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WARNING: If you haven't read the warning on the index page, go back and read it. If you don't, and you don't like what you find here, don't come crying to me.
Title: This Is Spring

Author: Eleanor K.

Fandom: Blade of the Immortal

Pairing: Anotsu/Kuroi

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Dreamsong, Blood of a Thousand

Posted: 16 Jan 2005

Email: emungere@gmail.com

Disclaimer: They belong to Hiroaki Samura, not me, and I'm rather grateful for that.

Warnings: Anotsu is twelve in this story, although if anyone's being taken advantage of, it's not him.

Notes: Many thanks to Cab for betaing, despite the Kuroi ickiness, and to Chrissy for assuring me it didn't in fact suck.


This is Kagehisa's twelfth spring. The cherry trees are in bloom, and the path along the river is white with fallen petals. The color of snow, the color of death.

He kneels by the river and leans over, black hair trailing in black water. He takes the white paint on his fingertips and smears it over his face until his pale skin is even paler. The blood-red he paints on his lips looks as black as his hair, a hole where his mouth should be, silence where there should be speech.

Wet strands of hair cling to his face when he stands, but he doesn't pull it back. He paints on smooth-arched brows, pink shadows over his eyes, a false blush on his cheeks. Speech has never done any good. It's time to try something new.

He hesitates, but he has twelve years to make him start walking.

His first memory is of his grandfather handing him a sword. He was three years old, and the weight of the steel dragged him to his knees as he tried to hold it up. The old man cursed at him until he cried and kept on cursing until Kuroi stepped between them. He doesn't remember what happened after that.

His grandfather's face, red with anger, madness snapping in his eyes, lives at the back of his mind. His voice is always there, and his insults hardly impact any more. "Girl" is his favorite epithet, which makes this painfully right.

Kuroi sits outside in the courtyard, pale skin bathed in spring sun. His head is thrown back, neck bared, eyes closed. His cloak is slipping, and dark hair spills out over his shoulder.

Kuroi loves beautiful things. Kagehisa has been told he's beautiful. Or at least, pretty as a girl, and that will have to do.

Kagehisa draws his sword and rests the blade against Kuroi's throat.

Kuroi's eyes stay closed. "You require something, young master? My life, perhaps?"

"I walk differently in these sandals. My scent is different, as well. How did you know?"

"There are some things nothing will disguise. Perhaps I felt your rage."

And then Kuroi opens his eyes, sees him, and stops. Talking. Maybe breathing.

Kagehisa smiles at him, the way he practiced in the river and the polished surface of his blade. The way he's seen the girls smile in town, the girls for sale, the girls he stole his face paint from.

He climbs into Kuroi's lap, as he used to do when he was much younger, and hard hands come down on his shoulders.

"Master Kagehisa..."

"I'm not pretty enough for you, Kuroi? Should I mistrust grandfather's opinion?"

"You are not a girl."

"Again, should I mistrust--"

And then Kuroi's kissing him hard, hand harsh in his loose hair, tongue thick and hot in his mouth. He pulls back and leaves Kagehisa gasping.

"You are also a child, young master. Your grandfather would not dispute that."

"But I would. Whose opinion do you care for more?"

As he speaks, he's reaching down between Kuroi's legs, pushing his robes aside, hoping to find him hard already because otherwise-- But he is. Kagehisa bites the inside of his cheek to force down sudden panic, hand burrowing through fabric to close over smooth skin.

Kuroi's eyes are bright. His breath is hot on Kagehisa's face.

"You know whose opinion matters more to me. Why are you doing this?"

Kagehisa looks at him steadily, though his voice is shaking as he answers. "You know why. Don't you?"

Both of them, Kuroi first, Kagehisa following his gaze and answering his silent question, turn towards the path that leads toward the river. Kagehisa's grandfather walks that path daily, regular as the steady movement of tree shadows on the ground. The shadows are creeping under cover for noon. It's almost time.

Kuroi nods and leans forward, pressing Kagehisa down onto his back.

The cloak slips off, and Kagehisa stares into the cloudy eyes of Kuroi's first wife. Kuroi is watching him as he tilts his head and smiles at her, leans up to kiss her cheek. Her skin feels like leather and Kuroi's shudder feels like victory.

Kuroi's dick is too big for Kagehisa's hand, bigger around than the hilt of his child's sword. He closes his hand over the head, palm rubbing across the tip. It feels slimy. Between that and Kuroi's tongue in his mouth, he gags a little, but Kuroi backs off, mouth and teeth on his throat, hand so large it covers half his ribcage. Kagehisa takes a breath and slides his hand...up.

Down. He's holding onto as much as he can, but he feels like he should be using both hands. His neck is slippery with spit, maybe bruised where Kuroi was less careful than he could have been, but still--this isn't as bad as he thought it would be. Kuroi won't hurt him, has never, will never hurt him.

He hears footsteps over Kuroi's breath in his ear and moves his hand faster. He has no idea of technique beyond what he's managed to overhear in the past few weeks, but it seems to be working. Kuroi's hips are moving, thrusting into his hand faster than he can move it, wet and slippery.

The footsteps pause and start up again, quicker, more purposeful and coming closer. He cranes his head to look.

Kuroi's forehead lowers to Kagehisa's chest, and Kuroi gasps, rutting into his hand and, when his hand slips, against his bare thigh where his robes have parted.

Kagehisa stares up, watching his grandfather's face grow redder and redder as he struggles to speak. The veins in his neck are standing out, pulsing visibly. His mouth opens and closes. Red shades into purple.

"You," he says, and his voice is a squeak. "*Whore*." A whisper, ripped away by a breeze barely strong enough to stir the cherry blossoms.

There are more words, but Kagehisa can't hear them. He feels Kuroi's thrusts grow stronger, wilder, watches his grandfather stop talking and clutch his arm. His chest. Watches him fall to his knees as Kuroi stiffens. Gaze fixed on his grandfather's eyes, glazed and in pain, as Kuroi's dick slips once more against his thigh and squirts sticky heat on his skin.

Kuroi is limp and panting on top of him. His grandfather is limp and unmoving on the ground. Kagehisa scoots out from under Kuroi and presses his fingers to his grandfather's neck. Nothing. Flushed skin, cooling under his fingers. Kagehisa wipes his thigh clean on his grandfathers robes.

When he turns around, Kuroi is watching him.

"You did well," Kuroi says. "For a first time."

Kagehisa can't decide whether he means the sex or the killing, and he doesn't care. He feels flushed, a little sick. His legs are shaky, but he has no intention of sitting down. Especially not when Kuroi stands and draws both his blades.

He's not afraid, and when Kuroi kneels and offers him his swords, hilt first, he's not surprised. He lays his hands over Kuroi's on the blades.

"Did you swear fealty to my grandfather?"

"I did not."

Of course not. He didn't really need to ask.

"I don't want oaths and ceremonies. I only want your strength." With Kuroi on his knees, their eyes are almost at a level. "I'll need it."

"You'll need it for a few years. You'll have it until my death."

Kagehisa watches his eyes and sees nothing there but naked truth. He leans forward and kisses Kuroi lightly on the mouth.

Then he turns, heading back to his room to wash and change. He has a funeral to plan.

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