
dining room had to be shipshape for the guests, but why had all the other rooms
also be cleaned and arranged more than usually? He really didn’t think the
guests would wander off without permission, but he did as he was told, trying
his best not to crumple under pressure when everyone seemed to bark different
orders to him.
By the time the guests finally arrived, everything was set. Midou opened the
door for the group of gentlemen and Kazuhira was there to take overcoats and
cloaks. The three men that arrived were all in evening dress; tailored black
jackets that reached mid-thigh with shawl collars or peaked lapels, low-cut
waistcoats covering prim white shirts and black trousers with brightly polished
black shoes.
One of the men, a stout bearded man with a weather-beaten face and a jovial
smile, burst into excited words when he handed Kazuhira his overcoat. Kazuhira
just smiled politely, as he was instructed to do, trying to catch a word of
English. Nishigawa appeared from the dining room to welcome his guests and just
in time to save Kazuhira, noting that he didn’t understand English very well
yet. The man cast an inquisitive glance at Kazuhira, who just kept smiling.
The other two were less extroverted, not paying Kazuhira too much mind and
instead focusing on their host for the evening. One had a long moustache under
his nose, while the other – presumably younger one – had a completely bare
face. Both men had a sort of arrogant look at them, giving tight-lipped smiles,
and later Kazuhira would find out that these two were British while the jovial
one was an American.
After carefully setting the guests outerwear away, Kazuhira moved to the dining
room, trailing the men into the larger room. Some of the furniture had been
moved to other rooms to better accommodate the four diners, but the richly
coloured patterns and decorations still gave the dining room a stuffy
atmosphere. There were no candles on the table, just the electric lamps around
the room giving a warm kind of light.
Kazuhira found the actual waiting business to be fairly straightforward, even
if he couldn’t understand everything that the guests said. He could decipher
enough from the tones of their voices and gestures to understand whether they
wanted more wine or whether it was all right to clear their plates. All duties
were led by Midou, so all Kazuhira really had to do was follow orders and do
what he had been training for weeks. When the guests didn’t require any
attention, he and Midou stood at the side of the room stock-still and quiet.
They were supposed to not look at the guests directly, but Kazuhira had a hard
time understanding how he could see the situation at the table if he wasn’t
allowed to look at them. Midou seemed to be better at it, mostly keeping his
eyes straight forward but occasionally casting glances towards wine and water
glasses and listening to the clatter of silverware.
“Kazuhira,” Nishigawa called out when the last of the plates had been cleared
out and the guests were starting to light up cigars and cigarettes.
“Yes, my lord?” Kazuhira asked, hurrying over to his employer’s side.
“I would like to introduce you to these gentlemen, seeing how you will be able
to help me form alliances such as these in the future,” Nishigawa explained in
a kind manner, gesturing towards the guests.
“Of course, my lord,” Kazuhira replied with a small bow. When Nishigawa looked
at him expectantly, he cleared his throat and delivered the simplest of
introductions in his broken English. The American cheered with a round of
hearty applause, while the Brits were more reserved in their recognition.
Nishigawa continued talking to the guests, most likely about Kazuhira as they
looked over at him from time to time, nodding and conversing with their host.
Kazuhira noted the strangely familiar emotion in the eyes of the guests, but
couldn’t quite place it. He hadn’t been dismissed, or at least he hoped that he
hadn’t just misread a signal, so he just stood right where he was, that polite
smile on his face. Nishigawa summoned Midou as well and Kazuhira contemplated
whether it was a common practice to introduce members of staff to guests. But
instead, Midou poured a glass of wine and set it for Kazuhira.
The guests followed suit when Nishigawa lifted his glass and all four turned
over to Kazuhira, who picked up the glass in front of him bewildered. Why was
he invited to toast as well? He hadn’t been told about such a custom before.
“Cheers!” said everyone and drank deeply, Kazuhira following. He hadn’t had a
chance to taste wine before and his first thought was that he would never drink
it again. The taste was something awful, bitter, astringent and burning in his
throat, leaving a strange aftertaste in his mouth. He hoped he hadn’t grimaced
too much, trying to keep his face neutral with the horrible taste on his
tongue. He wondered how strong the wine was, because almost immediately he felt
a rush. He blinked a few times, fighting off the dizziness in his head,
clearing his throat to excuse himself. He needed to sit down, he was so dizzy—
 
 
Earthquake, thought Kazuhira. Everything was shaking around him, so it had to
be an earthquake. There was a strange pain thrumming in the vicinity of his
tailbone; he must have fallen down on the floor. The trembling and wave-like
rocking didn’t stop and it started to make him nauseous, lying with his face on
the floor. He cracked his eyes opened and groaned, light and colour swimming
together in an incomprehensible mess. He heard noise, like people singing
somewhere far away, and a strange, rhythmic beating. Was it his pulse? The
nausea was getting worse, so he tried to lift his upper body up with his arms,
but a weight slammed him forcefully back against the floor. He heard a cracking
sound and soon realized something was dripping from his nose.
His head seemed to be filled with dense, grey clouds, thoughts appearing and
disappearing into the thick mass, not quite grasping them before they slid
away. Why didn’t that hammering ache stop? If his upper body was against the
floor, why weren’t his knees or toes? Something wasn’t right. Earthquakes
didn’t last this long, or did it just seem to go on and on? The noise was there
again, closer now, and sounded like speech. And why was the floor covered in
thin cotton instead of lush carpets or hardwood? Kazuhira tried to move again
and his eyes snapped open, clarity piercing through the heavy mist.
He was bent on the dinner table. Someone was fucking him. How long had he been
unconscious?
“Gh…” he tried to speak, but his lips felt numb and his tongue too large for
his mouth. His vocalizations were nearing desperation, when he felt someone tip
his face to the side.
“I do apologize, my flower, for this underhanded method,” Nishigawa said,
sitting on his chair, calm and collected, sipping his wine nonchalantly.
“Wh…” Kazuhira tried again, looking up towards his employer. Why? His chin
rubbed against the tablecloth with every jarring thrust.
“It’s been too long since I’ve taken care of you,” Nishigawa continued in an
ill-fitted, remorseful tone. “A beautiful blossom like you needs seed to
thrive.”
Kazuhira could focus better now and felt the hard grip of fingers on his hips,
the rutting of one of the guests – he couldn’t see who – and his grunting
behind him. He gritted his teeth and tried to wiggle free, up, away, anything,
but the same weight from before, someone’s hand, pushed him back down, pinning
him in place until he stayed down.
“See, this is what I feared. Without care, you’ve become too wild. This is all
for your own good, my flower. What a happy coincidence that these gentlemen
were ready to assist me after seeing you. I will be much inclined to petition
their case in the offices.”
The blood running from his nose smeared Kazuhira’s lips, tasting like iron in
his mouth. He had to get away, he hadn’t agreed to this, he was panicking and
angry and horrified and so very afraid. His assaulter finished inside him with
a groan and a last thrust, the next man stuffing his cock inside him within
seconds.
“N… no!” Kazuhira was able to cough out, drops of blood spluttering from
between his teeth. He yelped in pain when the violator rammed in hard.
“No? Surely you recall agreeing to this. Our contract stated that you wouldn’t
be doing anything you would be unfamiliar with. I would call this very familiar
to you,” Nishigawa explained with a terribly kind voice, stroking Kazuhira’s
cheek.
“Stop! Please, stop!” Kazuhira pleaded, chocking back hot tears, but his words
fell on deaf ears. He had to get away, he had to make them stop! His breathing
was ragged as he tried to look around for anyone or anything to help him.
He heard the men talking something with Nishigawa, the host continuing to
converse with them as he would of the weather. He didn’t need to understand
what was being said; their low voices and hoarse words were much alike to what
he had heard of his clients. Kazuhira endeavoured to move his hands and arms
against the table, to find something to hold on to instead of being shoved
against the edge of the table. They hadn’t even bothered to undress him, just
pulled his trousers low enough around his thighs to have access. The edge of
the table bit hard into his groin with every shove,
His fingertips fumbled on the table, creeping slowly so that the men wouldn’t
notice. He felt the touch of cool metal and soon realized it was a silver fork.
In a ghastly split second, he reacted. It felt like his rational brain had shut
off, huddled in fear in a corner. He grabbed the fork and twisted sideward,
swinging it backwards with all the adrenaline-fueled strength he had.
His attacker screamed and backed off with the narrow tines of the fork plunged
deep into the side of his thigh. Nishigawa stood up quickly and tried to grab
Kazuhira, but failed as the young man clambered hurriedly off the table, hand
finding a knife to hold on to. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears,
felt the frenzied beating of his heart. Time seemed to slow down as he turned
around, knife in hand, and fell on his assailant with a wild scream. The sharp
triangular shape of the tip of the knife sunk into the side of his throat,
crimson blood gushing out.
For a moment, everything stilled in the room, with the gurgling of the dying
man underlining what just had transpired. Kazuhira was shaking in shock. He
hadn’t meant to hurt the man, he just wanted him to stop, he just wanted to get
away from here, it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault--
“Kazuhira!” he heard Nishigawa choke out in anger and the moment was over.
Kazuhira sensed more than heard or saw one of the other men starting for him.
He yanked the knife out of his victim and flung it at the man closing in on
him, aiming to buy him a few more seconds instead of actually causing damage.
It was enough, for the man backed away with a cry, assessing damage instead of
going for Kazuhira.
The lizard part in his brain told him that the fight was over and now it was
time for flight. He crawled onto his feet, pulling up his trousers and ran. He
raced out of the dining room before anyone caught him and rushed outside
through the foyer with angry voices yelling behind him. It sounded like one of
them gave chase, but Kazuhira didn’t look back. Pupils blown wide and heart
hammering in terror, he spurted down the dark road, his whole being bent on
escaping, now.
He ran and ran through the maze of roads and buildings, shoes thumping against
the ground until his heart seemed to burst and his lungs burned like fire. He
ducked into a little side ally and tried to catch his breath. What would he do?
Had he really killed that man? It wasn’t his fault, he kept repeating to
himself like a soothing mantra to the verge of hysteria. Where would he go?
He’d need help—the police would catch him—but he was innocent—but it wasn’t his
fault—
Kazuhira wiped his sweaty brow with his hand, disturbed by the red stickiness
he found. The man’s blood must have sprayed on his face, maybe even onto his
hair and most certainly on his clothes he determined. Hands and legs quivering,
he thought he’d go back to the brothel. Yes, he was sure Renichi and maybe even
the Master would help him, take his side and hide him if need be and—But no,
the gate was always manned by the police. They would stop him and question his
savage look and then they’d catch him and he’d be sentenced to death even if it
wasn’t his fault but who would believe a whore and—
He thought he heard running footsteps closing in on his hideout. No, he
thought, he can’t stay here, he must find a safe place. He’d try to go to
John’s lodging, yes, why yes of course! Why hadn’t he thought about that
before! John could help him, hide him away until people would just listen to
him and they could stay in that room for days and no one would find him there.
Kazuhira poked his head out of the alley, peering in all directions before
moving out. He stayed in the shadows as far as he could, always hiding when he
saw someone. He just needed to get to the waterfront and then everything would
be all right—
“Police! Stop!”
Kazuhira didn’t check to whom they were shouting at and instead burst to a
spurt immediately, adrenaline giving him stamina to fly along the streets. Even
when he didn’t hear anyone running after him anymore, he kept rushing on,
fearful of what would happen if he was caught by the authorities. He ran and
ran, walking only for as long as he needed to gain enough oxygen to start
running again. Never before had the scent of ocean salt felt so reassuring than
now, when he turned a corner and could see the lights of the lodging house in
the distance.
He walked into the front room as casually as he was able to, and was met with a
horrified scream. The old lady was wiping down the tables again, but stopped
and just pointed at Kazuhira when he appeared in the warm light. His sweat had
mixed with the blood, painting his face and hands like watercolours, a terrible
sight.
“Demon!” she cried out loudly and before Kazuhira could do or say anything,
turned on her heels and fled somewhere out of sight. Kazuhira felt the rush of
panic take him over again and heard the sound of someone dialling numbers on a
telephone. Oh no, he thought, she’s calling the police! Kazuhira darted into
the hallway where he had gone last time, running to the end of the corridor and
rapped on John’s door.
“John? John! Are you there?” he whispered loudly, body strung on high alert,
glancing nervously towards the front area where he came from. There was no
answer, so he knocked louder. “John! It’s me, you have to help—“
The door was opened just enough for Kazuhira to fall inside. John closed it
immediately after him, taking in the frenzied sight that just entered his
lodgings.
“Kaz, what happened? Are you hurt?” John asked, voice level and calm, looking
his young lover over to see where the blood was coming from.
“They’re going to kill me John,” Kazuhira started, eyes wide with terror,
trembling all over. “They think I killed him but I didn’t I just had to get
away they drugged me and I didn’t want it please John you have to help me—“
“Slow down!” John ordered, cutting into Kazuhira’s hysterical rambling, placing
a calming hand on his upper arm. Kazuhira flinched with a whimper and shied
away from the touch, like having been touched with a branding iron. John raised
his hands in an offering of peace, trying to reassure the scared man before
him.
“Tell me everything.”
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It wasn’t far into Kazuhira’s narrative of the sordid events that led him there
that John started packing. He went through the drawers while Kazuhira was still
talking, collecting some essential items and stuffing them in small pouches and
a satchel. When Kazuhira told him what had happened when he had awoken on the
dining room table, he could swear he heard the wooden handle on the drawer
crack.
“Do you want me to kill them? Is that why you’re here?” John asked darkly, his
back towards Kazuhira.
“What? No! I mean—,” Kazuhira said, catching his breath, but then hesitated.
“…Would you do it? If I asked?” he continued, thoughts running amok. Even if
the thought of gruesome revenge seemed sweet for a moment, it soon evoked more
questions than solutions.
John turned his head, revealing the absolute murder in his eyes. “In a
heartbeat.”
Kazuhira flinched, never before seeing more beast than man in John. The older
man resumed his packing which didn’t seem to take long to finish, everything
tucked away into leather pouches attached to his belt. He strapped his weapon
belt on as well, hiding the pistol under his dark navy jacket.
“You don’t think I… overreacted?” Kazuhira asked carefully, fearing John’s
answer. The thought was worming through his mind, that he had maybe understood
everything wrongly, that his reaction was misguided, that he should have just
accepted his fate as a toy for his master’s use. He did get paid for it, in a
way. “I mean, he was right—“
“’Right’?!” John seethed, raising his voice. “The man drugged you and had you
gang ra—“
“Don’t say it!” Kazuhira interrupted, wincing. “Please, don’t… I don’t want to
think about it.” He didn’t want to admit to what had occurred, at least not to
that extent. He wanted to sweep it somewhere deep and dark in his memories,
preferably under lock and key never to be visited again. He didn’t want to
acknowledge that he had been violated, trying to downplay the whole incident in
his mind.
“You will, whether you want it or not,” John replied. Something in the tone of
his voice gave Kazuhira the feeling that John knew from experience what he was
talking about. He had doubtlessly seen his fair share of atrocities himself.
Kazuhira turned his head towards the sound of hurried footsteps stopping
outside the door. Frantic knocking ensued, followed by barked orders to open
the door. He didn’t know who the people outside were and didn’t want to know,
assuming the worst. They were here for him and now they would take John as
well!
“But first, I’m getting you out of here,” John said, moving towards the window.
The banging outside the door became louder and Kazuhira feared they would break
through at any moment and capture him and execute him, his thoughts snowballing
into panic one again. John worked the latch on the window open, letting in cool
air.
“C’mon, through here,” John said quietly with a wave of his hand, gesturing
towards the open window. Kazuhira was startled out of his reflections by John’s
voice, heading for the escape route. He knew he did the right thing coming to
see John, that if there was anyone who could and would help him out, it had to
be him. They would get through this, he started repeating to himself as he
climbed out of the window, John was on his side, and everything would be all
right and—
As it was, Kazuhira didn’t notice the figure standing just to the side of the
window, pressed against the outer wall. His right leg touched the ground, back
towards the figure while he worked on getting his left leg above the
windowsill. He didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of a gun being cocked, didn’t
see the glint of moonlight upon a metal barrel just an arm’s length from his
shoulder.
“Kaz!” he heard John shout and then everything seemed to happen at once. He
felt someone – presumably John – shove him forward, toppling face first into
the grassy earth. He heard a dreadfully loud sound somewhere close by, whether
it was above or behind or to the side, he couldn’t tell. He rolled into the
ground with a thud, scraping his hands and wrists, ears ringing. Through the
hum, he heard John groan in pain and felt a heavy weight collapsing on top of
him.
“John?!” he panicked, clambering away from under the body that fell upon him –
John! He was bleeding from the head, Kazuhira realized, only now taking note of
the dark-clothed officer right behind him.
“You killed him!” he hissed, baring his teeth to the dumbfounded man looming
above him. His brain was overflown with rage, anger and fury towards this
imbecile who didn’t know how to use a gun, towards himself for John’s sake. The
policeman started to quickly reload his weapon, not knowing that it would all
be in vain. For a terrible moment, Kazuhira thought that now he really didn’t
have anything left to lose and grabbed the serrated knife from John’s body,
thrusting it upwards into the man’s stomach. This time, he’d make sure his
victim would not live, dragging the knife sideways in a twisted version of a
harakiri ritual. He didn’t hear the wail of his victim from the blood rushing
in his ears, didn’t smell the blood which seemed to permeate the very air
around them.
Suddenly, he felt someone touch his leg and twisted around to see John climb up
to his knees. Blood was trickling down the right side of his face, seeping into
the bandanna around his head.
“John!” Kazuhira exclaimed, dropping the knife and cradling John’s injured
face. “I thought he killed you!” he cried out, too much thought and emotion in
turbulence within him to make out what was happening, forced to focus on the
absolute here and now.
“’m fine,” John groaned, leaning on Kazuhira for support to get on his feet.
“They heard-- we have to keep moving,” he ground out, wiping his hand across
his face to clean away the blood. It didn’t stop running, so Kazuhira yanked
the bandanna around John’s head sideways, covering his eye in a makeshift
bandage, reaching around to tighten the knot at the back of his head.
“Let’s go,” John repeated, picking up the bloodied knife and tucking it in his
belt. Kazuhira heard noises coming around the corner and grabbed John’s hand,
darting into a run to escape the scene of his second kill.
John seemed to have a better knack for staying out of sight, picking a
direction and guiding Kazuhira along with him, ducking in dark alleys whenever
he heard other people too close by. He led them along the dark streets, always
keeping the sea to their right.
When they had reached the outskirts of Yokohama, they stopped, considering an
abandoned shack safe enough for them to rest for a moment. At least at one
point it had been a shack, now a husk with only three walls standing and a
caved in roof. They didn’t find a lamp or a candle to light, instead using
John’s matchsticks to find scraps to burn for a little light to assess their
wounds and injuries.
Both of them had probably plenty of bruises forming on their bodies, but
neither seemed to have bleeding cuts under their clothes. To Kazuhira’s
amazement, John procured a small tin box from his satchel, opening it in the
flickering light to reveal a small assortment of bandages, tablets, cotton
swabs, plasters and much more.
“What’s that?” he asked, curious.
“It’s a first aid kit. You don’t have these?” John replied, producing a tiny
glass vial and some cotton. “Could you…?” he trailed off, gesturing towards his
own face. Kazuhira saw John’s expression to be worried, even fearful. He didn’t
know a lot about wounds and healing, but could surmise that something bleeding
from the head had to be a bad thing. Carefully, he loosened the knot on the
bandanna, peeling the caked fabric off John’s face.
“I can’t see anything yet,” Kazuhira commented, dabbing the cotton swab with
the bitter contents of the vial. He started to methodically clean away the
dried blood to see where the wound was; holding John’s head steady with his
other hand. He could see some reddening on John’s cheekbone and brow, like they
had been burned. The older man kept his eyes closed as Kazuhira worked, finding
small cuts on his temple, slithering into his hairline.
“That’s all, I think,” Kazuhira said after a while more of cleaning and dabbing
the brown liquid on any abrasions he found. John opened his eyes and Kazuhira
jumped, bringing the feeble flame closer to his face.
“Oh John, your eye! It’s, it’s—“ he struggled, staring at the ruptured eyeball.
“There’s something wrong with it,” he said, trying to figure out how to explain
what he saw without knowing the anatomical terms. “The black is kind of flowing
out, and the white is all red,” he described, trying to avoid scrunching his
face too much in revolt at the unnatural sight of John’s blue eye warped and
bloodied.
“Huh. Would explain how I can’t see with it,” John huffed, blinking a few times
again to experiment.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” Kazuhira said quietly, rubbing John’s shoulder.
John had seen the man with the gun and shoved Kazuhira away from the line of
fire, only ending up getting hurt instead. “You tried to help me and now you
can’t see.”
“I’ll manage,” John said, trying to sound reassuring. He flicked through the
metal box again and produced some gauze, dressing it diagonally across his face
to cover his wounded eye. “I had to do something. At that range, the bullet
would have killed you instantly,” he explained, finishing his task. “Now let me
have a look at you. Does your nose hurt?”
Kazuhira didn’t have the time to answer when John’s fingers were already
pressing to the side of his nose, eliciting a grunt of pain. It wasn’t until
now that Kazuhira started to take stock of all the places he hurt and ached,
places where bruises and scars would surely appear. He let John take care of
him, even if John was the one more injured, fumbling every now and then when an
action required depth of vision. He supposed they should be thankful that they
had managed to escape at all, the night gone quiet around them. If anyone was
still looking for them, Kazuhira didn’t think they’d find the pair here, so far
from the scenes of the crimes.
The thought stung more than the iodine John was applying to his skin. Crime.
Murder. Killer. He couldn’t say whether he had done the right thing or not,
attacking Nishigawa’s guest with the fork. He hadn’t meant for him to die, just
to stop. Why didn’t he stop? How had Kazuhira not seen something was wrong? And
now, here they were with John, tending to each other’s wounds because they
couldn’t go see a doctor.
“John,” Kazuhira began, pliantly turning his head this way and that under
John’s hands, his caretaker checking for bumps on his skull. “You’ve killed
people before, right?”
“I have,” John confirmed, his examination turning more into fondling, running
his fingers through dirty, blonde hair, pressing Kazuhira’s head against his
shoulder.
“Does it feel different when you do it for money?” Kazuhira asked quietly,
wanting some kind of sounding board for his rampant thoughts and roiling
emotions.
John was quiet for a moment, the scraps burning out, only faint moonlight
illuminating a patch on the dilapidated wall. “I could ask you the same. Does
it feel different to have sex for money than it does with me now?”
“How is that the same?” Kazuhira asked, raising his head to look John in the
eyes – eye, singular, he cringed. “Having sex with a customer and with someone
I love feels completely different!” Kazuhira argued, neither quite realizing
the depth of his words. “When there’s money involved, it’s just a job, it’s
work. Whether I feel anything is irrelevant,” he continued, mulling the thought
over for a while, before seeing John’s point. “You mean… it’s the same with
your work?”
“Yeah. Well, close enough anyway,” John amended, implicating the much more dire
consequences of taking someone else’s life, whether for money or not.
“Then take me with you!” Kazuhira burst out, words rolling off his tongue
before he had time to think them through. “Teach me how to fight and defend
myself!” He never wanted to feel as defenceless as he had on that dinner table,
with nothing but fear and panic crowding his mind. “I’ll help you any way I
can, just please, take me with you! I can’t stay here,” he went on, trying to
find good arguments to win John over. “You wanted to teach your techniques to
someone, right? Train me to fight with you!”
John let out a thoughtful hum. “I suppose I could teach you,” he said slowly
after a moment of pondering. “An army of two, you and me,” he chuckled.
Kazuhira’s face lit up in the dark. “Yes! You know, there’s a saying that the
only way to thank your teacher is by surpassing him,” he said, feeling a tiny
ember of hope in this gloomy situation. John let out a short laugh at that.
“Oh… I don’t have any money or papers though,” Kazuhira said, fearing that he’d
have to go back to the house to get the money he hid under the mattress of his
bed.
John lit up another match, lighting up another scrap he found on the ground.
“Don’t worry, papers are easy to forge. And I’ve got enough money to get us
started,” he said with a small smile.
“Where are we going?” Kazuhira asked, mind supplying him with images from
picture books and paintings of exotic lands far across the sea, ranging from
snow-covered hills to lush jungles, deep red mountains and endless prairies.
Yes, he would go with John and leave all this behind, start anew somewhere far,
far away.
“There’s always trouble brewing in some part of the world, and that’s where
we’re going,” John answered. “We’ll take ship from Edo and leave the country,
but it’s a six hour march. We’d better get started,” he finished, pragmatic
even in uncertainty. Kazuhira agreed, wanting to get as much distance between
him and this town, this life, preferring to rest somewhere further down the
road.
Just exactly what he would find down the road, he didn’t know. He was embarking
on a journey to the unknown, chasing those sepia coloured clouds he had seen
from the latticed window of his room at the Lotus Shadow, truly leaving to find
his own light and his future. He hoped that for a long time, that future would
be with John.
                       [http://i.imgur.com/JGosKRN.gif]
Chapter End Notes
     THE END
     Hit "next chapter" for an epilogue. ;)
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Epilogue.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“Hey Snake, can I tell you something?” Kazuhira Miller asked, enjoying the
Caribbean sunset. Waves coloured yellow by the setting sun splashed gently
against the wooden pier, wetting his bare toes with every roll of the water.
“What is it, Kaz?” Snake asked, turning his head to the blonde man sitting next
to him. He had decided to humour his second in command and go on this ‘date’
with him, a little curious about Kaz’s intentions.
“It’s pretty silly, but…” Kaz started, scratching his neck, leaning closer to
his commander.
“Shoot.”
Kaz took a deep breath. “It’s just that sometimes when I look at you, I… I feel
like I’ve known you my whole life, you know?” His words were serious, lacking
the light, joking tones usually there.
“Like you’re someone I’ve known from ages ago, even if that’s not actually
possible.”
“Like I’ve gone through hell with you so many times that I’m confident we can
do it again, together.”
“Snake. Do you believe in reincarnation? Souls living beyond the scope of a
single human lifetime?”
“Kaz...” Snake said, staring straight into those blue eyes visible from behind
the tinted lenses, the setting sun painting his features in gold.
And then, he burst into laughter, ruining the moment, if there ever was one.
“What?!” Kaz huffed, throwing his hands up.
“That has got to be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard,” Snake bellowed, wiping
tears of laughter from his eye.
“I was being honest!” Kaz complained loudly, crossing his arms.
Snake patted him on the shoulder. “Sure you were. Now can we get back to the
base?” he asked, itching to leave the peace and quiet.
“No!” Kaz said, earning a grumble from his superior. “We’re going to watch the
sunset. And the stars,” he said, a smile returning to his face.
“All the way until dawn.”
Chapter End Notes
     I would like to take this chance to say a big heartfelt THANK YOU to
     every single one of you who has followed me and supported me on this
     magnificient journey. It has been amazing, it has been tough at
     times, but I have received so much love from you during the process.
     Whether you've just been reading on and off or left a kudo or a
     comment (or several!!), you're amazing. <3
     I sincerely hope it has been enjoyable for you as well. I will most
     likely continue doing some illustrations for this fic, which will be
     found on my_tumblr_account under the tag "pleiades". If this fic has
     inspired you to draw as well, please, I'd love to see what you've
     come up with! :D
     And for those of you who think you've wasted your time reading this,
     uh, well, umm, sorry? :D I do appreciate constructive criticism as
     I'm well aware I'm not a perfect writer (or a perfect anything now
     that I think about it). I also know I've used about 97,6% of all
     possible cliches and tropes during this fic, so may I burn in hell
     for that. xD
     All in all, I can't believe it's over. ; _ ;
     THANK YOU <3
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