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scriveynerTitle: chance encounters
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Edo AU
Characters/Pairing: Hazama/Gotou
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 2953
Summary: Set in the manga's Edo AU
It was the loose ceramic tile across the sloping roof that almost cost him his neck. There was a second of weightlessness as it started to slide, and the thief twisted, moved faster than he thought possible and kept going forward. The end result was the same, however, as it set off a small cascade of tiles that crashed to the ground and alerted the police which direction he had escaped. Gotou Hidezaemon caught himself on the edge of the roof with both hands, gulping the sticky night air into his heaving lungs, then yanked his scarf back up over his face and leaped the distance over the alley between the two buildings.
He should have known that his entire operation was going to go wrong. There was something in the air, humid and heavy and even the regular townspeople felt it, shuffling home early and giving the side-eye to strangers who had wandered in from the main road. Hidezaemon wasn’t exactly a stranger any longer; he’d been in this town weeks now, scrounging for work wherever he could find it, keeping his distance from the merchant Hayate, keeping his profile low.
But tonight, the moon was extinguished from the sky, and even the starlight of a clear summer’s night couldn’t make up for the lack of illumination. It was the perfect night to creep in and lighten Hayate’s coffers a little … but someone had already beaten him to it. Messily. Hidezaemon had been standing over the body of Hayate when the servant had opened the door to check on him; and her piercing screams brought the police in faster than he thought possible.
Hidezaemon didn’t have the time to pilfer, never mind the fact that room had already been turned upside down by the true murderer. Now he had to escape; with his scarf on the servant wouldn’t have gotten enough of a look at him to identify him; but that wasn’t going to help if a gaggle of wannabe-police rounded him up. Then it would be execution for certain; fast-tracked on account of Hayate’s elevated status as a favorite of the local lord.
So it was really in his best interests to not be caught out tonight.
He caught his sandal on a cracked tile, and this time he didn’t catch himself in time. Hidezaemon tumbled, caught the bare edge of the roof with his hands and looked down at the drop. The whistles of encroaching officers gave him very little time to think out a plan, and he landed hard and rolled, before realizing that the alley dead-ended in a wall too high for him to climb.
“Shit!” Hidezaemon panted, slapping the palm of his hand ineffectively against the flat wall. This was it, he’d run out of chances. He knew it would happen eventually, but he kind of figured he’d go out in a great fight, not captured in a frame-up.
“Quite noisy out tonight,” a familiar voice said, and Hidezaemon turned, the tails of his scarf whipping behind him. There was a samurai seated on one of the cluster of rainwater barrels lined along the wall of the alley. “Seems you’ve been up to your old tricks again, Gotou-san.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hidezaemon said, still breathing hard. He couldn’t see in this darkness, but the voice and the tone was enough. He could see the gentle, amused expression and flicker of blue eyes in his mind’s eye without help. “I don’t have time for this, Hazama, I’ve got to get over this wall-!”
The samurai Hazama made an affirmative noise. “I agree, there isn’t any time to waste.”
#
There were four men with headbands declaring themselves members of the guard, along with an older man in geta with a jitte in hand. Two of them had lanterns, and all save the inspector had their swords drawn.
Hazama Yoshimasa sat perched still on one of the closed barrels, his sword still sheathed and resting against his shoulder. He squinted at the sudden light from the lanterns. “Who are you?” one of the officers said, sword pointed directly at Hazama.
“He’s the murderer!” another of the officers said, as they fanned out. “Look, the broken roof tiles!”
Hazama seemed particularly unconcerned by the officers, choosing to look directly at the inspector, who sighed deeply and lowered his jitte, giving Hazama a wary look. Hazama looked up at the sliver of sky between the buildings, and gestured with his sword. “While you’re hanging around here, your murderer is getting away,” he said. “Inspector Ishida.”
“Yes,” the older man said, his gaze on Hazama needle-sharp. “I suppose he is. Come on,” he instructed his officers, and one of the men holding his sword on Hazama hesitated.
“But, Inspector Ishida,” he said.
“If it would ease your minds,” Hazama said, and gestured again with his weapon, this time with the hilt toward the officer. Without hesitation the man drew Hazama’s sword, holding the light to the blade.
“No blood,” the man said.
“No damage of any kind,” Ishida said. “You’ll never meet a man who likes to use his weapon less. Come on, we’re wasting our time here.” The officer handed Hazama back his weapon and Hazama sheathed it in a well practiced motion, still sitting atop the water barrel.
“I expect to see you in the morning,” Ishida said to Hazama, who inclined his head and smiled.
He waited a good while before sliding off the water barrel. Hazama rapped the lid with his knuckles, and then stepped back to slide his sword back through his obi, and watched as the lid popped off and water cascaded down the sides. “I thought,” Hidezaemon said, completely soaked to the bone. “I was going to drown. ”
“There was plenty of air in that barrel,” Hazama said as Hidezaemon staggered out and almost fell on his hands and knees, breathing raggedly. “Besides, you must have an excellent reason for me not to turn a well-wanted thief into the local constabulary.” He waited patiently while Hidezaemon coughed a few times and regained his composure. “Murder is outside your usual modus operandi, isn’t it, Gotou-san?”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Hidezaemon said, and regained his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at the fair-haired samurai. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”
“In that,” Hazama said, and Hidezaemon could hear the amusement in his voice, “we are agreed.”
#
Hidezaemon was staying in a small derelict shrine on the outskirts of the village. There was a larger, nicer shrine a few ri up the path, so the older small shrine was tended to by a single old monk who had recently passed. His death had not been widely reported, and thus Hidezaemon was mostly undisturbed.
Still sopping wet, he kicked his sandals off at the door, and started peeling sopping wet clothing from his person. There was little chance of getting it fully dry by dawn, but he was going to have to do his best. Hazama stood in the doorway and watched Hidezaemon move around the darkened hovel.
After stripping down to nothing but his loincloth, Hidezaemon struck flint to tinder, generating a spark that would light the fire in the fire pit. “Are you going to just stand in the doorway all night?” Hidezaemon asked, irritated, as he glanced up at the samurai. When he raised his eyes to Hazama’s, they both realized the manner in which Hazama was staring at Hidezaemon, and each looked away.
“Pardon my intrusion,” Hazama murmured, and sat at the edge of the raised floor to remove his own sandals.
“I don’t have much to entertain with,” Hidezaemon warned. “You’d get better fare at the local inn.” He looked around the hovel, tiny and dirty, with straw pallets to sleep on and not much else. “Better accommodations, too.”
“Can’t beat free,” Hazama said, and sat himself on the other side of the fire. “Why are you stealing from dead merchants, Gotou-san? I thought you gave up the life of a burglar.”
“Hayate is as crooked as they come,” Hidezaemon said. “I didn’t kill him, I had no intentions of murder. They don’t crucify burglars.”
“Stealing is still wrong.”
“Yeah, tell that to the merchants who steal money from all the honest, hardworking farmers,” Hidezaemon grunted. He warmed his hands by the fire; even the humid summer night he had a chill from his wet clothes. “The corruption starts at the top and goes all the way down, Hazama, before you even start talking about taking it to the police.” He eyed Hazama suspiciously. “Speaking of that, you know the Inspector in this town?”
“Ishida, yes.” Hazama said. He smoothed his hands over the hakama he wore, dirty from his long travels. “I’ve … run across him before. Be careful, Gotou-san; Ishida is canny. He will catch on to you sooner rather than later.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Hidezaemon said. “I’m leaving as soon as the sun’s up. I’m not sticking around and risking my neck as the only suspect.”
They looked at each other over the crackle of the fire, and Hidezaemon had to look away. Hazama’s blue eyes were piercing, he couldn’t hold his gaze. “Wait for me,” Hazama said softly, almost lost to the crackle of the fire. “We can go together. Surely you’re tire of walking the road alone.”
“A high and mighty samurai traveling with a lowly thief,” Hidezaemon said, and snorted. “I am not carrying your bags for you, Hazama.”
Their eyes met over the fire. “I do not intend that,” Hazama said softly, and once again, Hidezaemon looked away.
#
The straw pallet was rough on his bare skin. Hidezaemon put his back to the fire and stared resolutely at the wall. He hated the feelings that Hazama left bubbling in his chest, and would have happily gone the rest of his life without resting his eyes on the fair-haired samurai. They’d last parted ways a season back, when Hidezaemon decided it was time to move on. To run across him again now, out of the blue…?
He rolled onto his back, and looked over through the embers of the dying fire. Hazama hadn’t pulled the pallet out that Hidezaemon had left for him, instead opting to sit with his back to the wall, arms folded into his sleeves. His long, tawny bangs obscured his eyes, so Hidezaemon couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.
Traveling with Hazama didn’t seem such a bad idea. It was dangerous for him on his own; he’d been robbed more than once himself. Hazama afforded him status and safety; but … Hidezaemon exhaled and closed his eyes and fought back the memory of the soft brush of Hazama’s lips on his earlobe.
He’d leave in the morning, while Hazama was visiting with the inspector. It was the only way.
#
He turned his face into the touch of a hand on his cheek, before he was awake enough to register it. The light, warm touch made Hidezaemon open his eyes slowly. He thought of raven hair, loose and unbound – but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall her eyes. And then his eyes opened properly, and he saw Hazama leaned over him, an indescribable expression on his face.
“Hazama!” Hidezaemon gasped, and attempted to flail himself into a sitting position. Hazama didn’t move, though, and that just brought his face closer. Hidezaemon’s heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought it might make a break for it and leave him behind, alone with Hazama. “What-”
There was a softness to Hazama’s face. He brushed his hand down Hidezaemon’s cheek again. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and leaned in close. Shit, Hidezaemon wasn’t going to allow him to do this again, was he…?
Chest heaving, eyes closed, Hidezaemon accepted the kiss as Hazama pushed him back down onto the straw mat. He put one hand on Hazama’s neck, as the long tail of his hair fell over his shoulder, dragging along Hidezaemon’s bare chest. He kept his eyes closed tight, aware of how intently Hazama was staring at him and unable to meet the gaze head-on. This wasn’t fair at all, he was supposed to wake to Hazama gone, he would dress in his damp clothes and make for the road, not … this.
“Gotou-san,” Hazama murmured, and moved to straddle him. Hidezaemon opened his eyes and stared up at the samurai, then dropped his hand to cover his mouth. “Can I…?” Hazama asked, his palm settling on Hidezaemon’s chest.
He was going to let Hazama do this. Hidezaemon turned pink with the realization that truthfully, he’d let Hazama do anything he wanted. “Do what you want,” Hidezaemon muttered, cheeks flushed red, as Hazama shift over him.
His body was already sore from a rooftop escape and tumble; but Hazama’s hands were gentle. His hands were warm and soft on Hidezaemon’s body, pressing and kneading the muscle, touches light in the right places, hard and rough in others. The loincloth was easily disposed of; and just like that Hidezaemon was fully naked. He tried not to mind it, even if Hazama was still clothed it gave him something to hang on to, especially when Hazama’s mouth dipped lower, hot and seeking.
Hidezaemon arched off the pallet, or tried to – Hazama’s hand on his hip kept him steady, as his mouth pinned Hidezaemon to the mat. Hidezaemon, for the most part, lost control of his functions, twisting his hand in Hazama’s hair and somehow managing not to beg, panting to the ceiling instead.
After that, things started to blur together. Hazama’s mouth going lower. The rustle of fabric as his hakama was cast aside. Hidezaemon turned his head to the side, observed that Hazama’s daisho were leaned against the wall, even as the breath drained from his lungs at that first push of an intrusion.
He lay on his side after, breathing raggedly, his entire body complaining at having been pushed nearly double. He was able to watch Hazama dress again, and he painfully sat upright. “Is this why you want me to travel with you,” he said, attempting for derisive but still mainly breathless.
“It’s definitely a perk,” Hazama said nonchalantly, and Hidezaemon stared at the bright-red scratches along his shoulder blades as he pulled his kimono back on and settled it properly on his shoulders. Hazama glanced back at him and grinned. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You’re not the one who’s not going to be able to walk for a bit,” Hidezaemon said.
Hazama came back across the small hut and crouched beside Hidezaemon. He took one of the hands that Hidezaemon was using to prop himself up with and held it in both his hands. “Stay beside me, Gotou-san,” he said, and drew Hidezaemon’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles gently. Hidezaemon turned a brighter red than even before, and couldn’t think to remove his hand from Hazama’s grasp.
“You fucked me so I couldn’t run off while you were gone,” he accused, and Hazama raised his eyebrows.
“You think too much of me,” he said, then kissed Hidezaemon’s hand again. “I will return before dusk. We can leave then, if you’d like, or wait for the morning.”
“If I’m still here,” Hidezaemon said hotly.
Hazama’s calm seemed impenetrable. “You will be.” He stood then, and pulled down the still-damp scarf from where he’d hung it from a low beam to try to dry it, and before he could even protest Hazama wrapped it over his shoulders. “And if you’re not, I will find you again,” Hazama said, flipping the end of the scarf over his shoulder. Then he collected his swords, sliding them into place I his obi, and without another glance back at Hidezaemon, left the hut.
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Edo AU
Characters/Pairing: Hazama/Gotou
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 2953
Summary: Set in the manga's Edo AU
It was the loose ceramic tile across the sloping roof that almost cost him his neck. There was a second of weightlessness as it started to slide, and the thief twisted, moved faster than he thought possible and kept going forward. The end result was the same, however, as it set off a small cascade of tiles that crashed to the ground and alerted the police which direction he had escaped. Gotou Hidezaemon caught himself on the edge of the roof with both hands, gulping the sticky night air into his heaving lungs, then yanked his scarf back up over his face and leaped the distance over the alley between the two buildings.
He should have known that his entire operation was going to go wrong. There was something in the air, humid and heavy and even the regular townspeople felt it, shuffling home early and giving the side-eye to strangers who had wandered in from the main road. Hidezaemon wasn’t exactly a stranger any longer; he’d been in this town weeks now, scrounging for work wherever he could find it, keeping his distance from the merchant Hayate, keeping his profile low.
But tonight, the moon was extinguished from the sky, and even the starlight of a clear summer’s night couldn’t make up for the lack of illumination. It was the perfect night to creep in and lighten Hayate’s coffers a little … but someone had already beaten him to it. Messily. Hidezaemon had been standing over the body of Hayate when the servant had opened the door to check on him; and her piercing screams brought the police in faster than he thought possible.
Hidezaemon didn’t have the time to pilfer, never mind the fact that room had already been turned upside down by the true murderer. Now he had to escape; with his scarf on the servant wouldn’t have gotten enough of a look at him to identify him; but that wasn’t going to help if a gaggle of wannabe-police rounded him up. Then it would be execution for certain; fast-tracked on account of Hayate’s elevated status as a favorite of the local lord.
So it was really in his best interests to not be caught out tonight.
He caught his sandal on a cracked tile, and this time he didn’t catch himself in time. Hidezaemon tumbled, caught the bare edge of the roof with his hands and looked down at the drop. The whistles of encroaching officers gave him very little time to think out a plan, and he landed hard and rolled, before realizing that the alley dead-ended in a wall too high for him to climb.
“Shit!” Hidezaemon panted, slapping the palm of his hand ineffectively against the flat wall. This was it, he’d run out of chances. He knew it would happen eventually, but he kind of figured he’d go out in a great fight, not captured in a frame-up.
“Quite noisy out tonight,” a familiar voice said, and Hidezaemon turned, the tails of his scarf whipping behind him. There was a samurai seated on one of the cluster of rainwater barrels lined along the wall of the alley. “Seems you’ve been up to your old tricks again, Gotou-san.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Hidezaemon said, still breathing hard. He couldn’t see in this darkness, but the voice and the tone was enough. He could see the gentle, amused expression and flicker of blue eyes in his mind’s eye without help. “I don’t have time for this, Hazama, I’ve got to get over this wall-!”
The samurai Hazama made an affirmative noise. “I agree, there isn’t any time to waste.”
There were four men with headbands declaring themselves members of the guard, along with an older man in geta with a jitte in hand. Two of them had lanterns, and all save the inspector had their swords drawn.
Hazama Yoshimasa sat perched still on one of the closed barrels, his sword still sheathed and resting against his shoulder. He squinted at the sudden light from the lanterns. “Who are you?” one of the officers said, sword pointed directly at Hazama.
“He’s the murderer!” another of the officers said, as they fanned out. “Look, the broken roof tiles!”
Hazama seemed particularly unconcerned by the officers, choosing to look directly at the inspector, who sighed deeply and lowered his jitte, giving Hazama a wary look. Hazama looked up at the sliver of sky between the buildings, and gestured with his sword. “While you’re hanging around here, your murderer is getting away,” he said. “Inspector Ishida.”
“Yes,” the older man said, his gaze on Hazama needle-sharp. “I suppose he is. Come on,” he instructed his officers, and one of the men holding his sword on Hazama hesitated.
“But, Inspector Ishida,” he said.
“If it would ease your minds,” Hazama said, and gestured again with his weapon, this time with the hilt toward the officer. Without hesitation the man drew Hazama’s sword, holding the light to the blade.
“No blood,” the man said.
“No damage of any kind,” Ishida said. “You’ll never meet a man who likes to use his weapon less. Come on, we’re wasting our time here.” The officer handed Hazama back his weapon and Hazama sheathed it in a well practiced motion, still sitting atop the water barrel.
“I expect to see you in the morning,” Ishida said to Hazama, who inclined his head and smiled.
He waited a good while before sliding off the water barrel. Hazama rapped the lid with his knuckles, and then stepped back to slide his sword back through his obi, and watched as the lid popped off and water cascaded down the sides. “I thought,” Hidezaemon said, completely soaked to the bone. “I was going to drown. ”
“There was plenty of air in that barrel,” Hazama said as Hidezaemon staggered out and almost fell on his hands and knees, breathing raggedly. “Besides, you must have an excellent reason for me not to turn a well-wanted thief into the local constabulary.” He waited patiently while Hidezaemon coughed a few times and regained his composure. “Murder is outside your usual modus operandi, isn’t it, Gotou-san?”
“I didn’t kill anyone,” Hidezaemon said, and regained his feet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at the fair-haired samurai. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”
“In that,” Hazama said, and Hidezaemon could hear the amusement in his voice, “we are agreed.”
Hidezaemon was staying in a small derelict shrine on the outskirts of the village. There was a larger, nicer shrine a few ri up the path, so the older small shrine was tended to by a single old monk who had recently passed. His death had not been widely reported, and thus Hidezaemon was mostly undisturbed.
Still sopping wet, he kicked his sandals off at the door, and started peeling sopping wet clothing from his person. There was little chance of getting it fully dry by dawn, but he was going to have to do his best. Hazama stood in the doorway and watched Hidezaemon move around the darkened hovel.
After stripping down to nothing but his loincloth, Hidezaemon struck flint to tinder, generating a spark that would light the fire in the fire pit. “Are you going to just stand in the doorway all night?” Hidezaemon asked, irritated, as he glanced up at the samurai. When he raised his eyes to Hazama’s, they both realized the manner in which Hazama was staring at Hidezaemon, and each looked away.
“Pardon my intrusion,” Hazama murmured, and sat at the edge of the raised floor to remove his own sandals.
“I don’t have much to entertain with,” Hidezaemon warned. “You’d get better fare at the local inn.” He looked around the hovel, tiny and dirty, with straw pallets to sleep on and not much else. “Better accommodations, too.”
“Can’t beat free,” Hazama said, and sat himself on the other side of the fire. “Why are you stealing from dead merchants, Gotou-san? I thought you gave up the life of a burglar.”
“Hayate is as crooked as they come,” Hidezaemon said. “I didn’t kill him, I had no intentions of murder. They don’t crucify burglars.”
“Stealing is still wrong.”
“Yeah, tell that to the merchants who steal money from all the honest, hardworking farmers,” Hidezaemon grunted. He warmed his hands by the fire; even the humid summer night he had a chill from his wet clothes. “The corruption starts at the top and goes all the way down, Hazama, before you even start talking about taking it to the police.” He eyed Hazama suspiciously. “Speaking of that, you know the Inspector in this town?”
“Ishida, yes.” Hazama said. He smoothed his hands over the hakama he wore, dirty from his long travels. “I’ve … run across him before. Be careful, Gotou-san; Ishida is canny. He will catch on to you sooner rather than later.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Hidezaemon said. “I’m leaving as soon as the sun’s up. I’m not sticking around and risking my neck as the only suspect.”
They looked at each other over the crackle of the fire, and Hidezaemon had to look away. Hazama’s blue eyes were piercing, he couldn’t hold his gaze. “Wait for me,” Hazama said softly, almost lost to the crackle of the fire. “We can go together. Surely you’re tire of walking the road alone.”
“A high and mighty samurai traveling with a lowly thief,” Hidezaemon said, and snorted. “I am not carrying your bags for you, Hazama.”
Their eyes met over the fire. “I do not intend that,” Hazama said softly, and once again, Hidezaemon looked away.
The straw pallet was rough on his bare skin. Hidezaemon put his back to the fire and stared resolutely at the wall. He hated the feelings that Hazama left bubbling in his chest, and would have happily gone the rest of his life without resting his eyes on the fair-haired samurai. They’d last parted ways a season back, when Hidezaemon decided it was time to move on. To run across him again now, out of the blue…?
He rolled onto his back, and looked over through the embers of the dying fire. Hazama hadn’t pulled the pallet out that Hidezaemon had left for him, instead opting to sit with his back to the wall, arms folded into his sleeves. His long, tawny bangs obscured his eyes, so Hidezaemon couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not.
Traveling with Hazama didn’t seem such a bad idea. It was dangerous for him on his own; he’d been robbed more than once himself. Hazama afforded him status and safety; but … Hidezaemon exhaled and closed his eyes and fought back the memory of the soft brush of Hazama’s lips on his earlobe.
He’d leave in the morning, while Hazama was visiting with the inspector. It was the only way.
He turned his face into the touch of a hand on his cheek, before he was awake enough to register it. The light, warm touch made Hidezaemon open his eyes slowly. He thought of raven hair, loose and unbound – but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall her eyes. And then his eyes opened properly, and he saw Hazama leaned over him, an indescribable expression on his face.
“Hazama!” Hidezaemon gasped, and attempted to flail himself into a sitting position. Hazama didn’t move, though, and that just brought his face closer. Hidezaemon’s heart was beating so fast in his chest he thought it might make a break for it and leave him behind, alone with Hazama. “What-”
There was a softness to Hazama’s face. He brushed his hand down Hidezaemon’s cheek again. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and leaned in close. Shit, Hidezaemon wasn’t going to allow him to do this again, was he…?
Chest heaving, eyes closed, Hidezaemon accepted the kiss as Hazama pushed him back down onto the straw mat. He put one hand on Hazama’s neck, as the long tail of his hair fell over his shoulder, dragging along Hidezaemon’s bare chest. He kept his eyes closed tight, aware of how intently Hazama was staring at him and unable to meet the gaze head-on. This wasn’t fair at all, he was supposed to wake to Hazama gone, he would dress in his damp clothes and make for the road, not … this.
“Gotou-san,” Hazama murmured, and moved to straddle him. Hidezaemon opened his eyes and stared up at the samurai, then dropped his hand to cover his mouth. “Can I…?” Hazama asked, his palm settling on Hidezaemon’s chest.
He was going to let Hazama do this. Hidezaemon turned pink with the realization that truthfully, he’d let Hazama do anything he wanted. “Do what you want,” Hidezaemon muttered, cheeks flushed red, as Hazama shift over him.
His body was already sore from a rooftop escape and tumble; but Hazama’s hands were gentle. His hands were warm and soft on Hidezaemon’s body, pressing and kneading the muscle, touches light in the right places, hard and rough in others. The loincloth was easily disposed of; and just like that Hidezaemon was fully naked. He tried not to mind it, even if Hazama was still clothed it gave him something to hang on to, especially when Hazama’s mouth dipped lower, hot and seeking.
Hidezaemon arched off the pallet, or tried to – Hazama’s hand on his hip kept him steady, as his mouth pinned Hidezaemon to the mat. Hidezaemon, for the most part, lost control of his functions, twisting his hand in Hazama’s hair and somehow managing not to beg, panting to the ceiling instead.
After that, things started to blur together. Hazama’s mouth going lower. The rustle of fabric as his hakama was cast aside. Hidezaemon turned his head to the side, observed that Hazama’s daisho were leaned against the wall, even as the breath drained from his lungs at that first push of an intrusion.
He lay on his side after, breathing raggedly, his entire body complaining at having been pushed nearly double. He was able to watch Hazama dress again, and he painfully sat upright. “Is this why you want me to travel with you,” he said, attempting for derisive but still mainly breathless.
“It’s definitely a perk,” Hazama said nonchalantly, and Hidezaemon stared at the bright-red scratches along his shoulder blades as he pulled his kimono back on and settled it properly on his shoulders. Hazama glanced back at him and grinned. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You’re not the one who’s not going to be able to walk for a bit,” Hidezaemon said.
Hazama came back across the small hut and crouched beside Hidezaemon. He took one of the hands that Hidezaemon was using to prop himself up with and held it in both his hands. “Stay beside me, Gotou-san,” he said, and drew Hidezaemon’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles gently. Hidezaemon turned a brighter red than even before, and couldn’t think to remove his hand from Hazama’s grasp.
“You fucked me so I couldn’t run off while you were gone,” he accused, and Hazama raised his eyebrows.
“You think too much of me,” he said, then kissed Hidezaemon’s hand again. “I will return before dusk. We can leave then, if you’d like, or wait for the morning.”
“If I’m still here,” Hidezaemon said hotly.
Hazama’s calm seemed impenetrable. “You will be.” He stood then, and pulled down the still-damp scarf from where he’d hung it from a low beam to try to dry it, and before he could even protest Hazama wrapped it over his shoulders. “And if you’re not, I will find you again,” Hazama said, flipping the end of the scarf over his shoulder. Then he collected his swords, sliding them into place I his obi, and without another glance back at Hidezaemon, left the hut.
