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“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
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When he takes in his first breath upon waking up to his second life, there were only three things he knew with absolute certainty:
The first; he could not recall his own name.
The second; he had no knowledge of where he was currently located.
And the third; whatever had happened to him, or would happen, did not matter. The only path he had to take now is the long, straight road towards the heart of the British Empire.
It is with nothing other than the clothes on his back and the voice in his head that Asougi Kazuma stumbles out of the cabin he was sequestered in and disembarks at the port of Hong Kong.
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There’s no sunlight in London.
The few rays of meek sun filtering in through the large glass windows does little to warm up the austere and imposing interiors of Scotland Yard. The feeble light washes out the colours of ostentatious finery with which the Lord Chief Justice of London has draped himself with, the muted fabric and dull adornments complementing the severity of his countenance as the man weighs his request.
The sun in this place doesn’t burn hot enough to tan his skin and paint freckles on his cheeks. Isn’t filled with the memories of loud laughter and cold bitter tea and gentle hands teaching him how to hold a sword, doesn’t remind him of older times, better times that he still cannot recall—
(“Would you like some watermelon?” She walks up towards where he's lounging on the stone steps with a plate of cut fruit in her small hands. He nods gratefully at her, and she smiles as bright as summer flowers and sits right next to him.
“Here, have a piece.”
The memory of her face doesn’t linger.)
(“It's swelteringly hot, I’m going to melt.” A petulant-sounding voice whines right beside him. His friend shakes off the sweat from his brow with one arm, breaking his stance to slouch heavily with his hands on his knees. “Can we please not do this today?”
“Do not move from that position or there’ll be hell to pay,” he replies back, annoyance lancing his tone, “You skipped two days already!”
His friend groans. “You really are such a fastidious person, K—”
He has forgotten the sound of that dear voice.)
He dislikes London already.
A part of him is homesick, longing for the motherland he doesn’t remember. But the will of the voice is stronger, has him rooted in his seat with tense anticipation.
Stronghart drums his fingers on the table, his eyes narrowed with cold calculation.
“Very well,” he says, getting up and glancing at his pocket watch, “It would be a shame to overlook such proficient talent. Convene with me outside the gates in an hour’s time, and I will set up an apprenticeship for you with one of London’s finest.”
“Thank you, my Lord.” He bows deeply, the motion ingrained and perfect, watching the man as he hastens to his meeting at the Yard.
Despite the words, he feels as if Stronghart would not have refused his offer, no matter what words came out of his lips at the moment of their fortuitous meeting.
The expression on the Lord Chief Justice’s face when he laid eyes on him firmly attested to that fact.
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He dislikes Van Zieks at first sight.
When Lord Stronghart introduces him to the prosecutor, clad in a thick, stifling cloak and a significantly more stifling mask, he’s prepared for the inevitable dissenting clamour. Instead, the man merely speaks a few soft words to his superior, bows and takes him under his wing without a protest.
He stands there, fists clenched tightly, his sharp gaze locked upon the back of the Reaper of the Bailey as he strides away from him, unable to place a name to the roiling emotions curdling in his heart at the sight of that scarred face, the syllables of that (familiar?) name.
Van Zieks provides him with spare clothing. It’s made of a dense rich fabric and is almost blindingly pristine, despite the signs of age. He accepts it with the graciousness befitting his current station; dusts off the long coat, dons the boots. Adjusts the fluttering crimson fabric at the hollow of his throat, a dash of spilt blood that marrs the purity of his image.
They spar and Van Zieks assesses his abilities. The motions come easily, and his grip is certain and sure, too practiced to be forgotten. The borrowed sword arcs in a curve too close to the Reaper’s neck for comfort, and Van Zieks’ gaze sharpens, the lines of his mouth thinning with displeasure.
They don’t acknowledge it.
His opinion doesn’t change with the coming days. He spends his time writing reports and compiling missives for the prosecutor, watching him like a hawk, and is watched in turn.
The both of them, waiting with bated breath for the stillness to break, for this farce to inevitably shatter into a thousand, cutting shards.
Van Zieks flicks his eyes away, gaze distant and shuttered once more.
He dislikes Van Zieks with a passion.
(And yet there’s something there, hidden and unfurling in his chest alongside the burgeoning resentment. A blooming respect, a thread of gratitude slowly unspooling.
It hides amidst the thorns in his mind and flutters its wings in the darkness, blossoming out later, much later, after that fateful trial; to complement the deepening abyss of regrets and abashment and penance and guilt, so much guilt, tightly locked away in his heart.)
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It’s on a cold October day three months later when the tide finally swells, and the rolling waves begin to thunder and surge.
The hurricane that would soon shake the very foundations of Great Britain to its core is heralded by the arrival of the most unlikely individual imaginable.
“Lord van Zieks,” His mentor’s unexpected visitor states nervously, “I, um… I’m glad to see you’re well!”
Van Zieks lets out an exasperated sigh, and the masked apprentice’s interest is already immensely piqued from that little out of character interaction.
He turns his head from where he’s sitting at his desk. Slowly, ever so slowly.
The young man’s face is rather nondescript, his posture lacking and unsure in his drab black uniform, but within the company of two born and bred English persons, it's clear to notice the stark differences between them and him. His wide brown eyes are wandering and curious, darting every which way and that, soaking in the sights of Van Zieks’ ostentatious office, before falling towards the corner where he’s sitting.
He turns his head away before the man can catch his stare.
“So, who is the person by the wall being… punished for something or other?”
The man’s face has sparked no recognition by itself, but there’s something… something there, something present, a feeling that went beyond just the familiarity of his nationality.
Something that makes it hard to breathe, something that aches and pulls and tries to claw its way to the surface, something that felt far too much like unravelling.
He was penning a report about last night’s attack before the interruption, but now, he cannot bring himself to write another word. His hands shake, and a restless urge fills his body; to get up, to move, to go closer and see for himself.
Van Zieks and the man speak in quiet voices. The report is nearly finished anyway. He places the quill in the inkwell, just in time to catch the young man inquiring after him. He smoothly rises from his seat, the man’s words faltering as he approaches.
The young man looks over him curiously, eyes lingering on his mask for a beat too long.
“It’s… nice to meet you.” The words are phrased almost like a question. The corners of the apprentice’s lips nearly twitch upwards, but he resists. “I’m Ryuunosuke Naruhodou, a defence lawyer.” The words are spoken rather softly, but the clear earnestness behind that voice is palpable.
(Ryuunosuke Naruhodou…)
(Naruhodou Ryuunosuke, Naruhodou Ryuunosuke, Naruhodou Ryuunosuke—)
He tamps down the urge to speak the name out loud; to sound out the syllables by himself, and see if it sounds exactly the same as the name ringing in his ears; and instead focuses on committing the young man’s features to memory.
Naruhodou’s eyes slowly grow large, his cheeks flushing under his scrutiny.
A most curious reaction. His eyes probe the man’s face with interest. The mask has the added benefit of casting a shadow over his own eyes, making the direction of his gaze almost indiscernible, and he takes advantage of that fact to track the glistening bead of sweat sliding down Naruhodou's hairline, over that blushing cheek, down the line of his jaw.
He regrets thinking about that face previously as plain. Naruhodou’s features are exquisitely delicate in a way he’s not seen since arriving on this land. His mouth is plush, his eyes deep and soulful. A man who carries his heart on his sleeve and his emotions plain on his visage.
The conviction lurking deep in those luminous eyes is enough to make his heart quiver, his palms itch with the need to touch—
Naruhodou inhales in sharply, eyes suddenly turning glassy.
Van Zieks forces his way in between them before he could open his mouth and speak, and the tension shatters as if it never existed.
The apprentice bows out of the conversation, preserving the silence he was ordered to uphold.
He sits back in his seat, facing away from those eyes boring into his back. There’s a building ache at his temple, which was becoming an increasingly frequent occurrence as of late.
He flexes his gloved fingers, breathes in deep.
The mask over his face is more suffocating than ever.
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(Later, he takes off the accursed thing and stares at himself in the mirror. Observes the sharpness of his cheekbones, the curve of his eyes, the deep rich colour of his irises; tries to spot the similarities between himself and the man that had stood before him.
The man’s name spills out from his lips unbidden this time, encased in layers of hidden, unfamiliar emotion. The pronunciation is perfect.
He covers his face, turns away from the mirror, walks back out to join his mentor again as his faithful disciple.)
There were only three things the masked apprentice knew for sure:
That arriving in London was an act of sheer willpower, achieved through nothing but a consuming desperation to fulfill a destiny he didn’t remember.
That meeting the Lord Chief Justice was an extraordinary coincidence. Working under Lord Van Zieks’ tutelage was merely an extension of that unexpected stroke of luck.
That meeting Naruhodou Ryuunosuke however, felt fated.
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“Kazuma-sama!”
His back is turned, but it’s clear that the young girl’s call, the name that split the air between them, is solely directed towards him.
For a fraction of a second, the world loses its colour, and the sky turns blinding.
“Kazu…ma… ?”
He shakes. The pain that suddenly cleaves his head in two throbs in time with his racing heart, and everything is suddenly on the verge of becoming too much.
The swimming colours settle, but the shapes revealed through the mist are no more soothing to the ache that spreads through his entire being.
Naruhodou Ryuunosuke’s face is stricken, his eyes as shadowed and haunted as the cracked abyss currently occupying his mind.
“W-Wait!”
(Partner, wait for me!)
He doesn’t wait. He flees.
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His memories are returning.
It’s a fact he’s kept secret from Van Zieks and Stronghart. He cannot care less about informing either of them.
Sounds, sights, smells; words, thoughts, emotions; trickling into the corners of his mind at unexpected times, and always accompanied by that sharp, stabbing pain that dizzies him momentarily. Abrupt and fleeting and so utterly all-encompassing for the few seconds it takes him to regain his composure and flatten his expression like nothing had happened.
He almost wishes they wouldn’t come back.
The memories fill up the cracks of his mind, steadily turning him whole once more. But the picture they paint of the man he was in his past life is starting to seem like the edge of an even darker chasm than the one he’s already sunk into.
“Kazuma-sama!”
He shivers.
This was the worst one by far.
He’s wandering the mist-filled streets of London like a looming spectre, clutching at his chest above his pounding heart through the thick cloak and trying vainly to catch his breath.
He meant to head back to the prosecutor’s office, but he'd lost his way, lost all sense of time, lost any semblance of caring. It’s already late evening, the last feeble rays of the dying sun painting the sky with splashes of faint rose and orange. Walking towards the corner of a near-empty street, he finally rests his back against the entrance to a dark and forbidding-looking alleyway.
He stares up at the swirling clouds, watching his breath fog in the chill air.
The floodgates have begun to shudder and rock open, and he’s starting to fall apart at the seams.
All it would take, would be one more push.
Just one more.
He closes his eyes.
He has no idea how long he’d stood there, but by the time he takes hold of his mind once more, the sky had darkened and the streetlamps had begun to cast their eerie golden glow over the silent street corners.
He steps out of the alley, about to head back, but stops in his tracks when he notices a familiar figure haloed in the lamplight, plodding on the opposite side of the road.
Naruhodou Ryuunosuke is wandering through the streets right in front of him, a rather pensive look on his face. He’s slightly hunched over for warmth, arms wrapped around his body and squinting at the buildings he’s walking past, seemingly searching for something.
The defence lawyer steps out onto the road to cross the street, walking towards where he’s hiding.
An incredulous laugh bursts out of lips before he could stop it, and Naruhodou whips his head to the corner where he's hidden among the shadows.
Their gazes lock, and the air around them freezes, suspended in free fall.
The apprentice is rooted to the spot. The chill of the evening has frozen his feet to the pavement, and he cannot move.
Naruhodou Ryuunosuke runs.
He cannot move.
Naruhodou halts in front of him, his eyes frantically darting between the eyes of his mask, trying to catch his gaze.
Unaware that his eyes had been fixed upon him since the moment he appeared out of the shadows of the night like an angel in the darkness.
“You,” Naruhodou breathes out. “It’s… it’s you, isn't it?”
He doesn’t speak. He cannot.
“Lord Van Zieks said you weren’t at the prosecutor’s office, so I-I went outside and saw you here…”
Outside the Prosecutor’s building?
Naruhodou trails off, probably sensing his confusion.
He turns his head to look, and spots the aforementioned building. It was right beside the large, red-bricked library he’d chosen to hide behind, and in his daze he hadn’t even noticed that his feet had automatically re-traced its steps back there until now.
He wants to laugh at how familiar he’s become with this place already, in only three months.
“Kazuma?” Naruhodou’s voice is quiet, but the words strike him like a bolt of lightning.
“Don’t.” He hisses sharply, gripping Naruhodou’s wrist tightly from where he’s extended it, before it could close the gap between them.
Naruhodou balls the fist in his hold, squares his shoulders, stands up tall like he’s ready to enter a fighting ring.
He sees the waver in those eyes however, the tremble in those lips.
“Kazu—!”
He uses his grip on Naruhodou’s wrist to yank the man closer. Naruhodou gasps, stumbles on his footing, and the apprentice takes that moment of clumsiness to slam the man’s back against the red-brick building behind them.
“—ah!”
His other hand is curled around Naruhodou Ryuunosuke’s shoulder, and the wrist in his grip is pressed against the wall right next to the attorney’s ear. He steps closer, staring down at the smaller man, watching him shrink away from the masked man’s approach.
They’re standing too close, their breaths coming out in puffs within the small space between their faces. The cloak over his shoulders covers them from the roaming eyes of the last few stragglers out on the road.
Ryuunosuke takes in a quiet, shuddering breath, squarely meeting his eyes. They look suspiciously wet, and his lips press into a tight, thin line.
The cloaked man doesn’t know what he’s doing. He opens his mouth, closes it again. The words just wouldn't come, there’s too many things to say, too many emotions to sort through, and he cannot arrange them into any sort of coherent sentence.
All he knows is that, is that—
“Kazuma…”
He must stop that as soon as possible.
The apprentice leans down, and crushes their lips together.
Ryuunosuke lets out a muffled squeak, but the apprentice pushes further, prying the other man’s mouth open with the strength of the kiss, forcing his tongue in through those trembling lips. The defence lawyer struggles in his hold, winces when the apprentice twists his fingers and grips the other man’s wrist harder, forces himself closer, the lines of his body pressed tight against Ryuunosuke’s lithe form.
Ryuunosuke breaks their kiss with a gasp, turning his face away before the apprentice could follow and kiss him again.
His lips land on Ryuunosuke’s jaw instead and he pulls back, his mind whirling with a thousand different thoughts.
“You…” Ryuunosuke’s voice shakes, uncertain. His Adam’s apple bobs and the apprentice’s eyes follow the motion hungrily. “You know, don’t you..?” His soft chocolate brown eyes flick up to meet his own dark amber ones. “About… do you know?” The words are so quiet, so weak. So desperate. “Do you remember?”
Does he remember? He wishes he did, and wishes he never would.
He wishes he could take off this mask, wishes he could speak freely; wishes to see Ryuunosuke’s eyes burn with the joy of seeing Kazuma, is so afraid to see them go blank with disappointment instead.
He wishes he could be Kazuma, and is afraid he isn’t.
He shakes his head. He remembers nothing.
Ryuunosuke leans his head back, looks at him from under his lowered lashes. He’s still panting softly, and his lips look slick and inviting under the distant lamplight.
The cloaked man licks his lips. “Please,” he says. He doesn’t know what he wants, what he’s longing for, but there’s suddenly an aching, burning void in him, and Ryuunosuke is soft and ethereal and warm and right there, and he—he wants.
“Please.”
Ryuunosuke draws him into his arms, and kisses him.
It feels like falling.
Their mouths meld together, Ryuunosuke’s lips so soft under his own; tasting of their shared desire, heavy and honey-sweet and bitter with the sorrow of futility. The apprentice’s arms snake around Ryuunosuke’s waist, pulling him closer to his chest; Ryuunosuke’s own arms wind about his neck, and he tilts his head back and pushes closer, the apprentice following along at the other man’s pace.
The apprentice gasps into Ryuunosuke’s mouth like a drowning man, and Ryuunosuke breathes new life into him.
They part, and Ryuunosuke’s palms are cupped around his cheeks, and his eyes are soulful and bright and so kind.
He catches those hands before they could lift up the corners of his mask, and Ryuunosuke’s expression shifts into bitter resignation.
The apprentice kisses him again.
They’re both void inside, the apprentice realises. They can be void together.
Ryuunosuke clings to him, his hands fisted at the collar of his cloak. His grip is almost furious now, unyielding, and the apprentice responds in return, biting at Ryuunosuke’s lips, twining their tongues together with desperate urgency.
They break apart and come together, over and over again.
One gloved hand cups the nape of Ryuunosuke’s neck, slides up to tug at the short, black strands of his hair; his other hand swiftly makes work of undoing the buttons of Ryuunosuke’s uniform jacket, and the white shirt underneath. He runs his gloved fingers down the lawyer’s bared torso, and pinches one dusky nipple between his forefinger and thumb.
Ryuunosuke lets out a sweet groan, and he pulls back, resting their foreheads together as they catch their breath. His fingers continue their path down the other man’s abdomen, marvelling at the soft give of the flesh at his stomach, before slowly coming down to cup Ryuunosuke’s hardness through the thick material of his pants.
“Wait,” Ryuunosuke suddenly voices out, and he stills, frozen at his command.
He’s weak to this man’s whims, the apprentice realises suddenly. He’d never thought of himself as a weak person, but the way his emotions rise and flow, ebb and waver at every word the man utters suggests otherwise.
He inhales, waits.
Ryuunosuke scrunches his eyes shut, lets out a weak chuckle. “This is insanity,” he says. “What good could this possibly do?” He’s not asking him, and the apprentice doesn’t answer.
He’s still overcome with the urge to soothe however, and he cups Ryuunosuke’s cheek in one gloved palm, strokes his thumb under those expressive eyes. Catches a single tear as it falls down the curve of the other man’s cheek and soaks into the material of his glove.
Feels the stirring pangs of regret fill his mouth with its familiar sourness.
“Alright,” Ryuunosuke murmurs. “Okay, I—alright.”
He catches the apprentice’s other hand, and brings it back to his belt.
That now-familiar conviction shines through those brilliant eyes again, and he’s struck by beauty so fierce, it’s blinding.
The apprentice doesn’t delay.
He rips off one glove with his teeth and hides it away in his pocket, before returning to unbuckle Ryuunosuke’s belt and slide the material downwards, loosening his underwear and freeing his cock. He strokes his girth from root to tip and Ryuunosuke moans sweetly, knocking his head back against the brick wall, exposing the long slender line of his throat.
The apprentice leans forward, mouthing at the soft flesh of his neck, dragging his lips up to the throbbing pulse point. He twists his fingers around Ryuunosuke’s erection, hot and pulsing and dripping with his fluid, as he continues lapping at the soft flesh beneath his tongue, savouring the taste of salt on Ryuunosuke’s sweat-soaked skin.
“Oh please,” Ryuunosuke begs, and the apprentice bares his teeth and bites.
“Ah!” Ryuunosuke cries, and he trembles beneath him like a rabbit caught in a snare, and the apprentice bears down on him like a wolf ready to feast.
He sucks marks onto the smooth, quivering column of Ryuunosuke’s neck, drags his thumb along the leaking slit of his cock, ruts his heavy erection against Ryuunosuke’s thigh as the other man grabs his hood, clutches at him with burning desperation.
“Kazu—mm!” He’s cut off when the apprentice catches his lips and bites hard enough to bleed—a warning.
“I…” Ryuunosuke’s breath hitches. “I-I want you to…please…” Ryuunosuke uses one hand to weakly push himself off the wall, and the apprentice backs off in slight confusion.
Ryuunosuke lifts his right hand up to his mouth, parts those inviting lips and takes two of his fingers into his mouth.
The apprentice stares, transfixed at the sight before him as the other man closes his eyes, lashes fluttering as he sucks on the digits with fervour. He pops them out of his mouth, thick wet strands of saliva coating them, brings them down to curl around his own cock and gather up the slick precum dripping down the hot length, before going further down, and—
Oh. He’s suddenly breathless, the wind knocked out of his lungs, when Ryuunosuke lifts up his thigh and wraps one leg smoothly around the apprentice’s waist, and his fingers delve deep into his furled opening.
Fuck, he thinks heatedly, as Ryuunosuke’s eyes blow wide, and a groan is ripped out of him with startling force.
He grabs Ryuunosuke’s waist tight enough to leave marks, and drags him close; uses his gloved hand to force the other man’s thigh higher and further expose the sight of Ryuunosuke’s tight, fluttering entrance to the apprentice’s ravenous eyes. His body is burning, aching all over, his own erection trapped painfully within his restrictive clothing, and his arms shake with the force to not slam Ryuunosuke against the wall and fuck into him right there, to pull him apart and make him scream.
He sinks his teeth into his own lips hard enough to bleed; grabs Ryuunosuke’s wrist and pulls the fingers out. Rubs around the hole with one slick digit before pushing in hard. The delicate ring of muscle gives way so easily beneath his probing finger, the velvety smooth slide of the walls clenching around the digit as he forces it in. Ryuunosuke arches, mewls, and the apprentice shakes.
A second digit joins the first, and he digs them deep into the sensitive spot hidden deep within Ryuunosuke, stroking mercilessly.
“Oh God,” Ryuunosuke pants. “Oh please, more—ah!” A full-body shudder wrecks his frame and his knees grow weak, the only thing holding him up being the apprentice’s arms around him. The apprentice crooks his fingers, adds another, twists them ruthlessly; watches breathlessly as Ryuunosuke writhes and clings to him.
Ryuunosuke scrunches his eyes shut, buries his face in the apprentice’s chest, cries, “I’m ready—I’m ready, please,” and the apprentice drags his fingers out with a wet squelch.
The defence lawyer shivers in his arms, heaves for breath. Pulls away and moves around the apprentice, further into the dark alley, dropping to his hands and knees in front of him without another word.
He can hear Ryuunosuke’s breath hitch as he approaches, his boots clicking too loud on the cobblestone ground.
The masked man takes in the sight before him with dark, hungry eyes. It’s a tantalising spread laid out before him, and he wants to savour it, swallow it whole; every heated moment, every choked out cry, every curve and dip of Ryuunosuke’s body, everything that Ryuunosuke was willing to offer to him.
He drapes himself over the other man’s back, running his hands over the expanse of smooth, supple flesh. Ryuunosuke audibly shivers as he strokes one thigh with a thick gloved palm, grips it hard and pushes his legs apart, exposing his slick entrance to the apprentice’s gaze.
He makes hasty work of his belt, freeing his aching cock. Slides his hand up the length, gathering the oozing precum, and pulls in broad strokes, hissing at the sensitivity. The pleasure builds, and he guides the bulbous head to the other man’s furled opening, watching in awe as Ryuunosuke’s twitching hole swallows the head of his cock greedily.
His mouth opens in a moan and he squeezes his eyes shut, drops his head on Ryuunosuke’s back. The soft warmth enveloping him is divine, and he pants heavily, grips Ryuunosuke’s body hard enough to bruise. Yanks him by the waist backwards just as he rolls his hips forward, sheathing himself inside fully with one hard thrust.
Ryuunosuke screams, fingers grappling for purchase on the ground. The masked man lets out a shuddering exhale, breathes in deep. He draws back, pounds in with bone-rattling force. Sinks into him again and again; his shallow sighs turning into bitten-off groans as the pleasure rapidly escalates. The yielding heat of Ryuunosuke’s body is so addictive, the convulsing tightness boiling his blood to an almost feverish degree.
He presses himself as tight to the other man’s lithe, curved form as he possibly could, pushes the edge of his lips against the sweat-soaked nape of Ryuunosuke’s neck. Places a hand right on top of the slighter man’s abdomen, feeling the shifting interplay of muscles beneath his skin as he fucks into his body; grabs Ryuunosuke’s clenched fist with the other hand, interlocks their fingers together.
“Ryu—!” The apprentice sinks his teeth into the sensitive part of Ryuunosuke’s neck where it met his shoulder, cuts himself off before the words could fully form, before he spills that name out into the air.
The echo of his mistake still remains. Ryuunosuke’s breath audibly hitches amidst the moans spilling out of him. His form trembles, his arms barely holding him up. The next thrust sends Ryuunosuke reeling, and he drops his head onto his folded arms on the ground with a muffled whimper.
“Ka-Kazuma,” Ryuunosuke breathes, and the apprentice sees red.
He yanks Ryuunosuke up by the hair, ignoring his startled shout. Ryuunosuke’s back arches in a tantalisingly sinful curve and he plunges deeper, harder, striking home right into his sweet spot and ripping a scream from Ryuunosuke’s lips.
“Kazuma!”
He shoves his gloved fingers into Ryuunosuke’s mouth. Anything to make Ryuunosuke shut up; to not speak that name out loud ever again.
“Mmph!” Ryuunosuke thrashes beneath him and he growls deep in his throat, low and threatening, and Ryuunosuke abruptly stills, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
He shoves his fingers deeper and Ryuunosuke whimpers, chokes.
The apprentice backs off immediately; the fury that clouded his mind suddenly washed away as quickly as it had appeared. A mild horror fills his bones and he wrenches his hand away, but—
—Ryuunosuke follows his fingers when they leave his mouth, curls his lips around them and swallows them again.
The apprentice gasps, loud and shocked.
Ryuunosuke closes his eyes shut, hums around the fingers in his mouth, sucks on them with a voraciousness that makes his head spin. The pooling saliva soaks into the soft material of his glove, drips down the edges of Ryuunosuke’s bitten-red, bow-shaped lips.
The aching lust re-ignites within his blood, and he cannot help from pounding forward, crying breathlessly as Ryuunosuke moans, sucks harder on the digits in his mouth.
The apprentice shakes, pulls his fingers out of the slighter man’s mouth. Grabs Ryuunosuke’s waist, and flips him onto his back with one arm. Stares down at the other man.
Ryuunosuke’s eyes are large and fever-bright, alight with a wild glint; the blush coating his cheeks has extended down the marked flesh of his throat and down to his pectoral muscles. He’s gasping for breath, the planes of his chest rising and falling rapidly; the uniform jacket and shirt hangs loose and wrinkled from his slim shoulders. He looks ruined, debauched beyond anything.
The apprentice trembles, blood filling his cheeks and causing him to flush; a sight fortunately hidden away by his mask. He wants to continue as they were before, wants to push into Ryuunosuke as mercilessly as he did before, but—
This feels different, when he can meet Ryuunosuke’s luminous, brown eyes with his own.
Too close, too much.
His heart pounds, his breath stutters.
Ryuunosuke winds his arms around his neck, reaches up, captures his lips in a heady kiss.
He mewls into the kiss, cups Ryuunosuke’s face in his palms, dips his tongue into the heat of his mouth. Melds their mouths together until he cannot think, cannot feel anything but that slowly all-consuming warmth.
Ryuunosuke wraps his legs around his waist, arches his spine; the heel of his foot digs into the apprentice’s back. A siren call, one that he cannot resist.
He follows, falls on Ryuunosuke like a puppet with its strings cut, sinks into his open, welcoming body. Rolls his hips with sinuous grace, thrusting in smooth long strokes, reaching deep inside and pulling startled gasps from the other man. Pushes those thighs as close to Ryuunosuke’s chest as they would go, folds him in half, sinking in so much deeper.
It’s too much already. He grinds against Ryuunosuke’s prostate, swallows his breathless, high-pitched pleas into his mouth. Buries his face into Ryuunosuke’s neck, soaks in his scent. Clings to him just as Ryuunosuke gathers him close to his chest, wrapping him within the safety of his arms.
“I’m so close,” Ryuunosuke murmurs. “Please…”
He complies, pushes harder into the slighter man, revelling in the slick, sensuous glide of their bodies. Ryuunosuke’s cries escalate, dripping from his lips with nectar-like sweetness. He captures those lips in lingering kisses; moves closer, closer, closer still.
It’s achingly tender. The pleasure pools within him, a syrupy warmth that mounts high, higher, on the edge of peaking.
It’s too much.
Ryuunosuke bites his kiss-bitten lips, throws his head back. Moans high and loud, toes curling; long ropes of cum painting his chest and stomach as his rippling muscles tighten and clench around the thick girth in his body.
The apprentice fucks into Ryuunosuke as he goes boneless in his arms, chasing his own pleasure at a furious pace; carving into him until he’s sure Ryuunosuke’s quivering walls are forever moulded to the shape of his cock.
Ryuunosuke stares up at him with a dazed light in his eyes, his lashes fluttering open and closed as he draws ragged breaths into his lungs.
He looks beautiful, brilliant, and warm, so warm; like the glow of summer made human.
The cloaked man’s head throbs, his mind clouds with an unfamiliar emotion that chokes his tongue and rends his heart into a dozen shattered shreds. He cannot breathe.
Ryuunosuke’s eyes soften into liquid pools, and he smiles, bright and luminous and lovely; and the feeling intensifies into something almost painful, ripping his heart apart until he’s screaming—
---
--
-
He stills, gasping harshly, sharply coming down from the high of his orgasm. Blinks a few times to clear his blurry vision.
His eyes are wet. He freezes.
A warm hand cups his cheek, and he looks down to meet Ryuunosuke’s eyes, clouded over with an anguish so strong, it sends a frisson of shock through him.
He turns his head away. Closes his eyes, breathes in deep; until he can forget how close he was to breaking apart.
Until he can forget the sight of his tears glistening on Ryuunosuke’s cheek.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Ryuunosuke blessedly does not address it.
He unsticks himself from Ryuunosuke’s side, his muscles feeling loose and weak. Ryuunosuke rises to his elbows, shivering in the chill air, wincing at the sudden emptiness of his body.
A steady stream of cum pools out of his entrance. The apprentice drags his fingers through the dripping liquid, pushes his cum back inside the slighter man’s abused, red hole.
Ryuunosuke twitches, swats his hand away. “I hate it when you do that,” he huffs.
The masked man tenses, turns his back on Ryuunosuke. Doesn’t want to see the way Ryuunosuke’s eyes had filled with a melancholy fondness at that moment.
There’s only the sounds of rustling clothing behind him as he turns away to settle his appearance into something more presentable. Adjusts his clothes, wipes away the stains as much as he can. He doesn’t care to do much beyond that. No one would notice, save Van Zieks perhaps, and he would like to see Van Zieks try to talk to him about this.
“Hey.”
He turns around. Naruhodou Ryuunosuke stands before him, eyes solemn.
“I know that you’re not ready right now,” he says, “And that’s alright. But I want you to know,” he squares his shoulders, mouth pressing into a determined line, “That running away from who you are is not going to help.”
Ryuunosuke stares unyieldingly into his eyes, and then an almost serene expression graces his features. “I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes. And when we finally meet each other again, when you remember,” he smiles softly, “I’ll be right here.”
Nothing seems to exist at this moment, Ryuunosuke’s promise hanging in the air between them; precious, beautiful, piercing as a shard of glass.
The apprentice exhales, and the spell is broken.
“I will see you later… Kazuma.”
He flinches, watches with wide eyes as Ryuunosuke turns his back on him and strides out of the alleyway. His eyes follow the lines of that straight-backed figure as he walks away, stares fixedly until he’s swallowed up by the swirling mists.
He sighs, gazes up at the bright moon.
Tastes the memory of Ryuunosuke on his lips.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“I did not take upon an apprentice so that they’d come and go at their fancy,” Van Zieks drawls the second he steps into his office. “The Prosecutor’s office has no place for such a cavalier attitude.”
The masked man pivots on his heel, stares boredly at the prosecutor lounging on his ornate chair with catlike grace. Van Zieks is watching him with narrowed eyes, looking exceedingly more bitter than usual.
He’s already broken out the bottles, the apprentice notes. Interesting.
“I have filed away the necessary reports, since my faithful assistant had conveniently disappeared precisely when I required his assistance.” Van Zieks takes a sip of his wine, assessing him.
“Pray do enlighten me as to what you were doing, perhaps?”
Naruhodou Ryuunosuke, the apprentice thinks with glee.
He spreads his arms out for Van Zieks, gloating internally. He wishes he hadn’t wiped off the signs of their lovemaking, wishes some traces still remained. The haunting imprints of Ryuunosuke’s fingers on his arms, his thighs squeezing around him, the sharp bite of his teeth on his lips. They burn like brands, marked on the apprentice’s skin forevermore.
Van Zieks raises one perfectly grey eyebrow at him.
“Caught in a tussle, were you? How crass,” he says, and the apprentice rolls his eyes. This, coming from a man who fends off assasination attempts on the daily. “For your sake, I hope your little excursion was worthwhile.”
Van Zieks points at a sheaf of papers on his desk, and he obediently follows, picking up the files and leafing through the documents.
“The second day of the Harebrayne trial is tomorrow, and you will join me to observe the proceedings. I trust you have no objections?”
He’s about to respond when his eye catches upon a particular detail:
Counsel for the Defence: Ryuunosuke Naruhodou
His breath hitches, he traces over the contours of Ryuunosuke’s name with a gloved finger. Objectively, he’s known that Ryuunosuke would be defending, having seen his performance in court just that morning, in fact. But now that he’ll get the chance to see him up close, see that determined conviction for himself, from behind the prosecution bench, no less—
His heart aches at the prospect.
“That Nipponese defence lawyer,” Van Zieks says, and he jolts out of his thoughts, “Are you acquainted with him?”
He exhales deeply, stares steadily back at the prosecutor. Thinks of luminous brown eyes and kiss-bitten lips, thinks of a name long forgotten and now unburied.
Van Zieks looks away, curls his mouth into a thin line. “Read the reports and prepare for the trial.”
He bows deeply, clutching the papers to his chest. “As you wish, my Lord.”
(Later, emerging from where he’d been standing beside Lord van Zieks, he’ll be Asougi Kazuma once again and forevermore, bound to fulfill what he had come to London to do, no matter what.
He’ll meet Ryuunosuke’s wide brown eyes from across the courtroom, feel his knees nearly buckle at the overwhelming relief coursing through him when Ryuunosuke’s eyes light up with joy.)
(Later, he’ll stand behind that same bench as his best friend, his soulmate, shoots down his arguments again and again and begs him to open his eyes and see—)
(Later, he’ll wake up one bright morning in summertime, dappled light streaming in through the sheer curtains, with Naruhodou Ryuunosuke wrapped in his arms, sleep-warm and soft and lovely.
With his heart, his soul, his entire being placed firmly in the hands of the man he loves.)
But for now, for now—
He’ll wait.
A storm breaks out over the city, the rain pounding harshly at the large glass windows of Van Zieks’ office. He stares at the murky sky, at the moon clouded over by the darkness.
Feels his destiny settling deeply into his bones.
For the first time, he doesn’t curse the existence of this place. For the first time, coming here feels right.
There's no sun in London, but Naruhodou Ryuunosuke brings his own light anyway, and it's enough.
It’s enough for him. He’s not going to run.
He can wait.
No matter how long it takes.