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Wolf draws his sword.
It is futile, but there is nothing else to do. The path that led them all here is littered with his failures, and there is nowhere to go but forward. Kusabimaru glints in the moonlight. It isn’t something he should call his own. It is old, and beautiful— a weapon that belongs in Hirata hands.
There are none of those left, save Kuro’s, and it is Wolf’s duty to wield it for him. His duty to raise it, even against the lord of Ashina.
Genichiro has a stillness about him that sets Wolf alight. He is calm. Untroubled. It does not matter that Wolf has come to take Kuro back from him. Nothing will change unless he wills it so; not Ashina.
Not this.
Wolf cannot stand against him, but he doesn’t know how to stop. There is no place in him for yielding, no room to admit defeat. Genichiro is merciless. Genichiro is strong. There is a purity to being destroyed so thoroughly. A clarity to such indisputable loss.
Oh, Wolf thinks, his arm arcing through the air with blood trailing it like silk.
I want him.
The realization comes like being dropped into cold water, air coming out of him in a rush. It steals his breath, and his heart pounds hard enough to ache. Then he falls to the ground, waiting for a killing blow that never comes. Genichiro leaves him there bleeding into the dirt.
Genichiro, and his bow, and the red in his irises. So much power in him that it burns.
Wolf crawls after him until the world goes dark.
-
It is the first thought that comes when his eyes open again. It clings as he slinks through Ashina; Genichiro, and how it felt to crumble under his fist. Genichiro and the bite of his arrows, is this all a shinobi has to offer?
Wolf finds him again in the tower. He finds Kuro as well, but that feels less deliberate, and more like muscle memory. It is not something he decides to do. It is obedience, as automatic as breathing; it’s carried Wolf this far. It will carry him a little further.
Genichiro is a different beast entirely when he is wreathed in lightning. It runs through Wolf, and he shudders— shakes, and breathes through the want, and sets it loose again. They fight until Wolf’s muscles tremble. Until Genichiro is spitting blood. The adrenaline is like knives in his veins.
There is something strange that wells and overflows in Wolf when he buries his sword in Genichiro. It is foreign, and disquieting.
It will be a long time before Wolf recognizes it as grief.
Genichiro sags against him— Genichiro, and his labored breathing, and his bloody hands. Genichiro and all his scars, the air full of ozone. He has given Wolf everything.
He doesn’t say Wolf’s name. He tucks his face into Wolf’s throat, Ashina, Ashina.
Wolf has never loved Ashina, but in that moment, he despises it. Genichiro throws himself over the railing, and Wolf’s breath catches in his throat. For a moment that is long and longer in his memories, Wolf wants to jump, too. Fall after Genichiro. Land beside him, both of them in ruins. Genichiro would survive the fall— his precious Ashina would see to that, but Wolf has oaths to keep.
They are heavier now.
Wolf still can’t lay them down.
-
Wolf learns to breathe water. Wolf learns to become smoke.
Wolf learns to want something other than redemption. There is no such thing as honor, not when it comes to killing; there is subservience and there is will, and gods, Genichiro is willful. Wolf follows orders, and thinks of Genichiro. Dreams of Genichiro.
Eases his hands into his clothes, and closes his eyes, and needs him.
It is no surprise to find him in the silvergrass field. There is none of the stillness Wolf remembers; instead there is desperation. It is like seeing his reflection, roiling in dangerous waters. Wolf has done this to Genichiro more than the Ministry. Pushed him until there is nothing to do but break.
Even in death he will not be overtaken. Genichiro slits his throat, and Isshin pushes through, but Wolf cannot think of him. He can hear Genichiro’s heart still beating. Can hear him breathing. Can feel him watching, irises still faintly red, making soft, hurt noises as he twitches in the dirt. Isshin calls Genichiro pitiful, and something in Wolf seethes. Isshin isn’t powerful.
He is simply in the way. He falls, like everyone else who is too proud to do what must be done.
Like everyone except Wolf, and Genichiro.
When Kuro is gone Wolf finds Genichiro curled into himself on the ground. He brushes the hair back from his face, and Genichiro pulls away without opening his eyes. Wolf could leave him here, as he was left, bleeding and helpless. Genichiro’s life is fragile in his hands. It is gratifying.
It is terrifying.
He takes gasping little breaths, and drools gore into dry earth, hands grasping at nothing. Wolf lays his palm over the wound on his throat, feeling blood pulse weakly against his hand. He tries to speak, but it comes out in a guttural spray of red. There are ashes under his fingernails, and burns on his skin.
Genichiro is beautiful like this, torn and scarred and bathed in crimson, but Wolf cannot let him go. The realization comes easier this time, kneeling in the field; Wolf would die for Genichiro. Would lay down his sword, lay down his life. Genichiro is so much more.
More than he has ever been. More than he could ever be.
Wolf doesn’t have to die to keep him. He takes off his haori and wraps it around Genichiro’s throat, pressing pellets between his lips and washing them down with water from his gourd. Genichiro isn’t aware enough to swallow, but Wolf covers his mouth until he chokes and lets instinct do the rest. He gives it time to work then tries again, and again, and soon there is nothing left of either; no more water, no more medicine. Genichiro is still trembling but he is warmer now.
Wolf stitches him up as neatly as he can. It will scar much worse than the wounds Emma tends; he is adept at tearing people apart, not putting them back together. He does his best, but the marks will be stark.
It will be something Wolf has given him, in his skin, always.
Wolf lays Genichiro out on a litter and drags him to the temple. He sweats through a fever for days, retching up blood and what looks like silt. Genichiro seizes and bleeds from his nose, and Wolf washes him and cleans his wounds and wonders if he’s failed again— if he will lose Genichiro, the way he has lost everything else.
Then one night a thunderstorm rolls in, lightning crackling through the clouds outside. The rain pours down, and Genichiro’s fever breaks, eyes glowing faintly as he blinks them slowly at Wolf like he is trying to clear his vision.
Wolf can tell when everything comes into focus, because he bares his teeth and snarls.
“Don’t touch me,” he says, rolling over and trying to drag himself away.
He is too weak to get very far. Wolf watches him claw at the floor, pulling his broken body across it as best he can, blood smearing under him where it is leaking from his wounds.
After a few moments Genichiro gives up, collapsing into a heap and wheezing out labored breaths. His hands curl into fists, head bowed between his shoulders with his forehead pressed into rough wood.
“Just do it,” Genichiro slurs, drooling blood onto the floor, onto his fists. Wolf cocks his head in confusion, frowning.
“Do what?”
Genichiro laughs. It sounds ragged.
It sounds beautiful.
“Kill me. Just kill me, shinobi. I didn’t take you for someone who plays with your food.”
Wolf recoils, drawing back as though putting distance between them is going to help somehow. The thought of using his sword in Genichiro again is enough to make him feel sick, but words won’t do any good; any reassurances he would give to Genichiro would be worthless right now. It has only been a week since Wolf gutted him. A week since he slit his throat, and tried to save Ashina with his blood. Tried to give his life for a place that has done nothing but take him for granted and cast him aside.
It is not the time to kneel, yet. Not when Genichiro is too weak to stand over him.
He sets his gourd down where Genichiro can reach it and leaves him there alone; he is too proud to drink from it with Wolf watching.
Wolf waits outside the temple, listening to Genichiro breathe. Listening to him swear under his breath, and make a noise that is almost a sob. Listen to him choke down a few mouthfuls of water, coughing as he swallows. Hissing, and groaning; Wolf knows how much the water from his gourd can sting when it’s poured over injuries, and Genichiro is nothing but an open wound right now.
It will be a long few days, but Genichiro is strong, and Wolf is no less dogged than the rejuvenating waters.
Now that they’re together, Wolf will not let him go.
-
Wolf fights through the Ministry until Ashina is free of them, at least for now.
He waits until they are back inside the walls of Ashina castle.
Waits until they are in the lookout tower, Genichiro looming above him one again. He is still wrapped in bandages. Still bleeding, and sore. His pride is still aching, but that will pass in time. Genichiro is strong enough to stand, and that is all that matters.
Wolf falls to his knees, Kusabimaru laid out across his palms, head bowed low. His master is gone, now. It is no longer heresy to submit, as he’s wanted to since the first time they stood in the field together.
“I am yours if you would have me, my lord.”
His sword. His blood. His flesh, and bones. Whatever Genichiro wants of him.
Wolf wants him to take it all.
All he can see is the wood floor of the tower, but he can feel Genichiro’s eyes on him. The scent of ozone is thick in the air. Wolf doesn’t need to look to know he’s sneering.
“I would be a fool to trust you after everything you’ve done. I would put that blade in you right now if it would do any good.”
Wolf lets his head drop lower. Lifts Kusabimaru higher.
“I was carrying out my master’s will. You once asked if I would answer to a different lord; I could not, then. Things are different now.”
“Because your master is dead. At your hand.”
It only cuts so deeply because he is right, but Wolf does not wince. Does not falter. Kuro is gone, and there is nothing he can do to change that.
“Let me fight alongside you,” Wolf says, still staring at the floor. “To protect Ashina,” he adds, even if the words sound hollow to his ears. Wolf does not care about Ashina.
Wolf just wants to stand beside Genichiro.
The silence drags on for a long while. Wolf holds his sword steady, keeps his head bowed. He will kneel here as long as it takes. Eventually Genichiro scoffs, and starts walking away.
“Do as you will, shinobi. Just stay out of my way.”
Wolf waits until Genichiro is out of earshot before raising his head. It feels more like triumph than the last time he was here, watching Genichiro fall. He lingers there on his knees, reveling in the feeling. Wolf has a lord, again. One he has chosen. Someone to serve.
Ashina is nothing to him, but Genichiro is everything.
Wolf is strong enough to protect them both.
-
It takes time.
Wolf is patient. Owl taught him many things, all of them with violence, but patience came first. It was part of everything else— the way he held his weapons, or his breath. With every life he’s taken, Wolf has learned to wait. It is easier now than it has ever been. Wolf has never wanted anything for himself. It is a strangely frantic feeling to need something he cannot take with a sword.
Waiting, now, means being close to Genichiro.
Genichiro is wary at first, in the way that fearless people are wary. He treats Wolf like a dog that might bite if given the chance; Genichiro isn’t worried about being on the receiving end of Wolf’s fangs. He is worried that Wolf will turn them on someone else. His generals. His soldiers. Ashina.
Wolf will bare them anywhere Genichiro likes, as long as he can stay near him. The Ministry doesn’t wait long before moving against Ashina again, and then Genichiro doesn’t have the luxury of wariness. There is simply bloodshed, and battle, and Wolf on his heels; taking an arrow that was meant for Genichiro. Stepping into the path of a blade. There is a rightness to bleeding for him; a sense of inevitability in cutting down his enemies. It is what Wolf was always meant to be doing.
He slides into place at Genichiro’s side, like a weapon sinking into a sheath that has long been empty. It is gradual, but it doesn’t feel that way; all at once Wolf is Genichiro’s right hand. They look to one another in the midst of a fight, surrounded by chaos. Wolf learns to follow not Genichiro’s orders, but the direction of his gaze. The flex of his fingers. The set of his mouth.
Wolf follows his lightning, and his will, and the Ministry buckles underneath the weight of them together.
Even in the absence of the Ministry, Wolf is still there beside him. He listens to Genichiro and the Ashina elders discuss their defenses, and silently makes his own plans. It is hard to tear himself away, but worth it in the end. Wolf ranges through Ashina and picks off Ministry scouts, making note of troop movements and reporting back to Genichiro.
In the beginning Genichiro’s approval is begrudging. He does not ask where Wolf has been when he returns to the castle. Does not speak to Wolf at all, if he can help it, especially not in front of his men.
Wolf waits until Genichiro is alone in his quarters to slip down from the rafters in the ceiling and go to his knees beside him. His eyes are on the floor, but he can feel Genichiro watching.
He can always feel Genichiro watching.
“Say what you came to say and get out.”
Not shinobi. Not Wolf. Genichiro doesn’t address him at all. It is fine.
Wolf is patient.
He tells him where the Ministry is gathering; how many they number, and what kind of weaponry they have. How many scouts were roaming Ashina’s forests. They are corpses, now.
Wolf has bared his teeth.
Genichiro is quiet. After a while, he sighs.
“If that is everything, then I’ve no further use of you right now. Don’t come into my quarters uninvited again.”
Wolf comes again that night when Genichiro is sleeping. He drops down from the ceiling, quieter than before, creeping close to Genichiro’s futon with his pupils black and eating up the darkness. All the candles have been put out, but there is still incense thick in the air. Genichiro is curled up on his futon, hair falling in his face, breathing steady and even. There is a furrow in his brow, even in his sleep.
His body is used to long periods of stillness, watching carefully for the right moment to strike, but there will be no violence here. Even so, it is easy to crouch there, soundless, staring. Genichiro’s hands are pulled up against his chest, fingers loose. Wolf wants to press his lips to them; to Genichiro’s knuckles. To Genichiro’s cheek.
Wants to bring their mouths together. Feel Genichiro tense against him, and then relax.
Do as you will, shinobi, and gods, Wolf knows what it is to be willful, now.
It’s difficult to resist the impulse to crawl into the futon next to him, but if Genichiro woke, he would break the fragile quiet with his anger. Wolf watches his chest rise and fall, and listens to the sound of his breaths. He sinks his fingers into the blankets beside Genichiro to feel his warmth. There is a shitagi on the floor nearby, rumpled and forgotten after the day’s use. Wolf picks it up and presses the fabric to his face. It smells of sweat, and incense, and Genichiro.
The sun is rising before he realizes how long he has lingered, but even then, it is hard to leave. Genichiro stirs. Makes a low noise in his throat. He kicks his blankets part way off; he’s only wearing a fundoshi underneath, and he’s unmistakably hard. Wolf wants to touch him, and taste him.
Wolf wants Genichiro to be his, and his alone. He slips back up into the ceiling and slinks back to his room.
Genichiro’s shitagi is still clenched tight in his fist. He presses it to his face again and takes himself in hand, coming over his fingers, Genichiro’s name muffled in the fabric of his stolen clothes. When he has finished he tucks it away in his things, and goes out to hunt down Genichiro’s enemies. His scent is still in Wolf’s nose.
That day, the bloodshed comes easy.
-
Wolf and Genichiro carry the brunt of the Ministry’s weight when they bear down on Ashina, but there are soldiers manning the walls. Soldiers patrolling the castle, and holding onto their homeland as best they can. Elites, too, but they are more for strategizing than fighting.
There are also Genichiro’s generals with their swords raised alongside him. They are protecting Ashina with a fervor that Wolf still cannot understand. Wolf had been willing to die for his master, before, but never so furiously.
They are protecting Genichiro. Wolf knows it is for the best; two men alone cannot win a war. Still, seeing them step into danger to keep Genichiro safe rankles. It is Wolf’s duty to cut down those people who would harm Genichiro. Wolf’s duty to stand in front of arrows and steel and take the blows in Genichiro’s stead.
It is not only that.
They lean in close to speak with Genichiro in low voices that even Wolf cannot make out. They find Genichiro after a battle and put their heavy hands on his shoulder. You fought well, my lord. It is true, but they don’t need to say it. It isn’t something to speak aloud.
Genichiro’s strength speaks for itself in silence.
They smile at him, gunpowder thick in the air, dogs barking in the distance. Kuranosuke lifts a gloved hand to Genichiro’s face, once. Cups his cheek, and drags a thumb across his mouth. Genichiro doesn’t smile, but there is something heated and euphoric in his gaze. Kinship, and blood, and history. Want that flows both ways.
The next time the Ministry comes, Wolf lets a blade find home in Kuranosuke’s throat. He sees the strike coming well before it lands. They are fighting close together on the ground— Wolf has deflected a hundred blows just like it since sunrise, and will deflect countless more before it sets again.
He lets this one slip through. Lets it sink into Kuranosuke’s skin, and cleave flesh and bone. Lets him choke, and stagger, and bleed. His hand trembles, and goes limp in the dirt.
He’ll never touch Genichiro again. It was no great loss. Genichiro doesn’t need weaklings.
Genichiro needs wolves.
-
There is no time to mourn. They burn his body along with the rest. Genichiro looks at Wolf for a long moment, just before the pyre swells.
Then Kuranosuke catches fire, and he looks away.
-
For a while, the fighting feels endless. The Ministry is always pushing, and they are always pushing back. Wolf spends weeks picking off assassins in the forests and valleys, and weeks more standing at Genichiro’s side at the castle gates.
Weeks crouching over Genichiro in the dark. Pressing his face carefully into Genichiro’s hair. Taking things that won’t be noticed. In the rafters he has them hidden away, a corner with a pile of Genichiro’s clothing; a comb he’s been using, an arrow Emma had pulled out of his chest, stained with Genichiro’s blood. Touching them is soothing.
It is as close as Wolf gets to Genichiro; he wants him so much that it aches. Sometimes he thinks about never putting his hands on Genichiro, and it is hard to breathe. It is the only way that he can drown— in distance.
In solitude.
He crouches over Genichiro and slides his hand into his haori, the palm of his prosthetic pressed tight over his mouth. Getting off so close to Genichiro feels like falling from some great height, unsure of whether he will break when he hits the ground.
Wolf stays close when they’re fighting. Stays close when they are not. He is always looking at Genichiro— has always been looking.
Now, sometimes, Genichiro looks back. His gaze doesn’t linger, but there is less malice in it. It is the same way he looks at a well maintained sword, or a loaded cannon pointed at his enemies.
The way Genichiro looks at something he is glad to own, and Wolf doesn’t mind belonging to him.
-
The Ministry comes all at once, just after the sun has gone down. It is a surprise. There have been no scouts in the trees lately, no troops in the valley. Wolf doesn’t know how they concealed their movements, or how they managed to get so many soldiers to batter at the castle’s gates without any of the villages in the outskirts noticing.
It is a more vicious fight than they’ve been faced with in a long while, and Wolf doesn’t have time to think. Genichiro calls down his lightning. Wolf dies, and comes back again— Kuro is gone, but there is still enough of his blood left in Wolf.
Death is a moment of stillness in between acts of violence, and nothing else.
Genichiro is on a rise in the landscape wreathed in lightning. There are dead bodies all around him, blackened and smoldering. His sword thrums with energy, gold light erupting down the blade. His eyes are lit with crimson. His body is smeared with gore. His teeth are bared, and he is alive with brutality; Wolf has never seen something so enrapturing.
He cannot go on like this, not knowing what it feels like to touch Genichiro’s skin. Breathing the same air, mouths pressed together. Genichiro is so much more than Ashina.
Genichiro is power, and Wolf is nothing without him. It is a frantic sensation that rises in him, as though building to something dangerous. There is a roaring in his ears. Wolf can feel his blood flowing through his veins. Everything slows down, and there is only his sword, and Genichiro on the hilltop.
It is perfect. All he needs. Wolf is a fuse turning to ash, ready to explode.
Then everything is moving again, and Wolf feels like something feral released from a cage to wreak havoc. Everything is simpler, all the complicated shades of grey washing away.
There is death, and Genichiro, and it is more than enough.
-
He comes to Genichiro still covered in blood, ash clinging like a second skin. Wolf smells like fire and smoke. Genichiro sits on his futon in nothing but a loose robe, freshy out of the bath and glaring at a scroll.
Wolf slips into Genichiro’s room as he always does, dropping down from the ceiling next to his futon and landing in a crouch. Genichiro doesn’t startle. There is no surprise in him. He looks up from his scroll, quietly assessing.
“Go on, then,” he instructs, waiting. He thinks Wolf has something to say.
Wolf takes off his weapons, unfastening the leather and fabric that holds everything in place. He sets it on the floor— his swords, and gourds, and supplies. Genichiro is still watching, stare flitting over Wolf as he removes his armor, unraveling his scarf from around his neck. Even with his eyes closed, he can feel Genichiro’s gaze.
He unties his sandals, taking off his leggings and hakama. His haori. His fundoshi. All of Genichiro’s attention directed at him is drugging as he moves closer, standing over him and then sinking down to straddle his hips.
Genichiro raises his brows, but there is something wry in his expression, both pleased and calculating.
It is the way Genichiro looks at a weapon he thinks he might break. One he can afford to lose, if it can’t bear the strain.
He lets the scroll fall to the floor and slides his palms along Wolf’s thighs. Genichiro is warm, with rough hands and dark eyes.
“Go on, then,” he says again, squeezing Wolf’s hips until they will surely bruise.
Wolf shoves bloody fingers into his mouth to get them wet and then reaches down to press into himself, using his other hand to tug Genichiro’s robes apart. He shudders as he closes the fingers of his prosthetic around Genichiro as far as he can; Genichiro is running his palms up and down Wolf’s thighs. Genichiro is swelling in his fist, and looking at him with hunger.
Genichiro is watching where they come together as Wolf sinks down on his cock, taking every inch of him with a punched out breath. His head lolls back on his shoulders. It is ecstasy to finally have this— Genichiro in his body. Genichiro under his hands. Wolf shivers, and whines, lifting himself up on shaking thighs to drop back down again.
It isn’t physically overwhelming; Wolf can take a knife without flinching. Can be shot with a dozen arrows, or run through with a sword. There is pain— Genichiro is thick enough that there is no avoiding it, but it is insignificant in the face of the bliss rolling over Wolf. Genichiro is tracing Wolf’s scars. Genichiro is humming, like he’s deep in thought.
“You’ve been behaving yourself so well, shinobi. I didn’t realize this is what you were after.”
He rocks up into Wolf, one corner of his mouth quirked into something that is almost a smile. All Wolf can do is shake. He has been wanting this for so long he cannot remember what it was like before his thoughts were filled with Genichiro. There is that roaring in his ears again. Genichiro hadn’t asked him a question, but Wolf nods anyway, grabbing one of Genichiro’s hands and sliding over his heart. It is pounding like it might burst from his chest.
Genichiro huffs a laugh, quiet enough than anyone else might have missed it. Wolf doesn’t have it in himself to be offended. He opens his eyes and meets Genichiro’s gaze, lips parted as he writhes on top of him. Genichiro is appraising him again, looking Wolf over as though taking his measure. Wolf holds his breath, and shudders.
Genichiro doesn’t find him wanting; he softens, and sighs, and then he’s tugging Wolf down to kiss him. Wolf makes an animal noise, kissing back frantically as he keeps rolling his hips, desperate to have all of Genichiro. It’s messy and artless.
Wolf has never kissed anyone before; he’s been in people’s beds, but it was always a means to an end. Something he did as a diversion, or to gain information. To kill them quietly, on a few occasions— it is easier to slit a throat when someone is distracted by their own pleasure. Still, none of them have bothered trying to kiss him. Wolf wouldn’t have allowed it.
Genichiro’s mouth on his isn’t something he allows.
It’s something he falls into. Somewhere he gets lost. Genichiro kisses him and Wolf shakes apart, moaning as he comes wet over Genichiro’s stomach. It is too soon to be finished, but Wolf cannot help it. He’s spent months watching Genichiro sleep, hands itching for warmth, aching all the way down into his blood. It has been agony living without Genichiro’s affection, and now that agony has evaporated like smoke.
Genichiro licks over his teeth, slowing his movements as he watches Wolf shudder.
“Done with me, then?” Genichiro asks, and Wolf shakes his head fiercely. He is not done with Genichiro.
He will never be done. Even with the waters and the blood of a dragon, there aren’t enough lifetimes between them.
Wolf will be nothing but bones in the ground, wanting him still.
He starts moving again, his face hidden in Genichiro’s chest, palms sliding tentatively against his skin. Genichiro hums, an appreciative sound.
Wolf is a weapon that won’t break, no matter how ill used.
He keeps going until Genichiro finishes— it takes a long time, and Wolf is grateful for every moment. Genichiro is tactile in a lazy way, running his hands idly over Wolf as they rock together, dragging his fingertips across his muscles as they flex. When Genichiro comes he squeezes Wolf’s thighs, teeth gritted and eyes flaring crimson. He fills Wolf in hot bursts, sighing and eventually going limp.
“You’ve been restless,” Genichiro finally says, a little out of breath. “I didn’t expect it to be something this easy to fix.” Genichiro is rubbing circles into Wolf’s hips with his thumbs, looking him over like he’s searching steel for cracks. “I have been wondering what you wanted from me. If the cost would be too high for me to bear.”
Wolf has heard as much from Genichiro’s generals, and elites. Why is the shinobi still here?
What is there left to gain?
There is nothing Wolf wants from them, or Ashina. There is only Genichiro.
Wolf’s hair has come loose in the midst of everything, and Genichiro sinks a hand into it and tugs, holding his gaze with his irises faintly red. He rocks his hips, grinding into Wolf, still half-hard.
Genichiro is dirty in all the places Wolf has touched him.
“It is a simpler thing than I imagined. If this is all you need, shinobi, I will give it to you.”
Wolf breathes out heavily and nods, making no move to climb off. He’s soft, and spent, but it will not take long to change that. Now that he has Genichiro inside him, he does not want to let him go. Wolf shifts in place, Genichiro’s come dripping out of him, both of them filthy.
It is a long time before they are finished. They have spent the whole night fighting, then fucking, and now dawn is breaking over Ashina.
When he finally leaves, vanishing back up into the rafters, his legs are quivering. He does not want to go, but crawling into Genichiro’s futon with him feels desperate; Wolf is desperate, but he has shown Genichiro too much of that already.
There are bruises on his throat and his hips, already fading. There is warmth still dripping between his thighs. Genichiro is all over him. Genichiro is inside him.
Wolf listens to Genichiro moving around his room, pressing his fingers into himself to feel the mess he left behind. He closes his eyes and thinks of Genichiro’s hands on his waist. Genichiro’s teeth on his throat. Genichiro’s lips. Genichiro’s tongue.
Wolf waits until Genichiro is sleeping, and drops back down into his room. A few hours of bliss are not enough.
He watches, and waits, and wants.
-
Wolf tells himself that he will wait a few days before coming to Genichiro again; he doesn’t want to be some needy, pathetic thing, always pawing at him for attention. It is a lie, he quickly realizes, trailing Genichiro around the castle with unbridled need thrumming through him.
Being near Genichiro without touching him has always been difficult, but it is worse now that Wolf knows better. His hands itch to reach out to him, instincts drawing him closer and closer until they almost stumble over one another and Genichiro pins him with a glare.
It is agonizing to wait even until sunset. Genichiro has barely closed his door when Wolf drops down, crouching near his bed and looking up at him expectantly.
When he sees Wolf there he smirks and tugs loose the ties on his shitagi. He is looking Wolf up and down, that measuring stare again.
“I need you to do something for me,” he says, tugging his clothes open, watching Wolf watch him.
Wolf goes to his knees at Genichiro’s feet.
“Anything, my lord.”
Genichiro hums and fists a hand in Wolf’s hair.
“It will take you out of Ashina, and into Ministry territory all alone. It will be dangerous.”
Wolf lifts up higher on his knees, palms sliding up Genichiro’s thighs.
“Anything, my lord.”
Genichiro hooks a thumb into Wolf’s mouth and pulls it wide. The noise he makes is involuntary, and honest enough that Genichiro’s expression softens for a moment.
Then he feeds his cock between his lips, and Wolf’s eyes fall closed as he opens up to take him.
-
He dies, alone behind the Ministry’s lines.
He comes back again. Death is a moment of stillness between violence, and nothing else.
Wolf gets everything Genichiro needs; information, mostly. Some weapons he has not seen the Ministry use before now. Troop numbers, and movements. A mental map of their supply lines.
Genichiro looks surprised to see Wolf when he slips in through one of the windows in his quarters, an arm full of rifles and dried blood streaked across his face. His clothes are soaked in gore, one corner of his haori burned black. He has only been gone a few days, but after spending time in Genichiro’s bed it felt like an eternity.
“Back so quickly,” Genichiro says, taking in the sight of him. “Worse for wear, I see. You ran into trouble, I take it?”
Wolf shakes his head and lays the weapons down, falling to his knees again.
“It was no trouble, my lord.” It was a difficult journey, but not in the way he is thinking; killing is easy.
It was hard being away from Genichiro.
He hums, reaching down to lift Wolf’s chin with his fingertips.
“You served me well,” he says.
Then he lets Wolf serve him again.
Genichiro lays down on his futon and Wolf climbs into his lap. His body takes Genichiro in easily, as though they were made for one another. It hurts, but nothing in Wolf’s life has ever been without pain, and he welcomes this ache.
-
Genichiro sends him to die for Ashina, and he comes back time and time again, scarred and eager for his touch. He is less surprised to see Wolf return the second time, and not at all the third. If Genichiro thinks the Ministry can take him, he is mistaken. Wolf has Genichiro, now.
Wolf has everything, and death is nothing at all.
Then Genichiro kisses him, and Wolf gets lost. Genichiro presses Wolf face down into the futon and fucks him ragged. Lays down and lets Wolf ride him through the night, thighs shaky and lips parted as he whines. He puts Wolf on his back, and presses into him, laughing softly when he whimpers and quakes. They only come together when he has returned from doing Genichiro’s bidding.
Genichiro is only his when Wolf has been useful. When he has been obedient.
When he has been good; good for Genichiro.
Good for Ashina.
They still don’t sleep together. Wolf lays beside him when they are done, sometimes, but after a while Genichiro gives him a look and he pulls on his clothes and climbs back into the ceiling. It hurts, but Wolf is patient.
He will give Genichiro time.
-
He almost doesn’t notice the Ministry starting to slow. They come in fewer numbers, the attacks further apart. It takes a meeting with the Ashina elders talking about peace and winning the war for Wolf to realize the end is in sight. It is no longer some insurmountable task to keep the Ministry at bay. In a few weeks, or perhaps a few months, Ashina will not be worth the effort it takes to win her. It has been over a week since he’s sent Wolf out on some frantic suicide mission.
Over a week since Wolf has been in his bed. He has been giving Genichiro time he does not have to spare.
When Ashina is at peace, Genichiro will have no need of steel, or wolves.
When Ashina is at peace, Genichiro will not need him at all.
-
Wolf cannot die, but he can lose pieces of himself. The Ministry is falling apart, yet there is a desperation to the way they fight now that makes Wolf think of how he felt before he was allowed to touch Genichiro. There are things more terrifying than death. For Wolf, that is losing Genichiro.
For the Ministry, evidently, it is losing Ashina.
He overextends himself behind enemy lines to take out one of the Ministry’s generals. Genichiro asked Wolf to kill him, and Wolf obeyed without question; this man is the one organizing the Ministry’s offensives, and without him, they will likely flounder. The general is well protected, though, tucked away in Ministry territory far away from the fighting. Getting there is easy.
Getting out is not.
Wolf staggers back to Ashina castle with his bones sitting wrong in his skin, one of his legs cut so deeply that he isn’t sure it will heal again. He tumbles through Genichiro’s window, smearing blood everywhere he touches. It has been so long since he’s felt Genichiro’s hands on him.
He drags himself up onto his knees and cannot go any further. Genichiro is standing nearby, looking down at Wolf with something like impatience.
“What happened?”
Wolf presses his palm over the wound in his thigh and fights down a wince.
“Some Ministry assassins. They—”
Genichiro holds up a hand to quiet him. Wolf obeys. Waits.
“The general. Is he dead?”
Wolf is bleeding onto his floor. Wolf has died for Genichiro, and come back, and died again. Wolf has broken himself to protect Ashina.
They have lain together in the dark, Genichiro’s fingers in his hair, Genichiro’s mouth on his throat. He is still worried about Ashina, first.
It will always be Ashina.
“Yes, my lord. He is dead.”
Of course he is dead. Wolf does not know what it is to fail.
Genichiro goes to the window and looks out at the castle grounds. Looks out at Ashina. There is an adoration in his gaze that Wolf stays awake at night dreaming about. Genichiro looks at lifeless earth and unfeeling stone and poisonous waters with such love; Ashina does not, cannot, return it to him in kind.
Genichiro has given everything for Ashina, and it gives him nothing back.
Wolf needs Genichiro, the way he needs the blood in his veins, or the air in his lungs. Moreso, even; he can breathe water. Lose too much blood, and die, only to rise again. The thought of living without Genichiro is an agony he cannot endure. It hurts like nothing has ever hurt. Cuts him down deeper than his flesh and bones.
As long as Ashina is standing, Genichiro will never belong to Wolf.
He will have to tear it down, stone by stone.
He tugs Genichiro into the floor and straddles him, leg screaming in protest. The pain means nothing. His body means nothing.
Wolf takes Genichiro into himself, moves until the need eases back into something less vicious. Shakes apart; once, twice. There is blood on Genichiro everywhere they’ve touched.
Always so filthy.
When Genichiro finishes Wolf climbs off, and vanishes out the window.
Ashina will not miss him.
Genichiro will, in time.
-
-
It is like water, dripping slowly until he is drowning. Harmless, then worrying.
Then dangerous. It is familiar, that helpless choking sensation, though last time it was earth in his mouth and his lungs and Genichiro barely remembered what it was like to breathe at all. The sediment is a blessing.
The sediment is a curse. It is his right, the way Ashina is his right. Genichiro wishes he had never tasted it at all. It is something he has wished before.
It is something he will wish again.
Wolf’s absence isn’t strange, at first. He often secrets himself away when he is nursing wounds, but that seldom takes more than a day or two. After that, when Wolf doesn’t return, Genichiro still doesn’t give it much thought. Wolf likes to take it upon himself to clear out all the Ministry scouts lurking in the forests of Ashina. It is one of the many ways he seeks Genichiro’s favor; in the beginning, Genichiro didn’t understand why. He’d lie awake staring at his ceiling, brows drawn together, furious that he could not discern Wolf’s motives.
Now he knows, and feels like a fool for not recognizing it right away. Wolf, always watching him. Wolf, always close. Genichiro had expected something complicated.
There is nothing complicated about the things Wolf wants from him.
It doesn’t make him less of a man, but no one has ever wanted Genichiro with such single-minded focus. Wolf looks at him, and there is only Genichiro. Things are easier, now. Genichiro knows what Wolf wants, and doesn’t mind giving it to him.
Doesn’t mind making him work for it; Wolf is a much better asset for Ashina now that Genichiro feels comfortable pointing him at a particular enemy and setting him loose. It is no risk, and so much reward. Wolf goes out and slays Ministry troops, ranging farther into their territory than anyone else is capable. His brutality is staggering. He kills for Genichiro.
He dies for Genichiro.
He comes back to Ashina, and climbs into Genichiro’s bed. It is no trial to allow him this; Wolf takes off his clothes, bloodstained and beautiful, and takes Genichiro into himself. Genichiro has been with other men, but no one like Wolf.
There are no other men like Wolf.
Wolf is violence shaped into something small and without mercy, born to end lives.
Wolf is death, and he is in love with Genichiro. It is written all over his face when they come together— the shivery sound of his breathing. The desperate clutch of his hands. The way he falls apart so easily.
Genichiro has been wanted, but he has never been loved. Not like this; frantically. Endlessly. When Wolf first straddled Genichiro’s hips and took what he wanted, Genichiro had been amused. So much power, bent to his will by such a trivial thing. A few minutes of their bodies slotted together, and Wolf would give him the world.
Then, there had been quiet gratitude, felt intensely but never spoken. It is a relief to have someone so strong at his right hand, fighting to keep Ashina safe from their enemies. Someone he can trust to finish things, and keep standing.
Someone who can fall, and get back up again.
Now, there is something more. Something deeper. Something sunk into Genichiro further than gratitude, or respect. There is an aching fondness when Wolf leans in to kiss him— less clumsy than he’d once been. Looking back, Genichiro wonders if Wolf had ever kissed a man before he crawled into his lap; considering the grace of everything he does, Wolf had been decidedly unpracticed. He has gotten better over the past few months.
Now there is affection, pouring through Genichiro unbidden when he lets his eyes settle on Wolf. Every throat Wolf slits is in tribute. Every drop of blood spilled is an offering.
Genichiro has taken so much from Wolf, and he still looks at him and sees someone worthy.
What he feels for Wolf is a terrifying thing. To want someone else like this is a weakness, but he cannot set it aside. When Ashina has a moment to breathe, Genichiro will find the words. He knows Wolf adores him.
It is a vulnerable feeling to adore him in return, but when the fighting is over, Genichiro wants him to stay.
It isn’t worry that finds him first, but loneliness. Wolf is gone, and Genichiro misses him, and wishes he’d come home. It comes sooner than Genichiro expects, and takes up too much space. Genichiro is missing him, always, even as he spends his days leading Ashina. Wolf is with him in the war room, with him in the dojo, with him at the table.
Wolf is with him in bed as he reaches into his clothes and takes himself in hand. A week comes, and goes.
Then, there is worry. The Ministry would have a hard time killing Wolf, but it wouldn’t be so difficult to imprison him; Genichiro had managed it, at least for a while. Wolf is resilient but he still resurrects without his arm. If the Ministry cuts him into enough pieces, it won’t matter that one of them is coming back. Won’t matter that his heart is still beating if his legs cannot carry him home to Genichiro.
Genichiro watches the edges of Ashina hold against the Ministry, and wonders where Wolf has gone. Wonders if he will ever see him again. If the last thing he will have ever said to Wolf will be an insult.
Always so filthy, and it’s true. Wolf is always filthy.
Genichiro wouldn’t have it any other way.
Then, finally, the Ministry comes. They come, and they come, and they come. It is a trickle at first, but soon there are soldiers and assassins battering Ashina’s gates and no Wolf to stand against them. Genichiro keeps them at bay, for a while, but there is no end to them.
Without Wolf at his back, it is only a matter of time. He must be dead now, surely.
He would not let the Ministry take everything from Genichiro if there was still breath in his lungs.
It takes days, then weeks. Ashina falls to pieces in fits and starts; shuddering, giving way in unexpected places. Genichiro understands.
He knows what it is to fall to pieces. How it feels when everything that holds him together fails, and lets go. Wolf is lost. Ashina is lost.
Without them, Genichiro is nothing. He mourns, the way he has always mourned— with a sword in his hand. A bow on his back. Lightning in his mouth, and blood in his teeth, fingers charred black with power.
The castle is the last place to give way. The people of Ashina are already gone, the last vestiges of the army clinging to the castle with all of their might. It isn’t enough, anymore. Genichiro is the last man standing. There is no one left to raise a sword.
He dies for Ashina, one last time. It doesn’t feel as right as it once did. There is earth in his blood and it will not let him rest.
-
He wakes up where he had fallen in the lookout tower, not long after the Ministry assassins left him there bleeding. They have bigger things to worry about than Genichiro’s corpse. Dying is like suffocating.
Genichiro comes back like he is breaking the surface of the water after too long underneath. He wakes to the sound of distant screaming— guttural choking noises, discordant cries of pain that are cut off sharply. It does not sound like a battle.
It sounds like a slaughter.
There are no gunshots. No clang of steel against steel. Genichiro drags himself to the edge of the tower, but it is hard to see. There are sprays of blood and flashes of purple and red as Ministry troops drop one after another. Death rolls over the castle, and it is then that Genichiro sees him, arcing through the air to land on a rooftop. His irises glow red. There is something inhuman in the way he moves.
Genichiro wonders if it has always been there, and he was too blind to see.
Wolf cuts through the half dozen assassins who had killed Genichiro like they are nothing and moves on, meticulously clearing the castle grounds. He is graceful, and predatory, and beautiful. He is alive. Nothing can stand against him.
He is far too late. Genichiro clenches his hands into fists, forearms braced against the rails around the tower. There is smoke rising in a dozen places throughout the castle, stones caved in to leave gaping holes in the walls and in the rooftops. There are dead bodies strewn over the ground like scattered leaves after a storm. Ashina is nothing but ashes.
Genichiro has missed Wolf, grieved him like a lost limb; Genichiro would never be whole again.
Now he is back, and it aches.
It takes a long time for Wolf to make his way through the castle and find Genichiro sitting on the floor of the tower, still weak from resurrection. Night has fallen. The skies above Ashina are crystalline, and beautiful.
Wolf lands in a crouch in front of Genichiro. There is the worst kind of déjà vu. Genichiro has lived this before, except his whole world hadn’t been destroyed— Ashina had been more than a memory of strong waters and a refusal to yield.
In spite of cutting his way through the substantial Ministry forces on the castle grounds, Wolf is unharmed. He is covered in gore, but there are no visible wounds on him; no cuts, no burns, no bullet holes. If anything, Wolf looks energized. His eyes are burning crimson, the subtle golden thrum of his nightvision washed away to leave fire in its wake.
The eyes of shura.
He looks at Genichiro with unabashed relief, sheathing his sword and closing the distance between them. When he reaches Genichiro he does not kneel, but puts out his hand to touch Genichiro’s face.
Genichiro slaps his hand away, chest heaving as fury surges in him.
“Where were you?” Genichiro asks. Wolf cocks his head as though he’s confused and doesn’t answer. Genichiro pulls himself further upright, eyes roving over Wolf. Wolf who is safe. Wolf who is whole.
Wolf who did not raise his blade to fight at Genichiro’s side; Genichiro trusted him.
Now he bares his teeth.
“Where were you while Ashina was burning?” It comes out as a ragged shout, but Wolf does not flinch. The face he makes is so earnest it hurts Genichiro’s chest.
“It is done. You don’t need to fight anymore,” Wolf says. Like it’s a gift, instead of a blow. “Now there is no Ashina but you, and I will keep you safe. You belong to me.”
Realization comes like a knife in his heart. Genichiro cannot breathe.
“You… you did this on purpose? Left me here alone? Let Ashina fall?” Genichiro would assume it was Wolf doing the Ministry’s bidding, except for the way he razed them to the ground after Ashina had crumbled. “Why?” It sounds forlorn, even with the rage suffusing him like smoke.
Wolf reaches to touch Genichiro’s face again. Genichiro grabs his wrist and holds it away.
“You wouldn’t look at me,” Wolf says, as though it should be obvious. “I gave you everything, and there was still only Ashina in your eyes. The fighting would never have been over. You never would have been mine. Now we can have each other, and there is nothing in the way.”
Wolf is wide eyed and pleased with himself. This is his happy ending.
Genichiro’s stomach turns suddenly, violently. He retches up blood and bile onto the floor, shaking all over.
“I was waiting,” Genichiro says, gagging again, his hands trembling. “I was waiting for the right time, I was…” His words break off on a sob. He lifts a quaking hand to cover his face. “I wanted you to stay with me, when the war was won.”
Wolf’s devotion is endless. His loyalty, his adoration.
It is a blade with two edges that has swung back to gut Genichiro. All the affection in him, and he’d kept it tucked away, afraid that it made him weak. Genichiro had not understood the gravity of Wolf’s want.
Heavy enough to bury Ashina beneath it. If Genichiro had reached out, instead of pulling away, all this sorrow could have been avoided. If he had looked at Wolf. If he had brought him close. The things he wanted and denied himself have cost him everything.
Ashina’s blood is not only on Wolf’s hands, but Genichiro’s as well. He’s given his whole life for Ashina, and all of it means nothing.
The sight of Wolf is enough to have him retching again, crawling away from him, trying to put distance between them.
“I loved you,” Genichiro hisses, blood streaking under his palms against the floor. “I was waiting.”
Wolf just looks confused, like an animal who doesn’t comprehend that they’ve destroyed something valuable between their teeth and claws. A dog with a shredded kimono between his paws.
Wolf with Ashina in ruins.
Genichiro closes his eyes. If he keeps them shut tight enough, for long enough, perhaps Wolf will disappear. Vanish back to wherever he’s been hiding all this time, letting Ashina collapse around Genichiro.
He opens them again and Wolf is there, brows drawn with worry.
“Are you hurt, my lord?”
Genichiro lets out a broken sob, grabbing a stray shard of ceramic and flinging it at Wolf. It hits him and clatters to the floor; he doesn’t flinch.
“Get away from me,” Genichiro shouts, flinging another piece of pottery at Wolf, who only looks more concerned. “Get away!”
Wolf does not move. He is a demon now, but he’s still watching Genichiro with the same love in his eyes— the same shameless worship that has been there from the start, even when he was too much of a fool to see it. Genichiro didn’t deserve it then.
He doesn’t deserve it now. Wolf has taken everything, but it is Genichiro’s fault. It might as well have been his sword slaying his people. His bow. His fists. His idleness. Being buried in the ground and allowed to die would be a blessing.
His heart keeps beating.
Genichiro breathes.
-
He drags himself back to his room. It is more muscle memory than intent. There is no reason for him to go there— there is no one left to secret himself away from, but it is where he is used to going when he needs to be alone.
In the quiet of his room, the faint smell of smoke in the air, he is not alone.
Wolf follows him like a shadow, ignoring all the things Genichiro throws at him in frustration, words and weapons both. He calls him names and screams and flings whatever is at hand, and Wolf bears it all in silence, and stays close.
His quarters are an island of untouched calm surrounded by chaos— the Ministry had found no enemies there to slay, and nothing of value to steal, or destroy. It is as pristine as he left it, his futon unrolled and made up with fresh bedding. Someone had lit more incense in his absence, before the castle was stormed and the servants slaughtered. He’d staggered past their broken bodies on the way up the stairs. Wolf hadn’t killed them.
Wolf hadn’t saved them.
The sweetly scented smoke fills Genichiro’s lungs, and he fights the urge to scream. He collapses next to his futon, falling to his knees and covering his face with both hands. They are still shaking, even now.
Wolf sets his gourd down next to Genichiro— it’s covered in blood, disused. A shura has no need of healing waters. Genichiro knocks it away with a snarl, and Wolf retreats a few steps but no further.
“Leave me,” Genichiro hisses, hands fisting in the blankets on his futon. Wolf makes a questioning noise, cocking his head to the side. “LEAVE ME! Get out! I can’t even look at you!”
It’s shouted loud enough that it hurts his throat. Hurts his ears. Wolf slips up into the ceiling but not far enough to lose sight of Genichiro. He crouches up there, watching, eyes glittering red in the darkness.
Genichiro lays down and throws an arm over his face, but he can still feel Wolf watching. He lets out a hitching little sob, and then another, until he cannot keep them back. They spill out of him, broken and unrestrained. Countless deaths, and Genichiro has never shed a tear; he makes up for it, now.
By the time he has gone quiet and still, exhaustion has sunk its teeth into him, and will not let go. There is a soft noise. Fabric rustling, the quiet sound of something sliding against wood. He doesn’t need to look to know Wolf is there, crouching in the corner.
Genichiro rolls to face the other way, and lets sleep take him.
-
Wolf trails after Genichiro like a shadow. He is always close, always watching. That he is shura now makes no real difference. Wolf still looks at Genichiro like he hung the stars in the sky. If anything, it is more unabashed with no one else to see. He stumbles through the castle in a fog— the bodies have started to disappear, piled up and burned a few at a time, but Genichiro never sees Wolf move them. If he is awake, Wolf is close.
Sometimes he drifts halfway from sleep to the smell of burning flesh, but it is easy enough to close his eyes again.
The scent of death and devastation is nothing new.
Wolf brings Genichiro food— meat roasted over a fire. Clumsy balls of rice. Persimmons picked fresh from the tree. Genichiro lashes out each time, knocking the food away. He shatters dishes against the walls, rice scattering across the floor. It doesn’t matter that he is hungry, or thirsty, or that the wounds the Ministry gave him still hurt with every movement.
Ashina is gone, and everything else is meaningless.
Wolf cleans up the messes Genichiro has made, sweeping up spilled food and broken ceramic.
Cleans up the messes he has made himself, stacking up bodies and setting them alight.
Genichiro doesn’t know how long this goes on— time has ceased to exist. It is bright, or it is not, and even that does not matter. Weeks at least, if the scruff of his patchy beard is anything to go by. Wolf coaxes him to drink water when he is half asleep before he realizes what is going on and shoves him away again.
He cannot truly die, but his thoughts are getting hazy and far away the longer he goes without food. His ribs have become more prominent, his hip bones sharply defined. If he continues on this way, perhaps even the waters will let him go. It is a dream that feels too good to be true, but consciousness is something that comes and, blessedly, goes.
Wolf comes again, crouching beside Genichiro and reaching out to touch his face. It pulls him back to himself through layers of fog; he would pull away, but it feels like a waste of effort.
“My lord, please don’t do this. Let me take care of you.” Wolf brushes filthy hair back from his face with gentle hands.
Genichiro huffs and turns his head. Wolf urges it back, holding Genichiro’s face in both hands. He is close enough that Genichiro can feel his breath.
“You are all that is left of this place. If not for yourself, live for Ashina.” Wolf rubs his thumbs back and forth over Genichiro’s cheeks, brows drawn together and eyes lit with want. “Live for me.”
In spite of everything, there is still a curl of heat low in Genichiro’s stomach. Affection is a poisonous thing that is not easily cast aside, no matter how much Genichiro wills it so; he loves Wolf.
He hates Wolf.
There is room enough in him for both, it seems. Wolf brings their mouths together, and Genichiro lets him. Feels Wolf’s lips moving against his. Feels Wolf licking into his mouth. For a long moment, Genichiro remains still, a stone in the face of his need.
Then he lets out a wounded noise, fists a hand in his clothes, and kisses him back. Genichiro has nothing.
Genichiro has Wolf.
It is even lonelier, somehow, but he cannot resist.
He lets his thighs fall wide, and pulls Wolf closer. It is all the permission Wolf needs, and then Genichiro doesn’t have to do anything at all. It is the first familiar thing he has felt since his whole world fell to pieces. Wolf smells the same. Feels the same. Sounds the same.
It is different when he tugs Genichiro’s clothes off and eases his thighs further apart. Different when he presses spit-slick fingers into Genichiro and works him open. Different when he fucks into Genichiro, shaking as he takes him, his name on Wolf’s lips like a prayer.
Genichiro clings, and gives Wolf everything. He is so very warm. No one else has touched Genichiro in weeks.
No one else will ever touch him again. It is as though he has been flung into the air, and is waiting for gravity to pull him down again.
It is as though he is full of lightning with no way to set it loose. Genichiro burns.
Genichiro breathes.
-
He eats the food Wolf brings him over the next few days, and drinks the water from his gourd. Wolf watches him eat with bright eyes, full of a hunger that has nothing to do with his stomach. He doesn’t eat anymore. Doesn’t drink water, or sake.
He shoves Genichiro into the bath and washes him— gently. Thoroughly. Wolf combs through Genichiro’s hair with his fingers, and finds a razor to shave his face. Genichiro tilts his head back and watches with dead eyes as Wolf drags the blade across his skin, daydreaming about the blessings of a slit throat.
Like a child watching the first snow of winter melting away on the ground and wishing it would last.
Wolf climbs into bed with Genichiro when the skies get dark and carefully pulls off his clothes. Eases his thighs apart. Sometimes he presses his face into Genichiro, and mouths at him until he’s shaking. Sometimes, his fingers. The rest of him comes without fail, after, Wolf pushing into Genichiro until he can go no further.
He would crawl into Genichiro if he could get any closer.
When they have both finished, Wolf curls up in bed beside him. His eyes never close. Wolf doesn’t need sleep anymore, Genichiro doesn’t think, but he holds him through the night all the same. Tucks his face into Genichiro’s hair, bodies snug against one another. It is something Genichiro always wanted, but never allowed himself.
If only he had held onto Wolf, Ashina might be safe.
It takes a while for him to feel strong enough. For him to feel real enough. For Genichiro to feel like enough of a person to do anything at all.
One night Wolf crawls into bed with Genichiro, eyes greedy as they rove over every inch of him. His palms slide over Genichiro, no less worshipful than the first time they fucked. He touches Genichiro like he is some sacred thing to be cherished. Something precious. Something sturdy.
Something holy that won’t break under the strain of being used.
Wolf comes, shuddering into Genichiro, mouth open against his chest.
Genichiro slides a knife between his ribs, and into his heart. Wolf goes wide eyed, still shivering through his orgasm, filling Genichiro with heat. Genichiro’s come is warm on his belly, blood spilling over it as he twists the knife. There are tears tracking down his cheeks.
Wolf can’t die, but he can sleep a while.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, Genichiro can be free.
“I am sorry,” Genichiro says, shifting the knife even deeper. When Wolf closes his eyes, Genichiro will cut out his heart. He doesn’t understand what it is to be shura, or even how the dragon’s heritage works, but surely it will take time to heal.
Wolf’s brows furrow together. He touches the blade where it disappears into his chest, then looks at his bloody hand like he doesn’t understand.
“My lord,” Wolf says, then sags against him.
Genichiro pulls away from Wolf until he is no longer buried inside him, then eases him over onto his back. It is a messy thing— cutting through Wolf. Pulling back his ribs. Carving beneath his sternum. It would be easier, and perhaps smarter, to burn him, but Genichiro cannot bear the thought of watching him go up in flames.
He leaves him lying there. Wolf will wake up, soon.
Genichiro pulls on his clothes, and grabs his weapons, and runs.
-
Outside the castle walls, there are bodies everywhere. Ashina soldiers and civilians are scattered like dropped coins. Ministry troops lay broken over barricades, or hang misshapen from the branches of trees.
Wolf finds him in the valley, trailing him like a lost dog, blood still soaked through his clothes. He keeps his distance at first, but eventually can’t resist coming closer. Genichiro falls to his knees and lets out a sob.
Then he lays on his back, and parts his thighs. Wolf kisses him frantically— desperately, like he isn’t sure he’ll get again. He fucks Genichiro there on the ground, in the dirt. Genichiro fists his hands in the leaves, and hates how good it feels. How perfect Wolf’s mouth is on his own. How it feels like home.
It is easier the second time; slipping in his blade. Pulling out Wolf’s heart. Maybe he can try another way— into the poisonous pools of the valley, or through the cliffs of Senpou temple. If the monks are still alive, and Genichiro can get past them, perhaps it will slow Wolf down.
It doesn’t. Genichiro kills him surrounded by the toxic green waters of the valley. Kills him in Senpou temple, bodies of monks strewn over the landscape, utterly forgotten. Kills him in the forest, wind whispering through barren trees, both of them shaking. Wolf seems to expect it now when they kiss, when they touch. A dozen different times, a dozen different ways.
He is waiting for a blade, but he can’t stay away.
Wolf comes back, again and again. Follows silently after Genichiro with his bloody hands and his furrowed brows.
They circle back to the castle after a while, and Genichiro looks longingly down at the water under the bridge. He has died a hundred times, but never in the water. Where steel has failed him, maybe the water will not.
Genichiro jumps in, feels it close over his head. There is no peace, even as the world fades away, everything muffled and quiet. The light is dimmer, his body heavy. It is nothing Genichiro doesn’t deserve. All of Ashina’s dead lay at his feet. Genichiro only needed to say the words, and everything would have been within his grasp— Wolf. Ashina.
Now, he has nothing.
The rejuvenating waters are a blessing, and they are a curse. They kept him alive to protect Ashina.
Kept him alive to fail her.
Kept him alive to watch her fall. Now they keep him alive with a shura by his side; a god of war who does not falter in his devotion. There is a splash overhead as Wolf dives into the waters, swimming down with wide, terrified eyes. They glow red in the murk as he reaches for Genichiro.
Genichiro fights him. It is instinct, not reason; he takes Wolf in his arms. Holds him under the water. His own lungs are screaming, but Wolf is breathing easy. He looks up at Genichiro through drawn brows, hurt written across his features. Like a kicked dog, Genichiro thinks. An animal who does not understand. All Genichiro wants is for them both to drift down deep in these wretched, infested waters and never come up again. Close their eyes, and rest.
It is a fantasy. It is a lie.
Genichiro can hold him under the water for eternity, and Wolf will never die. He’ll come up whole, and strong, and follow Genichiro to the ends of the earth. Ashina is gone, and all Genichiro has left are the waters, and Wolf.
Genichiro stops fighting eventually. He lets Wolf pull him up onto the bridge and sits down with his face in his hands. There is no point in running.
If the gods are real, then Wolf is one of them now.
If they are real, then they have abandoned Genichiro.
There must be something broken in Genichiro, that Wolf’s love for him has turned into this, but it is too late now. He stands up and staggers towards the castle.
Wolf follows after him, as Genichiro knew he would.
-
Winter comes in earnest. It has always had teeth in Ashina, and now is no different. Snow creeps in through holes in the walls and ceilings of the castle, piling up in the hallways. It drifts in the air, settles on scorched stone. There are still bloodstains here and there, painting the stairs in faded red. Where the snow can’t reach, dust has gathered.
The castle is too big to keep warm, but there is always a fire burning in Genichiro’s rooms. Wolf stokes it, and feeds it. The fire in his hearth.
The fire in Genichiro.
Wolf brings him meat and rice and persimmons; feeds him by hand. Brings him bottles of sake he’s found forgotten among Ashina’s ruins. If the Ministry comes again, Genichiro never sees them. There is a demon protecting Ashina now, and he does not need to rest to keep it safe.
Wolf comes to Genichiro with bloody hands and hungry eyes. He waits, and watches. Sometimes Genichiro reaches for him, and pulls him close.
Sometimes, he does not.
Sometimes there is a fury in him, and he looks at Wolf, and wishes he was dead all over again. Ashina is full of bones. Made of ash. But Wolf will wait forever, and there is no one else. He lays back and lets Wolf kiss him. Lets Wolf take him. It is the only time he is truly warm.
He tucks his mouth into Wolf’s throat and shakes, I love you, I love you.
Genichiro hates him, too, but all he has left of Ashina is Wolf, and this.