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Chapter Text

Lord Minamoto-no-Hiromasa, third rank, former imperial prince and currently dressed in his shabbiest robes, dithered in front of the brothel.

He’d been doing that for the last quarter of an hour or so, and it was starting to dawn on him that he was being ridiculous, which did nothing to improve his mood. So he decisively shook his hands out of his sleeves, straightened up, strode in the direction of the unassuming building across the road… and turned on his heel back into the deep shadow of the sprawling willow. He resolutely pretended that the snigger from a passing merrymaker had nothing to do with him.

It wasn’t as if he was going to see something he’d never seen before, he scolded himself, and if he had to be honest, he’d always wondered what exactly went on in places like that one. Takemaru obviously wasn’t coming back, so what else was he to do? That’s right, there was nothing else to do, and so there he was.

But now that he was there, he was suddenly terribly conscious of how his clothes seemed to scream ‘dressed-down nobleman pretending too hard to be seventh rank’, how much gold and not enough sword he was carrying, and… and just how much he had never done anything like this before.

Across the road, the very plain sign that simply read Ugetsu-ya was almost lost in the hot and humid evening dusk now, but it still managed to stare at him in silent mockery and judgment. Possibly of his manliness. He glared back at it, huffed like an affronted ox, adjusted his hat decisively and stomped towards it again.

This time, he managed to get all the way to the front doors, right on the tail of a party of probably-noblemen, albeit of the sort who would normally need his permission to so much as look directly at him. But nevermind - they were a psychological way in, and took the staff’s attention away from him with their bustle.

In the anteroom, he took his time with his light straw sandals, and by the time he was ready to go into the main hall, he was all alone. Gentle koto music carried from that direction, together with a waft of reasonably high-quality incense, and it should have been soothing, but it wasn’t. Not really.

And yet, he took a deep breath and slid open the door. There was the hall behind it, and in the middle of it was a raised dais…

On it sat the most beautiful man Hiromasa had ever seen in his life.

He stopped at the door, and felt his eyes widen and his breath catch in his chest. 

He blinked, and even shook his head a little, half-expecting the vision to have been a trick of the lantern light - so incongruous was such beauty in such a place. But no, there he was, made of flesh, blood and temptation. Hiromasa suddenly forgot what he was even doing there, and just stood looking at him.

The man wasn’t even… underdressed, or painted, or even doing anything provocative. He simply sat next to the koto player, relaxed, one hand propped on his raised knee and absently toying with a closed fan. He was dressed like a nobleman, his robes made of good quality silk, and as perfectly prim and proper as if the man was about to dine with a minister. The only concession to the Ugetsu-ya’s trade was the fact that he lacked the outermost layer to his clothes.

Hiromasa was halfway to the dais before he was even conscious of what he was doing. He had no idea how this place worked. He had no idea who could be watching from the labyrinth of standing screens and gauzy curtains surrounding the dais on all sides.

All he could see were the breathtaking fox-like eyes that turned to him with mild curiosity as he advanced. The quick once-over under long eyelashes that seemed to take his measure made his face feel hot in a way that the boldest courtly advances hadn’t done in many long years.

And then his toes painfully connected with the dais and he almost collapsed on top of the pair of them. The koto player didn’t even seem to notice him, and the man looked at him with just as much interest as if he was a moth fluttering around the lanterns illuminating the scene.

“Good evening. Er. What do I call you?” came out of Hiromasa’s mouth, with all the grace of a fifteen-year-old drunk page pawing at a lady’s skirts, and he immediately wished he had never left his lovely willow, or even better, his home.

“Is it not customary to introduce oneself first, my lord?” the man said mildly, cocking his head just a bit to look up at him.

“Er…” Hiromasa replied intelligently. What kind of voice was that for a man this delicate and exquisite? It was low, deep, as melodious as the finest musical instruments at court. It made the night feel too sultry, even for the middle of summer, and Hiromasa’s hand almost reached to undo his outer robes.

“Ah, shall I guess then?” The man’s eyes flashed in the awkward silence, and he assumed an expression of deep consideration. The fan tapped against a full, perfectly bare lower lip the color of peonies and blood.

Hiromasa started to protest, not wanting him to think that he was trying to play at being mysterious, but the man beat him to it.

“Lord Minamoto, third rank.” It was said with perfect confidence. “Could have been emperor, but for cruel intrigue and political machinations. Has a great city estate.”

The blood turned cold in Hiromasa’s veins. 

He wanted to grab for the sword he didn’t carry, but all he could do was stare at the man he was certain he had never met before in his life, and yet… How was it possible… Did he know…

The placid, almost solemn expression of the man broke with the first gush of a deep, full-chested laugh. The fan, indigo and gold, snapped open just in time to hide everything below his sparkling eyes, but his shoulders shook gently, and the laughter rang through the entire hall. The woman at the koto next to him giggled charmingly as she played, and ghosts of answering laughter carried from behind shadowed screens and curtains. 

Hiromasa swirled around, bewildered and with a thudding heart.

“All of them are, my lord,” the man said behind his fan, voice alive with amusement. At Hiromasa’s confused glare, he clarified, “All of the men who come to places like this say they are Minamoto princes of the highest rank and distinction, just as they are all bursting with tales of their very sizeable…”

Hiromasa’s eyes widened in horror of a completely different sort.

“...city estates,” the man finished demurely and folded the fan away with a gesture worthy of the finest palace dancer. With the exception of his eyes, his expression was back to its perfect placidity, unlike Hiromasa’s, whose face, he felt sure, burned like a beacon.

This wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t. He summoned every shred of haughtiness his bloodline and breeding afforded him, pulled himself up, reached into his clothes, and tossed a large golden token in front of the lounging man.

“I’m buying you,” he announced, relieved at how cold and unperturbed he managed to make it sound. “This ought to be more than enough.”

The man, perfectly undisturbed, regarded the gold where it had dropped heavily on the tatami, but didn’t make even the slightest move to touch it.

“It will have to do,” he said at length, toying with his fan. “Alright then, so be it.”

Hiromasa pursed his lips at the suggestion that such an amount of gold merely ‘will have to do,’ or that the man had any actual say in the transaction, but he held his mouth closed. He had already made enough of a fool of himself.

The man’s eyes traveled languidly up Hiromasa’s entire body while someone, probably the owner, hurried over to them, bowing and saying something he didn’t pay attention to. The brazenness of the look made him bristle and preen in equal measures, and then it also made him angry at himself for preening.

He tried to look down his nose at the man, but instead their gazes met and locked on each other, neither willing to look away first. This time, despite the otherwise cool and polite exterior of the mysterious man, there was a predatory glint below his long eyelashes and something in his slow smile put Hiromasa in mind of a wild animal that had just smelled blood.

Hiromasa shivered, helpless to loosen the knot of anticipation in his belly, but not above admitting its existence to himself. This was going to be a strange night, and he just hoped he wasn’t in over his head.

His guide, an eerily beautiful woman who had introduced herself as Shirabikuni, led him up a discreet flight of stairs, and then down a very dimly lit corridor to a set of thick double doors splendidly painted with a cockfighting scene. She bowed, ushered him in, and then shut the door in his face without a word.

It made Hiromasa feel distinctly like one of the painted cockerels that had just been tossed into the cage of a fox, and when he turned around, it was with a gulp.

The cage, that is, the room, was actually quite well-appointed. It smelled of fresh tatami and surprisingly high-quality incense, and the light of bronze lanterns caused interlocking shadows to play over standing screens painted with understated scenery. In the depths of the room to the right, there was a suggestion of mosquito nets, and thus that’s where the bed had to be, but the screens mercifully hid it from view. All in all, Hiromasa had been in worse boudoirs at the palace, he concluded with approval.

“It must be true what they say of noblemen of high rank, then,” a low, amused voice said, and Hiromasa jumped out of his skin and almost knocked over the nearest screen.

“What do they say?” he asked, bewildered, popping from behind the unfortunate screen to look down at the demurely kneeling man.

“That the interior of their lovers’ chambers causes them much more excitement than the interior of his or her nightclothes,” the man informed him from behind his fan, patterned like summer storms.

Hiromasa felt that even if he explained how that was, in fact, a sign of refinement and not funny at all, the man might not take that very seriously. So instead, he just glared silently down at him, still safely half-hidden behind the screen.

“You’re not my lover,” he said, wondering where his earlier hauteur had gone off to.

“Oh, my lord, but just wait until you see how elegant my handwriting is,” the man took another jab at him, fox-like eyes sparkling.

Hiromasa bit his tongue once again. He could just picture the obnoxious smirk that had to be hiding behind that fan, and that was what finally goaded him into stepping inside the nest of soft light and elegant trailing curtains that the man sat in, waiting for him. Hiromasa crossed his ankles and sank down facing him.

The man gave him a mildly worrying encouraging look and uncorked a plump jar of sake, pouring it into two cups on an elegant bamboo tray. The smell tickled Hiromasa’s nose, and he was glad to receive one cup - it was just what he needed to steady his nerves. After a silent, simple toast, he was also happy to discover that the sake was very, very good. He even allowed himself a contented smile.

“Ah!” It escaped him before he could stop himself. 

There was a butterfly in the room, and it had just landed on the man’s hat. It flittered its wings a few times like tiny azure fans and settled there.

“That would be Mitsumushi,” the man said. “Please, don’t pay her any attention.”

“She’s your pet?” Hiromasa blinked in surprise.

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” the man waved a hand, sounding almost affronted. “She’s perfectly free to go anywhere and do anything she likes. She simply happens to like being around me, and I enjoy her company in turn. That’s all.”

“You talk about her as if she’s more than a butterfly.”

“I just generally find this a very good way to conduct relationships, with butterflies or otherwise,” the man smiled softly. 

It was the first genuine smile Hiromasa had seen on him, and it was breathtaking. As light as it was, it seemed to illuminate his entire face, to breathe life into its ivory perfection, to make tiny crow’s feet appear next to the fox eyes. With some shock, Hiromasa realized that he was looking at the face of a man who laughed often, and who smiled sincerely. It made him want to draw out more such smiles.

And then he remembered himself and the reason he was there. His now empty sake cup clacked sharply on its tray when he set it down, and he scowled.

“I didn’t come here to drink sake and talk about butterflies,” he said, tucking his hands in his sleeves.

“I’m aware,” the man said, the old teasing amusement tinting the smile, and he elegantly slid closer to pour more sake for him.

It smelled very good. And he was confident that he could drink anyone under the table, so it’s not like he was in any danger if he had just a bit more before he got to what he had come here for. He had probably paid for that sake anyway, he reasoned, and snuck out one hand to take a sip.

“In that case, my lord, what would you like to do to me tonight?” the man asked conversationally, and Hiromasa’s sip promptly went down the wrong way.

“My, my. A first-time visitor, is it?” the man asked just as conversationally as he daintily handed him a handkerchief and calmly watched him choke and try to catch his breath.

“Y-you can’t just go and spring that on a man out of nowhere! What kind of professional are you!?” Hiromasa protested behind the handkerchief, sincerely hoping that the flush of his face would be attributed to the coughing, and not to the parade of things he could do to him that had manifested in his mind’s eye at the question.

“Should I send you a letter with a poem about stately pines instead, my lord?” the man asked with a whiff of mountain cold.

“What you should do is… is…” Hiromasa belatedly realized that he had no idea what a man in his line of work should actually do. “You should figure it out! That’s part of your job, isn’t it!?”

“Oh goodness, if it isn’t an actual prince we have here,” the fan snapped open again. Hiromasa was learning to dread the sight of it. “Expecting someone else to do all the work, and not willing to so much as articulate his desires clearly.”

“Hey! That’s not true at all!”

“Is it not?” The man’s eyebrows delicately twitched with breathtaking arrogance. “Then tell me, my lord, why are you here?”

The question instantly cooled Hiromasa’s rising temper and made him cautious. It sounded a bit too much as if the man knew the answer. And if he did, of which Hiromasa felt fairly certain, he had to get him to talk about it…

“I came because a friend of mine comes here,” he said, carefully rearranging his sleeves, and it wasn’t untrue. “Lord Takemaru. I think you know him, don’t you?”

“I do not,” the man shook his head, and Hiromasa thought he detected interest in his voice. Which probably meant that he was lying.

“Of course, I understand that you can’t talk about other clients. But…”

“And I understand that your lordship is… hesitant to discuss these matters frankly,“ the man said, with more attentiveness than he’d shown him the entire evening. “But surely, you can at least tell me which aspect of this establishment made it popular with your friend. What did he recommend it for?”

“Well. I mean.” Hiromasa blinked. It had never occurred to him to ask what was special about the Ugetsu-ya. “Apparently, it’s generally a good place.”

“Good for what?”

“Er. The obvious?”

“Which is?”

Hiromasa knew that he was way in over his head. He could practically feel the currents rushing over him. He didn’t have the first idea what the man was driving at, and he knew he was woefully bad at dodging, so there was nothing for it, really.

“Men,” he said, waving a sleeve vaguely in the other’s direction.

“Men,” the man repeated.

Hiromasa shrugged, completely lost at sea now. Distantly, he felt amazed at himself for managing to lose the initiative every single time to this man.

And in order to make the humiliation complete, the man’s shoulders shook gently, and once again, he was laughing at him behind the dreaded stormy fan. Of course he was. Hiromasa emptied his entire cup in one gulp and grabbed the sake jar with a glare, pouring for himself, and only for himself.

“What’s so funny? You’re a man, aren’t you?” he asked, and wanted to kick himself for how petulant it came out. Damn that man, this was all his fault, somehow.

“You don’t have the first idea what this place is, do you?” the man returned the question, voice still brimming with amusement.

“So why don’t you tell me?”

“I think you should go home, my lord, and stay away from here for the foreseeable future. I’ll tell Shirabikuni to reimburse you on your way out,” the man said mildly, folding the fan down. He even had the gall to sound outright… kindly. Patronizing.

“No, I want you to tell me,” Hiromasa said sharply. “You can also tell me what you did with lord Takemaru, while you’re at it.”

“I believe I told you that I do not know him,” the man’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

“A lover, is he?” the beginnings of a cocky smile crept at the corners of the red lips.

“I said he’s a friend. And I’m sure that you must know what’s happened to him.”

“Then he is a friend who lied to you, my lord,” the man said, the infuriating smile reaching full bloom. “Go home. Forget all about the Ugetsu-ya. There’s nothing you can do here, other than walk blindly into things you do not understand and endanger yourself and others.”

“And what are you, then?” 

“Pardon?”

“Why don’t you lie to me too, like you say he did? It would be easy,” Hiromasa said with a glare and his hands tightened into fists in his sleeves. “Who are you, if you’d neither lie to me, nor tell me the truth?”

“Shame on you, my lord.” The smile turned sharp, and the blood-red lips revealed just a hint of glinting teeth like fangs. “You should know better than to look for the truth in a place like this.”

It did things to Hiromasa, that predatory smile. It unbalanced him.

“I might, if I knew what ‘a place like this’ even is. So there. Tell me.”

Bright black eyes like precious stones regarded him from deepening, curling shadows as a breeze stirred the standing curtains and the embers of the bronze lanterns. 

“Is that so. Let me show you, then,” the man said and rose to his feet. The butterfly on his hat flapped its wings and fled into the deep darkness beyond the screens.

Hiromasa’s heartbeat picked up, but he didn’t move. The fox-like eyes never left his even for a second, keeping him suspended in a moment of indecision between pushing the insufferable man away and asking after his friend again, or… or giving in and finding out firsthand whatever it was that those red lips would reveal. He knew which one he wanted, of course, but that wasn’t what he had come here to do.

Before he could make up his mind, the man sank to his knees right next to him, thigh brushing against his through their too-thin summer silks, close enough for Hiromasa to feel his heat and even his scent under the expensive incense, all the more so as he leaned in, chest almost touching Hiromasa’s, and oh, he smelled so good…

“Now think of what you really want from me, my lord,” the low voice purred right next to his ear, hot breath tickling the slightly damp, sensitive skin on Hiromasa’s neck. One arm looped below Hiromasa’s, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw two fingers come up to the red lips.

None of that really registered, however, because the man had leaned in to his shoulder and that revealed his neck, his graceful, vulnerable throat with the prominent Adam’s apple, with the slightest sheen of fresh summer perspiration on the soft skin… just there, ready for Hiromasa to taste it.

All of it seemed to daze him, intoxicate him more than the sake had done. There was a murmur below his ear that he couldn’t understand and his arms felt heavy as he tried to raise them and return the embrace of the man. His whole body felt heavy, really, even his eyelids. He closed them and breathed in the tantalizing scent. It wasn’t necessary or even polite to see a lover, of course, but he had wanted so much to look at the man as he… as they…

The world was spinning. Firm hands held him up when he couldn’t do it himself anymore, and he felt terribly sleepy as he leaned into an anchoring firmness. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t asleep and all of this wasn’t some sort of fantastical dream, after all. 

But no, that scent was real, and better than anything he had ever dreamed up. It stirred instincts that usually lay slumbering somewhere deep beneath the courtly veneer, and they were what he followed when he turned and planted the gentlest kiss he was capable of against a soft throat pulsating with heat just beneath his lips.

He thought he heard the whisper of a moan, little more than a breathless gasp, before the world tilted sideways and he sank into a warm, dark abyss. The last thing he felt were strong hands carefully laying him down, and then the lonely sensation that they had left him…

Chapter Text

Hiromasa opened his eyes to a bright light filtering through standing curtains and to the hushed exchanges of servants going about their duties. It took him a few long moments of tracing with his eyes the drawings on the screens around him to realize that those were his screens, his servants and he was, in fact, in his own bedroll.

It took him another few long moments of peaceful morning hush and hum of insects in the distance before he remembered why that seemed surprising.

He rolled over and reached to the clothes by his bedside, rummaging for his flute. It was there, and he held on to it as he pushed himself up, expecting the effects of last night to hit him like a tidal wave.

After yet another long moment, he discovered that his body felt rested and his head - perfectly clear. He took a deep breath, tucked the flute into the sash of the underrobe he was dressed in, and got up.

He was up early enough, in fact, to join his mother for breakfast in her own wing of the estate, at her request. Unsurprisingly, she was cross with him.

“Son,” she said, eventually, and her voice was icy enough to cool the rising heat of the summer morning, “I understand that you are a grown man, and also unmarried, and it is long past the time when I could tell you how to live your life. However, to have to see your lover’s servants bring you home last night, in their own cart no less, passed out drunk! I was shocked!”

“Ah. That. You didn’t recognize the cart, then?”

“No, and neither do I wish to know whose it was,” she shook her head. “That is not the point. I worry about you, son. What has happened?”

Hiromasa smiled and apologized as many times as necessary, but told her nothing more. After breakfast, he changed into some of his better summer clothes, complete with his ceremonial sword, then called for a horse to be saddled and went out.

The blessed silence of the insects after the end of the long and intense day was a welcome reprieve for Hiromasa as he strode towards the Ugetsu-ya that same evening. He entered right in this time, toed out of his clogs with the barest of nods to the usher, and threw open the doors of the main hall.

He walked straight up to the dais, ignoring the narrowing eyes of the man lounging on it, and nodded as politely as he managed to.

“I’m designating you again,” he announced.

“I refuse,” the man shot right back at him with a cold finality.

“I just want to talk to you, that’s all,” Hiromasa said, trying to remain calm and conciliatory. To make his point, he tossed a large gold token on the mat.

“Go away, your lordship. Or I will have the guards throw you out,” the man dared to order him, in a tone that even the emperor didn’t take with him. 

Hiromasa grabbed his ceremonial sword and stuck its splendidly gilded hilt under the man’s already arrogantly raised chin. The three autumn bellflowers and the bamboo of the Minamoto family crest were there in gold, as well as his rank.

“The thing is,” Hiromasa lowered his voice and leaned in, “I really am what all those other men just claim to be, and if you don’t want the entirety of the palace guard here, you will take my gold, Haruakira.”

The man remained completely still, only his red lips parting almost imperceptibly as the sword held his chin up. Bright eyes burning like living coals bore into his own.

Hiromasa came to his senses and snatched away the sword.

He stepped hurriedly away with a murmured apology which was drowned in the commotion of owner, guards and guests rushing in to the aid of the startled koto player and to break up the scene he’d caused.

The man stopped them all with a simple gesture, rose to his feet, and left the dais with only a look exchanged with the woman Shirabikuni.

Even though the room with the cockfighting doors looked exactly like the previous night, it felt darker, somehow, and instead of the light spot nested between the standing screens and curtains, Hiromasa’s eyes were drawn to the deep shadows that encroached it on all sides.

The man sat in the same place again, in a formal position that left no room for body language, and with a blank, shuttered expression on his face. Hiromasa was reminded, out of nowhere, of the exquisite Chinese dolls with perfect faces carved from ivory that he had played with as a child in the palace. Right in that moment, he could have easily believed the man to be one such, brought to life by some ancient and terrible spell.

But he stepped into the circle and sat down in his old spot facing him. He was almost startled when the man moved to pick up the jar of sake, uncorked it and poured two cups with effortless grace. Hiromasa took a deep breath and picked up one cup.

“I listened to you,” he said without preamble. It was a relief to just get to the point. “And you were right, lord Takemaru’s family did lie to me. You see, when I asked why they weren’t worried about his absence, they told me that they didn’t want news to reach his fiancée that he favored men, so much so as to go looking for them… well, here. It’s the last place his servants have seen him.”

The bright eyes looking back at him were attentive, but as opaque as bronze mirrors.

“But I managed to speak privately with the lady today - and she knows and doesn’t care,” Hiromasa said, turning the still full sake cup in his hands. “Theirs is an arranged marriage, obviously, and the lady confided in me that in her opinion, being able to make demands on all of the money and assets of a husband who makes zero demands on her person seems like heaven.”

The ghost of good humor flickered in the corners of the man’s eyes and lips at that, but still, he remained silent.

“So that got me thinking what more of what I knew could be wrong. For example, while I know for a fact that lord Takemaru used to come to the Ugetsu-ya, I started to wonder, was there anywhere else he went, somewhere he wouldn’t tell me about. And so I went to visit a… sometimes lover of his.”

The man’s head cocked slightly to one side.

“And what do you know,” Hiromasa went on, eyebrows rising as he recalled the meeting. “It turned out that lord Takemaru’s family, his older brother, specifically, had been to see him and asked about the Ugetsu-ya by name. Which would be fine, only, when they spoke to me, they pretended they knew nothing of it, and I think… I think they didn’t actually want me to come here, or to look into his disappearance at all.”

Something about the look on the artfully expressionless face made him hurry to add,

“Not that I’m implying anything bad about them, mind you! Their son and brother is missing, and worry can make people act… thoughtlessly.”

One perfect eyebrow delicately crawled up and the look below seemed to become very pointed in Hiromasa’s direction. He gulped all of his sake with a small glare and clacked the cup down.

“Anyway, that man told me that lord Takemaru had been going somewhere else, indeed, but he didn’t know where. What he did know, however, was that some time ago something had happened there. Lord Takemaru had been frightened.”

“Of what?” The man finally spoke and leaned in to pour more sake for him.

Hiromasa shook his head and rubbed his face. He was beginning to feel the effects of the very long day spent in trying to find an answer to that exact question. Despite his best efforts, he had come up empty-handed.

“And you just… went and found out all that today,” the man asked again, taking a sip of his own cup, eyes never leaving Hiromasa’s face.

“I know it’s very little. But I just don’t know what to ask! I don’t know what’s going on,” Hiromasa said, not quite able to hold back the frustration that had been simmering just below the surface all day. “So you see, this is why it’s so important to me to understand what this place is and to hear what you know.”

The man opened his mouth, and Hiromasa plunged on before he could object again, sleeves flapping with the effort to convince him.

“He is lower fourth rank. Sooner or later, word will spread that he’s missing. And then this place will be in trouble, do what anyone might. You don’t want that, do you?” Pleading notes had snuck in his tone, and he did nothing to stifle them. “Neither do I. So please, help me. Tell me the truth. And if there’s anything I can do in return…”

“Slow down now. Drink,” the man made an imperious gesture with his fan that seemed to have appeared out of thin air and then used it to push the sake cup at him. “Why are you even so certain that I have something to do with any of this?”

“Because I know my friend,” Hiromasa said simply. “Nobody can convince me that he walked in here that night and saw someone as stunning as you and then didn’t throw all of his money until he could have you. And he can afford it, too.”

“Oh?” And thus, the old sly look was back in the fox-like eyes. “You think I’m that irresistible?”

Hiromasa blinked in confusion.

“Well. I mean. I have eyes and other organs, you know? You are…” lost for words, he waved a sleeve in the man’s general direction, succinctly illustrating his point.

“Oh, not only eyes, but other organs as well?” The man purred, lights dancing in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. “Let’s take a look then, shall we.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Hiromasa said conversationally and stuck his shieved sword at him before he was even properly standing up.

The man took a surprised step back and looked down at the sword with an almost comically affronted look which filled Hiromasa with quite unworthy of him petty glee.

“I haven’t forgotten what you did last time,” Hiromasa added cheerfully, poking at him with the sword in a shooing motion. “You won’t get to distract me again.”

“You haven’t?” The man’s eyes shot back to him, widening ever so slightly.

“Today, when I woke up, I was convinced that lord Takemaru was back home and… and safe and sound,” Hiromasa explained, choosing to keep the second part of his dream to himself. “Only, of course, he wasn’t, and I was confused, until I realized it had all been just a very vivid dream. I don’t know how you did that, but I haven’t forgotten.”

“Fascinating,” the man murmured and stepped closer.

Hiromasa poked at him again, but the man didn’t step back this time, and so the tip of the sheathed sword came to rest exactly beneath the neat knot of his hakama.

“Goodness. How very… subtle,” The man’s amused voice dipped even lower, and his hand came up to the sword.

He even had the gall to look Hiromasa directly in the eyes while one impossibly elegant long finger slowly slid down the gentle curve of the glistening lacquered shieve towards him.

“And none of that nonsense either, please,” Hiromasa huffed and snatched back the sword, dearly hoping that his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. “It won’t work. And sit down already, will you.”

“‘Nonsense?’” The man’s eyebrows crawled up, but the corners of his red lips looked like he was trying hard to hold back a laugh. He sat back down.

“If you want to change the subject that badly, let’s talk about you, then,” Hiromasa said bluntly. “I asked around, by the way. Your name is Haruakira, isn’t it? Or at least the one you go by here.”

The man, Haruakira, tentatively nodded.

“You’re relatively new, from what I gathered. And already very famous among the local population. Which would be great, only… by the time your popularity rose, something else started to happen as well. Lords started to disappear.”

“Oh, you knew about that, too,” Haruakira breathed, a slow smile spreading on his face.

“I found out today. And…”

“And yet, you’re here?” The smile turned predatory and a cool night breeze through the bronze lanterns made the shadows dance around the two of them. “You and your rank and your fine gold-gilded sword that has probably never seen a day of use are here, all alone, accusing of his own crimes someone you think is a killer or possibly a monster? How foolish are you, your lordship? Do I really resemble nothing to you?”

He did.

In that moment more than ever. Hiromasa would have to be blind not to see it. And the surreal play of the lights and fanning shadows only served to make the man seem as ethereal as the azure butterfly that flitted behind him like a wandering soul searching for its body. The look on his face… it made Hiromasa gulp, but not with the emotion Haruakira probably intended.

“Trying to scare me off won’t work either,” he collected himself and said sincerely. “I woke up in my bed this morning. I could have woken up in a ditch without my flute or my gold, or straight in the Clean Land without my head. And yet, here we are,” he gestured between the two of them in the still shadows.

The man said nothing, face hiding behind his unfolded fan of stormy summer nights, leaving visible only narrowed fox eyes boring into him.

“Look, you’re you. Whatever you may be. I don’t care if you turn into a fox or whatever right in front of my eyes, and neither do I think you’re a killer or a monster,” Hiromasa tried again. “All I meant to say was that if I could find out all that about you, others would too, and you’d become a target. A scapegoat. I do not want that to happen. I merely wish to find my friend, and help you avoid trouble in the process.”

“What is that man to you?” Haruakira asked, fan fluttering like the wings of the butterfly perched on the lip of the sake jar. “Why are you really doing this?”

“He’s a friend. And he’s missing. Isn’t that enough? I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Hiromasa gestured helplessly, sleeves almost knocking over the sake cup.

Haruakira, however, only sent him a deeply disbelieving look over the fan.

“I want you to understand that this is not a game,” he said. “You are third rank. If anything happened to you here, what do you think would then happen to the Ugetsu-ya and everyone working here?”

“Alright,” Hiromasa rubbed his face in his sleeves, trying to be patient. He understood the man’s reluctance. He really did. And he really didn’t know what else to offer in reply but the obvious, so he sighed and decided to just let it all out.

“If you want honesty, here. I’m not doing this just for him. I admit it. I’m also doing it for me. I’m...” He sighed. The sake had to be getting to him. “I’m a prince removed from succession. I have a single mother and a city estate that’s too big for the two of us and a position at court that mostly involves sleeping and looking pretty, and I still manage not to be very good at it.”

Haruakira’s eyes had widened at that, and Hiromasa was painfully aware how utterly pitiful it all was, but if the man wanted so badly to prod into his soul, let him prod. It wasn’t as if any of what he was saying was news to Hiromasa. If it helped them understand each other, then so be it.

“I try to be nice to people, because that’s the only real thing I have to offer. I try to make them get along. I try to be helpful. But at the end of the day, the truth is that I don’t have any useful skills or talents, and in fact, I’m not much good to anyone. So I just… do what I can whenever I can. If I had some chance to help my friend, however slim, and did not take it, I would never be able to live with myself. So there you have it.”

“That’s…” Haruakira whispered after a long moment, then seemed to think better of it and said, “You’re too modest.”

“Well, maybe I have some talents, but definitely not what anyone would call useful. I play the flute well and have affairs,” Hiromasa shrugged charmingly, trying to sound cheerful again. “I’m some good to my lovers, briefly, and to music lovers, too, but it’s hardly the same as saving people at the bureau of medicine or of divination.”

Haruakira’s gaze dropped to his sake cup and after a moment, he folded down the fan to reveal a face without even a trace of pity or mocking on it. The expression was… soft. Just like it had happened with that smile the previous night, when they had talked about the butterfly, Hiromasa was struck with the certainty that he was looking at something utterly genuine and personal. It was a good look on him.

“You’ve mentioned your flute twice now,” Haruakira said eventually. “I’d like you to play it for me.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. I really haven’t heard that one, in my 20-something years of playing it. What did I say about nonsense?” Hiromasa deadpanned, and a low laugh escaped from Haruakira’s red lips. He didn’t bother to conceal it, or the artless smile that accompanied it.

“No, I meant that literally,” he said and looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m curious what kind of music you’d play.”

“Well…” Hiromasa blinked. “If you like, I’ll be happy to.”

“I really do,” Haruakira said, and raised his cup in a toast. Hiromasa returned the gesture.

“Tell you what,” Haruakira went on, “for your honesty, I will also tell you something honestly. Your friend lord Takemaru stopped frequenting this place before I ever arrived here. We have never met. And while he may have favored men, that is not what got him in trouble. Nothing he has done here did, and I am not saying this just to protect the Ugetsu-ya. His lover had the right idea - whatever frightened him at that other place, the one he kept secret from you, must be the key to what happened to him.”

“But how do I find that place? If he kept it a secret from both his lover and me, who would he have told?” Hiromasa made a frustrated gesture. He’d hoped for a bit more than that, if the other would finally talk about it.

“Lower fourth rank, you said?” Haruakira smiled his fox-like smile. “Then he lives surrounded by wide open eyes. Someone knows.”

“Huh? What eyes?”

“You are close, are you not? Then so must be some of your servants. The more loyal his close servants are, the more frightened they are for him right now. Send them one of yours that you trust. Send someone to whoever takes care of the horse or ox that he would have used. If there are any chatty maids, corner one. Recite her a poem. And ideally, think of some excuse to enter his rooms and go through his correspondence. Someone knows.”

“But that’s so…” Hiromasa’s eyes were wide and he hid his face behind his sleeve, worrying his lip.

It all sounded horribly intrusive and underhand and… and he took a deep breath and reminded himself that his personal feelings on the matter were not going to help Takemaru.

“Find out what it was that frightened him, and I will tell you what this place really is,” Haruakira offered, probably taking his silence for unwillingness.

“You promise that?” Hiromasa blinked and jumped at the opportunity.

“Yes.”

“Alright then,” Hiromasa exhaled as a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. These were two entire new paths open in front of him, and one of them was bound to lead somewhere. It had to.

He even smiled as he polished off the rest of his sake in one gulp and then stretched his shoulders before getting up. Haruakira gave a slight answering smile, and his butterfly flitted and settled on his hat. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Hiromasa said as he hooked his sword on his waist and turned to go. Just before he reached the door, though, a pang of guilt made him turn around. “And I’m very sorry for what happened downstairs. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Long day, was it?” Haruakira looked at him carefully, head cocking to one side.

“Yes, in fact. I’m not used to any of this, whatever it is,” Hiromasa gestured vaguely at the situation in general. “But still, I truly do apologize,” he added with a small bow.

“Why don’t you stay and rest a bit, then? This is rather good sake, and we’re already here anyway,” Haruakira shook the softly sloshing sake jar at him. His smile was inviting and friendly. It was a very nice smile.

Hiromasa gulped and hesitated. The day had been long and hot and murky and he needed to get some rest if he was going to do it all again tomorrow. But…

“Play your flute for me,” Haruakira asked.

Hiromasa chuckled, unhooked his sword and returned to his usual spot.

“Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to entertain me?” he joked, accepting a refill of his cup.

“Oh? But do I not?” Perfect eyebrows rose above merrily sparkling fox-like eyes. “Can your lordship honestly complain of even a moment of boredom in my humble company?” 

Hiromasa huffed a laugh and shook his head no.

The last of the tension in his shoulders drained away when he toasted the other, and so he took out his flute, already considering which melody would be best suited. What sort of music would Haruakira like, he wondered.

“Ah…”

“Hm? Is something the matter?” Hiromasa asked, flute already halfway to his lips.

“No.” The fan snapped open before Hiromasa could read his expression, but he thought Haruakira had looked surprised. “No, nothing at all. Please, let me hear you play.”

Hiromasa let it go. He already had enough mysteries on his hands as it were, and so he concentrated on his music instead and allowed the world to fade away for a while.

Later, there was more sake, and more music, and fresh evening coolness coming in, and fantastical kaidan that Haruakira told, and spicy stories of noblemen from around the palace that Hiromasa told, and laughter, and an azure butterfly that came and settled on his hat this time and refused to leave.

When Hiromasa left the Ugetsu-ya late into the night, the stars were resplendent high above him. He took a moment to look up at them. How strange, he could have sworn that where there had been two stars right by the moon just last night, there was only one now. 

But nevermind that, the song of the crickets was both happy and soothing, and he found that he could now breathe a lot more freely the air imbued with the distant scent of summer flowers. Even though he was tired and tipsy, he felt a lot more like himself.

And on his hat was a butterfly.

Chapter Text

When Hiromasa arrived that night, it was already late and the Ugetsu-ya had filled up, if the amount of shoes in the front room was anything to go by. The music also sounded different, he noted distantly, as he greeted the usher politely and made his way to the doors of the main hall.

He opened them and stood still.

Haruakira was dancing, alone on the dais.

It was nothing scandalous, or even all that complicated, and in fact, after a breathless moment, Hiromasa recognized it to be a variation of the court dances, performed with a fan. 

However, the way the man moved, the sheer measured power and effortless grace of even the smallest gestures, all the way to his fingertips and the tremble of the fan - it all left Hiromasa transfixed at the door. He had never much enjoyed song and dance before, but then again, he had never seen a court performer dance like this. It was otherworldly.

He only remembered himself when another customer entered around him, and he stepped aside and leaned on the wall next to the door instead, eyes never leaving the fluid motions of the dancer.

It was the first time he’d had the opportunity to just look at Haruakira freely, to let his eyes roam, to admire his elegance and the calm look of concentration on his beautiful face. Briefly, Hiromasa asked himself why he didn’t just make a grab for what he wanted. He was supposed to be a client, after all. It would be easy. It would be so very pleasurable…

Only, of course, it wouldn’t be, because despite Haruakira’s trade and Hiromasa’s gold, the man didn’t only resemble a butterfly in the way he danced - he was also as elusive as one. Haruakira clearly didn’t want him any more than a case of demonic infestation. He’d made that more than clear.

Not to mention that if Haruakira got displeased with him, he might lose his only chance to find Takemaru.

Hiromasa rubbed his face, coming back to his senses. He wasn’t there for that sort of thing anyway. And there was a small crowd starting to gather around the dais, so he left his spot at the door and went to jump the line, large gold token already in hand.

As soon as the dance was over, Haruakira happily waved at him with his fan, hopped from the dais in a flurry of silks, and disappeared in the direction of the private rooms.

Hiromasa couldn’t help the way his chest puffed out at the envious glares he got from the rest of the clientele while he waited to be ushered up.

The heavy double doors with the cockfighting scene opened once again to the same intimate circle of bronze lantern light, tastefully painted screens and the smell of high quality incense and sake. When Hiromasa stepped in, Haruakira was already seated in his usual spot and pouring for the two of them.

He was bright-eyed, relaxed, and there was the softest hint of a pink tinge to his cheeks. A small blue blur leaped from his hat and danced around Hiromasa.

“Ah! So she returned to you,” he smiled and extended a finger, on which the butterfly settled. “I was wondering where she went off to in the morning.”

“People think that butterflies are frivolous and inconstant, but they actually have an incredibly acute sense of where home is, and always return,” Haruakira smiled as he slid the cup of sake to him.

It was a lovely smile, friendly, carefree and sincere. Hiromasa realized that he was seeing a new side to him every night, and found himself excited about it. When they toasted each other, the sake seemed to taste sweeter than ever before.

“You also looked like a butterfly, when you were dancing,” he said without thinking, while he transferred Mitsumushi to his hat. “You are an exceptionally good dancer.”

“Not as good as you are a musician,” Haruakira nodded lightly in thanks. “You came earlier the two previous nights, so I never got to perform.”

“Yes, today was…” Hiromasa sighed quietly and left the cup. “Well, do you want to hear everything?”

“Yes. Everything.”

“I took your advice and again, you were right,” he started. “Perhaps half a month ago, lord Takemaru arrived home flushed, but as if from running, rather than from drink. He was shaking, with his clothes covered in mud, and refused to say anything of what had happened. But then, he sent a servant out, to check if there was anything following him home. There was nothing the man could find.”

“‘Anything?’ Not ‘anyone?’”

“Yes, ‘anything.’ Apparently, according to the maids, there had been gashes in his clothes, as if from claws. His servants seem to be convinced that some big animal, like a large stray dog, had chased him on the way home, but they don’t know why. And they don’t think… that’s all there was to it.”

“So he was unaccompanied at the time?”

“The night in question, he had come to this place and dismissed his servants upon arrival. So he was coming back home alone. The same as the night he disappeared.”

“And they are sure it was about half a month ago?”

“I think so,” Hiromasa took a long sip, looking at the other over the brim of the cup. “You think that he dismissed them in order to go somewhere else unobserved, don’t you?”

“I’m certain of it,” Haruakira said, picking up his fan and toying with it. “You mentioned mud on his clothes. Where would he have gotten that?”

“I don’t know,” Hiromasa shrugged. “I think the servants also didn’t know. He lives on fifth avenue, not much mud between here and there. Besides, if some animal had chased a nobleman through the city, you’d think someone would have seen it, if not attempted to help.”

“And I don’t suppose you, as his friend, would know of any special significance dogs might have to him?”

“No. He doesn’t keep any. I think he’s indifferent to them.”

“Foxes? Wolves? Bears?”

“Uhm,” Hiromasa thought about it. “I’d be surprised if he’s so much as seen one of those, let alone have any connection to it. He isn’t much given to enjoying the countryside.”

“I see. And what else happened that night?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is connected, but I managed to get in his rooms, and I found this strange thing there…” He frowned at the memory. “I didn’t know what it was, but it looked frankly… inauspicious, so when his page couldn’t explain what it was or how it had gotten there, I collected it and took it to an onmyouji.”

“What onmyouji?” Haruakira looked almost startled.

“Lord Kamo-no-Yasunori,” Hiromasa said, scrunching up his nose and taking a calming sip. “I really don’t like onmyouji,” he added under his breath.

“Oh?” Perfect eyebrows rose. “Then why go to lord Yasunori?”

“Because at least that one is friendly enough,” Hiromasa tried not to make a face and failed. “Not like that scary Abe-no-Seimei, for example.” He shivered at the very idea of ever having to go to that one. That would be the day.

“Ah, let me guess,” Haruakira’s smile disappeared behind the indigo-and-gold fan. “The old tale about how his father fell hopelessly in love with a white fox?” 

“Alright,” Hiromasa conceded, after some internal struggle. “That is romantic, I’ll grant you that. But I still don’t like him.”

“Why?” Fox-like eyes glinted at him.

Hiromasa wriggled.

“You have never actually met him, have you,” Haruakira said smugly.

“Well, if you must know, it’s because as important as they may be, onmyouji are also all of them cocky and creepy and make fun of me,” Hiromasa huffed. “And apparently, he’s the absolute worst of them all in that regard. By far.”

“Ooh. And I’m none of that?” Terribly amused lights danced in Haruakira’s eyes.

“You’re helping me find my friend,” Hiromasa said magnanimously. “And you liked my flute-playing, which automatically makes you better than an onmyouji,” he added with a grin. 

“I am spoiled by your flattery,” Haruakira chuckled.

“But my feelings for Abe-no-Seimei aside, if you want me to show you what I found in lord Takemaru’s bedroom and tell you what lord Yasunori said, you’ll have to keep your end of our bargain first.”

“Goodness, we’re growing devious now, are we?” Haruakira outright laughed this time. His laugh was contagious, even when it was kind-of directed at him, Hiromasa decided, smiling. “Such a fast learner, my lord Hiromasa.”

“Hm? How do you know my name?” He was surprised, but found that he wasn’t particularly worried this time.

“My lord, if you wish to remain incognito, may I suggest being a bit more discreet with where you thrust your very fine sword?” The laughter continued.

Hiromasa’s face heated up. It was a new record, how long he’d managed to keep some semblance of dignity this evening, he grumbled to himself as he buried his nose in the sake cup.

“Very well, let me keep my side of the bargain, then,” Haruakira said and folded down his fan. His look became more calculated, even if the smile lingered. “Have you ever wanted to be… say, tied up, your lordship?”

“Sorry?” Hiromasa blinked. “Why would I want such a thing?”

“It calms some and excites others,” Haruakira shrugged. “And more importantly, it’s not the kind of thing one can casually insert in an elegant poem to a lady he saw behind a screen, once.”

“Well,” a confused Hiromasa thought about it. “Yes, that would be a bit hard to explain in verse,” he conceded and then added, “I’m not sure I understand very well even in prose.”

“And that is why the Ugetsu-ya is doing so well. People want all sorts of things that can be hard to come by or even talk about. So when they come here, it’s not really for a song and dance and your garden-variety Nachi waterfalls and stately pines.”

“Uhm. What else is there?” Hiromasa frowned. 

“Oh, quite a lot.”

Hiromasa sent him a deeply suspicious look and took a big gulp of sake. He expected that the dreaded fan would be making an appearance any moment now. But instead, Haruakira started to explain, looking carefully back at him.

“I mentioned a man and a white fox before,” he said. “If the magic fox was willing, any man could have such relations with her, or him, in human form. You might not even know the difference. But have you ever wondered what their thick, luxurious fur would feel like under your fingers in their other form?”

Hiromasa blinked. He had not. He blinked again. Magic fox?

“Or to give another example, it is well-known that a bit of asphyxiation can do wonders to a man. But what if you wanted to squeeze just a little tighter than a mere mortal body can take?”

Hiromasa’s eyes widened. Was it well-known? Mere mortal body?

“Or perhaps you simply wanted to be a monk, or seduce one, or…” Haruakira’s eyes acquired their distinct foxy quality. “Perhaps you wanted to get thoroughly exorcized by a, what was it, ‘cocky and creepy’ onmyouji?”

Hiromasa was fairly certain he was looking at the other like a wet owl. Haruakira looked at him expectantly. 

“No,” he coughed. “N-none of those.”

“Really,” Haruakira gave a long-suffering sigh, and yes, the dreaded fan snapped open. “Then what do you people even do all day in court, where you’re all so supposedly scandalous?”

Hiromasa was agape. What did this man think courtiers got up to around the palace!?

“I’ll have you know that we decidedly do not spend our time bedding foxes and onmyouji!” Then he remembered how he had gotten there in the first place and added with a wince, “well, I do not.”

“You’re still young, there’s time,” Haruakira said encouragingly.

“Courtly affairs mostly involve poems, music and letter-writing,” he protested. “At least mine do. I have my music, and a nice handwriting, and if someone tried to strangle me, I’d shout for help, like a normal person!”

“I think you may be missing the point of the entire exercise, my lord.”

“It’s all just… not for me,” Hiromasa said, trying to calm down. If the entire Ugetsu-ya specialized in that sort of thing, then so did, presumably, Haruakira, he reasoned, and then he had to wonder what exactly he did specialize in, and then he had to drown the vivid suggestions of his imagination in an entire cup of sake.

“Really,” Haruakira drawled. “And I suppose you’re above such things?”

“It would certainly take a bit more than… petting foxes to make a regular out of me,” Hiromasa tried to sound haughty, so he wouldn’t sound desperately curious.

But the way the fan snapped closed told Hiromasa that he’d just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Let’s see what would, then.” The old predatory look was back in his half-lidded eyes. 

“I thought you didn’t do guessing,” Hiromasa’s eyes widened, alarm bells coming on in his head. What if the man could guess?

But even through his alarm, he couldn’t help the way his own curiosity and the man’s expression made something twist with anticipation inside him.

“You’re terribly curious about this place. All the more so because it’s, oh, in such a bad taste to be,” Haruakira said slowly, eyes boring into Hiromasa’s.

He gulped.

“It’s really starting to get to you, isn’t it? All that clean, polite, overdressed courtly romance. And for what? How many lovers can you have before they all start to feel exactly the same, in the silent dark of other people’s houses? How many times can you, for that matter, disappear in the predawn cold like a good and proper gentleman before you start feeling more like a ghost than a man?” 

Hiromasa’s breath came quick and shallow in his chest, and Haruakira leaned in, as if he could smell Hiromasa’s desires on his skin.

“You want to be naked and free like a wild animal,” he said.

“Being naked is the last thing I want,” Hiromasa managed, huddling in his clothes as a shiver ran down his spine. He hadn’t noticed before how the other’s pupils dilated when he looked at him. Hot replaced the cold.

“You’re fed up with poetry and letters, you want nails and teeth on your skin, and in your fantasies, they’re this close to turning into claws and fangs.” Lips the color of blood blossomed into a devious, knowing smile. “Or perhaps you already know the taste and shape of fangs, my lord?”

Hiromasa’s heart thudded in his chest like it wanted to escape. The man couldn’t really know, could he? Nobody knew. But the unanswered question hung in the air between them, and the knowing look in those eyes made him feel caught, and exposed, and… seen. 

“You like danger, don’t you?” Haruakira purred. “It thrills you.”

Hiromasa wanted nothing more than to close the distance and taste him. He was close enough to catch that tantalizing scent he had felt that first night, and he remembered firm hands and soft heat under his lips when he…

“Ah, so bull’s eye, then, huh?” Haruakira smiled sweetly, and leaned away back in his spot. He wriggled happily, like a fox. “Good to know.”

Hiromasa almost fell over the sake tray when the other sat back. He hadn’t even realized when he’d leaned so far towards him. His sleeves flapped and he almost knocked the cups over when he tried to steady himself. His face was aflame, once more.

“How did we end up talking about me anyway!?” He huffed and thrust out his empty sake cup for a refill, after he’d steadied everything other than his still racing heart.

“No, we were talking about your friend,” Haruakira said, back to his usual businesslike tone, as if nothing had ever happened. He even obediently refilled the cup. “All this was to illustrate that the Ugetsu-ya is a place that a lot of people would feel hesitant to be associated with, especially publicly. And yet, your friend didn’t mind his servants, family, lovers and friends knowing about it. Doesn’t this tell us something?”

“Oh, no,” Hiromasa murmured and rubbed his face, trying to get his thoughts back on track. “He was doing something even less socially acceptable than all… that.”

“In all probability, yes. What exactly, I hope to understand from what you found in his room.”

“I doubt it,” Hiromasa frowned and rummaged through the folds of his robes, producing one tattered piece of paper. “It was really strange. I don’t even think it’s really his, to be honest. Lord Yasunori said this is a spell, something like a strong charm against kegare. The kind, for example, an onmyouji might use when dealing with the dead.”

“Well done, lord Hiromasa,” Haruakira murmured, bright eyes devouring the strange, squiggly symbols on the paper. “And I can think of one place that will make a very good start for our search.” The eyes snapped back to Hiromasa. “That is to say, I assume you’re also coming?”

“Coming?” Hiromasa blinked, but the other was already on his feet and pulling on a dark blue outer robe that had been tucked behind a screen.

“Don’t you want to find out what your friend was up to?”

“Can you do this? Go out?” Hiromasa wasn’t sure why that surprised him so. “Can I, for that matter?”

“I can do anything I wish here,” Haruakira smiled as he snatched the paper from his hand. “And you’re third rank. You can do anything you like anywhere you like and with anyone you choose.”

Except you, Hiromasa decided not to say, and leaped to his feet. 

“Let’s go,” he said.

Haruakira led the way down a spiral staircase hidden behind a panel of the corridor, and through what looked like a service area for the staff and performers. There were two women doing up each other’s matching outfits, several servants busy with snacks and drinks, a man tuning a biwa, and something that Hiromasa could have sworn was a tanuki and which (who?) made a rude gesture at him as they passed. Haruakira stopped for a moment to leave Mitsumushi with the biwa man and to whisper a few words, and then they were out.

Outside, the night was cooler and deep with stars and the song of crickets. Hiromasa breathed it in, and it should have been refreshing, but the darkness that blurred the shapes of everything familiar made him feel all the more keenly as if he’d stepped in another world. Haruakira, the mysterious and elusive Haruakira, in the uncertain light of a bloated moon, suddenly seemed like the most real thing in the world. Hiromasa hurried after him.

“Isn’t this Rajoumon?” he asked after a while. “Do you mean for us to go out? We can’t, the gate won’t be unlocked until the hour of the rabbit.”

“Oh, have you never used the back door, my lord? It’s very convenient,” Haruakira said with a completely straight face, and Hiromasa briefly and lovingly thought about smacking him with his sword.

“Heian-kyo doesn’t have a back door,” he grumbled, all poetic thoughts about the night now completely ruined.

In answer, Haruakira just leaned a shoulder against a dingy little wooden door in the massive walls surrounding Sai-ji, and it creaked wide open. A sliver of the temple’s moonlit inner courtyard was visible behind him, as he stood aside and made a welcoming motion to the startled Hiromasa.

They crossed the courtyard, footsteps made loud in the nighttime hush by the grind of the fine gravel, and reached another, similarly inconspicuous door in what had to be the outer walls of Heian-kyo. It was closed from the inside with a simple wooden bolt, and perfectly unlocked. Haruakira smiled sweetly at him when they emerged on the open plane outside the city, but said nothing. 

“The mud,” Hiromasa suddenly realized, eyes widening. “If the mud couldn’t have come from the road between the Ugetsu-ya and fifth avenue, then it must have come from the outside.”

“Precisely. And out here, it’s much easier to come by large clawed animals - the forest isn’t all that far, and even in summer, there are wolves, feral dogs and foxes circling the city.”

After an uneventful walk, during which Hiromasa nevertheless held his sword within easy reach, they stopped before something that must have been a presentable enough residence at some point when the city was new. Now, however, it was little better than an abandoned plot.

And yet, there was a light in the window, and a smell of a fireplace and cheap incense. Hiromasa didn’t know the area well at all, but he was fairly certain they were somewhere near the commoners’ graveyard. He hoped he was wrong.

Haruakira invited himself into the property, hopped onto the low veranda and knocked on the door. After a long moment, the door cracked open and a very pale, but quite lovely face looked up at them.

Hiromasa breathed in sharply, startled at the incongruity of the sight - surely, a young woman of such striking pallor and fullness of face, and with such demure, quiet manners and stiff bearing had to be a very high-born lady? What was she doing in a place like this? Did she need help?

“Good evening. We’re here about this,” Haruakira said cheerfully and showed her the ratty paper that had come from Takemaru’s room. She bowed and let them in.

A much older, much less refined-looking man appeared in the opposite door when they entered, and then stopped and frowned, eyes on Haruakira. Hiromasa didn’t like that look at all, and stepped in so he was in front of the lady and right next to his companion. 

“I’ve seen you around,” the man said eventually.

“I’m Haruakira.”

“Of the Ugetsu-ya?” The man’s eyes widened, and he gave him a quick once-over that made Hiromasa bristle. “What an honor. Can I help you?”

“May I ask where you acquired this and why?” He showed the piece of paper again.

“I work at the graveyard,” the man said nonchalantly, and Hiromasa almost jumped back. “Life’s a pain without those. Got a few of the monks to write out some charms for me, or else I’d be living under a constant taboo. Couldn’t even so much as go to the market without one.”

“Monks?” Haruakira asked placidly. “And not, say, a certain gentleman by the name of Ashiya Douman?”

“Don’t know him, I’m afraid.”

“Is that so. And if I was to explore this lovely young lady’s body, I’d find it warm and blushing, would I?” 

Scandalized, Hiromasa almost took a step back from Haruakira this time. A professional he may be, but this sort of talk was taking it way too far, especially in front of the lady herself. He expected the man, her guardian by the looks of it, to be as indignant, but instead his eyes narrowed and he remained silent for a moment.

“What do you want?” he asked eventually.

“Only the truth. A friend of this gentleman has gone missing, and this charm was found in his room. It will be best for all concerned if he were found quickly, so that we can all proceed to pretend that none of this ever happened and that we’ve all never met each other. Don’t you agree?” Haruakira smiled with a hint of glinting sharp teeth.

The man just glared at him, and then at the woman. Hiromasa reached out a protective hand towards her.

“Don’t touch her,” Haruakira slapped it away with his fan, but his eyes remained on the other man. “Let me guess, then, shall I? Douman supplies the necessary charms, and you supply the… ladies and gentlemen. All ethically sourced, no doubt. Advertising by word of mouth. Profits probably leaning towards you rather than him. Yes?”

The man didn’t deny it. He had become very still and quiet.

“A young lord came about half a month ago,” Haruakira went on. “Well, he had come before, too, of course. Didn’t even bother dressing down all that much anymore, did he.”

“If you already think you know so much, why are you even here?”

“That wasn’t the last time he was here, was it?”

“No,” the man said gruffly, and then sighed, as if coming to a decision. “The last time was five days ago now.”

“Did something happen? Did he complain about anything? Mention anything strange?”

“No.”

“Did you know he’d kept this?” Haruakira waved the charm with two elegant fingers.

“No. That old bastard Douman made it absolutely clear these things need to be burned as soon as you get home, and I keep telling all clients to do it. But you know, you go and try telling one of them lordships anything,” the man shrugged, face twisting in contempt. “Heads as hard and empty as shrine bells, all of them, I swear. Only thing rattling inside is their ego, too.”

Hiromasa managed to control himself at that only because he was so supremely confused by the whole exchange that he was starting to think that all this had to be some sort of prank. Of that tanuki at the Ugetsu-ya, maybe.

“Have any of your other patrons suddenly stopped coming lately? Lords, in particular?” Haruakira asked after a moment.

“Can’t say I’ve noticed,” the man shook his head. “But they come and go. We don’t get many cushy regulars like you, shiny poster boys. Can’t deal with the shame, probably.”

“And one last thing,” Haruakira pursed his lips. “May I see the man this gentleman bought?”

“Not anymore.”

“Did something happen to him?”

“Spell ran out,” the man shrugged. “He’d been here quite some time. Generally, there’s much more demand for women.”

“Alright, this lady, then.”

“Well, and why not. Yomi-hime, take them off.”

To Hiromasa’s amazed horror, the lady simply opened all of her layered robes and dropped them down, without so much as a word, a blush or a token of resistance. 

He looked away immediately, of course, but then his mind caught up with what his eyes had registered, just for a split second. He turned to look at her again, almost forcing his eyes back to her unnaturally pale body.

There were symbols painted on it. She parted her hair to show them starting from her nape, all the way down her spine, and disappearing into her private places. There were more, down her arms and legs as well.

“Turn around,” Haruakira ordered, as if he saw this kind of thing every day.

She did, and pushed back her hair to reveal more writing starting between her clavicles, parting her body in two on this side as well. 

For the first time, Hiromasa realized that there was something wrong with the smell, too. Now that she was naked, he could sense a faint scent of… something wafting towards him, but it was quite unlike any lover he’d ever approached. He managed a glance to the side, to Haruakira, but he was completely unfazed. His eyes were focused on the writing, as if he knew what it said.

He didn’t look disturbed in the slightest. And not even that, he was looking for all the world as if he was checking for calligraphy errors. It was a monstrous thought. In fact, all of this boggled the mind, and Hiromasa shook his head, hoping to clear it.

“Thank you,” Haruakira nodded eventually. “You’ve been very helpful. If I were you, though, I’d lay low for some time now. At the very least until this gentleman’s friend is found. Someone from the Ugetsu-ya ought to be able to keep you updated.”

The man said nothing, and just gestured to the lady to dress herself, which she did with the same mute, doll-like stiffness and obedience. Eventually, he nodded.

Haruakira simply turned around and pulled Hiromasa’s sleeve to follow him, out into the fresh and cool night air.

“What just happened in there,” Hiromasa found his voice only once they were through Sai-ji’s garden and back in the familiar streets of Heian-kyo. “What was all that?”

“Necromancy,” Haruakira said matter-of-factly.

“Isn’t that when…” He couldn’t finish. His stomach, which had been churning ever since they’d stepped into the ruined house, gave a lurch.

“Yes, it is,” Haruakira said, casting a quick glance his way, and falling in step closer to his side.

“And that lady?” Hiromasa asked, hollow-voiced.

“A corpse.”

“Whose?”

“I don’t know. A commoner, almost certainly.”

“Is that what… Takemaru…” Hiromasa couldn’t finish, once again. Bile was rising in his throat, and he fought to breathe deeply.

“Yes.”

Hiromasa felt sick. Light-headed. Tired. Sick.

“I am sorry,” Haruakira was saying next to him, as if from afar. “I should have realized this could be a bit much for you.”

Hiromasa made the mistake of shaking his head no.

Haruakira grabbed his upper arm just in time, and Hiromasa couldn’t help leaning into its stable firmness.

The rest of the world was spinning, and he felt sick.

He wasn’t sure how he found himself back at the Ugetsu-ya, but he vaguely recognized the rude tanuki, and a blue blur flittered around him.

Elegant fingers firmly pushed a cup of something hot and sharp-smelling into his hands and made him drink it. It tasted sour and bitter and tangy and went through his chest and stomach like a spell.

Haruakira took him to a small, dark room somewhere that didn’t involve stairs and helped him not collapse onto a bedroll.

Hiromasa grabbed for him when he turned to go, and pulled whatever silk he’d managed to hold on to.

Haruakira knelt next to him, and after a moment, sighed softly and reached out. 

Hiromasa was distantly amazed to find his head gently arranged on warm, firm thighs, and the mix of a high-quality incense and a familiar scent filled his lungs like balm. A hand carefully touched his forehead and another - his throat.

“On the house, my lord,” the low voice murmured. “Just rest.”

He didn’t need another invitation. He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him and rid him of the nightmares of that surreal night.

With Haruakira there, he was safe. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but he felt it.

He was safe in those hands.

Chapter Text

Hiromasa woke up washed in the brilliant light of a late-morning summer sun beyond gauzy curtains gliding in a gentle breeze. Once again, he was in his own rooms, with his own servants passing quietly somewhere in the corridor, and his own screens arranged around his own bedroll. An azure butterfly was resting on the nearest screen, placidly moving its wings once in a while.

He rolled on his back and reached into his underrobe, unsticking the long rectangle of a charm from his chest. He looked at it blankly for a few moments, unable to make sense of what it said, and crumpled it. Later, he would burn it. He would never forget to burn a charm again.

When he reached out to his clothes, to check up on his flute, there was a folded note on top, on plain, formally white paper. 

Should you still feel any ill effects upon waking up, it is recommended that you go to visit a temple. Nothing extravagant, five minutes into the incense and a bit of meditation ought to do it. Please, take care of your body.

Hiromasa lay there, looking at the handwriting (elegant, swift, unadorned) and wondered whatever must be wrong with him.

His flute lying innocuously there, on top of his clothes, was a standing reminder of it. It made that little speech about knowing the taste and shape of fangs replay in his mind, and made him wonder about other things, too.

He remembered his nightly walks to Suzaku-mon, the stranger, and the music they played together. He remembered their last night, remembered kissing the man who’d given him the flute, trailing the pad of his thumb, and then his tongue, on sharp fangs. 

He remembered Haruakira’s white hands that made him feel so safe, and his black eyes that made him feel seen, and his red, red smile that made him feel things he had no name for…

He shivered and got up, tucking flute and note in his sash. The butterfly flapped its wings once, and took flight after him.

That day the emperor was holding audiences, and so Hiromasa had to hurry to the palace, losing the butterfly somewhere on the way. While he mingled with the other noblemen waiting for their appointments together with their respective departments, bureaus and whatnot, he tried to gauge just how much Takemaru’s absence was already noticed.

He tried his best to distract the attention of those who were asking after his friend the loudest, even though he knew it wouldn’t be long now before the rumor reached critical mass. But he still tried. The last thing he needed was someone making good on his own empty threat that he’d set the palace guards on the Ugetsu-ya, and on Haruakira with it.

He was near the Seiryouden when the bureau of divination concluded their report and filed out in a stream of identically dressed black figures on the far side of the outer walkway. Hiromasa considered catching up to them and cornering lord Yasunori again, to ask him about what he had seen the previous night, to ask who Ashiya Douman was, to ask for any sort of advice. 

However, he wasn’t sure lord Yasunori was even there, while one of those figures had to be Abe-no-Seimei, hidden in plain sight under the uniform black robes. Normally, the onmyouji displayed his white color the way venomous centipedes displayed their bright red legs. And while Hiromasa was aware that many people at court thought him a fool, he wasn’t enough of a fool as to ignore such a blatant warning, unless he had no other choice.

So he let the onmyouji drift away on their own business, following them with his eyes until a colleague remarked on it and he had to make some small joke and laugh it off. Before he turned to go, out of the corner of his eye, he saw two black figures linger behind in conversation, fans up to their faces, looking out across the courtyard.

The sun was already well on its way to setting by the time Hiromasa got to Rajoumon that evening. He was determined to go and take one more look in the light of day at the place they’d visited the previous night, if only to assure himself that he hadn’t dreamed it all up. The late afternoon traffic was intense, people and carts hurrying on their business before the darkness closed the gates, and Hiromasa’s eyes absently trailed over the crowd…

“Haruakira!”

A figure in a dark blue outer robe stopped dead in its tracks and turned in his direction. Even from afar, Hiromasa could see how his eyes widened.

“Hey!” Hiromasa waved and grinned as he made his way to him.

“Evening,” Haruakira said neutrally, a blank expression covering the surprise.

“You’re also going there, aren’t you?” 

“I am,” he said, eyebrows coming together, just slightly. “I have to wonder what it is you are doing, however.”

“Ah,” Hiromasa winced a bit, but tried to remain cheerful. “You’re mad at me for yesterday, right?”

“That is not the issue.”

“Look, I know I screwed up last night, I know. Not my proudest moment,” Hiromasa rubbed his face, embarrassed, rather than frustrated. He’d expected something like this, after all. “So go ahead and make all the inappropriate jokes you want about cowardly noblemen. I deserve it. But I’m not giving up. So don’t start trying to shoo me away again.”

“I don’t…” Haruakira blinked. “I don’t think you’re a cowardly nobleman.”

“You don’t?” Hiromasa beamed. This was going more easily than he’d hoped.

“I… didn’t expect you’d be up for a repeat, after last night,” Haruakira said, the wide-eyed look creeping back to his carefully blank face. “People generally aren’t.”

“I am,” Hiromasa said and spread open his sleeves, as if to demonstrate. “And I even went to the temple, as you said in that note.”

“Were you still unwell?” Haruakira asked, eyes narrowing this time.

“No,” Hiromasa grinned. “I went to Sai-ji. And do you know, those two back doors we used last night are placed in a very interesting way.”

“Oh?” Haruakira asked, looking slightly dazed.

“They’re very well-visible from the rooms of the senior clergy. And from at least one of the halls where the all-night vigils are performed. So I couldn’t help thinking, why do these monks have a really small, really visible path through their property to the outside, where supposedly no good citizen of the capital should go after sundown?”

“And what was the answer?” Haruakira asked, a smile threatening to blossom on his sunset-kissed lips.

“That I’ll have to ask you about it when we meet,” Hiromasa grinned, and Haruakira huffed a small laugh. “But in any case, I reasoned that they would know if lord Takemaru passed through there six days ago, or anytime before that. Apparently, he hasn’t. But. Imagine my surprise when it turned out that I was the second person to ask them that.”

“I had some time to kill,” Haruakira chuckled. “Shall we go, then? If you’re sure,” he invited with a gesture to the towering bulk of the gate.

Hiromasa was very, very sure.

“The reason for the small and visible door is that people are people, and if they’re going to get up to extremely foolish things, they might as well get up to them under the watchful eye of someone who can exorcise the worst of the consequences, or perform a summary burial, in the worst-case scenario,” Haruakira explained while they walked.

“I wish lord Takemaru had known about it.”

“Maybe he did, but preferred one of the other, less guarded ways to enter and exit the city. Did you know, portions of the west wall collapsed again during the last big earthquake this winter.”

“Your job must be incredibly interesting, if you learn such things on it,” Hiromasa said diplomatically.

“It is,” Haruakira said, looking delighted that he thought so. “Especially after those lords you’ve heard about started to disappear.”

“What exactly happened to them? To be honest, I didn’t… well, I didn’t learn as much about them as I might have led you to believe,” Hiromasa said to his sleeves, fiddling with their ties.

“It appears that everything started about six months ago,” Haruakira said, and Hiromasa was almost startled that he’d actually decided to answer. “One of the men of the Ugetsu-ya was killed. It deeply upset everyone there - they are extremely particular about the safety of their people, since it’s the kind of place where many clients go precisely to find dangerous and risky things they cannot get anywhere else.”

“Are you his replacement?” Hiromasa frowned.

“Of sorts,” Haruakira smiled mysteriously. “He and I specialize in very different things.”

Before Hiromasa managed to pick up the courage to ask the obvious question, though, the other went on.

“The people of the Ugetsu-ya were convinced that the one who killed him must have been his last client. But, he was a rather high-ranking lord, so going up against him with such allegations would be hard. By the time they were decided and ready to do it, news reached them that he had been declared dead. Quite suddenly.”

Hiromasa licked his lips. He did not like the sound of that at all.

“So they let it go. However, they all felt that something was off, and remained extremely vigilant. And then, they found out that another male colleague was attacked, in another establishment. He was found alive, but not in a good state. And the thing is, he didn’t remember absolutely anything of what had happened, or even who his client had been. They had to ask the proprietor. Now, can you take a guess what happened to the lord his client?”

“Disappeared under mysterious circumstances?” Hiromasa said, huddling in his clothes despite the lingering heat of the summer evening.

“Exactly. And then the same thing happened, in yet another place - the man was hurt and with no memory of the incident, but alive, while the lord who had visited him was never seen again.”

“Did… did the lords do something to their… men?” Hiromasa gulped. “And then something hunted down the lords?”

“That is one possibility,” Haruakira said brightly. “Another is that the lords brought in something that attacked both of the partners. But in any case, it’s important to note that for some reason, it only happens to men.”

“Look,” Hiromasa stopped, tucking his hands in his sleeves and squeezing his forearms. “Lord Takemaru isn’t a saint, I think we already established that. And he may be many things, but he is not violent. He would never hurt someone, especially like that. You probably know better than I do what he got up to in the Ugetsu-ya, but I’m convinced that it wasn’t anything violent.”

“I am not saying that he is that,” Haruakira also stopped and looked at him carefully, in the last rays of the setting sun. “In fact, we did not know he may have disappeared like those other lords until you came and told me. He’s… a bit different.”

“Then why did something have to happen to him?”

“I think…” Haruakira seemed to consider, and then sighed softly. “I think it might have been a mistake, in his case.”

“A mistake?”

“He went there,” Haruakira pointed with his sleeve to the run-down place not far from the graveyards, which was now visible ahead of them, in the direction of the setting sun. “He had relations with something like Yomi-hime. He left, after dark, quite probably removing the charm he was given long before he should have. Now, if you were a wolf, or stray dog, or whatever it was that chased him, what scent do you think you’d feel emanating from him?”

“Of death,” Hiromasa’s eyes widened, and he felt the old churn start in his stomach again. “He’d smell of death.”

“Yes. Even though he had not killed or hurt anyone, to a creature with a mission, he’d smell just like all the other lords who had, in fact, hurt someone.”

Hiromasa didn’t know what to say. It sounded logical. It also sounded monstrous. And then another, equally monstrous idea bloomed in his mind.

“So why were you really coming out here?” he asked sharply.

“To test that notion,” Haruakira said placidly.

“No.” Hiromasa squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He knew it.

“Pardon?” The old arrogant expression that made Hiromasa seethe was back. And the reaction was predictable.

“Do you have no self-preservation instinct at all!?” Hiromasa exploded. “What are you even thinking? You don’t even have a weapon! Do you think that whatever killed those lords will spare you just because you’re one of the good guys!? If you’re trying to kill yourself, there are easier ways! ‘Test the notion!’ Gods! And what if I hadn’t run into you!?”

Haruakira looked almost comically taken aback, and for a glorious moment, seemed speechless.

“Goodness, who’s talking,” he murmured under his breath, once he was able to.

“You might think this is just for decoration,” Hiromasa put a hand on his sword hilt and went on, trying to calm down. “But I assure you it’s not. If you’re going to do anything even remotely dangerous, let alone as suicidal as what you’re suggesting, the sword and I are coming with you.”

Haruakira stared at him.

“This is not up for debate,” Hiromasa stressed, taking a step closer. “I’m either coming with you, or better yet, dragging you back to the Ugetsu-ya and tying you to a pillar so you’d stay put. Since you like talking about tying up people so much.”

Haruakira laughed. He rummaged in his clothes for his fan to hide behind, and went on laughing. Hiromasa glared at him and adjusted his sword meaningfully. That, apparently, only seemed to add to Haruakira’s amusement, for some unfathomable reason.

“Understood, my lord,” Haruakira managed after a while, eyes shining above the fan. “In that case, once it gets completely dark, I want you to show me the road to your friend’s home from here.”

“How? The gates will be closed by then. And we know he didn’t go through Sai-ji.”

“Yes. But he lives on fifth avenue, right? And well, we were just talking about the big earthquake this winter.”

Hiromasa sighed profoundly. He’d seen that one coming, and wished Haruakira had at least had the decency to bring a jar of that excellent sake he served him every night.

Then, he looked at the other’s amused eyes and found that he was, in fact, looking forward to their ill-advised adventure. There was little point in hiding it from this man, of all people, and so he allowed a small smile to come through. Haruakira answered it brightly. And really, even just that made the whole thing worth it, Hiromasa decided, finally relaxing.

After they picked up a parcel containing one of Yomi-hime’s robes from the house they had visited the previous night, they settled some distance away from the city wall. There, Haruakira sat on a sun-baked rock with a blissful expression on his face and listened to Hiromasa play the flute well into the evening darkness.

Once the light of the almost full moon was strong enough and the nighttime coolness crept in from the direction of the still distant Katsura river, he shook himself, as if from a pleasant dream, and motioned Hiromasa that it was time to go.

The first leg of the journey was easy enough - graveyard aside, there was plenty of human activity during the day in front of the south-western city wall and so the terrain was accessible. 

But then they approached the Katsura river and the forest, and the idyllic evening slowly morphed into a nightmarish stumble through dry brambles, sucking mud, trash, building debris, gnarly tree roots, and all sorts of other utterly unromantic things that threatened both Hiromasa’s ankles and his dignity. The abundant moisture of the river made even the cooling night air feel as heavy as it had been at midday and brought little comfort.

Haruakira, however, seemed completely at home. He didn’t stumble. His clothes didn’t catch on anything. He didn’t make a noise. Even mosquitoes didn’t dare to bother him. Hiromasa sighed deeply at the utter unfairness of the world and squelched on.

They didn’t enter the forest proper until they had managed to navigate the corner of the city walls and started making their way through the widening strip of land between the river and the western wall. The shadows became deep and alive, and the moonlight struggled to reach through the thickening foliage. Hiromasa adjusted his grip on the sword and walked as close as possible to his companion, ready to defend him if foxes, wolves, or something even worse made an appearance. Haruakira only cast a brief glance at his maneuvering and gave a small smile and a polite nod.

Walking next to him like that, in silence, and with the presence of the nighttime forest pressing around them on all sides, Hiromasa became gradually aware of how… small Haruakira actually was. 

He had an enormous presence, even when he was doing nothing much; a personal space as difficult to breach as the sacred space of a shrine; a tongue that could turn sharper than Hiromasa’s sword in the blink of an eye. But for all that, he wasn’t a big man. Hiromasa had never truly realized that Haruakira was, in fact, probably half a shaku shorter than him, and quite a few kan lighter, too. His build was elegant, and instead of bulking him up, the puffed outer robes only served to underline that he was as slender as a willow beneath them.

The realization made a tidal wave of protectiveness rise in Hiromasa’s chest and his hand tightened on the sword once again. He would never let anything happen to him, no matter what might be lurking in that forest.

“You seem very certain that we are about to be attacked,” Haruakira’s low voice said in the dark, and Hiromasa loosened his grip, just a bit. He hoped he had not ended up scaring him.

“You said that something could be attacking men and their lord clients. And you’re carrying Yomi-hime’s robe in that package.”

“I said that is one possibility of several.”

“But it could be the correct one. And here we are, a man and a client, smelling of death.”

Haruakira’s bright eyes found him among the shifting patches of moonlight and darkness and Hiromasa somehow knew that Haruakira saw him much better than he could.

“You believe that, and yet you’re here?”

“I said I was coming,” he reminded him, and added with a small huff, “You didn’t really think I would leave you to do something like this alone, did you? You know me better than that by now.”

Eyelashes fluttered like silvered butterfly wings and Haruakira looked away. He was a step ahead of Hiromasa now, and his face would have been hidden even if it weren’t for the ever-shifting forest shadows.

“Besides, it’s a wilderness out here. There’s no telling what might come out, even if it’s not lord Takemaru’s giant fox or what have you.”

“Neither of us is in danger of that ‘what have you,’ in any case.”

“How can you be sure?”

“You’ve never touched me,” Haruakira said softly after a heartbeat, never turning around. “I have, but not you.”

It was the kind of innocuous statement of the variety that the best palace affairs were made of. And while the question it posed so delicately was reasonable and Hiromasa had expected it would turn up sooner rather than later, the manner in which it was delivered was a little surprising.

So that’s how you’re really like, beneath the work persona, Hiromasa thought to himself with a sudden clarity. It made his heart beat faster and stirred something unnamed in his chest and belly.

“I know it’s your job,” he said eventually, opting for directness. After all, he knew he wasn’t much good at anything else. “But I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s your job,” Hiromasa said truthfully, admitting it to both Haruakira and himself at the same time. “It wouldn’t be what I want. Well, it would, but… not really.”

“And if it wasn’t my job?”

“Then it wouldn’t be what you want. You’ve made that clear enough.”

“Have I?”

“Don’t be afraid now, but something is following us,” Hiromasa said quietly and adjusted his sword. “Just stay ahead of me, and I’ll protect you.”

“Yes, it has been following us for a bit,” Haruakira agreed absently. ”Don’t turn around, and it won’t do anything.”

”How do you know?” Hiromasa threw a sharp look at the other’s back.

”You have your flute with you, don’t you? You promised you’d play it for me whenever I want. Can you do it now?“

“Now?”

“Please.”

Hiromasa took a deep breath to clear his head. Playing the flute seemed like the last thing any sane man would think to do in a situation like this, and yet he found that it was exactly what he needed. There were things stirring inside him that needed an outlet, and they were of the kind that he had never found another outlet for.

And so he did just that. He walked, never looking back, eyes firmly fixed on Haruakira, and played. They walked on like that until the forest grew thin again, and the moonlight revealed the ruins of the city walls near the end of sixth avenue. When they emerged into the clearing near the gaping collapse, Haruakira stopped him there, and that was when he finally parted the flute from his lips.

“Now, we need to turn around, bow and thank our follower for escorting, remember, my lord, escorting us through the forest and to safety.”

Hiromasa nodded and tucked his flute safely into his clothes. It wasn’t like the night could get any stranger, so he might as well, he decided.

When they turned around with their brief gratitudes, Hiromasa caught a glimpse of the shape of something sinking back into the forest. 

A giant dog.

And it glowed.

He shouted, startled, slipped on a brick and almost fell. Haruakira gave him an amused look, but said nothing. His eyes returned to the forest and he seemed thoughtful and utterly unfazed. Hiromasa also looked that way and saw the glow disappearing somewhere in the depths of the darkness they’d just emerged from. And then, it was gone.

“What was that?” He whispered, when he found his voice.

“An okuri-inu.”

“Isn’t that a monster? A demon!?” Hiromasa’s sleeves flapped, pointing to the direction the thing had disappeared in.

“Indeed. But it’s also a dog. Hmm. I wonder…” Haruakira trailed off, eyes distant, talking to himself rather than to the flustered Hiromasa.

“We need a monk then! Or an onmyouji!” He became even more agitated in the face of Haruakira’s utter lack of appropriate reaction. “That thing needs exorcising! That’s what they do to monsters, isn’t it!?”

“Are you ready to accept that your friend is dead, then?” Haruakira asked at length, eyes finally focusing on him.

“What!? How can you know that!?”

“I don’t,” Haruakira murmured. “In fact, he may not be dead at all. But banish that,” and he waved a sleeve at the forest they’d emerged from, “and you’ll likely lose the very last link to whatever happened to him.”

“Ah…” Hiromasa froze.

“If he’s really dead, then it’s the same either way. But if he’s alive, and especially in need of help…” Haruakira let that hang in the air.

“No,” Hiromasa shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no. I won’t accept he’s dead unless I see him dead. There must be something else that can be done.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Haruakira sighed. “In any case, there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

He turned around and started to hop on the scattered debris of the former wall, and Hiromasa followed him through the collapse and into what looked like someone’s long-abandoned backyard. The place was somehow even more overgrown than the outside, he realized as they made their way through it.

Haruakira stopped once, near the ruins of a veranda, and tossed the package with the robe near a half-rotten support pillar. In the ghostly light of the almost-full moon, the place seemed haunted, and Hiromasa fully expected something to come out and pounce on the carefree Haruakira. But miraculously, nothing did, and he was enormously happy when they finally reached the gaping hole of the estate’s former front gate.

“Well, this was certainly an educational night,” Haruakira said brightly as they stepped out onto a dusty street. “Do you think you can bring me something of your friend’s? Preferably something he kept on his body.”

“I’ll manage something,” Hiromasa said absently, looking up and down the road. Just because nothing supernatural had managed to get them, it didn’t mean they’d be equally lucky if they ran into perfectly natural and mundane robbers.

“Well then,” Haruakira gave a little wave, already turning on his heel. “I’ll see you again tomorrow, I trust?”

“Wait.” Hiromasa’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean to walk alone back to the Ugetsu-ya? Now?”

Perfect eyebrows rose at him. Hiromasa resisted the urge to smack him with the sword. The man truly didn’t have any self-preservation instinct, did he.

“There’s no way I’m letting you do that,” he explained patiently, as if to one of his small cousins. “The night is halfway gone anyway, and trade must be winding down even there. And the forest may be marginally safer than the southern quarters right now.”

“Are you suggesting going back through the forest, then?” Haruakira said, mimicking his tone of someone patiently talking to a toddler.

“Come and stay with me, is what I’m suggesting. My estate is much closer than the Ugetsu-ya, and in the much safer parts of the city.”

“Your estate? Whatever will people think, my lord?” The old teasing tone was back, but Hiromasa ignored it.

“And what do you think I will feel if I find out they fished your remains out of the Nishi-Hourikawa canal tomorrow?” he asked, and couldn’t quite suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at saying that out loud. “You’re coming with me. As a guest.”

For a moment there, he was sure that Haruakira was about to refuse and turn away again, and he really, really did not look forward to the walk all the way to the Ugetsu-ya and back that would mean for him. But then, the man’s shoulders relaxed, just marginally, barely perceptible in the moonlight.

“You’re a very good man, lord Minamoto-no-Hiromasa,” Haruakira sighed softly, and followed him home.

“This gentleman will be staying tonight,” Hiromasa told his bleary-eyed, yawning page who had come to meet them as soon as they were through the estate gates and into the main building.

“Erm. Congratulations, my lord?” he replied uncertainly, and a soft snort sounded from behind Hiromasa. 

“By which I mean, prepare the guest wing for him immediately,” he ground out, face heating up. Couldn’t he go one day, just one day, without horribly embarrassing himself in front of the man?

“Eh? Oh. Ah! Yes, my lord! Immediately, my lord,” the servant suddenly woke up and scurried away, bowing profusely and tripping over his own night clothes.

“I’m sorry about that,” Hiromasa said to the wall in front of him.

“It’s lovely to see how well you get along with your household members,” an amused Haruakira said diplomatically behind him, and Hiromasa could just hear the foxiness of his expression. 

Well. At least Haruakira was having fun. Silver linings and all, he supposed.

But even that embarrassment eventually faded away, and when the flustered servant had returned to usher the guest to his rooms, they said their polite goodnights and retreated each to his own wing of the sleeping estate.

And so, Hiromasa found himself alone and restless in his bedroll for an entirely different reason this time. When he had invited Haruakira to his home, he hadn’t really stopped to think how it would feel like to lie in the dark and know that the man was getting undressed for bed under his own roof, just a few dozen paces and a couple of corridors away from him.

The answer was, terribly tempting.

He would never actually go to him, of course. He had told the truth when he said that buying him wasn’t what he really wanted, and he knew he wasn’t what Haruakira wanted either. But even if he had been, he would still not go. He would never take advantage of someone he had taken in as a guest, and he hoped Haruakira knew it, too. He hoped he knew that he was as safe in this house as Hiromasa himself had been in his hands the previous night.

But that didn’t stop him from fantasizing. Nothing could have, in the shelter of the deep summer night, whose warmth made the covers tangle in his feet and the night robe cling to his damp skin. So he imagined Haruakira coming to him instead, light on his feet, like a welcome cool night breeze, parting the standing curtains around his bed, parting his thin night robe, parting his lips with his own. 

Hiromasa sighed in the darkness, shifting in his bedroll, eyes lingering on the firmly closed doors to his bedroom and ears straining to catch the sounds of silk and quiet footsteps in the silence beyond the room.

But of course, there were none. Haruakira had to be undressed and in bed already, getting comfortable for sleep.

The thought did nothing at all to soothe Hiromasa. He turned in his too-empty bedroll, trying to find comfort.

He wondered what it would be like to share it with Haruakira. He wondered how he liked to be touched - not for work, but when it was just for him, when he shared himself with a lover. He wondered what he enjoyed the most, what made him moan and what made him laugh. Hiromasa wanted that low voice in his ear as he sought the answers with his fingers and lips along soft expanses of cool, sweat-dampened skin smelling of expensive incense, secrets and desire.

He wanted to wreathe that elegant throat in kisses, like the one he had planted there on that first night. He wanted to feel that dancer’s body twist in pleasure next to his own, to breathe in that maddening scent, taste the summer on his skin, hear him sigh his name over and over again, look at that face light up just for him. He wanted nails to drag along his naked back and glinting sharp teeth to sink into his flesh. And in the end, he wanted Haruakira to fall asleep in his arms, blood-red lips curved in that beautiful sincere smile of his.

Yes. That last one he could actually have, Hiromasa reminded himself and held on to that, and only that, letting the rest of the fantasy go. It was becoming a little… painful anyway.

Haruakira did smile for him, every day a bit more than the last. They were breathtaking, those moments when his genuine feelings broke through and his eyes shone with amusement and mischief. Everything about him was breathtaking. Even the parts that frightened him.

Especially the parts that frightened him, a deep and rarely heard part of him whispered, but he pushed it back down. He’d had his fill of that.

When Hiromasa eventually fell asleep, he dreamed of simply being wrapped around a smiling Haruakira.

Chapter Text

“Is the guest already up?” Hiromasa asked his page as soon as he turned up to help him with his clothes.

“He left, my lord. Around sunrise,” the page said and bowed, just in case. “He insisted very firmly that he can see himself out and that we shouldn’t wake you up, and since you didn’t leave any orders either way…”

“Ah. Of course he did,” Hiromasa murmured and couldn’t quite manage to stifle a sigh.

“I’m sorry, my lord. It’s not… I didn’t offend the gentleman last night, did I? I honestly thought…”

“It’s alright,” Hiromasa smiled reassuringly at the fretting page. “He had business to attend to elsewhere. And I very much doubt he took offense.”

The page didn’t seem all that convinced, but Hiromasa just kept smiling and chatting about his outfit, the breakfast and his plans for the day.

He let the smile slip only once he was alone. Of course Haruakira had left as soon as it was safe. Probably by the back door. Certainly on foot. Almost certainly with a robe tossed over his head to obscure his face and form. It left a bad taste in Hiromasa’s mouth, and he hurried out as fast as he could, looking to occupy his mind with other things. And after last night, there was quite a lot to occupy his mind, indeed.

The sun was still only distantly flirting with the horizon when Hiromasa stepped on the burning dark wood of the Ugetsu-ya’s veranda and opened the doors to the relative cool inside. The usher, broom in hand, greeted him happily and disappeared somewhere in the recesses of the place. Hiromasa showed himself into the ever-dusky interior, now more quiet and less mysterious, and wasn’t very surprised to see the dais was empty.

“Ah, lord Hiromasa, welcome. You’re early today,” a familiar low voice came from somewhere and Haruakira appeared from a side door, together with the usher, who waved to Hiromasa and left the two of them alone.

“Oh. Is it not opening time, yet?” Hiromasa hesitated, realizing why it was so quiet. “I’m sorry, should I…”

“Nevermind that,” Haruakira smiled and motioned him to follow to the second floor, via the service stairs he had just emerged from.

It was irregular, Hiromasa noticed. Normally, Haruakira would go first and the lady, Shirabikuni, would usher him a little later. And of course, there was the matter that nobody had come to collect his money. It was also irregular that Haruakira stifled a small yawn into his sleeve as they climbed up.

“You… got home without any adventure in the morning, then?” Hiromasa asked, worrying the ties of his sleeves.

“As you can see,” Haruakira said softly over his shoulder. “You and your household were very welcoming, thank you.”

He sounded… a bit tired. Hiromasa didn’t like that at all, and stepped up next to the other as soon as they were in the second-floor corridor.

“You didn’t get in trouble because you stayed, did you?” he asked, almost in a whisper. “And I didn’t pay anything yesterday…”

“Of course not,” Haruakira chuckled. “I told you, I can do whatever I see fit here. Don’t worry about it.”

But Hiromasa did worry, because now that he could take a closer look at that pale face, he saw that there were darker smudges below his eyes. Haruakira had lost sleep, he was sure.

He very much hoped it wasn’t because he had expected his ‘welcoming’ third-rank host to take advantage of him last night.

“Make yourself at home,” Haruakira murmured as he let the two of them into the room with the cockfighting doors, and then raised his voice a bit. “Mitsumushi! Look who’s here.”

A blue blur shot seemingly straight out of an idyllic scene on one of the screens and onto Hiromasa’s nose. He yelped, and then laughed at the tickle.

“Looks like you have an ardent admirer,” Haruakira said, smiling, as he rummaged behind another screen and produced a plump jar of sake.

To Hiromasa’s mild surprise, he saw for the first time the stamp on its cap.

“Not as ardent as yours, it seems,” he said, removing the butterfly to his extended finger. “That’s the seal of Mt. Kouya, isn’t it? Even I find it hard to get my hands on that stuff.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Haruakira shrugged and uncorked it, settling down. “It usually finds its way to me without any need for me to go looking for it.”

“Oh,” Hiromasa realized that of course it all had to come from gifts, and the tips of his ears heated a bit. That didn’t stop him from accepting one cup, however. “Is it alright to share it with other lords, then?”

“It would be a sacrilege not to share it with you,” Haruakira said, a warm, twinkling look in his eyes. “It’s not every day I meet someone who can actually match me for drinking, and who appreciates the finer qualities of the taste, too.”

Feeling strangely happy at the praise, Hiromasa just raised his cup in a silent toast. The sake was blissfully cool, and tasted very fine indeed. When he put down the cup, Mitsumushi settled on its edge and delicately tasted a drop.

“I managed to get this,” Hiromasa said and produced a string of amber prayer beads loosely wrapped in paper from inside his robes. “You said ‘something he kept on his body,’ but this is the best I could do without coming off as a complete pervert.”

“It’ll have to do then,” Haruakira chuckled and accepted the beads with a small nod.

“You also said that exorcising that dog wasn’t a good idea, but…” Hiromasa pursed his lips. “I still went to see lord Kamo-no-Yasunori again. Just to ask him about the okuri-inu, you understand,” he hurried to add.

“What did he recommend?” Haruakira asked mildly, cocking his head to one side.

“He didn’t.” Hiromasa made a face. “You wouldn’t believe what he did instead.”

“He forwarded you to Abe-no-Seimei?”

“How did you know!?”

“You wouldn’t make such a sour face for anyone else,” Haruakira sipped placidly.

“Well I have every reason to be sour, in fact,” Hiromasa huffed, hoping he didn’t look as puff-cheeked as he felt.

“Oh? Do tell.” The dreaded fan made an appearance, poised at the red, moist lips and ready to snap open.

“You see, lord Yasunori advised me to go straight to Abe-no-Seimei’s home on Tsuchimikado,” Hiromasa started sourly, arranging his sleeves. “There, a lady from his household, who wouldn’t so much as let me step through the threshold, told me he was at work.”

“Nothing unusual, is it?”

“So I went to the bureau of divination, where a colleague of his told me he wasn’t there, he had been called away to Sai-ji. Which sounded pretty serious, knowing how onmyouji and monks don’t get along. However, at Sai-ji, they told me he had canceled on them because he was attending a personal request from the minister of the right.”

“Hn.” The fan did snap open.

“Only,” Hiromasa huffed, “when I went to the minister of the right, butting in on his family drama, if I may add, he told me that the gentleman had been called away home on an extremely important household matter, at which point I was ready to acquaint my sword with his soft parts, scary magical powers or not. And not necessarily with the sheath on, either.”

Haruakira’s shoulders were shaking in silent laughter behind the indigo and gold fan.

“And you know what?” Hiromasa rode on the wave of righteous indignation, “I think the creepy, cocky onmyouji is actually just off somewhere quiet and cosy, having a nice drink and a few laughs with some pretty thing while everyone’s busy trying to catch him and get him to do his bloody job.”

“Pretty, smart and capable.”

“Sorry?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Haruakira said and emerged from behind his fan, looking slightly pink and struggling to stay calm. “I am absolutely certain that you are right in thinking that. And I am sorry for your plight.”

“It’s not my plight I’m worried about,” Hiromasa sighed and flexed his shoulders, trying to put away all thoughts of the onmyouji irritant. “I’m sorry too, for venting like this. All that was not to say that I will let him get away with it. I will try again, now that I know what I’m up against. I will do whatever it takes to save you from that dog.“

“Me?” Long eyelashes fluttered once, twice. “Weren’t you here to help your friend, not me?”

“I am. But… it’s not that lord Yasunori refused to speak to me at all, you see,” Hiromasa said after a small silence, hands clenching into fists inside his sleeves. “He… he told me what the dog, the okuri-inu, does to its victims, in fact. And to be honest, it’s pretty gruesome, even if he was trying to be gentlemanly about it.”

“Ah,” Haruakira said softly.

“I still haven’t told lord Takemaru’s family, and I won’t, until I know for certain what happened and how,” Hiromasa said, fists tightening further. “They don’t deserve that. But… but now I know.”

“That is very thoughtful. But it’s also a great burden on you.”

“It doesn’t matter. You are still alive and well, though,” Hiromasa said forcefully, holding Haruakira’s gaze. “But being so popular, you’re like a sitting target, all alone out here. It’s…” his voice almost betrayed him, and he had to take a sip of sake to steady it. “I won’t let the same thing happen to you, too, that’s all. I promise.”

Haruakira looked away first, eyes obscured below long lashes. His chest rose as if he took a deep breath, lips parting as if he was going to say something. And yet, no sound came, and after a moment, elegant long fingers raised the cup of sake for a long draft of the fragrant drink.

He didn’t look frightened at all, and yet, something seemed to be happening inside him. Hiromasa wanted to hold him and reassure him it was all going to be fine in the end, only he didn’t think it’d be welcome. So he stayed where he was and just looked at him.

The moment passed.

“Well,” Haruakira sounded uncharacteristically soft now. “The truth is, I was luckier than you, and the home of Abe-no-Seimei opened for me.”

Hiromasa sucked in a breath in surprise. After running around after him all day and getting nothing for his troubles but dust and sweat stains on his silks, the cocky, creepy onmyouji had just thrown open his gates for someone else, just like that?

And then it dawned on him why that would be. Why Haruakira wasn’t looking at him. Why the onmyouji had even been mentioned between them before.

But surely, he couldn’t really be Haruakira’s…

“Is he your client?” Hiromasa’s mouth ran away with him before he knew what he was asking, and he bit his lip, but it was too late.

“No,” Haruakira shook his head, seeming to take no offense at the question. “It’s not like that at all. It’s… completely different.”

The breath left Hiromasa’s chest as cold certainty washed over him. So cold, in fact, that it burned.

He had no reason to feel this way, he firmly reminded himself, struggling to shake off the shock. He was nobody to Haruakira. He had no right to have an opinion about his private life. In fact, he should be happy that Haruakira had someone outside this place who cared about him and to whom he could turn. 

Yes. It was a good thing. And Haruakira wasn’t the kind of man who’d take someone as a lover unless he was more than worth it. It was a good thing, and Hiromasa had to get himself together and say something already. Only, nothing seemed to come to him.

“If lord Yasunori explained to you what the okuri-inu does, you already know that there’s a small chance that your friend might still be alive somewhere,” Haruakira spoke instead, calm and businesslike. “And the fastest way to find out where exactly, is to draw out the dog. Give it a new victim to follow, and get it to show us what it does with them.”

“Alright,” Hiromasa took a deep breath, sobering up at the prospect of finding his friend alive, after all. “Lord Yasunori didn’t sound optimistic at all, in fact, but if you think differently, I’m ready to try anything. What must I do?”

Cautious black eyes regarded him for a moment while the other took a small sip.

“That is very noble of you, but I'm afraid you won’t like it at all.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it. So, let’s?”

“Let’s,” Haruakira smiled and lifted the jar to pour for both of them. “But let’s finish this excellent sake first. There’s still some time until full darkness, and this is rather nice.”

Hiromasa accepted the refill, and despite his best effort, couldn’t stop his eyes from lingering on the lightest sheen of sake on the gently curving full lower lip of the other man.

He forced them away, and started telling Haruakira some of the funny stories he had heard while waiting with the other noblemen for his audience with the emperor.

Haruakira had been right, and Hiromasa didn’t like it one bit. In fact, every time he was reminded of the existence of the charm tucked in his sash, disgusted goosebumps ran all over his skin. He had been placidly informed that the bloody thing made it seem, at least to glowing supernatural dogs, as if he’d had sex with Haruakira, and was now covered in his blood.

His skin crawled again at the idea, and he kicked a gnarly tree root, just because he could.

In fact, all the blood there was on the charm had come from a pinprick with Shirabikuni’s sewing needle on Haruakira’s wrist which had produced a stain the size of a rice grain on the thick white paper before closing over. But the very idea of doing anything even remotely so violent to Haruakira was viscerally upsetting to him.

However, even that wasn’t the real reason why he had stuck the flute to his lips and obstinately refused to stop playing it ever since he’d learned what the plan was.

No, the real reason was that he didn’t want to be held responsible for what he might do if his hands and especially his mouth weren’t occupied.

The bloody, bloody onmyouji apparently had just handed all of these, these props, to Haruakira (his very own lover, for heaven’s sake!) and let him go on his merry way into the midnight forest with some other random lord he knew nothing about (nevermind that he was the lord in question) and could not have even been bothered to come out and help him in person. Having faith in Haruakira’s wits, strength and self-reliance (not to mention fidelity) was one thing, this, however, was quite another. And it was called ‘being a self-important heartless snob who’s utterly unworthy of a man like Haruakira.’ Hiromasa kicked another innocent tree root.

Next to him, Haruakira gave him a look with a small twinkle in it, but said nothing. He looked for all the world as if he was taking a pleasant stroll through the palace gardens, complete with the azure butterfly gently fanning its wings on his hat. Or at least he would have looked like that, if it were even remotely acceptable to carry behind one’s back a coil of thick straw rope while enjoying a walk in polite company.

But more importantly, he looked calm and… happy to be there. With him. And that was something Hiromasa could live with.

Haruakira looked up at him and smiled.

“Draw your sword,” he said. “And don’t forget to remove the charm.”

“Eh?” Hiromasa blinked and his melody broke.

“Now,” Haruakira stressed and took a step back. “And do not look it in the eyes.”

Hiromasa froze as he heard the low growl behind him, flute still up to his face, and panic gripped his chest for a moment.

In the next, there was a squelch of mud and a bark and Hiromasa knew that the dog was leaping.

He shouted, dropped the flute and drew the sword with a speed driven by sheer adrenaline rather than practiced skill. The first slash was blind, a broad stroke meant to ward off anything vulnerable behind him.

To his surprise, the blade connected with something, and the air filled with the smell of blood and rotting meat. With a yelp, the dog skidded back, and so did Hiromasa when he turned to face it. In the last moment, he remembered the warning not to look it in the eyes, and instead his gaze fixed on the black, slowly oozing gash across the dog’s faintly glowing chest, over flexing muscles. The dog crouched low and growled again, hackles rising and teeth baring.

“You can’t kill it, so don’t hesitate with the sword,” a low voice said somewhere behind him, and he was briefly grateful that at least this time, Haruakira was staying out of harm’s way. Hiromasa didn’t want to test the notion that the okuri-inu wasn’t after him.

The dog leaped again. Hiromasa shouted, but he had already gathered enough of his wits to throw his left arm forward, brocades and silks flapping into the beast’s face, disorienting it long enough for its drooling jaws to clamp onto fabric and not flesh. He thrust his sword full force into the soft throat and felt it sink deep into something that couldn’t be living flesh.

“Remove the charm!”

The unexpected give of the soft mass and the explosion of stench made Hiromasa lose his balance, he teetered, tried to regain his footing, but the dog yanked down and he fell.

He fell right on top of the dog.

“Hiromasa!”

Gnarling jaws dripping with glowing slime aimed for him, ripped at his sleeve again. Haruakira had just called him Hiromasa. Powerful legs with wicked claws tried to pin him down, bring him under, rend his silks and reach vulnerable flesh, but the mud made everything slippery. Just Hiromasa, nothing else. Black ooze that wasn’t blood flew everywhere, its rotten stench choking him. ‘Hiromasa.’

With a shout, Hiromasa kicked the dog away from himself and drove his sword straight through its unnaturally soft, boneless middle, pinning it to the ground like a butterfly. It howled, and he used the moment to wrap its muzzle with his torn sleeve and immobilize its head for a short while.

He didn’t even have time to call him over before Haruakira was on his knees on the other side of the dog, looping a noose around its glowing neck with the straw rope, straight over the silks of the torn sleeve. Hiromasa fought to keep the struggling beast in place, leaning his entire weight on it.

The long, deft fingers had the thing tied in seconds, and as soon as the noose closed, the dog’s body slumped completely, like a rag doll. It didn’t even growl, and just lay limply into the mud, still pinned as it was by Hiromasa’s sword.

And then Haruakira’s hands were on Hiromasa’s cheeks, and wide black eyes were looking him over.

“Are you injured?” he breathed.

“I… don’t think so,” Hiromasa panted, looking into the pale face. “Not much anyway.”

Fingers shot into his clothes, grabbed the bloodied charm from his sash and tore it to pieces, which in turn disappeared into Haruakira’s own robes. Searching hands then flew to his now naked left arm, to his chest and belly, careful, probing, trembling.

Hiromasa willed the adrenaline mist to clear away and tried to take stock himself. He was certainly bruised, but he didn’t think he was bleeding anywhere. His layered silks and brocade weren’t good enough even for rags anymore, but they had managed to protect him.

He reached a badly shaking hand to his sword, but found that he couldn’t budge it.

“You called me ‘Hiromasa,’” came out of his own mouth.

Wide, too bright eyes snapped up to his as if he’d lost his mind.

“I’m fine, really,” Hiromasa panted with as much reassurance as he could convey while kneeling in the mud covered in the black blood of an okuri-inu. His hand slipped from the sword handle and fell to his lap.

For a moment, Haruakira’s damp forehead leaned onto his naked shoulder, and he felt an unsteady hot breath escape down his arm.

And then, Haruakira was back on his feet, looking as calm and collected as ever. He pulled out with some force the sword and, after wiping it on the sad remains of the torn sleeve, handed it back to him.

His own flute was handed to him next, and Hiromasa gasped in surprise and his shaky hands flew to his sash. He took the flute with a murmured thanks, carefully rubbed it clean in his relatively less muddied underlayers, and then tucked it snugly against his belly.

It was only when Haruakira started to take off his clothes that it occurred to Hiromasa to check himself for head injuries as well.

“Since you said that being naked is the last thing you want,” Haruakira murmured when he handed him his dark blue outer robe and one of his sheer underlayers, eyes averted.

Hiromasa took them, more out of surprise than any real embarrassment at being seen like that. In fact, he found with some surprise that it hadn’t even occurred to him to try to hide his skin from Haruakira. But the robes were soft and clean, and smelled of Haruakira and his incense, and that was incredibly nice. So he wore them.

The dog obediently trotted in front of them, on the end of its straw rope leash. Bright white paper charms and lightning shapes hung from it, and its other end rested loosely wound around Haruakira’s fist. The okuri-inu didn’t show any signs of wanting to escape, and sometimes even turned around, as if to make sure its two companions were following it. Once in a while, Haruakira brought to its nose Takemaru’s amber prayer beads to sniff.

“It’s very docile,” Hiromasa said after a while, mostly because he wanted to hear Haruakira’s voice.

“Well, it was originally just a simple dog. It’s used to humans.”

“This is someone’s… pet dog?”

“Not exactly. But think about it - you said that your friend didn’t have any special connection to dogs,” Haruakira said, a bit absently. “One can suppose that they also meant nothing to Yomi-hime’s colleague that your friend was visiting. And yet, there was an okuri-inu clearly involved in all this. Where did it come from?”

“It… had a connection… to one of the previous disappearances?” Hiromasa ventured.

“Which one in particular, do you think?”

“Ah! The first? The man who died at the Ugetsu-ya, did he have a connection to dogs?”

“I didn’t know that either, and so today I went to see his mother. Shirabikuni was able to tell me where she lived.”

“And he just happened to have a… giant dog?” Hiromasa asked, eyeing the monstrosity.

“No,” Haruakira chuckled. “He didn’t have a pet. But after some thought, she told me that he did like to feed strays. And when I asked around the Ugetsu-ya, two of the staff remembered that there had been the corpse of a dog in the street on the day their colleague had been killed. They remembered it, because it had been rather gruesome, apparently - the dog had been stabbed with a sword, and left to die slowly.”

“Horrible,” Hiromasa shuddered, huddling in his borrowed robe.

“They told me that it was a smallish dog, and the most remarkable thing about it, other than the smell, was that it was missing its tail.”

“Ah,” Hiromasa sighed, not very surprised, and his eyes drifted to the sickly-looking stump on the back of the okuri-inu, which it was currently attempting to wag cheerfully at them. “So you think that… that lord first killed the dog’s benefactor, and then the dog itself?

“That’s my guess, yes. Possibly transferring some of the man’s blood to the dog, and with it - his grudge as well.”

“So it had double reasons to hate him. Is this what killed him, do you think?”

“Probably, yes,” Haruakira gave another, carefree shrug. 

It should have been unsettling, to hear someone discuss death by okuri-inu so casually, but Hiromasa found he couldn’t bring himself to be very upset. If someone had done that to Haruakira instead of that other man… Hiromasa shuddered. Yes, from where he stood, Haruakira certainly had very good reasons to feel gleeful about the death of the man who had killed his colleague from the Ugetsu-ya. It wasn’t nice, but it was understandable.

“Why didn’t it stop, though?” Hiromasa wondered aloud. “After that first lord, I mean. Why attack the others?”

“Revenge is like that - you plan it, live for it, achieve it, and then it’s over, and you realize that you cannot stop because you have nothing else left to exist for.”

Hiromasa looked sharply at him. That sounded…

But no, the calm, almost smiling expression didn’t look like the face of someone who spoke from experience. At least, not from personal experience. It was the face of someone who had seen quite a lot of the dark side of humanity, and who didn’t accept it, but also didn’t condemn it. Hiromasa looked at him and wondered.

“But take heart,” Haruakira smiled at him, and his expression was back to what it always was. “Something good may yet come out of all this cruelty.”

Hiromasa tried asking what that could possibly be, but Haruakira didn’t seem to want to say anything more. They bickered for a while over nothing much as they kept on following the glowing dog into the depths of the forest, towards the owner of the amber beads.

“At least tell me why you were so sure that the dog was only after the lords,” Hiromasa asked. “For all we know, it might have had a grudge against the men who survived, unlike its master.”

“I thought so exactly because they survived. They were left among co-workers, if not friends. Besides, losing your memory may sound frightening, but after whatever violence they suffered at the hands of the lords, it may also be unexpectedly merciful, wouldn’t you say?”

Hiromasa stopped dead in his tracks and he stared at the dog, a lump forming in his throat.

“It didn’t want them to suffer like it and its master did.”

“I think so, yes,” Haruakira said softly, giving him a careful look.

“But it might want the lords to suffer like that instead.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“The longer the better.”

Haruakira said nothing.

“Is that why you think there’s some chance that Takemaru might still be alive?”

A nod.

Hiromasa walked on, this time in silence. After a while, he took out his flute, and started to play.

Hiromasa saw the first corpse as soon as the forest receded near a rocky beach of a small brook that fed the Katsura river. The moonlight revealed too generously the details of the carnage on the whitish pebbles, and Hiromasa felt the old churning in stomach again. The body, however, had obviously been there too long to be his friend’s, and the okuri-inu didn’t pause, and so they followed the stream up.

The next corpse was more recent, and when its blurry shape emerged from the darkness and the distance, Haruakira pulled Hiromasa’s sleeve.

“Look at me,” he said.

“Eh?”

“Just look at me and walk,” he gave a small smile.

Hiromasa felt acutely embarrassed when he realized what the other was doing and why. Not that he could blame him, though - who would want to have a fainting nobleman on his hands in the middle of a forest?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, grateful for the darkness, even though he had a feeling it didn’t hide much from Haruakira.

“When we reach your friend, would you like me to go ahead?”

“No,” Hiromasa shook his head and gulped. “He’s… I have to know. He should be my responsibility, not yours.”

Haruakira just nodded, and they walked on. The moonlight made his face glow ethereal and perfect, and the night made his eyes even darker and more otherworldly. His elegant hand was still wrapped in the straw leash of the okuri-inu, and the azure butterfly fluttered on his hat, and Hiromasa was struck by the sheer impossibility of the whole scene. He could have easily believed that he had walked into some sort of fantastical dream painted in ink, smoke and blue silk. The most real thing of all seemed to be Haruakira’s warmth, where his fingers rested on his forearm and guided him.

The okuri-inu stopped and sat on its haunches. 

Hiromasa took a deep breath, holding his eyes on Haruakira for a final few seconds, and then turned and looked ahead.

For a disorienting moment, he didn’t see anything but the landscape, and then the twisting roots of an ancient wisteria reaching towards the waters of the brook resolved themselves into a prostrate form.

“Takemaru!”

He ran to him and dropped to his knees, reached out, hesitated, tried to make out the features of the gaunt, grimy face. He could recognize his friend, but only just. His hands trembled and he couldn’t bring himself to touch him, for fear that he might find him cold.

“Takemaru..?” he whispered, a lump forming in his throat.

Haruakira calmly folded to his knees on the other side of the man, tucked in the short sleeves of the two underlayers he was left with, and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. Hiromasa held his breath.

“He’s still alive.”

Hiromasa exhaled a shaky sigh and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a tidal wave of relief making him weak and light-headed.

Takemaru was alive.

He was alive.

Alive.

“Even if the dog kept him near a brook, he’s been about a week with little to no food, and he looks injured,” Haruakira said matter-of-factly. “No, don’t move him. He needs a medic.”

“How are we going to get him to one?” Hiromasa asked, eyes widening. He hadn’t really thought what they were going to do in a situation like this.

“A party from your household can probably get here with a medic within a couple of hours. I wouldn’t send him to his family, yet, after what you’ve told me of them, so staying with you is probably the best option for him. Of course, only if you’re ready to bring this kind of pollution to your home?” Haruakira inquired politely, as if he was talking about a social call for some sake and snacks.

“Pollution?” Hiromasa blinked, feeling like the conversation was rapidly getting away from him.

“Between the unburied corpses, the grudges, the okuri-inu and whatever became of the first victim, there’s enough kegare here to give the entire Sai-ji something to do,” Haruakira said mildly. “Are you prepared to take some of it home?”

“That’s not…” Hiromasa shook his head, trying to clear it. It wouldn’t do to start getting dizzy again. “Of course I am! I came this far, didn’t I? But I didn’t tell my household where I was going. They can’t find us here.”

“Oh, they will.” 

Haruakira smiled his fox smile and reached out a hand to the butterfly on his hat. She obediently flitted to his finger, flapped her wings there a few times, and then leaped up into the moonlit night. After a circle above them, she quickly disappeared somewhere into the east, towards Heian-kyo.

Hiromasa watched her go, wide-eyed and not entirely sure what was happening, and then turned to look at Haruakira.

“We have some time to kill now,” he smiled and settled more comfortably among the roots. “If you feel up to it, could you play for us? I’m sure your music will be a comfort to your friend.”

Hiromasa looked down at Takemaru with a lump in his throat and ran a soothing hand on his forehead. He didn’t react. He probably could neither hear nor feel anything. And yet, Hiromasa bunched up his old torn robes and gently inserted them under his head.

Then, he took out his flute again and played for the strange group gathered under the ancient moonlit wisteria - the glowing monstrous dog, its prostrate victim, and the man who had brought them all there.

His household had indeed arrived, it seemed to Hiromasa, together with half the servants of his neighbors, entire two medics, and so much loud frenzied bluster that they’d probably scared all the wolves and other beasts permanently out of that part of the forest. Fortunately, they had brought horses as well, and while sleeping was not an option on horseback, at least it beat walking. 

Getting the whole procession back to Heian-kyo through the ruins of the wall and through the poor abandoned estate on sixth avenue in the first distant hints of the approaching morning had been such a surreal affair that Hiromasa had started laughing halfway through. His servants threw worried looks at him, but Haruakira had smiled, regally riding right next to him in silence.

Upon their arrival at the estate, both of them had been met with the wrath of Hiromasa’s mother who had banished them directly to the furthest empty outbuilding, under strict orders to sit still and be thoroughly bathed and put under a taboo.

Hiromasa had been astonished to see a slightly bleary-eyed lord Kamo-no-Yasunori next to her. He had looked positively harassed, indeed, when Haruakira had handed him the leash of the glowing okuri-inu with a sweet smile and a few words Hiromasa didn’t catch.

Which was how Hiromasa and Haruakira found themselves awkwardly standing in a completely empty and rather dusty disused room, awaiting their assigned scrubbing. Little of the sounds of the rest of the estate carried to the secluded outbuilding, and the silence of the pre-dawn hush was so sudden after all the pandemonium of the rescue that it rang.

The two tired men looked at each other, mud, wildly inappropriate clothes, dark circles under the eyes and all, and after another moment, burst out in a laugh.

“Thank you,” Hiromasa said. “You saved my friend.”

“You did,” Haruakira smiled. “I would not have even attempted it, without you. I just… tagged along.”

Hiromasa chuckled at the monstrous understatement and pulled at the sleeve ties of his borrowed outer robe.

“You and the Ugetsu-ya will be fine after this, won’t you?” he asked after a few moments. “You won’t… get in any more trouble?”

“That would rather depend on what your friend and his family decide to do if and when he recovers.”

Hiromasa shot him a look, a knot tying in his stomach.

“But I think I can count on you to persuade them to stay well away,” Haruakira smiled at him reassuringly.

“I’ll do my best,” Hiromasa said, sincerely. His eyes lingered on that smile and he tied and untied his sleeves.

“I have no doubt of that.”

Silence fell. They looked at each other in the twilight filtering in through shutters neither of them had bothered to raise. Haruakira looked away first, to the empty tokonoma of the room. The distant din of the main house was muted here, and so were the slightly closer sounds of servants drawing up a bath. In their small secluded corner, only the dust motes danced.

Hiromasa knew he had to say something, now that their role in the whole affair was all over. Now that he had no more reason to return to the Ugetsu-ya, other than the one standing right in front of him. He had to know.

“Look, I know that ever since I barged in on your workplace, I’ve been something of a nuisance, but…” Hiromasa finally spoke up. “But still. I wanted to ask. Can I come see you again?”

“I thought that wasn’t what you wanted,” Haruakira murmured, still looking away.

“It’s not,” Hiromasa confessed, and sought for some way, any way, to say what he wanted to say next without making it sound… well, like what it was. He was suddenly very conscious of his rank, and how it could twist everything he said into monstrous things he did not mean. But there was no other way to say it, and so he gathered his courage and said it anyway.

“But it doesn’t have to be for work.”

Haruakira looked at him, unmoving, his shuttered expression as unreadable as blank paper. Hiromasa’s heart sank. He couldn’t push. Not when it came to this. And yet…

“I could bring the sake this time. Not many people can match me for drinking either,” Hiromasa said, doing all he could to smile and to sound cheerful and inoffensive. “I could play my flute for you, like I promised.”

Haruakira was still, silent and opaque. But he didn’t move away either, Hiromasa told himself, and so he dared to try one last time.

“I know you don’t want me. I’m not asking you to. But at least sitting together was nice, wasn’t it?”

Haruakira looked away again, long eyelashes hiding his eyes for a moment.

“You’re wrong,” he murmured.

This one hurt. It really hurt.

Of course, Haruakira could have just sat there and pretended all along because of his job and Hiromasa’s rank; of course, he could have cooperated only because his Ugetsu-ya was in danger otherwise; of course, he could be mindful of what his onmyouji might think; but still… still.

“I see,” he managed anyway, keeping his voice steady and light. “I apologize then. I won’t bother you again.”

“No,” Haruakira shook his head, and Hiromasa noticed how his chest rose and fell under the two thin layers he was left with. “You don’t bother me,” he added, looked around, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and eventually, his eyes returned to Hiromasa again.

“You’re wrong about what I want. Or don’t want, in this case. I may have… given you the wrong impression.”

A shiver ran through Hiromasa, and the world suddenly stopped making sense as he held Haruakira’s eyes.

“Am I? Wrong?” he asked, feeling lost and a bit breathless.

“You are,” Haruakira replied and took a step closer.

Hiromasa watched with widening eyes how he took another, too.

And then Hiromasa could feel the heat of his body through their thin summer silks.

Haruakira looked up at him, at his mouth, back at his eyes. At the realization, Hiromasa’s lips parted in a tiny breathless Ah, as much in surprise as in invitation.

Haruakira kissed him.

It was a gentle, but firm touch, without any uncertainty but also without any demands. It sent a shock through Hiromasa, and he sucked in a deep breath. The tantalizing scent that he remembered from the night they met filled his lungs, flowed in his blood, stirred the nameless sleeping things inside him.

He wrapped his arms around Haruakira and drew him in, closer, flush to his body, and leaned into the kiss, tasting, teasing that coveted full lower lip with his own, as he raised a hand to touch that soft cheek and bare throat. It was Haruakira’s turn to give a small gasp and tense up. For a terrible moment, Hiromasa thought he was going to pull away.

But he leaned in instead. The kiss turned hungry, strong fingers grabbed at his borrowed silks, at his nape, pulled him closer still. Sharp teeth bit at Hiromasa’s lower lip and when he gasped at the bolt of lust that it sent down his spine, a deft tongue reached for his and invaded him. Hiromasa couldn’t help a low moan, and let himself be pushed back into the wall as he welcomed the invasion of his mouth, teased, danced and played with the other, drawing him in, closer, deeper. It all dazed him.

Haruakira broke away first, taking in shallow, quick breaths between still parted glistening lips. Deep black, equally dazed eyes looked up at him, wide, as if the man didn’t know what to do with himself.

And Hiromasa wasn’t about to give him a chance to decide either. His hand possessively held his nape and he leaned in after him, going straight for the throat - that elegant, tempting throat whose softness he remembered so very vividly. Only, his eyes were wide open this time when he planted an open-mouthed kiss over the pulsing vein, and then let his tongue leisurely trace it and taste the salt on his skin. Haruakira gave a shocked, shuddering moan and his fingers dug in like claws into Hiromasa’s shoulders and back. 

“Hiromasa…”

Hiromasa only tightened his grip on his waist and nape and trailed breath, lips and tongue down the sensitive column of that exposed throat, until he nuzzled below the two thin silk collars. He could feel the shiver in the slender body molded against his, could feel the thudding heartbeat mirroring his own, could even feel the goosebumps on Haruakira’s skin when he scraped his teeth on his collarbone before kissing it. And further down, below the hard knots of the ties of their hakama digging into each other’s bellies, there was a hint of a different hardness that it thrilled him to no end to feel against his own.

The loud footsteps resounded down the corridor and startled Haruakira almost violently out of their heating embrace.

Hiromasa had just enough time to cup his face in both hands and plant a soft, almost reverent last kiss on Haruakira’s forehead before letting him go and stepping away himself.

“My lord,” the door opened to Hiromasa’s bowing page and a few other servants, “everything is ready, if you’d follow me, and the gentleman your guest can follow Tarou…” he chattered on.

By the time Hiromasa was made presentable again, Haruakira had disappeared, melting away in the commotion like the last vestiges of the surreal night had melted in the bright summer sun.

Hiromasa, dead-tired and desperately craving sleep, told himself that since it was light and he was within city limits, everything should be fine. He probably just didn’t want to be put under a taboo in someone else’s house. And he could go see him when all of this excitement had died down, tomorrow, in peace, he thought while curling up on his bedroll. With any luck, he could even take him somewhere it was just the two of them…

Chapter Text

Five days, five days of a bloody house arrest of a taboo, Hiromasa seethed as he stalked down the street with a taboo tag bouncing off his hat. And apparently he had the bloody Abe-no-Seimei to thank for them. From under what rock had he crawled out? Who had even asked him to butt in?

Five entire days he had not done anything, gone anywhere, written to anyone - all he’d done was to sit, useless, and play one instrument after another. And the taboo wasn’t even over, yet, but he’d told his mother and his supposed servants in no uncertain terms what he thought of the creepy, cocky onmyouji and his orders, and stomped out. 

And it was all because of those three gold tokens.

The three extremely familiar large gold tokens that had waited for him in place of the two borrowed robes. He’d only found out about them this morning, when he’d asked, on a whim, if someone had already gotten around to washing the robes. Five days.

The appearance of the gold could mean one of two things, so vastly different that they made his head spin. He should have asked sooner. Why hadn’t he?

He couldn’t get to the Ugetsu-ya soon enough. And the deafening noise of the cicadas and the already sultry and heavy morning air only added fuel to the simmering premonition stifling him.

At that time of day, the Ugetsu-ya wasn’t open, of course, but it wasn’t locked and bolted either. The usher tried to say something to Hiromasa when he stormed in and chucked off his sandals, but he ignored him. The doors to the main hall opened.

There were two women practicing a dance on the dais, and not Haruakira.

“Find me the woman, Shirabikuni,” Hiromasa ordered the usher who had run in after him. “I need to speak to her.”

The usher made a face, eyes darting to Hiromasa’s taboo tag. After a tight-lipped moment, he turned around and disappeared somewhere in the service areas beyond the fine-paneled walls of the main hall. And Hiromasa tried to get himself under control. His eyes went back to the two women he thought he had seen backstage before. Their presence didn’t have to mean anything. It didn’t.

“My lord,” a quiet, feather-soft voice murmured behind him. “You wished to see me.”

“Shirabikuni, yes?” Hiromasa pinned his best friendly smile and tucked his hands in his sleeves, just to be on the safe side. “Do you happen to know where Haruakira is? I was under a taboo for some time and couldn’t come see him. Well, I still am, technically, but… May I see him anyway?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, but you cannot,” the gentle voice said with surprising firmness.

“Is he also still under a taboo somewhere, then?” Hiromasa’s smile strained. “He’s not here?”

“No, my lord. He is gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone?’” Hiromasa’s voice dropped like his smile. “Did something happen to him!?”

“Not that I know of, my lord. He was alive and well.”

“‘Was?’”

“When he left, my lord.”

“Left where? To spend his taboo somewhere else? Is that it?”

Shirabikuni just shook her head silently, her face giving away nothing.

“You don’t understand,” Hiromasa pleaded. “I need to see him. I must.”

“No, my lord. You cannot,” she said and bowed to him, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Hiromasa said, and gripped his forearms, barely managing to stop himself from grabbing her. The premonition that had simmered just under his skin this whole time bloomed into true panic. “I will buy him then! The entire contract he has with you. Who do I need to talk to?”

“No, my lord. It is you who doesn’t understand,” Shirabikuni faced him and for the first time looked up straight into his eyes. The look made him shiver. “He was never ours to begin with. He is not part of our world. And you should leave and go back to yours.”

There was a silence after that, and it rang like temple bells inside Hiromasa’s head.

And then, all the fox allusions, the smiles, the looks, even the memory of the strange dream Haruakira had shown him the night they met came crashing like a tidal wave, stealing Hiromasa’s breath.

So it was all true, then. It wasn’t just a game Haruakira played because it was good for his job and his image. 

Haruakira really was a…

Hiromasa shook his head. What Haruakira was, was ‘gone.’ Which was all that mattered, really. Shirabikuni was looking at him with a patient, shuttered expression. She would be no help. And he had to get himself under control.

“Could you do something else for me, then?” Hiromasa asked her and reached inside his robes.

He took out the three gold tokens and after a look around, placed them on a small table in the corner, so he wouldn’t have to touch Shirabikuni, polluted as he was. She looked at them, and then back at him.

“Please, give one to the mother of the man who used to feed the okuri-inu, when… when they were alive. And the other two - to the two other men who were attacked. Could you please do that?”

Shirabikuni seemed surprised, but after a quiet hesitation, she nodded. Her careful look never left him.

“Thank you,” Hiromasa did his best to smile. “And I apologize for all the scenes I’ve made in your establishment.”

He bowed one last time, and left.

Hiromasa sat on a warm rock in front of the tiny Inari shrine, tucked between two walled-off plots and almost completely hidden from the road among overgrown shrubs and a large drooping willow.

He didn’t know what to think. He kept turning it in his head, and it didn’t make sense.

Was it just that Haruakira simply didn’t want to see him anymore? And that Hiromasa’s rank made it seem easier, and indeed - safer, to run rather than tell him so?

He could well believe that Haruakira wasn’t interested in him, because after all, everything he had to offer - poetry, music, rank, bloodline and breeding - was everything Haruakira didn’t really care about. He was as far removed from any notions of courtly romance as it was possible to be, and that was all Hiromasa had ever known.

But would Haruakira really run? From him? It was hard to believe.

Even though he had seen him at his worst, for some inexplicable reason, Haruakira had wanted him. He was sure. Despite the rising summer heat, he shuddered at the memory of the sheer unadulterated want in Haruakira’s eyes, and body, the last time they were together. All they had done was kiss, and yet Hiromasa knew he’d had lovers who’d wanted him less than that even at the height of passion. Hiromasa couldn’t begin to imagine why, then, he would run without a word.

He wouldn’t, would he?

He wouldn’t just disappear. Not unless there was something Hiromasa didn’t know. Not unless he was…

Was the whole affair with the okuri-inu truly over? That’s what he’d thought, but was it really so? He’d never asked. Could the onmyouji have made a mistake? Could the dog have escaped? While Hiromasa was safe and snug at home, could Haruakira have been…

He didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. Shirabikuni had said he was fine, and he had to believe that. Instead, he sprang to his feet. He had to do something. Anything.

“My lord, I assure you that the okuri-inu is taken care of, and the monks of Sai-ji took care of its… lair next to the brook, too,” lord Kamo-no-Yasunori said to the taboo tag hanging off Hiromasa’s hat. “And if I may, I strongly suggest you go back to your home and continue with the prescribed seclusion. You came in contact not only with death, but with quite a bit of other pollution, too.”

“About that,” Hiromasa said politely, intending absolutely nothing of the sort. “It wasn’t you who prescribed it, I’m told. May I know which aspect of this case made it necessary to consult with your esteemed colleague Abe-no-Seimei?”

“He volunteered,” Yasunori said coolly. “Apparently, he had a certain degree of personal interest in the case. But I do agree with him.”

Hiromasa already knew all about his ‘personal interest.’ He shared it, after all. What rotten luck, he thought, that that was the one thing he and the onmyouji would have in common. But on the bright side, that meant that the man did give at least a passing damn about Haruakira, which was something Hiromasa severely doubted ever since the night he fought the okuri-inu.

“Lord Yasunori, I’ve heard that onmyouji can use location spells. Is that true?” Hiromasa asked while rummaging through his clothes.

“That would depend on a number of factors,” Yasunori said guardedly.

“Can you use one to locate the person who wrote this?”

Hiromasa showed him the note from Haruakira. Together with his flute, it had not left his person since he had woken up to find it on top of his clothes, that day after they had visited Yomi-hime for the first time. It was the single thing he had left of Haruakira.

Yasunori didn’t make a move to take the offered note. He just stood and looked at it blankly for what felt like an eternity to Hiromasa, with a blank expression on his face.

“No,” he said eventually. “Not in the case of this note.”

“Why not?” Hiromasa insisted.

“Go to lord Abe-no-Seimei,” Yasunori said and scratched the back of his head, eyes still lingering on the elegant writing. 

“Lord Yasunori…”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot help you with this one,” Yasunori interrupted him. “Nobody other than him can help you.”

“But…”

“Just… just go to Abe-no-Seimei,” Yasunori stressed, and refused to be drawn into any further discussion.

Hiromasa would have liked to go. He really would have, even though the onmyouji was the last person he ever wished to meet face-to-face, and especially when the whole purpose of meeting him would be to inquire after his lover, no less. It was the pinnacle of bad taste.

He couldn’t imagine what could be in any worse taste, in fact. Seducing his lover under the onmyouji’s own roof, he supposed, like some debauched literary hero. Heh. As if there was any chance of that happening in reality, he thought wistfully.

But Abe-no-Seimei’s doors remained closed, and Hiromasa already knew from experience how much success he could expect if he tried chasing him around the entire Heian-kyo. He just barely managed to resist the urge to kick the doors with their big red pentagrams. Show-off.

The monks at Sai-ji politely informed him of all that had been done for the victims of the okuri-inu, but denied having ever even heard of anyone called Haruakira.

Just as politely, they also offered him a cell he could use until the end of his taboo, if he ‘found it difficult to resist the temptations of the mundane world otherwise.’ It had been quite some time since Hiromasa had wished anyone that heartily to hell while smiling and nodding that convincingly. Very politely, he declined the kind offer.

Eventually, when he had no more options left, Hiromasa returned to his estate and snuck into the wing where Takemaru was spending his taboo in bed, recovering from his injuries, the malnutrition and the shock. Even though they were supposed to stay secluded separately, he had visited him every day and played music for him.

And today, when Takemaru sat up in his bedroll and asked him what the commotion in the morning had been, Hiromasa found that he couldn’t hold it in anymore and told him.

“You mean… the Haruakira was the mystery man who helped you?” Takemaru’s eyes widened. “How did you manage to convince him?”

“Just barely,” Hiromasa winced. “Did you know him?”

“No,” Takemaru shook his head and shuffled to sit more comfortably in his bedroll. Hiromasa helped him. “Although, I can’t say it’s all that shocking that he’s gone and left. I don’t really think… you should worry.”

“Why?” Hiromasa frowned. “People don’t just disappear overnight! And his work is so very dangerous. Plus, he has no rank, which means no property either. For all I know, he doesn’t even have a home to go back to.”

“They don’t appear overnight either,” Takemaru murmured. “You don’t frequent those places so you wouldn’t know but… he became so famous practically overnight. One day, it was like everyone knew about him. Like everyone had known about him for months on end, in fact. It was strange, now that I look back on it.”

Hiromasa frowned deeper. He had not told his friend about all the fox allusions, or what exactly Shirabikuni had said. But even taking that into account, what reason could Haruakira possibly have to appear and disappear like that? Even magical foxes had their reasons to act as they did, right?

“Hiromasa…” Takemaru sighed quietly, giving him a strangely compassionate look. “I know I’m the last person to talk, but this is an abysmally bad idea, what you’ve done.”

“Huh?” Hiromasa blinked. “What have I done?”

Takemaru said nothing. He averted his eyes after a moment, and absently played with his hair, carelessly let down in a loose ponytail.

“Takemaru?”

“Did you take the Ichijou-modoribashi bridge on your way to the onmyouji’s estate?”

“Huh? Yes, why?”

“Next time, don’t. They say he has some sort of monster living under the bridge that tells him who’s coming. If you must cross the canal, take the bridge next to the eastern market instead. It’s impossible to keep track of all the traffic there.”

“Erm. Alright, I’ll remember that,” Hiromasa said hesitantly.

“I am on the mend here,” Takemaru went on. “But the taboo won’t last forever, and you know, it would not be strange at all if someone from my family was to seek, very privately, some professional advice as to what to do with me next. Say, my older brother, with his very unexceptional handwriting, which looks a lot like mine.”

Hiromasa blinked.

“Such a consultation would have to happen under the cover of darkness, of course. To hide the family shame. And then…” Takemaru shrugged. “In the dark, one dressed-down nobleman looks pretty much like another, and you and my brother are sort-of similar in height and build.”

“Takemaru…” Hiromasa breathed, finally realizing what his friend was offering him.

“It would be the least I can do.”

“But it’s so… invasive. I may not like the onmyouji, but getting into his home under false pretenses is…”

“Oh?” Takemaru’s eyebrows rose. “So you suddenly disapprove of getting into people’s homes, going through their possessions, interrogating their servants, and stealing their amber prayer beads? How peculiar.”

A puff-cheeked Hiromasa smacked his unbandaged arm with his flute.

“What was that for?” Takemaru chuckled. “I wasn’t complaining. I’m glad you did.” He stroked his ponytail soothingly again. “The point is, try your luck, Hiromasa. Sometimes, there are things you have to do for yourself, and to hold your head high even if you know you’re in the wrong for doing them.”

“Takemaru…” Hiromasa sighed. 

He was touched. He really was. And he understood what his friend was trying to say.

That’s why he refrained from voicing his opinion that that was just the kind of thinking that got you chased by a glowing demonic dog in the middle of the night, not once, but twice.

Besides… he couldn’t really swear that he’d never take him up on the offer. Abe-no-Seimei seemed to be the kind of person who could drive anyone to distraction.

Hiromasa was restless and undecided what to do next, or even what to make of Haruakira’s disappearance. So, after a modest early dinner, he picked up the taboo tag and went out once more.

His steps took him back to the tiny Inari shrine he’d visited the same morning. He prayed for lord Inari to let him meet that particular one of his messengers once again. Or barring that, to keep Haruakira safe and sound, no matter where he was. 

Despite the lingering heat of the day and the noise of the insects that still hadn’t died down, being there made him feel a little better. Nobody else came, and the willow and the shrubs muted the sounds of the street. In the approaching dusk, Hiromasa could almost imagine that he was somewhere else, away from the capital. Perhaps out in the wild, where the foxes lived.

The thought made the small shrine look a little blurry and Hiromasa had to rub his cheeks with his sleeves. He wanted to play, but everything inside was too noisy, too jumbled, too disjointed. No music would come out of that, he knew.

A late blue butterfly appeared and fluttered around. Hiromasa didn’t know if it was Mitsumushi, but as he watched it dance around, he liked to imagine it was. Not that it changed anything. What could he do? Ask her to take him to Haruakira? Follow her until she went to him all by herself? The very idea made him huff a small laugh.

When he held out a flower, she did land on it. Instead of tasting it, she seemed to be looking at him, wings moving languidly.

“I want to see your friend again,” he softly told her, feeling foolish. 

She just fluttered her wings and disappeared somewhere among the greenery.

After a moment, Hiromasa tossed the flower and leaped after her.

Hiromasa lost sight of the butterfly in the gathering dusk among the overgrown reeds along the banks of the Kamo river. He caught sight of her, on and off, until he didn’t anymore; or if he did, in the waning light she looked like any of the early moths that his steps disturbed from among the greenery. It was just a butterfly, after all. He wasn’t even sure what it was he’d expected, but somewhere inside he still felt let down.

When he finally decided that enough was enough and he had to head home, he wasn’t even sure where exactly he was. He’d been following the river upstream, the lush growth and the gentle slopes of the banks hiding from his sight everything but the picturesque huts of the fishermen, basket-weavers, boaters and other tradesmen living off the river’s gifts. It was shaping up to be a beautiful summer night, in fact, and he briefly regretted that he was too restless to enjoy it.

There was a bridge up ahead, and that was usually a good spot to climb back up. He hoped the bridge had a name, because the season of the fireflies was almost there, and that seemed like a good place to see them. A bit more overgrown than was fashionable, of course, but then again, Hiromasa had always privately thought that some things were, honestly, more beautiful when they were wild.

In fact, wasn’t that a firefly right over there? He was certain he saw a glint or a glow deep within an enormous clump of reeds, quite taller than even him. It was a bit early, but it would be so nice to see one, he thought as he forgot about climbing back up and followed the glow.

There it was again. Stronger this time.

Much too strong, in fact, Hiromasa thought with a frown and for some reason became very aware of the emptiness on his left hip. His steps sped up. Ahead of him, the tall reeds rustled in the pleasant evening breeze trailing its cool breath through the air. It caressed Hiromasa’s face, too, and brought a distant hint of a smell he thought he should probably recognize, but couldn’t.

Only, it wasn’t only the breeze that made them stir. Hiromasa stopped frozen in his tracks when the reeds parted and a large faintly glowing shape emerged from them, head bent low, stump of a tail raised in the air.

The okuri-inu.

There was no room for mistake, it was the same okuri-inu. It wagged its stump and headed further up the river, apparently oblivious to Hiromasa’s presence. He realized it had to be because he was leeward of it, and so he was probably safe for the moment. He could escape, if he tried. But what was it doing there? Everyone had assured him…

Damn useless onmyouji and damn useless monks. So it wasn’t all over, after all. 

What to do? He didn’t even know where he was, let alone where he could go for help, even if he managed to return to the city proper unnoticed. The dog would be long gone by the time he could get home, or even back to the palace, where his fellow palace guards could help. Even now, it was already headed to the deep shadow below the bridge ahead, and…

And there was someone in that shadow. There was a man, hidden in the inky darkness below the bridge. He had his back turned to him and the approaching dog, but even so, a horrible, cold certainty gripped Hiromasa’s heart.

“Watch out!” he shouted. “Haruakira!”

Both dog and man immediately turned towards him, and he wasn’t sure which one terrified him more. That was not how he’d wanted to find Haruakira. He’d barely managed to fight off the okuri-inu last time, when he was armed and ready, and now…

The last thing Hiromasa remembered before strong webbed hands clamped around his ankles and yanked him down among the reeds was a heartfelt, but not terribly encouraging shout of “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Hiromasa!!”

Chapter Text

“Take off your hakama,” Haruakira ordered him.

“Pardon!?” Hiromasa squeaked and gave a startled jump. His back collided with the estate gates which were suddenly tightly closed behind him, cutting off any possible means of escape.

“You’re polluted,” Haruakira turned on him and pointed with his fan to the taboo tag still dangling from his now rather squashed hat. “You’re incredibly vulnerable right now. You could get so sick you’d wish that kappa had killed you swiftly.”

Hiromasa, bewildered, reached below his mostly dry outer robes to the knot of his soaked hakama, which had been leaving little puddles on the ground the whole way there. Haruakira turned away, and strode down the barely visible trail among the waist-high grasses around them. The okuri-inu wagged its stump of a tail and followed him obediently. The kappa’s loincloth still dangled victoriously from its jaws.

“Wait!” Hiromasa exclaimed and hobbled after them, the heavy wet silks tangling around his calves, almost tripping him. “What even happened back there!? Why is that dog following you?”

“It’s a dog. Dogs are supposed to follow people,” Haruakira replied and cast an icy look over his shoulder. “Unlike third-rank noblemen.”

“No, why were you and the dog at the river? There was a kappa there!” Hiromasa asked, stopping to hop on one foot when the tangled hakama trouser leg refused to let his ankle go.

“Yes. And there still is,” Haruakira neither stopped, nor turned around. “I brought the dog because I didn’t know that such a scrumptious lure would present itself instead.” 

“Why were you trying to lure a kappa in the first place!?” Hiromasa asked again, not knowing how to feel about being called ‘scrumptious.’

“I don’t know, my lord, why were you?”

“But I wasn’t…” Hiromasa protested, and started on his second hakama leg. But Haruakira wasn’t listening anymore, and disappeared somewhere ahead, into the dark bulk of an ancient-looking house. The okuri-inu stopped among the grasses and gave him a compassionate look and a wag of its stump. Then it too left him and wandered off with its prize.

Eventually, he also made his way through the wild growth and towards what looked like the corner of a veranda, with his socks and hakama in hand and his outer robes pulled down to hide as much as possible of his unsightly state of undress. In the early darkness, everything was quiet, except the sound of a welcome breeze through the grasses, caressing his naked calves, and Hiromasa could have imagined he was still out in the wild. He didn’t know Ichijou and the Northern Quarters at all well, but they had to be there somewhere. Or so he hoped.

By the time he clambered onto a veranda and tucked his legs below him in a formal pose, Haruakira reappeared from somewhere. He held a lantern and a small steaming cup of something that he pushed in his hand, after taking the hakama and carelessly tossing it away to dry. Then he sat down and looked at him in silence.

“What is this place?” Hiromasa ventured, between sips of the hot drink. He wasn’t any good with meaningful silences.

“The Abe-no-Seimei estate on Tsuchimikado.”

Hiromasa rolled his eyes. Just a bit.

“Look, no need to be sarcastic with me,” he said, and at the sight of portentously rising eyebrows, he clarified. “I may dislike your man, but even I am not going to believe that any sane nobleman with a rank and a job at court is going to live in an overgrown ruin like this,” he gestured at the house and garden.

“‘My… man.’”

“This is obviously some abandoned plot. I hear there are some in the Northern Quarters. Is that where we are?”

Haruakira gave him a level stare, his nose wrinkling, like a fox’s.

Just like a fox’s, Hiromasa thought with a gulp, and the reality of what was happening hit him like a wave. He wasn’t there for a friendly chat and a drink, like they had done back in the Ugetsu-ya. And the adrenaline of his encounter with the kappa and the shock of his encounter with Haruakira were starting to subside. 

In their wake, he found himself vulnerable and unprepared, face-to-face with Haruakira - almost certainly his last chance at… at anything at all. The thought was sobering, and made him shiver even in the warm summer night. He polished off the rest of the bitter drink and put the cup down.

“Why did you disappear?” he asked bluntly, because he didn’t know how else to broach the subject.

“I did not.”

“Then what did you do? I found the gold, you know. This morning. That was my own gold, wasn’t it? And I also went to the Ugetsu-ya and spoke to Shirabikuni.”

“Yes. I know. Why didn’t you do what she told you?”

“Haruakira…”

“I am not Haruakira,” he snapped. “Don’t you understand now?”

“It’s the only name I know. You never gave me another.”

“Not that. Don’t you understand that what you saw wasn’t the truth?”

“Well, it wasn't a lie either,” Hiromasa replied, trying to sound conciliatory.

“How would you know?”

“You’ve been like that right from the start,” Hiromasa said, stifling a sigh. “You wouldn’t tell me the truth, but you wouldn’t lie to me either. I think it’s just how you are.”

Haruakira looked momentarily startled, taken off-guard.

“Tell it to me now,” Hiromasa used the moment and slid closer on the veranda. “Tell me your name. Tell me what that ‘truth’ is. I’ve been asking you right from the start.”

Haruakira made to slide away, but Hiromasa pinned the hem of his robe. A distant part of him, the one that remembered their enormous difference in rank, berated him for what he was doing, and went ignored.

“And if you won’t, then don’t blame me for chasing something that’s not the truth. What other choice do I have? I want you anyway. I worry about you anyway. If you want me to leave you alone, say so and I will, but I can’t stop feeling what I feel.”

“You almost got yourself killed. Twice now. Because of me, when you don’t even know me,” Haruakira said, his low voice sounding almost like a growl. His eyes glinted dangerously. 

“You also put yourself in a lot of danger, associating with me,” Hiromasa tried. “Why? You didn’t have to go to such lengths to help my friend. You didn’t have to take care of me at every turn. Especially when you’ve heard all the horror stories of what noblemen of my rank get up to.”

“You?” Haruakira gave a disbelieving snort. “You think you are the dangerous one here?”

“If you don’t think I’m dangerous, then why do you keep trying to escape me?”

“Why do you persist in chasing me?”

“Because I want you,” Hiromasa said, letting the strength of his emotions resound, because he didn’t know what else to do. “And I want to know who you are. That’s all. Am I not obvious? I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

“I want you to understand that it’s not me that’s going to be hurt if you persist in entangling yourself with me. In more ways than one,” Haruakira growled and pulled his hem from Hiromasa’s unresisting fingers. But his eyes watched him with hunger.

Hiromasa bit his lip until it hurt. He did understand. But the truth was that when all was said and done, when Haruakira had seen so much of what he always hid from others, when he himself had silently confessed to things he’d been afraid to confess even to himself, when Ha Futatsu was tucked tightly against his belly… then the most sincere response he could offer was…

“Are you saying this to scare me off or to turn me on? Because baring your fangs at me has only ever worked one way, so far.”

Haruakira laughed.

It was a deep, involuntary bark of a laugh, in equal parts delighted and dark. There was a flash in the fox-like eyes, a leap, and hard wood hitting Hiromasa’s back.

He lay dazed and sprawled on the veranda edge, pinned below Haruakira’s weight, his arms held in a tight grip. Something clacked by his ear.

“The taboo!” Hiromasa suddenly remembered, horrified eyes opening wide. “I’m polluted, you shouldn’t-”

“I’ve seen worse,” Haruakira snatched his hat, tag and all, and tossed it somewhere aside.

“Oh,” Hiromasa managed weakly, remembering all the tales that claimed how attracted foxes were to pollution of all sorts. And then, he found that he didn’t particularly mind, even if that were the case. Whatever got Haruakira on top of him.

“And what if I don’t actually have the fangs and claws your lordship favors?” Haruakira asked with mock politeness, as if he had read his mind.

“I’m sure you’ll make do,” Hiromasa breathed and earned himself a chuckle. He tried to reach up for him, and wasn’t allowed to. “I want to touch you. Let me?”

But Haruakira didn’t move, and just held him down. There was tension in his body, probably because he was still angry with him. Hiromasa, suddenly afraid that he would escape again, struggled weakly in the unexpectedly firm grip, too afraid to use any force.

Haruakira finally leaned down and tasted him softly, tentatively. After a moment, he freed his arms, and Hiromasa immediately slid his hands up along warm silk and tense muscle, and relaxed onto the veranda. His hands followed the curve of Haruakira’s back as his tongue trailed the curves of the red, red lips. Haruakira’s eyes were dark with want when Hiromasa parted his lips in invitation.

The wonderful scent of Haruakira made things stir inside him, made him crave more. Aware of how naked his legs were below the scattered hems of his robes, he parted them, feeling the silk trail and expose even more skin, offering himself shamelessly. He was painfully aware how little he had to offer to seduce someone like Haruakira, but damn it if he didn’t offer all of it.

And Haruakira melted into it. The kiss turned deep and possessive. He pressed down into him, finally letting their hips grind together, letting him feel that he wanted him just as much. Hiromasa gasped at the wonderful pressure where he wanted it the most, and reached to the clasp of Haruakira’s outer robe.

Haruakira pulled away, and Hiromasa made a panicked little sound in his throat. 

Bright light flared.

He raised his sleeve to shield his eyes and sat up, startled and confused. Where he could swear there had been nothing but the darkness of the house, there were now two large braziers, suddenly illuminating the veranda as bright as day. He’d heard of fox fires, of course, but had never pictured them like this.

“I want to see you,” Haruakira said, his voice even huskier than usual, his bright eyes reflecting the flames. “Will you let me?”

Hiromasa inhaled sharply and shivered beneath his layers. His first instinct was to say no, but he pushed it down. His eyes returned to Haruakira, and stayed trained there. 

He just knelt between his still parted legs and looked back at him, waiting, chest silently rising and falling.

The truth was that Hiromasa hated stripping naked, even in the dark, even for lovers. There had been one too many remarks that he was as lean and tanned as if he worked the fields all day; one too many giddy confessions that sleeping with him was ‘deliciously dirty,’ as if sleeping with the lowest of peasants; one too many jabs, even, questioning his parentage and his mother’s tastes in oxherds.

His hand yanked open the clasp of his own outer robe. He would be damned to all hells if he let that stop him from having what he wanted. Especially not now, when he had touched and tasted it. His hands did a quick job of his sash, shoved away on the veranda his flute and the note that never left him, and then undid all the ties of his underlayers. His eyes never left Haruakira’s.

He wanted Haruakira. He too wanted to see him. He wanted to see every minute detail, every curve, every hair, map them all, commit it all to memory. He wanted it more than he wanted to hide himself. He wanted to feel Haruakira’s skin against his own. He wanted Haruakira’s heat on it, his sweat, his nails and teeth and spit and seed.

His hands parted the last of his robes and pushed them down his shoulders and arms, along oversensitive skin, and laid them back on the floor. Now he was completely naked and exposed to the night, the braziers, and to Haruakira’s hungry eyes. And inside, part of him screamed.

In joy.

Haruakira looked at him like he’d never seen anything more desirable in his life. His gaze was almost tangible, sliding like silk on his skin - from the tips of his toes, up his parted calves and thighs, between them and up his belly and chest and throat to his lips and eyes. Hiromasa basked in that look, and waited, a little dazed and a little giddy. He had never known that being desired so shamelessly could be such a heady feeling.

Still too primly dressed, Haruakira nestled between his legs and reached out to free his hair. They were still holding each other’s eyes when he felt its tickle down his back. When Haruakira’s warm hand traced the line of his jaw, Hiromasa leaned into the touch, and raised his eyebrows in silent question. He struggled to keep his hands to himself, a part of him still terrified of spooking the elusive man away.

But Haruakira just smiled his fox-like smile, and trailed one soft thumb on Hiromasa’s lower lip.

“Amaze me, flute-player,” he purred.

Oh, yes I will, Hiromasa rejoiced inside as he grabbed at the slender waist and pulled them both backwards onto the veranda. He had divested the slightly startled Haruakira of his hat and hairband before he had time to protest, and then rolled him over to his back and buried his fingers in his long silky hair, trapping him there. He nuzzled into the crook of the elegant neck and then trailed along it the open-mouthed kisses that had made Haruakira press so deliciously into him last time.

Haruakira’s stifled gasp was music to his ears, and he couldn’t wait to learn to play him like the koto.

He tugged and pulled at the neat knots and prim folds of his costume until his naked skin could touch Haruakira’s. And oh, how glad he was of the brazier light now, when his hands and his eyes greedily trailed along the expanses of soft, hot skin that the silk revealed. He covered all of it in kisses, wanting to taste every breath of summer perspiration, trace every curve and fold, catalogue every gentlest gasp and sigh that his touches drew. Haruakira did have the body of a dancer, and Hiromasa wanted to make it dance for him.

The smell of Haruakira’s incense, his body and his arousal was making him throb and feel light-headed, and it only became stronger the further down he went. He resisted the urge to follow the treasure trail directly to its source, and instead took his time pressing languid kisses along the fold between belly and thigh, letting his fingers idle in the soft cloud of hair. Haruakira writhed below him, and strong hands slid into his hair, at first gentle, then tugging, then outright demanding.

Hiromasa mostly stifled his delighted grin, pressed his tongue at the root of Haruakira’s impatient cock, and gave a firm, luxurious lick all the way to the head, before taking the tip between his lips and giving it an experimental suck.

Haruakira’s hips bucked and he gasped loudly. His hands convulsively dug into Hiromasa’s hair, with a hint of sharp nails and desperation.

And now, now he had Haruakira at his mercy.

The triumphant Hiromasa looped one arm in a tight grip on one thigh to hold him in place and pushed his hips down with the other, as he opened his lips and took Haruakira all the way in. He groaned and tried to buck again, but couldn’t. He had to settle for soft shudders and gasps as Hiromasa worked him until everything was nice and slick and gliding with saliva and precum. 

“Oh… oh, you are talented with that mouth,” Haruakira panted, and Hiromasa thanked him for his appreciation by wrapping his lips tightly around him and giving a strong suck, until his cheeks hollowed. He almost failed halfway through, because of the giddy grin that threatened to blossom at the loud, needy keen that escaped Haruakira at that. Then, he set a calmer, more shallow pace that made Haruakira thrash in his grip and try to push himself up, deeper. But with a thrill, Hiromasa found that he was strong enough to keep him in place, if he wanted to.

Perfect. He could go all night like that. He could take Haruakira to the brink as many times as he liked, and never let him finish until morning. If that’s what Haruakira liked, he could absolutely ruin him. As if in confirmation, Haruakira’s toes on his back curled in delight and he moaned gently.

Only once his demonic plan was fully hatched, Hiromasa let the delectable cock slide free for a moment and looked up to admire the effect. He limited himself to light, teasing kisses and laps at his tip as he took in the sight. His own neglected cock jumped with the shock of lust it sent through him - Haruakira, naked, already looking disheveled and flushed, at his mercy. It was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen.

“More,” Haruakira ordered him when their eyes met. “Touch me more.”

Hiromasa obeyed and sank back down on him, closing his eyes to concentrate better on the taste and scent and heat of him. Haruakira writhed below him again, but Hiromasa risked loosening the grip on his hip and wrapping his hand around his base instead, twisting up and down and squeezing in time with the motions of his mouth. Haruakira growled and moaned and demanded more, nails digging into Hiromasa’s neck and shoulders and arm.

When he felt that Haruakira was getting dangerously close to the brink, he let his cock go, to the sound of an indignant gasp. He buried his nose in the soft hair instead, breathing him in, busying himself with the delightfull, firm balls that fit in his mouth so wonderfully. He ran his palm almost absently in light caresses along his length, until he judged it was safe to return his mouth to where Haruakira wanted it the most.

He wanted to touch himself. The slow turning of Haruakira into a moaning mess was unraveling him almost as quickly, and the occasional drag of his cock against his own discarded robes that they lay on was woefully insufficient. But this was so good, he didn’t want to let Haruakira go even for a moment, he didn’t want to stop…

“Stop,” Haruakira panted, and yanked at his hair.

Hiromasa startled and sat up, wide-eyed. Had he done something to hurt…

But no, Haruakira looked wantonly content when his fingers left his hair and traced his slick, sensitive lips, sending a shiver down his spine. Hiromasa sucked in a finger and gave the pad a small flick with his tongue. Haruakira huffed a small chuckle.

“Turn around.”

“Eh?” Hiromasa blinked.

“I want to taste you, too. Turn around,” Haruakira repeated and nudged his ass with the leg that was still loosely hooked over Hiromasa’s arm.

A mix of lust and embarrassment made Hiromasa’s face flush and his cock jump when he realized what Haruakira meant. His eyes darted to the twin braziers illuminating everything and his old habits left him momentarily horrified at the idea. He had never been on top in that position. Or naked. Or in the light. Or with another man, for that matter.

But then the tip of Haruakira’s tongue licked at those red, red lips that could drive Hiromasa wild just by doing nothing more than smiling, and he tossed all shame to the wind. He seemed to be doing that a lot, with Haruakira.

He straddled him, throbbing with anticipation, and arranged himself in the unfamiliar position, trying to remember how the women who’d pleasured him had been most comfortable.

Before he’d managed to, a firm hand tugged lightly at his cock, and he shuddered at a single long lick at his tip, and then…

The hot, wet, welcoming mouth took him in, and he moaned loudly. One hand slipped on layered silks and he almost fell, and then pressed his burning face into Haruakira’s belly for support for the few moments it took him to stop himself from coming then and there. 

He’d forgotten what Haruakira’s trade was.

Another wanton moan escaped him when he sank in deeper, and his nails scarped helplessly against silk and hard wood. It was too good. Haruakira’s fingers greedily kneaded his thighs, his hips, his ass and even his balls. Hiromasa almost sobbed when the perfect red lips closed around him and Haruakira sucked hard, in exact payback for what he’d done to him earlier. He bit into a hipbone, and could almost feel the foxlike smile form around his cock at that. The image alone threatened to send him over the edge again.

Haruakira’s hips bucked a bit, the tip of his impatient cock nudging at Hiromasa. He found himself suddenly very unsure if he could carry out his evil plan after all. His breathing was erratic, his hands wouldn’t obey him, and all of his attention focused solely on the rough, talented tongue that swirled around him in the already tight heat of that beautiful mouth. He wanted to melt into it.

But the heady smell of Haruakira’s arousal was filling his lungs, and his cock was right there, perfect and tempting, waiting for him to taste it. So Hiromasa steadied himself, wet his tingling lips, and took him in again, as deep as he could. Haruakira’s answering moan sent exquisite vibrations through Hiromasa’s already oversensitive cock, and the elegants hands were everywhere, and Haruakira’s weight and hardness filled his mouth so well, the glide and shape and scent of it were perfect, and the two of them fell into a deep, fervent rhythm so easily, and Hiromasa fully abandoned himself to the absolute pleasure of it all. His whole body, and soul, were made of it. It was like floating in a timeless world made of only Haruakira and himself.

A completely new kind of pleasure blossomed inside him, deep and unexpected, one that he’d never felt before. He gasped and lost his rhythm, pressing back involuntarily against its source, and…

…and he suddenly realized that Haruakira’s finger had slipped inside him, deft and well-oiled. It had barely registered, among all the other overwhelming sensations.

But now that he was suddenly aware of it, his body clenched around it, startling him from his pleasure-addled haze.

Oh, and even worse, startling Haruakira as well. The finger left him, the lips left him, and he wanted to shout no, no, go on, but the words wouldn’t come to him.

“Hiromasa?”

“N-not like that,” Hiromasa rasped, before Haruakira could get to the wrong idea, and then managed to add, “I want to see you, too.”

Haruakira huffed a small laugh that Hiromasa felt against his tip. He nudged his unwieldy limbs off, and then motioned him to lie next to him on his discarded robes. It gave Hiromasa enough time to gather some semblance of thought. It was him who had offered himself to Haruakira before, but now he was suddenly afraid he might have offered more than he knew how to give. 

He had never done this before. He had never felt safe enough with anyone before, to make himself so utterly vulnerable. 

But he still lay next to the smiling Haruakira, as close together as they could get, and Haruakira kissed him. The peony lips, a touch swollen, were a blend of Haruakira’s taste and Hiromasa’s own arousal. Hiromasa felt light-headed, swelling inside with all the unnamed emotions Haruakira always made him feel. 

“I want you,” he murmured against his mouth, desperately, devotedly. “I want you so much.”

“You have me,” Haruakira whispered. “For as long as you still want me.”

“Eh?”

Haruakira deepened the kiss, his tongue invading Hiromasa and stealing his breath and his words. Hiromasa shuddered in pleasure, and pulled at him, closer, inviting him almost on top of himself. He wanted to feel all of him.

By the time Haruakira’s elegant hand had trailed sharp nails down the side of his ribs, his hip, his thigh, and had hooked his leg over his slender waist, Hiromasa didn’t have any doubts left whatsoever. He was safe in those hands. Nowhere more so.

The hand slid possessively up the back of his thigh, kneaded his ass, and then sank sharp nails in it. Hiromasa yelped a bit and broke the languid kiss, and Haruakira chuckled. He tucked his free arm under Hiromasa’s head and lay biting kisses on his sensitive, exposed neck. And then, one long, elegant finger rubbed at his entrance and breached him again.

It felt nice. Tight and intimate. Haruakira’s lips on his throat and shoulder felt wonderful. The press of their bodies felt amazing. The feeling of Haruakira, hard against his belly, was some sort of miracle. Soon there was more oil, more pressure, and a second slender digit was inside him.

Hiromasa pressed even closer, reached between them and wrapped his hand firmly around both of their cocks. Haruakira growled and bit into his chest, the nails of his free hand dragging against Hiromasa’s back. He moaned, overwhelmed for a moment, but didn’t let them go. He tried to keep his strokes languid, but firm, driving both of them slowly mad with want.

It was only when the third finger also managed to fit inside him that Haruakira rubbed against that spot again. Hiromasa gasped loudly, his rhythm faltering, his body trembling at the new sensation.

Haruakira was practically on top of him now, working him up into a frenzy, one arm pillowing his neck. In the light of the flames his hair was wild like a mane, his eyes shone with triumph, and his blood-colored lips were ready to devour Hiromasa.

“Please. Please, I’m ready,” Hiromasa managed to pant, even though he had no idea if he really was. But he was sure that just the very feeling on Haruakira inside him would be all he’d ever craved.

Haruakira’s fingers left him when he knelt up and pushed his legs open wider. His ravenous eyes took in the sight of Hiromasa before him for a moment, and then the strong hands pulled his hips into his lap, the silk robes sliding easily over the polished wood. Hiromasa didn’t wait to be invited and hooked his ankle on Haruakira’s shoulder. Haruakira planted a kiss on his inner thigh and arranged his other leg around his waist, keeping Hiromasa wide open and utterly vulnerable.

He didn’t care. He just wanted Haruakira. 

Haruakira took a sake cup full of the same thick oil and covered them both in it, until it was empty. Everything was slick, and hot, and dripping, and Hiromasa felt maddeningly empty. He tightened his leg around Haruakira in a wordless demand, and earned himself a dark, husky chuckle and two, and then three, fingers sliding in and out of him. He cried out and tugged with his ankle this time.

“Look at me,” Haruakira ordered, and Hiromasa did.

And then, there was a tight grip on his thigh, and a delicious firm pressure, and Haruakira eased himself inside of him.

Hiromasa gasped, tried to stifle his voice into his arm, gave up and grabbed and ripped at the silks instead. It was tight and new and deep and hot and incredible. Haruakira was inside him, sliding deeper, and he felt so full, so full and happy.

He felt Haruakira’s shuddering sigh on his inner thigh when he was finally fully inside him, and his eyes almost fluttered closed. But he wanted to see him. To see them. To see all of it.

Haruakira’s breaths were coming in shallow and quick when he raised his eyebrows in silent question, staying still inside him, despite the feral hunger in his eyes and in every line of his dancer’s body.

“More,” Hiromasa begged. “Please. More.”

The predatory smile of glinting teeth blossomed on the parted lips and Haruakira’s hips pulled away and thrust back inside in one fluid motion. Hiromasa gasped again and tried to meet his movements, but strong hands held him in place.

Another thrust, at a slightly different angle, and Hiromasa shouted, his mind dazed with the wave of deep, unadulterated pleasure it sent through him.

“Got you,” Haruakira growled in sheer delight.

His bruising grip arranged their hips so that every sinuous thrust inside Hiromasa would push and drag against that spot. The rhythm that started out slow and careful turned faster, deeper and more forceful. Hiromasa shouted, sought for something to anchor himself to, but the tides of unfamiliar pleasure swept him and he abandoned himself completely to Haruakira.

“More,” he moaned. “I want you.”

Haruakira looked truly wild now, the words shattering yet another dam inside him. He snarled, pushed Hiromasa’s legs over his shoulders, leaned above him. Hiromasa’s body hardly had time to adjust before he increased the pace again, going deeper and harder than before. Hiromasa shouted his approval and got a solid grip on Haruakira’s arms and shoulders. The pleasure was building and building and it was absolutely incredible.

“Touch yourself,” Haruakira growled, his thrusts becoming more and more frantic, his eyes misted over with pleasure.

Hiromasa obeyed and grasped himself, smearing his weeping cock with his own precome, giving it a strong tug, and then another, more, and oh, oh, that was exactly what he’d needed, yes…

The pleasure crested like a wave, overwhelmed him, his whole body shuddered, arched against Haruakira, tightened, all his breath leaving him with a shout, and he came, hard, hard, his seed shooting and spilling over both of them.

Haruakira really was all he’d ever craved.

He was sure he must have blacked out for a moment, or a few, because the next thing he knew was that Haruakira was calling his name, almost begging.

“Hiromasa?”

The very sound of his name on those lips made a new wave of pleasure crash inside him, and his fingers dug into Haruakira’s arms, holding him in place.

“I want you,” he whispered hoarsely. “Come. Please.”

It was all he could manage, and Haruakira shuddered and thrust again. Hiromasa’s body quickly relaxed and let him set the same frenzied pace as before, and pleasure dragged at him again. He could feel Haruakira inside him, could map and memorize every detail of it.

He watched Haruakira lose himself completely in pleasure.

In him.

He cupped Haruakira’s face with one hand. It was enough to make the unfocused eyes focus on him and Hiromasa feld his gaze. He was sure he was smiling like a fool, and didn’t care.

“Hiro… masa…”

Haruakira’s whole body shuddered, tensed, his lips parting in a silent shout, and Hiromasa felt hot, abundant seed filling him, spilling out of him, smearing them both.

Haruakira almost collapsed into his waiting arms, slick with their sweat and seed, still shivering with pleasure, covered with the marks of Hiromasa’s nails, tired and vulnerable and very, very human.

Hiromasa laid him next to himself, as gently as his own shaking limbs would permit him, and pulled their hopelessly messed up robes into the best semblance of a bed he could. Haruakira pressed into him, as if in a dream, and Hiromasa gathered him tightly to himself, breathing him in, laying a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Haruakira smiled up at him, eyes hooded and red lips a touch swollen, and Hiromasa decided that it was the best thing he had ever seen. 

That was how they fell asleep - just the way he’d always wanted them to.

The warm summer night was still tangled in the whispering sea of grasses encircling their veranda when Hiromasa’s arm tightened around soft heat. There was a caress of a breeze against the sheen of sweat on Hiromasa’s chest, and that didn’t seem right.

Haruakira’s body shifted again. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Hiromasa murmured and reached to wrap his arm around Haruakira’s waist. “I’ve learned my lesson with you. If I let you go now, I’ll wake up in the morning in my own bed, or in some abandoned plot. And all I’ll have is a kaidan to tell and no sign of you.”

“Hiromasa…” It was a soft sigh.

“Stay?” Hiromasa asked and wriggled closer, burying his nose in messy black hair. “Please. Enough running already. I don’t know what’s got you so frightened of me.”

“I’m not frightened of you,” Haruakira said quietly.

“Then let’s solve together whatever it is that’s making you run. Just tell me the truth,” Hiromasa offered. He didn’t know what else to offer.

There was a silence that made the night feel cold against his skin, everywhere he wasn’t pressed against Haruakira. He didn’t want Haruakira to run. But neither did he want to hurt him. If the elusive man chose to walk away now, he’d have to accept it, even if he didn’t understand him at all. His grip tightened, despite himself.

Haruakira sighed, and Hiromasa felt his body relax in his embrace.

“Alright,” Haruakira said. “Tomorrow.”

“You will tell me?” Hiromasa was almost startled. His heartbeat picked up, and his eyes widened in the dark. He even rose up to one elbow, trying to make out Haruakira’s expression in the darkness.

“Yes,” Haruakira said, and Hiromasa could swear that his eyes reflected all the brightness of the summer stars.

“Alright!” Hiromasa beamed, plopped back down and buried his face in the silky mess of hair to plant a kiss on the warm nape there.

And then, he adjusted the covers over them and wrapped himself around Haruakira once again. Haruakira pressed back against him and even entwined their fingers. Hiromasa dared to believe, really believe him, and went to sleep, pressing Haruakira’s wonderful warmth tightly to his chest.

Chapter Text

Hiromasa woke up to the gentle susurrus of wild grasses and birdsong, somewhere quite close by. There was bright sun, and no standing curtains, and no sounds of passing servants… 

And nobody in his arms.

The realization flooded his sleep-addled mind with cold horror and his eyes snapped open.

Riots of strange blooming grasses, some taller than him, gently rustled in a quiet morning breeze beyond the veranda where he lay on his own ruined robes. Everything was as devoid of the sounds of humanity as only a morning in the wilderness can be, and the place next to Hiromasa was as empty as the rest of the ancient house.

He lay there for a while, and just looked at the peaceful scene, mind going blank and quiet.

So that was it, then. He’d pushed as far as he could. He had to let Haruakira go now.

He didn’t want to, but… But obviously it’s what Haruakira wanted. And Hiromasa was just the foolish protagonist of a fairly run-of-the-mill kaidan in which the lord wakes up in the morning in a run-down shack he’d thought a paradise the previous night - broken-hearted, a victim of fox magic. 

Which was alright. He much preferred to be that than the third-rank nobleman who forced himself any further on someone who couldn’t really say no. It was alright.

But the place where Haruakira had been pressed to his chest just last night… hurt. 

He curled around the empty space and dislodged the two tears that dropped on his already stained robe that he lay on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected it. And as far as kaidan went, this wasn’t so bad, he told himself. Each of them would return to his world, as it had to be. No harm done. He wiped the tears as they came, and lay there, staring blankly at the grasses, until he got his breathing under control.

Eventually, he sat up, letting the thin underlayers he was covered with pool at his waist - it wasn’t as if there was anyone to see him in that abandoned plot other than the butterflies - and did up his hair as best he could. There was no point in staying there, wherever ‘there’ was. Haruakira wasn’t coming back. He absently wiped his cheeks again, and turned around, looking for wherever his flute and his hat had ended up last night…

Astrolabe.

There was an astrolabe right there, tucked into one corner against a chest of drawers, barely two paces away from him. It was most definitely and beyond any doubt an astrolabe, shiny and well-used, just sitting there.

Burning horror ignited in Hiromasa’s chest and stole his breath.

Widening eyes moved onto a board with what was most definitely a constellation, made in brass star-shaped tacks, and sheets of paper were tacked next to it with so much Chinese on them that they looked like sutras. Which, apparently, was what the half-open scrolls and reference books piled below it seemed to contain.

Hiromasa curled into a defensive hunch when his horrified gaze fell next onto a whole scattered set of long rectangular pieces of paper with a bright red pentagram on them.

Oh, great ancestors, no.

There was no way, no way that was really… It was impossible… This place couldn’t really be Abe-no-Seimei’s house, could it!?

He had not fallen so abysmally low as to seduce a man’s own lover on the veranda of his own home, right in front of his office, had he!? And then to sleep right there until after sunrise, to boot.

He curled into a tight ball of burning shame, burying his face in his knees. Oh, great ancestors, he really had, hadn’t he?

He was quite confident that just for this, this, this monstrous fiasco, his ancestors wouldn’t even let him set foot into the Western Paradise with them, when his time came.

Which would be in about five minutes, if he didn’t make himself scarce immediately, he realized, reaching entirely new depths of horror. Judging by all the stories and rumors, if Abe-no-Seimei came to work and caught him like this, they’d never even find enough of Hiromasa for his mother to grieve properly over. He had to get out of there, posthaste. 

He scurried and grabbed his flute from under the astrolabe, but where had his bloody hat gone? Onmyouji could use location spells, couldn’t they? So he had to collect all the damning evidence before…

“Lord Hiromasa is awake!” someone shrieked, and Hiromasa shrieked as well.

The next thing he knew, there was a young woman in white and azure silks hugging him.

And he was naked, naked, naked, and, oh, great ancestors, she was the same young woman who had opened the door of the Tsuchimikado estate for him that first time he’d gone to look for the onmyouji. And she was hugging him, and he was quite naked even under the thin robes pooled in his lap, and this couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Only, of course, it could, because she had just announced his presence to the entire household. He dislodged her as gently as he could, which wasn’t all that gentle right then, and frenziedly pulled on the first robe he could get his hands on. He just needed a minute, only a minute…

There was the soft sound of a sliding door opening, and a flash of pure bright white silk between the folding screens and standing curtains separating the office from the depths of the house. Light footsteps approached.

Hiromasa was a doomed man. Abe-no-Seimei was about to make a second Yomi-hime out of him.

“Mitsumushi, please. The gentleman isn’t decent.”

With a giggle, and in front of Hiromasa’s bewildered eyes, the young woman turned into an azure butterfly. He shrieked again, and scurried back, until his back hit the nearest pillar.

Wait. He knew that azure butterfly.

One elegant bare foot stepped from behind a screen, the white hem of a hunting costume trailing, like a white fox’s tail. Rich purple patterned silks, and snow-white sleeves worn with impossible grace, and the figure of a dancer glided out. 

Hiromasa’s stunned eyes traveled up an elegant throat and landed on a face framed by tightly bound hair and a fine lacquered hat. The most beautiful eyes he had ever seen looked placidly down to his own.

“Good morning,” fell from the red mouth, still a tad swollen from all it had done to him last night. “I promised you that you’d have the truth, and so here it is.”

“Haru… aki… ra..?”

“It’s ‘Seimei,’ in fact. ‘Sei’ as in ‘hareru’ and ‘mei’ as in ‘akarui,’”^[1] he explained calmly, politely, his ivory face unreadable. “Please, allow me to finally introduce myself. I’m Abe-no-Seimei, onmyouji with the bureau of divination, lower fourth rank. I’m mostly active as an astronomer and exorcist.”

Hiromasa’s mouth refused to close, and he was sure the entire spectrum of human emotions passed through his face while the clash between what he thought he knew of Haruakira and of Abe-no-Seimei caused seismic shifts in his reality and in his jumbled feelings. 

He managed to clamber to his feet, and was deeply grateful for the steadying pillar behind him. He had to lean on it heavily while the world stopped spinning.

Haruakira… no, the onmyouji Abe-no-Seimei… no, Seimei, just stood in front of him perfectly motionless, without so much as even a breath stirring his chest, clad in his rich white silks, right there, in his office, in his home…

And one emotion finally won out over all others.

Hiromasa took the two steps separating them and wrapped his arms tightly around him, around Seimei, as tightly as the slight shaking in them would permit him. There was a small gasp, and he tightened his embrace more, buried his face against the crook of that elegant neck, exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. 

“You’re alright,” Hiromasa whispered into soft, silky hair smelling of expensive incense and familiarity, and planted a kiss on his temple. “You have a home, and a rank, and a place at court, and you are safe,” he breathed.

“I do and I am,” Seimei said with a slightly choked voice and finally relaxed into the embrace. “And you are a very good man.”

Hiromasa could feel Seimei’s heart thudding against his own chest.

His, Seimei’s, hands reached up to Hiromasa’s sides, tentatively at first, and then softly encircled him. Hiromasa grinned, and tilted his head, and kissed him - a quick, soft kiss, just because he could. Because he was in front of him, right here, and he was safe.

“But if you were an onmyouji all along, why were you even in the Ugetsu-ya in the first place?” Hiromasa asked, once the tidal wave of relief had subsided a little bit and some semblance of common sense started to return to him, together with the awareness of who exactly he was talking to.

“Come, get dressed and let us sit down. Breakfast will be along shortly,” Seimei sighed and extracted himself from the embrace, not without some reluctance. He looked a lot less like an ivory doll now, and Hiromasa thought he even saw some color in his cheeks. It was a good, good sight.

While Seimei settled down on the veranda with his back leaning on a pillar, a group of ladies Hiromasa had not met before glided in with a tray with folded clean clothes, water, washcloths and everything else needed to make him presentable in a hurry. He took one look at his rumpled, stained robes still lying on the floor, and then at the now decidedly pink cheeks of the master of the house who seemed suddenly engrossed with his garden. Hiromasa stifled a grin, and accepted the clothes and the ladies’s help.

He shrieked only a little bit when the ladies turned into various flowers and paper dolls and fell on the floor when they were done with him.

“They’re just shikigami, don’t worry,” Seimei’s voice came from behind the light screen. 

Hiromasa carefully picked them up and took them with him to the veranda where Seimei was still sitting. He had a blue butterfly on his hat again, just like in the Ugetsu-ya. Somehow, that, more than anything, brought home the reality that this was the same man he’d met there. So he sat across from him, with his back to another pillar, and looked at him.

“It was Shirabikuni who first came to me,” Seimei said after a few moments. “We’re… very old acquaintances, and she said she needed my help to find out who was doing that to the male prostitutes. Nobody else would help, she said. And of course, there was the danger to the Ugetsu-ya that the deaths of those lords posed. So I agreed.”

“But why not go directly to the lords’ families? Why place yourself in such danger?” Hiromasa asked. Even though he now knew that had never really been Seimei’s job, the vulnerability of it made him feel protective.

“I tried to,” Seimei pursed his lips. “But they all stonewalled me. Even their servants wouldn’t say anything. Very few high-ranking noblemen would ever own up to even the slightest entanglement with the supernatural. Who would confess to such a thing?”

“Oh…” Hiromasa said, and gulped when Seimei’s eyes met his. He had confessed to it. Rather easily.

“So I decided to lay a trap, and use myself as bait,” Seimei went on. “We knew it was only men who were targeted, even if we didn’t know why. So we set up the room you saw with screens containing my spells on them, arranged in such a way that anyone who stepped inside the circle became bound by them. And with a little help from Shirabikuni’s colleagues, and a little targeted advertising, the legend of Haruakira was born. ‘A sitting target,’ as you succinctly put it.”

“So that’s how you did it!” Hiromasa exclaimed, wide-eyed. “That vivid dream you gave me that first night, those were spells!”

“Of course they were. Old acquaintance or not, I wasn’t going to actually let all those… amorous lords have their way with me. They all came with very specific goals in mind, and once I had judged them not to be the danger we were looking for, I just gave them a good night’s sleep full of whatever dreams they wished to see, had Shirabikuni charge them the full all-nighter price, and tossed them out all happy and blushy in the morning,” Seimei smiled beatifically. 

“But I remembered,” a blushy Hiromasa mumbled.

“Yes,” Seimei’s smile became softer. “What you really wanted was for your friend to be alright, and thus you had a reference point in your everyday life that made the illusion fall apart when you examined it. The others didn’t, and for them, it all remained real, albeit removed from their daily lives and into the illusory world of the Ugetsu-ya.”

“Ah…” Hiromasa realized that he had, in fact, Takemaru to thank that he had ever escaped the illusion and the fate of all the other lords Seimei had managed to dismiss. “Is that why you thought that Takemaru and I…”

Seimei nodded.

“I thought the same about you and… well, about Haruakira and Abe-no-Seimei,” Hiromasa owned up shyly.

“Yes, I figured that out last night. I’m glad we were both wrong,” Seimei chuckled, and something warm spread like a balm inside Hiromasa. “But that aside, I was just getting used to spending my evenings at the Ugetsu-ya, when… lo and behold.”

“What happened?”

“Something disastrous. The worst possible person in the world walked in.”

“Who?” Hiromasa leaned in.

“You would not believe this,” Seimei said, fox-like eyes sparkling. “A real princeling. If something happened to him there…”

Hiromasa huffed with great indignation, befitting a prince, and regally adjusted his borrowed robes.

“And then, the supposed princeling proceeded to give me on a silver platter all the information I had been unable to find from any of the involved lords. Information, in fact, which nobody else could have possibly been able to find. I was serious when I said that it was you who saved your friend, and not really me.”

Hiromasa blinked when he realized he was being praised. But… it was true, wasn’t it? His rank and his friendship with Takemaru had opened for him doors that even someone like Abe-no-Seimei would find hard to get through. Or at least, not in time to help Takemaru. His brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recall all the details of their meetings, the whole case, and to look at it through the eyes of the onmyouji. 

He frowned deeper.

Then, accompanied by a rising perfect eyebrow, he gently slid over until he was sitting right in front of Seimei. He looked up and their eyes met.

“I’m… ‘still young, there’s still time’ to start ‘bedding foxes and onmyouji?’” Hiromasa asked very, very calmly and leaned in.

“Ah…” Seimei leaned back into the pillar. The indigo-and-gold fan snapped open in front of his face. “Are you? Well, if you insist so.”

“Made me chase you in circles around the entire Heian-kyo,” Hiromasa said and pinned the trailing white sleeves before their elusive owner could make a run for it.

“I believe it was you who took the initiative on that one,” Seimei said smoothly. “I didn’t make you do anything.”

“Yes, because you were off somewhere quiet and cozy and you were having a few drinks with… oh gods, ‘with some pretty thing,’” Hiromasa squeezed his eyes shut in burning embarrassment.

“Your words, not mine,” Seimei sounded deeply entertained behind his fan. “Although I can’t say I disagree, in this case. But while we’re at it, may I remind you who kept calling me ‘cocky and creepy’ and my estate - ‘an overgrown ruin and ‘abandoned plot’ that ‘no sane man would live in?’”

“You’re an impossible man,” Hiromasa mumbled and hid his bright red face against Seimei’s shoulder.

“Perhaps.”

They remained like that for a long moment. Hiromasa closed his eyes to the unfamiliar sight of the startling bright white robe and breathed in deeply the familiar scent of his lover. Another piece fell in place, confirming the reality of who the man in front of him was. Eventually, with a soft rustle, the fan closed and a hand gently urged him to rise.

“I apologize. For the deception.”

Hiromasa blinked, and finally sat up and looked at Seimei again.

“I never meant for things to go that far,” Seimei said quietly. “You caught me by surprise every time. I didn’t think you’d keep coming back. I didn’t think you’d go so far as to attempt to buy… Haruakira’s freedom. I didn’t expect most of the things you did.”

“Ah… Shirabikuni told you about that?”

Seimei nodded.

“I stand by it, you know. I would have done it.”

“I know,” Seimei said, almost in a whisper, and then added, more firmly. “And I should not have taken advantage of that knowledge, when you knew nothing about me in return.”

“Well, then…” Hiromasa played with the hem of Seimei’s sleeve. “Then maybe, next time I come, you’ll open the gates for me?”

“You don’t know me, Hiromasa,” Seimei said, with a bright and… a touch fragile look in them. “I’m an onmyouji. I’m the Abe-no-Seimei you dislike so. And what you saw was…”

“I saw quite a lot of you,” Hiromasa said, and immediately went bright red when Seimei’s eyebrow rose and he realized what he’d just said. 

“No, no, no, not like that!” His sleeves flapped in an attempt to take that back. “I meant, I think that you showed more of yourself than you realize during the time we spent together. Even if I didn’t know your real name and occupation, I think you were still… you. Weren’t you?”

“I was,” Seimei said, looked away, brought his eyes back to Hiromasa, and went on. “But still. We met in a place for dreams and fantasies. You don’t know me in the light of day.”

“Yes,” Hiromasa said carefully, suddenly fearful that Seimei might start slipping away from him again, now that he’d finally found him. “That’s why I want you to open the doors when I come next time. Let me get to know you. I want to. Will you?”

Seimei held his gaze for a long moment, emotions swirling somewhere in the depths of those fox-like eyes that always enchanted Hiromasa. He dared to take the pale hand tightly clutching the fan and rubbed his thumb on the soft skin.

“Yes. Yes, I will,” Seimei said finally. “Whenever you come, my doors will always be open for you.”

Hiromasa beamed, and took a deep, eternally grateful and relieved breath.

“Good!” he exclaimed and squeezed the hand he was holding. “Let’s start tonight then! I know where to get some excellent sweetfish, and you can break out your stash of that sake from Mt. Kouya! And I can…”

“We will do nothing of the sort,” the dreaded fan shooed him away, and Seimei seemed to compose himself once more to his placid onmyouji persona.

“Why not?” Hiromasa’s grin fell a bit.

“After breakfast, I have to go to work, and then I have a kappa to catch and a demonic dog to train. And you,” he pointed at his chest with his fan, “will go home and stay there until the end of your taboo. I did not put you under it just to get rid of you, believe it or not. When it’s over, then you can come again.”

“You go to work?” Hiromasa asked innocently.

“When I have no other choice,” Seimei gave him a sparkling look. “Believe me, right now I would have liked nothing better than to stay at home under some convenient taboo or other.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Some nonsense about two stars merging into one has the entire bureau of divination in a tizzy,” Seimei waved his fan in irritation. “It’s all extremely unnecessary.”

“I think I saw them actually,” Hiromasa remembered that first time when he’d stayed at the Ugetsu-ya deep into the night, drinking and talking with Seimei. “That was an omen? What does it mean?”

“Oh, our new head hasn’t deigned to decide yet which interpretation will best advance his political career, and we all have to wait on him until he does,” Seimei said with sadly tried saintly patience.

“May I offer my help, then? I can share some more of my pollution, in case enough of it didn’t rub off on you last night,” Hiromasa offered valiantly and selflessly. “Then we can be placed under a taboo together.”

Seimei chuckled. He fished out his old taboo tag from a clump of wild flowers just by the veranda steps and handed it to him very pointedly. Hiromasa took it and fiddled with it for a moment. Despite the reassurance that Seimei was done running from him, the idea of sitting at home under a taboo very much did not appeal.

“Hey… how come you avoided the taboo in the first place?”

“Trade secret,” Seimei smiled sweetly. “Perhaps I’ll share it with you one day. When I get tired of your flute being constantly cooped up at home under a taboo together with its owner.”

“Ah. Good to know that my flute-playing skills have impressed you so,” Hiromasa said innocently.

“They did,” Seimei said equally innocently. “Although…”

“Although?”

“Your flute is also such an interesting instrument…”

“Ha Futatsu? What’s interesting about it?” Hiromasa continued to feign innocence, but his hand went to the flute tucked in his sash.

“Is that its name?” Seimei asked, head cocked to one side. “Does that stand for ‘two fangs?’”

“Two leaves, actually,” Hiromasa blinked. It had never occurred to him that it could mean anything else. Although… “Why did you think it stood for ‘fangs?’”

“I’m an onmyouji of at least some skill, Hiromasa. That’s a demon’s flute, and you know it. Only a demon’s lips can play it,” Seimei said mildly, and then gave him a languid, knowing look and added, “or ones that have touched those.”

For a moment, Hiromasa was speechless.

“So that’s how you knew to give me that speech! About the fangs and claws!” He exclaimed, rising to his knees and pointing an accusatory finger. “You simply saw the flute! And you made me believe you’d actually read my mind, somehow!”

”Me? And what about you, your lordship?” Seimei’s eyebrows rose, and he looked terribly amused once again. “There you wanted me to believe that you were the tame and innocent courtier, all poems and decorum.”

”I said my affairs at court mostly consisted of poetry, music and letters,” Hiromasa settled down again regally and tried to look as innocent as he could, under the circumstances. “I didn’t say anything about my affairs out there in the wild.”

“Ah. What a pleasing coincidence, then,” Seimei smiled that red, sharp-fanged smile that made Hiromasa shiver. “I also seem to have a taste for scandalous affairs ‘out there in the wild.’”

“Very pleasing indeed,” Hiromasa’s answering smile held as much promise as it did warmth, and he leaned in and pressed his lips to Seimei’s waiting ones.

A blue butterfly flew from his hat and rose in a joyful dance into the azure summer sky.

Lord Abe-no-Seimei was very late to work that day, surprising no one very much, and thus missed quite a lot of the learned debate over who the ‘guardian(s?) of the capital’ that the stars pointed to could possibly be…