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Izana gazes down from his palace in the heavens, arms crossed and leaning against the railing of his balcony. He has a magnificent view of the mortal world and the brewing war between two territories in the Southern part of the Mainland—those of the Southeast, Kodo Rengo under the agile yet graceful, Imaushi Wakasa; and those of the Southwest, Ragnarok under the fierce Arashi Keizo.
Before they even came to be, the South was divided into twelve separate territories, two of which emerged to be the strongest of the lot. Kodo Rengo and Ragnarok then took control of six territories each on their respective sides in the South, and now, the gradually rising tension between these two powers have finally come to a tipping point.
Normally, Izana would stay in the halls of the Heavens and sit with the other gods to watch such a marvelous display of human greed and violence. But it wouldn’t be fun if he couldn't stir up some trouble, and Shinichiro, the King of all the Gods, had already warned him against doing so.
There are times when Izana would try to push against whatever Shinichiro is ordering him to do. Especially when it has something to do with war, his own arena.
Yet this time, remembering Shinichiro and the serious look in his eyes, Izana stands down and merely nods his head and bows, “Of course. As you wish, my Lord.”
It is only when he reached his palace that Izana realized that Shinichiro claimed the two soldiers as his own, which made Izana sulk like a child deprived of his sweets as he sat on his throne.
That brings him here, to his own palace, watching the war begin. He would’ve enjoyed the spectacle even more if he could meddle, but he couldn't, stuck with a bowl of fruits and a cup of wine, not even in the mood for some nectar or ambrosia.
He feels the wind around him grow ice-cold, chilling golden skin under the thin, silk material of his crimson robes.
Izana sighs heavily, remaining unbothered with the sudden drop in temperature. He just pillows his cheek on his palm and without turning around, he says, “This war is boring.”
He hears three snickering sounds behind him, the laughter bouncing against his wall and sounding hollow like it came from the depths of the underworld, void of life and warmth. It is eerie and it cuts through the gentle golden light of the palace of War, the candles snuffed out and the chandelier flickering as if it can’t decide whether to remain open or not.
In the presence of the twin Shadows of Dream and their brother Death, no light and no warmth is an equal match for the mere darkness and coldness that they exude. They belong to the cemetery more than the Heavens, if Izana is being honest, but his Palace welcomes Death and his brothers, the three of them allies with War since the very beginning of their existence.
“Feeling restless, my Lord?” Ran asks him. Even without looking, Izana could see the lax smile on his face, his dark yet glowing purple orbs dancing with amusement under his heavy-lidded gaze.
“We can spice it up for you if you want,” Rindou pipes up next. Izana just knows there is a sadistic grin on his face, a neat row of claw-like teeth on show. When he turns to face them, intrigued and excited, he is proven right.
“Shinichiro didn't put out an order that we can’t,” Rindou adds with a shrug, but the grin is still on his face and like his brother, his eyes glow an eerie shade of purple.
“We are not under his jurisdiction and everyone knows that he can’t just barge in the Underworld without risking the fragile peace between the three realms.”
Izana taps his pointer finger on his chin, pretending to be contemplative. But then he smiles, walks near them and says, “Well, they can’t point their fingers at me as well. I don’t have jurisdiction in your realm just like Shinichiro, after all.”
He stops in front of Ran, lightly tracing the rectangular mark on the length of his throat with the tip of his finger before he looks up at him, lavender meeting deep purple, “Am I right?”
The side of Ran’s mouth quirks up in a smile, a hint of his razor-sharp teeth showing as he huffs out a laugh. Then, he tips Izana’s chin upwards and lets their lips lightly brush against one another, death-cold against the gentle sun-like warmth, catching Izana’s lower lip between his teeth as he pulls away.
Izana tastes the tangy taste of his blood as he licks his lips, the sharp of Ran’s teeth catching on his skin. He grins at him before he looks at Rindou, who is watching them with interest and hunger. He tenderly cups his face and tells him, “Go have fun for me, you two.”
Rindou never passes off an opportunity to wreak havoc in the mortal world, so with a nod, he holds onto Ran’s arm and the both of them disappear as quickly and easily as they appeared in the palace of the God of War.
With them gone, Izana turns his attention to the one they left behind and the smile is never gone on his face as he prowls closer to him.
Death towers War for more than a few inches. Izana would look up at him to meet his eyes and Shuji would tip his head down to do the same, but it never felt disrespectful or belittling.
“And,” Izana begins, keeping his hands behind his back even when they itch to pull off the black robe that shades the entirety of Death’s form to him.
“What brings you here, Shuji?”
Death beams at him, no claw-like teeth at all, but it is cold and dangerous all the same, just like his brothers’.
“I’m here to provide ample entertainment, my Lord.”
Izana raised an eyebrow, intrigued and knowing where this is going but pretending not to, “And how will you do that, if I may ask? Especially when you have a job in the mortal realm just like your brothers do.”
Shuji reaches out and bravely puts his hands on the War God’s waist, Sin and Punishment stark against the deep red of his robes. Izana has to bite his lower lip to keep in the gasp that threatened to escape when Shuji pulled him close, their bodies flushed against each other and the itch to touch him only intensified.
“I have subjects who can temporarily attend to matters that would normally require my attention,” he answers, thumbs rubbing at the planes of Izana’s stomach through his robes in such a slow and sensual manner that is almost enough to make him squirm.
“Allow me to be in your service today.”
Shuji leans down and whispers to his ear, “You can order me around if you want. Your pleasure is mine, my Lord.”
Izana couldn’t help but grin to himself, his mind supplying him with vivid images of years past that never failed to make his blood boil and his whole body burn hot as if a fire was lit up under his skin.
“Very well, then,” he answers, taking a step back and breaking all points of contact between them. He manages to keep his voice steady and maintain his composure, but the grin on Shuji’s voice just widens, as if he knows just what kind of effect he has on Izana and he seems satisfied by it.
Izana won’t deny it, but he wouldn’t admit it either. There is some sort of thrill in the way Shuji readily forfeits his power to him for even just a moment. There is a thrill in the way Shuji’s steps fall next to his in a tensed, electricity-laced silence as they make their way up Izana’s throne.
There is a thrill in the way Shuji looks at him, his molten gold eyes different from his brothers’ deep purple ones but they are just as hungry as he gazes at Izana and the way a pair of warm lips kissed the skin of his sternum where a mark identical to Ran’s is tattooed.
Izana sits himself on Shuji’s lap, acting like he belongs there, tracing the rectangular mark on Shuji’s sternum and remembering how it came to be.
He was seated on his lap too, just like this, dripping wet between his thighs as Shuji stretched him wide open. There is a knife in his hand as he leaned down, the sharp and pointed tip of the Stygian Iron blade pressing against Shuji’s sternum hard enough to break pale skin and taint it with the golden ichor of his blood.
There is also something thrilling about that, about touching Death so intimately that he allows you to mark him forever as a blatant sign of ownership. About putting a knife to Death’s chest, the same blade that Shuji crafted for him in the depths of the Underworld and offered to him as a gift, and using it to cut his skin open. Let Izana’s blade absorb part of his immortal, godly essence as his own version of trust.
By nature and by law, Izana doesn’t have direct power and authority over the Realm of the Underworld, but there are no universal laws about War marking Death and making him his own, so Shuji freely gave Izana the reins. So did Ran and so did Rindou.
Izana caresses his mark with the pad of his thumb before he slides his palm up Shuji’s chest, fingers skittering on his collar bones before it reaches his neck. Then, his fingers close around his throat, pressing down lightly and almost threateningly but the grin on Shuji’s face remains intact.
“You’re going to sit still, Shuji,” he says, dangerously sweet like poison. Shuji knows better than to cross War, even if he is just as strong as Izana is.
“We don’t want to disrupt a perfectly good show now do we?”
Shuji shakes his head and obediently answers, “Of course not, my Lord.”
“Good. Very good,” Izana praises before giving Shuji a sweet and tender kiss on the lips. Once, twice. Tipping his head back as he rises on his knees so he could tower over Death and take control of the way their mouths rhythmically danced, tongues brushing against each other in a coordinated and perfected manner.
Izana pulls back and stands, untying his robes and baring himself in front of Death. He keeps his gaze on Shuji as he lets them fall on a heap on the ground, the crimson silk looking like a pool of blood by their feet.
He turns his back on him and sits back on his lap, pulls Shuji’s hand so Sin and Punishment could hold him again by the waist, pull him closer so his back is flushed against Shuji’s chest.
An erect cock pressed against the cleft of his ass, making Izana moan as he reached behind him and took Shuji in his hand. He stands with his knees on either side of Shuji’s thighs and positions his cock in front of his hole, letting the tip trace his rim before he slowly sinks down on him.
Twin gasps sounded when Shuji bottoms out inside him and Izana could feel the pads of Shuji’s fingers digging on the skin of his waist, likely trying to hold himself back from making Izana bounce on his lap and fuck himself on his cock.
It makes Izana smile, feeling so drunk and delirious like he always does when Shuji allows Izana power over himself.
Izana leans his head back on Shuji’s shoulder with a sigh and gently cards his fingers in his hair. Meanwhile, Shuji’s face is buried in his neck, and he can feel air brushing his skin whenever Shuji lets out an exhale as he tries to calm himself.
He could hear the sounds of fighting from the apparition that plays from a fountain in Izana’s throne room, but it was ignored in favor of revering the God before him.
Shuji runs his palms all over his body—from his glorious thighs to the taper of his waist. He brushes his fingers on the length of his hard cock, dripping against his stomach and feels Izana jump slightly at the sudden stimulation before he melts into Shuji’s hold once again, wrapping his hand around Shuji’s to encourage him to keep on touching him there.
And he does, slides his fist up and down Izana’s cock, small enough to fit inside his palm. The tip peeks out every now and then when Shuji reaches the bottom, rubbing his thumb on the head as he kisses the area below Izana’s ear. It would reward him with a shaky and breathy moan, Izana’s eyes fluttering close as his whole body relaxes in Shuji’s lap.
Deft fingers find the War God’s chest, rolling and pinching on his sensitive and erect nubs. Every kiss from Death and every bite, every revering touch makes War clench around him beautifully that Shuji always, always, has to keep himself in check so he wouldn’t just press Izana against the nearest wall and fuck into him hard and fast.
Death thinks that the War God is the most beautiful in his pleasurable undoing and Shuji takes great pride in that, just as much as Izana does in stripping the power off him and using it to bring Shuji on his knees in front of him.
Affairs between immortal beings aren’t new or strange. Shuji had his fair share, having been around for millenia, but nothing could ever compare to the carnal desire that overtakes him when Izana is around, it is almost enough to make him feel alive and human, both of which he is not.
It doesn’t help that his brothers share the same feeling, the same desire and hunger, which only amplifies his and heavens forbid that Izana would step inside the Palace of Death once again because Shuji wouldn’t be able to stop himself from letting his greed and lust consume him.
“Shuji,” Izana calls for him, his voice so enthralling that it is almost like it was the voice of a siren. Sweet and tempting, like an apple from the forbidden tree being swung right in front of his eyes.
And Shuji, he is a sinner and never a saint. He basks in the ruins of war and life, and he takes and he takes and he takes.
So he plucks that apple from the tree, because he is Death and not even morals could cage him in. Not even Death is powerful enough to resist temptation, especially when the said temptation is already offering themselves to you in a platter of gold and crimson.
“Go on,” Izana encourages. “Take.”
And Death was never one to hold back.
“Pardon me, my Lord,” was what Shuji uttered before he lifted Izana by the waist as he stood and let the War God sit on his throne. Shuji manhandles him, pulling him down a bit by the thighs and folding him in half before he slides inside Izana and his tight wet heat, both of them groaning as he bottoms out, the juts of his hips pressing against the meat of the War God’s thighs.
Shuji thrusts into him hard and fast and almost violently enough that it shakes the throne off its hinges. Izana throws his head back and screams, drowning out the sounds of the war happening behind them as he tightens around Shuji, making him stutter as their orgasm quickly washes over them in unison.
But that doesn’t stop them. Even when their chests heave as they catch their breaths, they don’t let one orgasm stop them. Shuji carries him to his chambers, lays him down in his crimson silk sheets.
Then, he takes more.
*****
Post-coital bliss would sometimes have Shuji curling up on his side, head resting against his chest while Izana plays with the small hairs on his nape. He would purr like a big cat, before he would once again pay attention to the parts of Izana’s body that are sensitive, something Izana has the inkling that Death already knew and memorized.
This time though, Izana lies on his side and lets Shuji hold him from behind, even though it was just his arm resting on his waist. He feels Shuji lean in and kiss him on the nape, the act so tender and uncharacteristically gentle that Izana ignored the coldness of Death that almost made him shudder.
Although he thinks that it is anything but the coldness that did that.
“Don’t go soft on me now,” Izana reproaches playfully, although if Shuji does listen in closely, he could hear the underlying fondness in his tone.
Shuji snorts at that and then Izana feels him lift his thigh, sliding himself back inside him. Izana sighs into the pillow under his head, fingers gripping the sheets below him as he feels Shuji give one hard thrust that almost made him let out a loud moan.
He hears the familiar eerie chuckle of Death right next to his ear, but Izana is never one to cower in fear in front of him.
“Never, my Lord,” he says and it sounds like a promise.
Izana was pushed to lie on his stomach as he bears the weight of Shuji behind him, moans muffled into the pillow below his head as he feels every slow yet pointed thrust, Shuji filling him up in the most perfect of ways.
Cold fingers take the War God’s hand and lead him in a dance of life and death. Shuji cloaks him with his presence and even when Izana knows that Death only ever takes, he has never felt so powerful in his entire existence and dare he say it, alive, as much as he does right now.
The lamps lit up the room and bathed it in a gentle orange glow, but despite the aura of Death that makes the air turn ice-cold, Izana could only ever feel warmth, pressed close against Shuji’s chest as he is filled up again and again and again.