Pairing: Sumeragi Subaru/Sakurazuka Seishiro
Summary: On a succession of nights, Subaru offers himself to the Sakurazukamori.
This takes place between Tokyo Babylon and X/1999. Subaru is about twenty-one years old.
Beta Reader: Nzomniac
Word Count: 1852
Warnings: This is a Dark Fic- Violence. Angst. Torture. Rape. Mindfuck. Slash.
Sex. Sadism. Masochism.
Author’s Note: This story is dedicated to etrangere for reccing my Snupin dark fic
The Marriage of Murder and Suicide and for her overall support of my most dark and
There were five murders in five nights. Five disparate people, unconnected except that their bodies were found hanging from the cherry trees surrounding a provincial shrine. Hung from the branches so that their blood, when it fell, might give sustenance to the cherry trees.
Sumeragi Subaru passed by this shrine in the safety of the day. Though it was winter in this grove, the sakura blooms were already out, rosy against the snow. What was happening was unquestionably the work of the Sakurazukamori.
It had been over five years since his twin sister, Hokuto, had died, murdered in his place by Sakurazuka Seishiro. It had been over five years since he had last seen the killer holding her body in his arms. There was a hole where her heart once had beaten. Seishiro was smiling.
He went to the shrine that night, to the cherry grove. He was dressed in his ceremonial robes, in his beads carved from human bones. Icy wind blew that night, but under the cherry trees the air was still, warm and fragrant. The sky that had been so gray and dull was a soft violet pink. A seductive place for bloody deeds, wasn’t that Seishiro’s way? The illusion of an embrace, a lulling serenity waiting to be shattered by screams of pain and the crack of bones.
Through the still air, petals began to fall on Subaru--petals like crimson-tinted snow. Like a great, dark cat, Seishiro dropped down from the tree. Clothed in black, his inky hair seemed to blend with the shadows. He seemed a shadow himself till he took Subaru’s hand in his and pressed to his lips the inverted star of the pentacle he had made there when Subaru was just nine years old.
“Subaru-kun,” he purred. “I see your gloves have come off.”
Subaru shuttered to hear the man’s voice again, to feel his touch, to be so near.
“You’ve grown so,” Seishiro continued. “You were so tiny when you were sixteen. You and your sister both, like little dolls. You’re a man now, aren’t you?” He put a hand to Subaru’s cheek, a finger brushing over his lips. “Your powers have grown as well as your body. I can feel your power. You’re very strong. You could kill me I think. Except you’ve come to a place that is under my spell. A sakura orchard sacred to the Sakurazukamori. You must know you can’t hurt me here. You must know you’re at my mercy here. You must know I have no mercy.” His arms enfolded Subaru--the close proximity almost more than the younger man could bear.
“You do know,” Seishiro laughed. “You’re trembling, little onmyoji.” He forced Subaru back against the trunk of the cherry tree. The branches reached up like skeletal fingers and held him fast.
“Has there been anyone, Subaru-kun?” Seishiro whispered. “The distraught mother of some child ghost? Did you and your sister’s gaijin find comfort in each other?” His eyes fixed on Subaru’s--one brown, mesmerizing … the other, false and dead, a colorless blue. “Has there been someone, or will I be your first?”
Then he kissed Subaru. Kissed him viciously, his mouth consuming Subaru’s, his body pinning the other man’s to the tree. And though he had tried to steel himself for anything, though he had come to surrender utterly, realizing what Seishiro intended, Subaru struggled against him, twisted and whimpered in his grasp.
The spell of the sakura orchard was too powerful, Seishiro too strong. The hands on his throat, the mouth on his were unyielding. He could not break free from the branches that tore at his robes. Still turned aside, he tried to speak the words to a spell.
“Shhh,” Seishiro breathed as his mouth covered Subaru’s again. He took the younger man’s tongue between his teeth, and Subaru screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the bite.
The bite. The jolt of sickening pain, blinded by tears, blood flooding his mouth and flowing down his chin. Drops of blood falling like cherries on the snow. He was lifted by the throat and tossed to the ground. There was more pain, much more.
Yet, Seishiro had only bitten into his tongue--into it but not through it. Seishiro’s hands glistened dark and wet. Subaru’s blood coated them like the gloves the boy had worn for so long. Yet, Seishiro was only reaching into Subaru’s body, into him but not through him in a killing blow.
Seishiro was not killing him.
A black bird flew into his face. He lost consciousness.
When he regained it, he was in a hospital, morphine dripping into his vein, blunting the damage Seishiro had inflicted. He had been found under the cherry trees, stained with his own blood, torn but salvageable, still alive.
Seishiro had not killed him.
He was bruised black, gashed, ribs and wrist broken, his shoulder and his hip dislocated. Everything that could be was crushed or clawed, twisted, torn or broken. The overall assault so brutal, so all encompassing, it swallowed up the word rape that someone had mentioned but which Subaru scarcely registered.
He had always known that he would meet the Sakurazukamori again. He had made no provisions for surviving the encounter.
And so when weeks had passed, when the black stitches were removed from his tongue, when the splint was off his wrist and the bruises faded, he returned to the shrine, to the sakura grove. Again the petals fell like snow on his upturned face, and the Sakurazukamori smiled to see him again.
He was just as cruel the second time, though he saw to it that Subaru remained awake this time, was aware of every splitting thrust, of every blow, of every instant of searing agony. This is what Prometheus felt consumed by eagles.
Afterwards, Seishiro knelt beside the boy who lay still with shock in the white snow and the pink cherry petals, drops of blood like crimson tears beaded on his cheek. He lit two cigarettes, offering one to Subaru who weakly accepted it and drew the smoke in with breath so shallow it threatened to go out.
“I’ve given myself to you twice,” Subaru said palely. “Why am I still alive?”
“I wonder,” Seishiro said. He finished his cigarette and wandered off into the rosy coral dawn.
Subaru returned a third time.
The third time was the worst of all.
The third time, he surrendered completely. When he entered the ring of cherry trees, his mind was a blank. He was prepared to accept anything, any bloody punishment Seishiro cared to inflict. Whatever it was, he welcomed it, wanted it.
But this time was different, bloodless; he was not forced. Seishiro made love to him. This Subaru would have fought, but he had already submitted. So he allowed it.
Crushed against Seishiro’s chest, he let himself go. He yielded to the kisses, yielded to the hands that moved up and down his body. His robes fell from his shoulders. Seishiro’s lips caressed the soft yet sharp arch of the bone, the wing-like blades that jutted from his back. His body spoke; his mindless body clung to the man, mindless hands in the shadow of his hair.
Do what you want with me, his body said, thighs parting for the killer’s touch. Do what you want to me. Break me however you like. I won’t stop you; I won’t fight you. Take everything.
“Take everything,” Subaru mouthed, and his robes slid to his hips. Seishiro’s mouth was moving now across his chest, tongue against his nipples drawing them to hardened peaks. Seishiro’s hands were moving down his back, drawing him closer, moving over the curve of his buttocks, down his thighs and pushing his robes to the ground. Subaru stood naked, still marked by their previous encounters, scarred and stitched, the beads of human bone still at his wrists, his throat. The trees reached for him, waiting for the blood to flow.
Seishiro’s cheek was flush against his sunken stomach (he never had quite learned to feed himself after Hokuto died). Seishiro’s fingers combed through the coarse hair of his pubis, the warm fingers of the killer wrapping around the shaft of his cock. The flicker of his tongue against the head, it’s smooth, childlike skin flushed purple red. Subaru sank his fingers deeper into the man’s hair; he writhed now--not in protest, but aching for more--and the wet heat of Seishiro’s mouth surrounded him.
Too much, he could not stand it. His knees buckled; somehow Seishiro caught him and laid him on the ground beneath the cherry trees. Their eyes met and Seishiro’s brown eye, the one that was his own, was as unreadable, as unfathomable as the dead glass eye. He smiled, a mouth of darkness, mocking and consuming.
Seishiro crouched before the boy and took in his hands one long, pale leg, caressing it as he draped it over his shoulder. First one, then the other, and again his tongue flickered the length of Subaru’s cock, tongue and teeth working their way over the soft mass of his testicles, between the cleft of his buttocks, circling the pucker of his anus, then moving inside it, tasting the black stitches still somewhere inside, repairs from last time.
“Please,” Subaru gasped as the shudders of unfamiliar sensation rippled through him. “Please.”
Fill me, his body moaned. Kill me.
Seishiro drew upward to his knees, and Subaru reared up to meet him, those mindless fingers tearing open his trousers, drawing out his cock, long and dangerously hard. Seishiro pushed him back to the ground, but it was Subaru whose legs wrapped around him, who pressed the scarlet head of Seishiro’s cock, slick with pre-come, against his own bruised opening as he ground himself against it, pushing it into himself.
At that moment, Subaru thought he saw something almost akin to surprise dance across the killer’s face. Then Seishiro drove into him, and he thought no more but covered his face with his hands, moaning, screaming with pleasure or pain. He arched into Seishiro’s thrusts, begging “Deeper, harder, sharper, please. Into the ground, make me bleed. Through me, Seishiro-san, please.” A beating of dark wings and the roots of the cherry tree reached up and tasted him as their next sacrifice.
The forth time Subaru came to the sakura grove, Sakurazuka Seishiro did not appear. The spell was broken … the trees were bare, their blossoms closed tight as is appropriate for winter. There were no more murders in this particular cherry orchard; no more bodies found at dawn.
Despite his best efforts, Sumeragi Subaru was still alive and, worst of all, Seishiro’s abrupt disappearance would hang in his mind like a spark. A faint and false hope that he had survived, not because it was a cruel game but because Seishiro felt something, anything for him.
Subaru knew this evil hope would burn in his mind like a consuming ember. In the weakest part of himself, he believed he meant something to Seishiro. That he was something to the Sakurazukamori, if only a toy.