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Ryuunosuke would have been lying if he denied how he felt.
Their mission that afternoon had been successful. Their defeat of Ivan Goncharov was enlightening, to say the least. The combined power of the weretiger and Rashomon was exquisite. When the thrill of the fight subsided, Ryuunosuke found his heart racing as the weretiger ran up still wearing his coat.
Rashomon gave him a new awareness of the weretiger. It had mapped out every curve and angle on the other man's body when it learned to merge with his ability. Against his will, Ryuunosuke found that he quite liked the shape of the weretiger nestled within his coat. More embarrassing still was his interest in the weretiger's scent that lingered in the lining of the fabric. Blood and sweat, with something akin to a summer breeze.
It drove Ryuunosuke crazy.
His mind was addled, that must have been why he'd agreed to the six month promise. He preferred the weretiger with a little bit of fire in his eyes. He preferred the stubborn, irritating confidence over the other man's typical pathetic groveling. Perhaps that attitude alongside the intoxicating scent made Ryuunosuke's judgment lapse.
The trip home that evening was a blur. His mind wandered, uninhibited by logic or reason. By the time Ryuunosuke walked through his front door, he realized that he'd thought of nothing but the weretiger since putting his coat back on. That was not particularly new, however. He thought of the weretiger all the time, for better or worse.
That night, it was almost certainly for worse.
Ryuunosuke laid in bed, twisting and turning in agony. He couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking of him. The thoughts were torment, stirring something within him unbidden. Unpleasant yearning clawed around inside of his ribs and roiled beneath his navel.
How humiliating. To lust after the weretiger of all people was an embarrassment that held no equal. While Ryuunosuke slid his hand beneath his waistband, he gritted his teeth in displeasure. That desire was a secret he would sooner take to his grave than expose.
The notion of having the weretiger was ridiculous. There was no way that his lust was reciprocal. The weretiger would never want after a man like Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, regardless of all the ways that they fit together. It was a laughable impossibility, no matter how vividly Ryuunosuke could picture it.
He was pathetic.
His arousal was clear, spurred into action with every passing thought since that afternoon. Ryuunosuke's clammy hand grasped his own shaft and stroked. The drag of sweat-damp skin against his cock was nothing special. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make the imagery more vivid, or the shame less palpable. His hand worked in lazy motions, accustomed enough to the action it performed.
Something felt off, though. His hand didn't satisfy the ache in his gut at all. Each motion felt purely mechanical, useful at only the barest level. The only thing more humiliating than jerking off while thinking about the weretiger was, evidently, failing to jerk off while thinking about him.
Ryuunosuke let go of himself in a huff, irritably blinking his eyes open. His gaze wandered around his darkened room, landing on the coat that hung from his bedpost. He sat upright, hesitating for a moment before reaching for it. He breathed in deeply, catching only the faintest hint of the weretiger lingering. One hand resumed its ministrations, while the other held the fabric up to his face.
He flopped back into the mattress, slowly rolling his hips to meet the movement of his hand. Ryuunosuke groaned in frustration, squirming slightly under his own touch. Each stroke was still a disappointment, no matter how much of the weretiger's scent he inhaled.
What good was just the coat without the weretiger in it? For a delirious moment, he wished that Atsushi was really there. He wanted to see the other man wreathed in his ability again. He wanted to feel those claws that could cut through anything brush across his skin. He wanted Atsushi to catch him in those claws, to hold him down and overpower him. He wished for the burn of predatory yellow eyes picking him apart while Atsushi sunk his cock in deep and—
Ryuunosuke's grip slackened, leaving his cock thoroughly teased and his desire unchecked. His hand alone simply wasn't enough. He stared at the coat, fabric black like void.
If he couldn't have the real weretiger, could he make his own?
Threads glowed red, splintering a part and reconfiguring experimentally. Rashomon already knew the weretiger's shape. The coat shifted, twisting and stretching into a humanoid figure. Rashomon glowed softly, casting dancing shadows over the bed while Ryuunosuke worked. When he finished, his ability sat beside him.
Red orbs flickered in hollow sockets. The body itself was a comparable rendering, though the sleek black fabric took on the shape of the weretiger without any of the detail or color of a living thing. It was slender, a few centimeters shorter than Ryuunosuke. Loose threads even mimicked the weretiger's lopsided hair, only adding to the realism of the silhouette. The weretiger's facsimile stared through him, obediently awaiting the command of its master.
The facsimile's hand cupped his cheek. Its fingertips thrummed with Rashomon's energy, warm and lifelike against his skin. They traced over his lips, pressing into his mouth without resistance. Damp cloth caressed muscle, pushing his mouth open wider. He lapped at the facsimile's digits, tasting bland fabric on his tongue.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sharpened edges of claws dragged over the ridges of his teeth, a slow procession from molars to incisors. He shivered when the facsimile withdrew its fingers from his mouth.
Ryuunosuke stripped out of his pants, kicking them aside. He laid back and spread his legs hiking his hips up for his "partner" to get a better angle. Thrumming heat traced over bare skin, pressing warm and firm against his thighs.
He fumbled in the drawer of his bedside table. The lubricant bottle was cool against his palm. Click. The cap opened with deafening finality before the facsimile squeezed fluid over its fingers.
Damp heat pressed against Ryuunosuke's entrance. He shuddered and clenched his teeth while his eyelids fluttered shut. Rashomon wriggled against his hole, pushing inside with deliberate slowness.
He willed himself to relax, to ignore whatever creeping shame was bubbling up inside of him. His insides tingled where Rashomon touched, like a current running beneath the surface of the fabric. It undulated, working him open wider with steady, rhythmic motions.
At some point, Ryuunosuke opened his eyes. He found himself staring at the shadowy silhouette of the weretiger while it stretched him. The eye sockets still glowed red, casting eerie shadows across Ryuunosuke's pale flesh when it moved. The light was unnerving, its reiteration of the weretiger's absence cut through something fragile within him.
It felt good in all the wrong ways.
The humiliation of it all stung. His yearning curdled in his gut, hot shame spilling from him with every twist and crook of the facsimile's fingers.
Ryuunosuke willed the movement to cease. He flipped over, coming to rest on his hands and knees. He didn't want to see what the not-weretiger did to him anymore. His imagination could run wild if only his eyes weren't there to ruin it for him.
The lube cap clicked again. He listened to the wet squelching behind him, shivering when cold fluid pressed against his hole again. His breath hitched with anticipation, anxious and still a little bit disgusted all at once.
A quiet moan slipped from his lips when the facsimile finally entered him. The breach was larger than the fingers had been. Perhaps it was self-indulgent, but Ryuunosuke could only imagine the weretiger to be well-endowed. The stretch ached with each centimeter that pushed through. Torturous heat rippled through his insides, vibrating with Rashomon's unnatural energy.
He wondered if that was what the weretiger would feel like. The tiger lived just beneath the surface of the other man's skin. Did his touch feel just as lively? The tiger came out when he was angry, manifesting in those terrifying clawed appendages that Ryuunosuke liked so much.
The facsimile's hands clutched his hips. Their shape shifted, growing bulky and firm around him. Pinpricks of claws dug into supple skin, making him shiver around the facsimile.
It finally moved, pulling out then snapping hips forward again. Ryuunosuke sucked in a breath through his teeth, face pressed to the comforter. The facsimile moved again, fucking into him again with more certainty.
It knew exactly what he wanted, and followed those impulses obediently. Ryuunosuke moaned into his mattress, grasping at the sheets while he fantasized. His room was quiet aside from his own muffled cries and the wet sounds of penetration. In his mind, he could hear the weretiger's voice filling the empty spaces.
"You're taking me so well, it's like you were made for me," his fantasy said.
Ryuunosuke replied with a whimper, rolling his hips back into the facsimile. It curled over him, pressing its chest against his back while it fucked into him harder.
"I like you much better like this," the weretiger chuckled.
Ryuunosuke groaned, weaving his fingers between the facsimile's where they rested against the mattress. He could practically feel the weretiger's breath on the back of his neck. The facsimile's lips grazed the side of his neck, kisses giving way to nipping teeth against his throat.
The drag of fabric against Ryuunosuke's insides felt all wrong. A hungry part of him could bury that uncanny friction beneath a layer of fantasy. That desperate piece railed into him with reckless abandon, just how he liked it. Even if it wore the shape of the weretiger, Rashomon was only ever a manifestation of Ryuunosuke's will.
No matter how good it felt, at the end of the day Ryuunosuke was still alone.
A scorching hot tiger paw wrapped around Ryuunosuke's cock. It hung heavy between his legs, ignored and aching. The facsimile's hand was still sticky with lubricant as it worked him, pumping him in time with each thrust.
Ryuunosuke bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, dripping from lids squeezed shut. He was so close, but somehow it still wasn't enough. He stifled another moan, panting raggedly.
"Atsushi," Ryuunosuke begged deliriously, "Please!"
The facsimile's pace hadn't changed, though Ryuunosuke felt as though he was about to break. Each sensation fried his nerves, tearing through him one thread at a time. He needed anything to get him over the edge, the alternative was too humiliating.
"Ryuunosuke, be a good boy and let go for me." The weretiger's voice was a honey-sweet purr in his mind's ear. It eroded through the final layers of self-loathing, corrosive against the doubt that bound him tightly.
The facsimile's cock was white hot, shooting stars through his vision each time that it scrapped through him. A wave crested and crashed, battering him against cliffs of sensation and overstimulation.
Ryuunosuke came with a muffled sob, unaware of the tear tracks running down his cheeks. His spend shot down onto the sheets, hot and pungent. The facsimile's movements ebbed, coming to a halt while he shuddered beneath it. He collapsed to the mattress, heaving in unsteady breaths.
It pulled out, repositioning itself around him in a comfortable embrace. Warm arms held him while the tears continued to flow. His vision blurred when he opened his eyes, blending reds and blacks together where they flickered against his sheets.
He couldn't acknowledge what he'd just done. He couldn't bear the shame with the clarity of his ejaculation, choosing instead to cling to the arms that held him.
There was something deeply wrong with him, he knew. He'd always known that much, though this night more than any other had shown him the worst of it. Murder, violence, and whatever the hell all of this was. Surely, he could never be in a more sorry state.
Ryuunosuke's eyelids felt heavy. He indulged in one last fantasy as his eyelids drifted shut. He wanted to sleep in that embrace, to pretend that he had what he wanted. He wanted to imagine the weretiger curled around him, holding him closely while they slept.
Under any normal circumstances, that too was an unreasonable ask.
"Goodnight, Akutagawa," Atsushi's voice murmured in his ear.
Ryuunosuke drifted to sleep with the weretiger's sweet whispers in his ears. He woke the next morning tucked beneath his coat as though someone had draped it over him in the night.