All's Well

*

They stopped at a stream the next day. Zel shattered the ice. Steam rose around her for an instant as she drew in the wires. Wolf bent down to draw water.

Kurama lagged far behind them. He was aching, bleeding, limping. It hurt to shit. It hurt to walk. He made it to camp long after they had built the fire and collapsed beside the stream. He wanted cold. He wanted to stop feeling. But his mind convinced him to zip up and stay warm, arguing about hypothermia. He pinched the zipper of his coat up and held his gloves over his face.

“One hour till we reach the palace,” Zel said, as she passed him. She handed him a sandwich like the day before. “It’ll be warm there.”

He took the food.

“Are you okay?”

He looked into the quaking water.

The dark woman nodded, sitting down on a stone.

After a moment, she said, "That was a bad scene, maybe."

“I thought you would help me.” Kurama said. The sides of his mouth were cracked, so the word came carefully, like a line of tentative ants.

Zel scoffed. “I’ve seen what your kind do. To us. To each other. I ain’t stupid. You’re cute; I’m not going to end a career over it.”

“But you did.”

Zel stared.

"That was rape."

Zel looked out. “Yeah, well, worse things have been done by people higher up than me. Shun-jun didn’t get to where he is by being baking cookies, and he still caught you. He made captain over it. Come to think of it, you didn’t get your reputation weaving daisy chains. I suppose you think it’s different when you’re on the receiving end.”

She hefted herself up and walked away, armor and wires clinking.

Kurama drew his finger over the water. Small algae clung to him, wrapping their thready roots in the ditches of his fingerprints.

*

The summer palace was the last stronghold of the Marrin. They were a carnivorous, occasionally cannibalistic tribe. Kurama likened their appearance to macaques, red humanoid faces inside of silvery fur-lined cloaks.

“Go on,” Shun-jun pushed Kurama forward to the gate. “Do your thing.”

In the demons’ tongue, Kurama greeted the woman. “We wish you an early thaw.”

“At this rate, son, I’ll be lucky if I see another spring. Who are you?” The old woman peered out. “You’re so strange – your shapes are soft as snow.”

“An envoy from Spirit World. We seek an alliance and can provide military support.”

The old woman’s eyes lit up. She let out a chattering, laughing noise, startling the SDF. Then she released a lever and the gate came up.

*

They were installed in a public room that was closed off.

“And more bitch work,” Shun-jun mused, pulling out a handful of forms meant to record daily reports. He shoved it into Kurama’s chest. “For the bitch then.”

Kurama took it easily, examining the room. He was moved with joy over the easy of the language and the promising start to negotiations. “Incredible.”

“What?”

“This is a collectivist society,” Kurama explained. “It is a sign of intelligence and respect that they would allow us privacy, which they do not hold valuable in their own culture. Metacognition gives the ability to act in simulation of sympathy; they understand that they do not perceive our desires but they act to respect them nevertheless. It’s a sign of social development.”

“You’re having fun, geek,” Shun-jun patted his shoulder in passing.

Kurama opened his mouth to snap at him, but then was silent.

“Kurama. Where’s the bath?”

“It would be…” Kurama sketched in the air with his fingers. “It would have to be deeper into the mountain, west from this room, where the water could be kept warm in the earth. I’ll ask.”

“You should wash.”

Kurama stared. “That suits me.”

“Hah. Go then.”

Kurama left the room.

It was only until he was in the steaming room, surrounded by the strange Marrins, that he realized the trade he was making. If he bathed, any evidence of the assault would be gone; even spirit signatures would stay attached to the dust floating down the drain. Nothing would tie them to the rape but Kurama’s word. He could show his bruises and survive an exam that would discover the internal marks, but the SDF individuals could not be linked to the injuries. Not by the time he returned.

Yet their scum made him itch, made him remember. He looked at the Marrin people milling around. They mated like fish; they would not even know rape.

Here it was safe, but lonely.

He slipped into the hot water. He could not bear the smell.

*

Hiei growled, barely awake. “I said straight through the woods.”

The captain and his man exchanged glances.

“What are you waiting for? Turn around!”

“Well…he was right that last time, at the gorge,” the man muttered.

The captain signaled the driver. They turned around and veered off the road into the wild, twisted trees. Far ahead, they circled wide around a family of feeding demons the size of dragons.

Hiei lay back, and slept.

*

Kurama was seated between Shun-Jun and the Marrin oligarchy. It had taken time for the election, but Kurama had a sense that the elders that sat across from him were often chosen for such things.

After the greetings, Shun-Jun made the offer through Kurama’s translation. “We are here to offer defense to our borders, should you agree to put your territory under our…collective.”

“You are a hierarchy, not a collective. We have heard of Spirit World. You have a monarch, an expansionist attitude towards the stacked dimensions....” A young Marrian spoke, but Kurama could hear defeat in her voice. She was angry and she was educated, but she knew as well as any that the Marrin’s were at their last point of retreat. If they lost the palace, as they were likely to do in the next few months, they would be driven to the waste to die.

“They’ll agree,” Kurama said to the SDF. “It is a matter of assuring them.”

Shun-jun said, “Then do it.”

Kurama nodded and spoke to the Marrin. “Spirit World is what you say it is. Yet they exercise little control over their territories. They will insist on extradition of criminals and cooperation in defending peace within and a strong border. But your culture will be ignored, left to develop and operate independent of Spirit World’s customs. There will be taxes never exceeding two percent to be used in defense of the kingdom - a negotiable payment of goods, never life, and never if it jeopardizes survival. Little will change, and it is better than dying.”

“Is that how you came to them? Better a slave than dead?” An elder man asked. “Look at you. Did your people not sell you?”

Kurama blinked, sure he’d mistaken some second meaning of the words.

“Your injuries. We can smell them. We saw you at the bathes. You were assaulted. It was recent. Did these people not kidnap you?”

Kurama kept still, immobile. His expression was mute.

“What? What did they ask?”

He imagined for one moment admitting it, confessing and begging for sanctuary. They were a righteous race; they would give it to him, and would try turn out the rapists to die in the snow.

But Kurama could see easily that this mass of people, kind despite canine teeth that passed their chins, would be slaughtered. The SDF could drive the snow red.

So he spoke with care. “These people are part of the military. They are not Spirit World’s administration, only blunt tools sent to wage your war. As for me, I came with them after being forgiven for committing many crimes, long ago. I am a criminal. This is my penance. The ruler, the monarch we represent, is good. He is merciful and fair. He also does not want to see you slaughtered. You are a respected tribe. We want to extend protection and bring peace to this region – “

“And expand territory.”

“Yes.” He said. “Still – “

“Did they assault you?”

“Yes. They did. Yet – “ He said coolly, “My presence here despite my injuries should be proof that I believe that what I offer will save your lives. This peace is more important than them, more important than me. It's more important than anything they did. It’s worth whatever I have to suffer.”

The Marrin blew gently over their lips, a gesture that Kurama was not familiar with.

“What’s taking so long?” Wolf demanded.

“There’s a problem,” Kurama murmured.

“What?”

“Please, be calm.”

“What did you do?” Cerene snarled.

“They are curious about my injuries.”

“Shut up,” Shun-jun warned. “Don’t you bitch to them. You do and I’ll crop your ears off. And then some.”

“Let me do my job,” Kurama snapped.

The male Marrin elder asked Kurama, “They’re angry with you again?”

Kurama forced a calm smile. “They are young and impetuous. They are here to fight for you and do not understand why you wouldn’t let them. They’re strong and they want to act.”

The girl sat up again. “Against you?”

Kurama’s blood drained from his face, but he shook his head and laughed. “No.” He tried to say more, but his heart was dark and heavy and would not find words. “No.”

“You believe what you’re saying?”

Kurama hesitated. His mind spun back through every potential here and he nodded. “Yes. It is beneficial for all of us. You would be under protection; your tribe will survive intact. We will get an alliance that is loyal, an alliance with good and intelligent people who fight like champions. It would be an honor for us.” He bowed.

*

Kurama slipped in, hiding himself in the shadows and conversation. The soldiers milled about, naked or undressing, holding towels and in thrall of raucous conversation. Kurama shut the door and found his sleeping mats on the side, against the wall.

“Tired, fox?”

The SDF circle broke, and Kurama saw the captain in the center. He had dressed in robes embroidered with poppy-like blooms and strung with wooden beads and bones; it was the decorations of a strong and respected hunter of the Marrin. Underneath, he still wore his uniform.

“What rich gifts,” Kurama admired. He lifted his hand to indicate the robes. “They flatter you.”

The captain checked the sleeves at his wrists, nodding. “One of the council’s kids dropped them off.”

“That is a sign that the talks are going well,” Kurama said, though the Marrin’s gesture clearly meant it was not appropriate to wear the SDF's war gear during a civil peace negotiation. “Gift giving is a strong part of the Marrin’s communal culture. This is a good thing; we’ve done well.”

The captain smoothed the lapel of the cloak, smug as a salary man in Saks.

“Do we have to give them something?” Zel asked.

Kurama hesitated. “No. They know we brought nothing. And the gifts are not meant to be kept; we should return those when we leave.”

“Not much of a gift!”

“The presentation is an important sentiment of friendship. Keeping property to oneself is wrong in their morality. So the concept of a gift is different here."

"Geek." Shun-jun smiled, then turned. “Y’all get out. Go on.”

“We’ll take our time coming back,” Cerene crooned, darting out the door. The SDF hefted their towels, tying up their hair for the baths, and followed.

Kurama hung back, allowing them to pass first. But as he moved into the retinue, Wolf's hand darted out and pinched Kurama’s ribs – harmless but startling, stopping him in his tracks. Wolf grinned and slammed the door. Kurama grabbed the handle. It wouldn't shift. Wolf had it from the other side.

“Fox," Shun-jun shouted.

Kurama thought of breaking the doorknob. If he pulled hard enough, the metal would sheer off and the door may swing loose.

"Come here. I want to make you a gift.”

Kurama turned. The captain was absorbed in the intricate waist band of the clothing.

“Don’t untie that,” Kurama warned, noticing the construction suddenly. “That knot is decorative. The clasp is on the side. Yes, under your arm.”

Listening to the guidance, the captain undid the robes safely. "Huh."

Kurama came forward. “Let me hang these for you, and you can go on to the bath.”

Shun-jun let him, and Kurama hung them on the wall, where there were bars for such things. Shun-jun laughed. “I thought those hangers were art.”

“It is a sign of a developed culture, that they make things that are beautiful as well as functional."

"Ah."

"This will be a good alliance for Spirit World.” Kurama straightened the cloth and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to eat before the meal is finished."

“You just ate.”

Kurama was silent; obviously Shun-jun had seen him.

“Liar.” Shun-jun came near and turned Kurama’s chin up with his hand. Kurama read his expression, at once honest, relaxed, and violent.

“Sir – “

“I want to make you a gift. You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”

Shun-jun was acting like more of a person now, less horror and more mercy. He would not be pleased by sheer fear. So Kurama shook his head. "No."

Shun-jun chuckled, nodding. “Right. You're lying. I did knock you around quite a bit."

He put his hand on Kurama’s shoulder and turned beside him. Leaning back, he drew a line with his toe, separating them from the center of the room.

“Imagine this."

Kurama looked up at him.

"If you step over that line, I won’t hurt you. That’s your gift, from me. Step over. Right now. And as long as you’re on that side of the line, you’re safe.”

Kurama stared. His eyes darted at the line. He tore forward.

Fingernails scraped his scalp. Kurama's head jerked; Shun-jun was pulling him back by the hair. Kurama grabbed his wrist. His thick red curls were firm as rope. 

Grasping Kurama's shoulder and forearm, Shun-jun grabbed him, laughing, and flung him around backwards.

Kurama skidded across the polished stone and rolled. He lifted himself.

“Wow!” Shun-jun chuckled. "In a hurry to get across, eh?"

“I won’t play this game,” Kurama said, trembling. He shook his head, staring angrily at the ground, his mouth pressed into a line. “I won’t. You brutalize me while I try to get past? I’m not strong enough. I lose.”

“I just wanted to see how badly you wanted to get across,” Shun-jun said, tilting his face up. “You don’t show your fear. It's strange. I never quite know where you stand.”



It was an odd compliment, one he could only give when there was no one else around.

“You’ve seen my fear,” Kurama said.

“You show as much as if useful to you,” Shun-jun agreed. He contemplated the boy as he undid Kurama's jacket. “But that’s not the game. I have a bit of a ritual – “

“Fucking before a fight,” Kurama drawled. It was clear from his tone. From the context.

Still, Shun-jun looked surprised at the guess, even embarrassed.

Kurama rubbed his arms a moment, then nodded. “Let me pass that line. I agree.”

*

With Shun-jun’s permission, he crossed to the center of the room, where the captain’s high stack of thick mats and blankets lay. Kurama drew off his socks. He wiped his feet and crawled over the bedspread and towards Shun-jun, pausing at his outstretched leg.

Shun-jun beckoned him forward. “Over it, over it.”

Kurama came over, one knee on either side. As he straddled Shun-jun’s leg, the captain lifted his knee, brushing Kurama’s genitals. When the fox hesitated, the captain bumped his knee into the boy’s ass, knocking him forward.

Kurama stopped himself, his hand on Shun-jun’s chest. Disdain flicked over his face; he felt like a cliché, his small white hand spread flat, caught against the chest this scarred man. The image was a lie. He was not delicate, and Shun-jun's scars were not well earned.

“What a tight body you have.”

The words hit Kurama like a migraine. Fire flooded his mind and he choked, remembering the cave.

Shun-jun moved Kurama’s hips to the middle, so that he sat over the captain’s lap, his face higher. “Hey."

"Y-yes?" Kurama swallowed, keeping his eyes shut.

"It's a compliment. Thank me.”

“Thank you.”  Kurama regained his bearings, tearing himself from the memory despite the aches in his body, and he looked down at the SDF captain. Shun-jun again looked off, embarrassed. Perhaps without his team, he didn't bother to act cocky – after all, Kurama was a convict, his opinion didn't matter.

Shun-jun leaned up and brought their lips together.

The gentleness surprised Kurama. It was teasing, Shun-jun plucking at Kurama's lips with his own. A small lick. A brush of teeth. He took Kurama's lip into his mouth and sucked it.

It was kissing like young virgins did, purely for physical sport. It began light, then grew without purpose, becoming creative and deep.

Kurama waited for it to be over, but Shun-jun seemed to have no agenda. All the time in the world.

After a few minutes, his body loosening, Kurama began to kiss back. Tilting Shun-jun's head back carefully with his hands, he kissed the bottom of Shun-jun’s upper lip. Kurama kissed the center, the bow of his lip, and the sloping thin side. Then, he nipped the corner of the man’s mouth and licked it.

Kurama pulled away, catching Shun-jun’s eyes briefly, then came forward on, letting the man’s tongue slide in over his.

Shun-jun pushed his hands through Kurama’s hair along the base of his skull. He began kissing in earnest, suckling on Kurama’s lips as if they were hard candy. Kurama matched him, holding Shun-jun’s head.

Their hands formed a pale butterfly spread of fingers as they crossed at the wrist on either side of the kiss, guarding it.

After many minutes, Shun-jun pulled his hands down and stroked Kurama’s body. He ran his hands up his ribs and pinched his nipples. Kurama pulled away, gasping. His brow furrowed; the fear of the night before overwhelmed him and he began to shake.

“No, no.” Shun-jun drew his hands down Kurama’s sides, tickling the skin. Trailing his nails over Kurama’s ass, he jerked him forward.

Kurama began to worry. He tried to calculate. Shun-jun was barely erect. If Kurama were more erotic, he could bring Shun-jun off quickly  – be asleep by the time the group returned. If he let the SDF killer set the pace, or if Kurama attempted to slow it, they might be interrupted. Or joined. But Shun-jun may bore of him and quit, letting him sleep.

"Aren't you liking this? I thought this was your promise…how good it would be if you were willing."

Shun-jun began massaging Kurama’s back, kissing him around the mouth in rhythm. Then he pulled his head back by the hair and gnawed Kurama's throat.

Kurama swallowed, gasping, and forced himself to look around the room. This was one man. Not the team. There were doors. He could run. It was of benefit to him to stay. To make this alliance. To build false trust – or real. Whatever, this was what he had to do.

Kurama let himself rock forward. He breathed out. It was enjoyable – it could be. He smiled at the man.

“You look cute,” Shun-jun said.

Kurama wanted to ask if he said that to everyone he intended to kill or just the one’s he raped first, but then Kurama realized that he knew the answer, he knew that wasn’t true. Shun-jun had killed any number of demons, and raped them, without saying anything.

Shun-jun was acting differently though. Open. Kurama didn’t dare tempt or frighten him.

“That feels so good.” Kurama said. He held the man’s shoulders, grinding against him. Then he gasped, eyes knocked open; Shun-jun began to kiss his neck. Up and down, gnawing and clean, it felt invasive. Kurama’s ass clenched and his cock tripped awake.

Shun-jun growled, again gripping Kurama’s flank. “Nice.”

Kurama’s brow drew tight. He gave an embarrassed smile.

It was rape before, would be rape after, but for the time on this side of the line, it felt like sex. Just sex.

"I've know you a long time." Shun-jun muttered. "Foxes are optimists in the worst sense of the word. Trapped in a cage, they prowl around. But they eventually settle. Take solace in the fact that the cage functions as much as protection as confinement. Resourceful, that's what you lot are."

Kurama kept down his bristling reaction. He asked, "I'm settling?"

"My new red fox."

*

Kurama was bored by the end of the hour. Yet his body was worked loose. He was blushing and stinking with sweat and arousal. He felt trails on hands beating into him like the pulse of dancing feet. Kurama ached for release, yet he was too ashamed to grind into the captain’s stomach for relief. His hips twitched up on their own.

Shun-jun moaned like a cat in his ear. It was startlingly weak whine. Then the captain muttered nonsense ("Prrrretty boy. Mine. All mine, your sweet little ass…") as he nuzzled into Kurama's curls.

It felt good. Amazing.

Kurama held on, arms around Shun-jun’s neck.

The captain smacked his lips and the point of his tongue stroked Kurama’s ear. Kurama made a small sound, shying away, but Shun-jun followed the velvet ear with his lips. He caught the rim and bit gently. He slipped low, suckled the lobe.  Kurama moaned, smiling.

His fingers played along Kurama’s throat, up to his mouth. They delved in and out of his lips, stroking his gums and distracting him with the salty presence of skin. "You gonna bite me? No you’re not."

“Touch me,” Kurama begged.

The words were out of his mouth before he could snare them back.

Delighted, Shun-jun pulled his hair and took a gentle messy bite out of his neck under his ear, slurping as if he were eating an ice cream cone. Kurama groaned. His nipples pricked up hard. He loved this; the man was talented, a good -

A sudden blistering memory of making love to Risa rose. Her body rolling, her laugh, her glittering eyes.

Kurama’s eyes stung.

“Yeah, that’s it, bitch,” Shun-jun praised. He grabbed at Kurama’s chest and squeezed, pinching his

nipples. The pain flickered into darker memories, the pain, Harker's hand on his neck. “You like that.”

Kurama trembled, pushing away the darkness and afraid to remember the light. Risa. Was he betraying her – making love to her murderer? Enjoying it, playing lover? Monster, Kurama thought, I’m a monster.

"Oh yeah." Shun-jun clapped a hand on Kurama's flank and squeezed.

Kurama bit his lip, calmed himself. It was his body reacting. He would never choose this. He was just staying alive. However he could. He was using her gift, protecting it. Protecting his own life.

Forgive me, Ris, he hoped. Please, understand.

Shun-jun laughed hard and brought both hands down, smacking Kurama’s ass. Startled, Kurama jumped; he and Shun-jun cracked heads.

“Fox!”

“Sorry…sorry…”

Shun-jun glared. He tossed him off. Kurama scrambled, watching Shun-jun's expression.

Lifting up to his knees, the captain stood and moved off the mats. He finished unbuttoning his jacket, then waved at Kurama. “Go. Lay out. Like you’re sleeping.”

Kurama scooted down and looked for the pillow. He lay his head down and collapsed onto his back. The sheets felt cold on his hot body.

“Roll over,” Shun-jun demanded. “Face me. Good. Good boy, yeah.”

Kurama felt his genitals fall over his thigh. He tried folding one arm under his head. It made his shoulders hunch and shifted his hips and knees awkwardly.

“Yeah, good,” Shun-jun purred. He jerked off his jacket. He was caught in the sleeve a moment, and then tore it off and threw it down. His eyes glinted, like a cat growing quiet when it's seen movement it wants to claw down. “Relax.”

Kurama shut his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine his own bedroom – ludicrously far from here. It helped though. He tucked his chin in and let his muscles loosen. He imagined the quilt, bare where he'd teethed on it as a child.

“Good. Now wake up and say, Welcome home, lover.”

“What?”

“Welcome – home – lover.”

Kurama exhaled through his nose, irritated by the inconsiderate jokes. It might have been a snort, if he’d thought he could get away with the disrespect. But he kept his manners. He opened his eyes. He offered a curled smile and intent eyes. “Welcome – “

“No, not like that.”

“Uh – how would you -  ?"

“Just, normal. Natural. Like you’re waking up.”

“Like…like I’m groggy?” Kurama squinted. He couldn’t see the appeal in that.

“Come on – “ the captain’s voice lifted with fear. “Can’t you just do it?”

Kurama nodded quickly, several times, alarmed. “Of course. Of course. Of course I will.” He gave a small stretch, shifting his whole body to be more bared and open. As plainly as he could, he said, “Welcome, lover – welcome home…”

Insecurity made him stutter. There was question in his voice, but Shun-jun did not seem to hear it.

The captain’s brows drew up in the middle and he lifted his chin. He let out his breath.

Kurama watched the man’s face change and it occurred to him that after the mission, Kurama would go back to his human mother, his bed and quilt, his rose garden. And Shun-jun would not. Shun-jun would meet no one in his empty officer’s dorm. He would wait until being dragged out, again, to corral a group of powerful psychopaths. He was living without aging in Spirit World, growing more powerful, more divorced from everything he knew in any world. He traipsed from one war scene to another.

Shun-jun's mind was degraded and abusive, and he did not earn the words he wanted to hear – he did not deserve them. Still, it struck Kurama as very sad.

Shun-jun, bitter in his relief, smiled. “Say it again. You treacherous little bitch.”

Shun-jun’s insult needled at Kurama, breaking his pity, but he obeyed. He thought of Risa, of the band he had loved so dearly and spent so many years with, and he forgave Shun-jun, who had nothing. Shun-jun could never understand what he’d done, taking those precious souls away. And so horribly.

He would never understand and for that, Kurama pitied him, and he added the poor wreck’s name: “Welcome home, Shun-jun, sir.”

Shun-jun’s nod turned into a glare and he lunged forward. Kurama flinched back but Shun-jun caught his wrists. “Are you making fun of me?” He bellowed into the boy’s face. “Are you making f – “

Kurama choked, eyes huge. “No. No. No, sir, I'm not making fun of you – "

“Is this a game?” Shun-jun wept, shouting to cover his tears. “Is this funny to you?”

“Let go,” Kurama shouted. “You’re hurting me!”

Shun-jun let go, disgusted. “Just say the words, don’t act like some little princess – “

“Welcome home…welcome home.” Kurama’s body called to him to run, to throw himself back over the line as if somehow he had chosen the wrong side and crossing it again would protect him. He bent, shivering. “Please don't hit me. You promised."

Shun-jun pressed Kurama's head down to the ground. He held him there for a moment, then moved away.

Kurama lifted himself up again, panting like a rabbit. “Keep your word, please.”

Shun-jun rolled his eyes, rubbing his hair. After a moment, he turned away. “I lost my temper.”

Kurama nodded at his back, breathing to slow his heart. "That – that's alright."

Shun-jun took off his boots. “Get back down, fox.”

Kurama lay down, flattening himself. “I wasn’t making fun of you. You…you were treating my body as a joke. So who is really making light of the other person here?”

It was a weak defense, spoken out of nerves, only meant to show Shun-jun how frightened Kurama was.

Shun-jun sighed. “I was. You did…just what I asked. Go on and lie back down.”

Kurama pressed himself to the sheets. He couldn’t relax again, but he was not asked to.

*

Shun-jun climbed onto the bed, his trousers off. His endowment hung heavy, tucked into a brandless grey brief made of the same worn grey cotton as the undershirt he wore.

He looks soft, Kurama thought, watching the fabric stretch and cling to the man’s round shoulders. Like Kurama, the man was glowing with sweat and heat from their kisses.

“Give me that rose,” Shun-jun demanded. “I want to drag it over your body.”

“You have it. It's with the rest of my seeds."

“I know you took have one hidden away. Just hand it to me. I won’t punish you; this’ll be the end of it.”



His tone froze Kurama. Shun-jun was eyeing him dangerously, psychologically stopping short of a grand abyss. He did not believe Kurama's words.

Kurama said, “No, truly – I don’t have it – “



Shun-jun hung his head, sighed, and looked at him. “Don’t make me do this.”



“Do – do what?” Kurama's eyes skimmed over his face.



“Give me the rose, fox.”



“Shun-jun. I swear, it’s in your bag – “



Shun-jun’s body twitched and Kurama’s head jerked, as hard as if he’d been hit by a car. Kurama’s face plunged into the pillows and he gasped, smothered, before he saw light again. Then he saw Shun-jun’s hand raised again, open palm. The man raised his eyes.

“Shun-jun! I – “

“Give it to me?”

“I don't – “

The man struck him, again knocking him flat. Kurama’s right ear blanked out with a blaring ringing.

“Fox. Don’t lie.”

Kurama’s jaw ached when he spoke, garbling his words. “Wait!”

Shun-jun stayed his hand.

“You’re testing me,” Kurama reasoned. He put up his hand between them, shaking. “That’s intelligent. And you win because you know now that I don’t have anything. I can’t attack you. It’s the same, Shun-jun. The same as when we left Koenma's office. I am unarmed. That’s why I ran to get over the line. That’s why I was afraid – that’s why I am afraid now. I can't defend myself. There's nothing."

Shun-jun narrowed his eyes.

"Do you mean at least to keep your word, captain?" Kurama's nostrils flared. He was furious with disgust for the man. "Am I safe or not?”

Shun-jun leaned down. “What does knowing that change?”

Shun-jun carved any hope from Kurama's future and left his chest hollow, dead. Shun-jun was not afraid to be so gentle, to make Kurama call him lover – because that information wouldn’t last long enough to be a weapon: Shun-jun intended to kill him soon.

Kurama choose his words carefully. “L-lover, you have the rose. You’ve had it this entire trip. I would not have suffered as I did had I any opportunity. But you’ve bound me well. Please, you can take out the seed and I can make the rose bloom to prove it. And if you keep your word, I will do the same. I will not harm you tonight.”

“As if I trust that.”

“Only one of us has broken his word tonight.”

Shun-jun stared.

Kurama touched the side of his face where he’d been struck, exploring the tenderness with his fingertips.

Shun-jun fetched the bag. He took out a canister and opened it, then fished out a tiny sack.

Kurama sent his ki to the man’s palm, developing a full red rose. It took only an instant.

Shun-jun said, “You have my word."

Kurama lay back. "And you have mine."

*

Petals traced his face. The delicate scent filled Kurama’s nostrils. Shun-jun moved his hands alongside, stroking and touching.

“If you could see yourself, you might get it." Shun-jun watched the bloom set against the boy's jaw. "What that kitsune spirit did to this body is…sinful.”

“Survival,” Kurama breathed.

The rose and fingers rounded his jaw. Kurama opened his eyes.

Shun-jun reached back and smoothed his hair off his forehead. “You're like stained glass. Hah, you little shit. I can’t believe you got me saying things like this. But you know, you were my life’s work. Guess it's expected.”

“You were my life’s work. In a way. Escaping you killed me. You ended everything.”

“You’re not worse for the wear.” His hands tapered over Kurama’s collar bones. “I like you in red.”

Shun-jun finally sat back, one leg tucked under. He began to windmill his hands, touching Kurama’s body at random.

Kurama shivered as the touch ran from the inside on one knee over his groin and up his belly. His shoulders jerked in.

“You just want to touch me?”

“Don’t rush me.”

“Would you like me to move?”

“I’ll move you when I want.”

Kurama shut his eyes as the man’s hand stroked along the outside of his arm up to his shoulder and down along his neck.

“You look beautiful, twisting like that. Are you trying?”

“It feels – strongly.”

“Intense.”

Kurama nodded. He couldn’t think.

“Open your hand.”

Shun-jun blew on his palm. Kurama watched. The man dropped the cup of the red bloom into Kurama’s lax fingers, stirring. Then he began to stroke downward, out over the palm and along the fingers. Again. Again.

Kurama’s breath changed. He winced and bit his lip and thrust his chest out with each pant.

Shun-jun chuckled. “You like that?”

Why, Kurama wanted to ask, but he was safe for the moment, and pleased beyond words. The conflict made his soul miserable.

“Yeah…”

In the next quarter hour, Shun-jun handled his feet. He spread Kurama’s legs manually, admiring him like an artist and dragging him about as roughly as a child with a doll. He pulled at Kurama’s toes and the hairs on his legs. He clasped his hands under the cheeks of his ass and squeezed, pinched, slapped.

The rose slipped down his ass and brushed the back of his scrotum.

Kurama twitched, straining.

“Do not move. Hold still.”

The order was playful and ferocious, repeated again and again.

Shun-jun began to kiss his body. He sucked against the tender skin, marking it with his teeth.

“That will look ugly,” Kurama warned, imagining the bruise, like a giant mosquito bite.

“You’d let a lover do it.”

“Of course not.”

Kurama answered so sharply that the man was confused. He went up to lay against the pillows and he stroked the boy’s neck. “You lovely thing. Good job. Now, you had your rest. You get to work.”

He pulled down the grey briefs.

After all that, Kurama thought, he’s barely erect.

“I like to have a nice long session with a body I adore. So, you seem clean.”

“What an examination,” Kurama breathed.

Shun-jun chuckled and widened his legs. “Go, please me.”

The smell burst hard through the scent of roses. Kurama slid over on the blankets. So much touch made his muscles lazy and warm.

Shun-jun settled back, spreading his thighs wide.

Kurama lay on his stomach, like a child in the grass, and took the man in his hands. He took a few seconds to admire the man’s cock. He was more concerned about anchoring submissive eye contact and checking for disease than even noting the size, so as he touched it, he was surprised. The muscle was heavy, very thick even relaxed. Amused, Kurama moved up on his elbows and licked down the top with a flat tongue, tip to base, as if he were dragging the icing off an éclair. He drew his fingertips in smooth circles at the base, then circled them snugly around Shun-jun’s cock. He pulled it outward, ducking his head below. Catching saliva on his tongue, he slopped it over the man’s scrotum, keeping it wet and slick while he sucked.

Shun-jun moaned, “Good, good.”

Kurama kept pulling along his cock, then returned and put his mouth sideways. He kept his thumb on the tip, rubbing in circles, and pulled his mouth up and down, hands on the other side.

“Watch your teeth,” Shun-jun snarled.

Kurama tried again. “It’s difficult – “

Shun-jun started to lift his hand. But instead, he made a fist, then relaxed it. He squeezed Kurama’s shoulder. “Go slow.”



*

Kurama stopped, heaving breath. He spat onto the blankets, but there was nothing except the hollow gag of sweat on his tongue.

“Keep going.”

Kurama shook his head. “I…can’t.” Numb lips made him lisp.

Deep inside, Yoko loved it. The sheer idea of being exhausted from such a trial was monumentally lascivious. He had pleasured him, licked him, until his mouth was numb.

The fox adored it. But for Kurama, there was only the ache of his neck and his tongue. He lay down resting his head on Shun-jun’s thigh. He shut his eyes. Shun-jun laughed and pet Kurama’s hair. “Keep on. Stick the tongue out.”

Kurama inched forward, his hair slipping along the man’s hip and abdomen, until he could reach the man’s limp cock with his tongue. He gave it a sloppy wet kiss.

“Hey. Don’t stop.”

Kurama gasped and let his head drop. “You’re…you’re not even enjoying it.”

“I’m enjoying it. You just aren’t good enough to get me hard.”

There was silence for a moment. The scent of bodies wreathed them.

“You want me to take your ass? Is that what you want?”

“No.” Kurama sighed, trying to get his breath back. “Th…they’re going to come back.”

“So what if they do? Anyway, it’s only been four hours.”

Kurama resolved to sleep.

Shun-jun slowly arranged his red hair over his own cock. He began rubbing himself gently thought the silky veil. “Look at those curls. If I'da been born a red head.”

Kurama watched his hair slip past, shining like sun in thin molasses.

He thought of the Marrin, the army that waited outside. This man, this craven and brutal mercenary was not enough.

Kurama shut his eyes, but his mind went to the plants in the canister.

“Let me put the tip in.”

“Let me have my plants back.”

The words slipped out, like a grandmasters’ hand darts towards a piece without indication to his expression.

“Your plants?”

“They’ll make me compliant, just to have them against my fingers. I am keeping my word now,” Kurama said, lifting the rose that had fallen from the pleasure-logged man’s fingers. He twirled the stem, offering him the bloom. “Have I harmed you?”

“As if you could. You keep your word when it’s convenient for you.”

“You’ve never made love to a willing fox,” Kurama said, tucking the rose away. “Not forcing yourself. Allowing yourself to be adored. Don’t you want to feel that? You saw how different that was now than with Wolf. I've exhausted myself on you.”

“What’s left to give?”

Kurama shut his eyes. He had plenty of energy in his body. It would be alright. The pain it would cause suddenly seemed tolerable when it was for a trade.

Kurama sat up on his knees, spreading them wide into Shun-jun’s thighs. He leaned over, letting his hair sweep over Shun-jun’s thighs and thick member. He massaged the man with his hands, then rolled his back straight, throwing his curls up and gathering them in his fists.

“Aw.” Shun-jun dragged his hands down the pale body before him. “Fuck yes. Twist it, bitch.”

“You spent centuries learning my name,” Kurama said, moving the man’s hands counter clockwise, one to his groin, one to his face. He licked his lips and formed the words slowly: “Use it.”

“Fox. Yoko.”

“My name. Yoko Kurama. You know who I am."

One hand roamed between the white thighs; the other pushed up over Kurama’s forehead, until Shun-jun had gathered a fistful of hair. He squeezed and tried to move the boy’s head, but Kurama pulled down on Shun-jun's elbow; it made an impasse – pulling Shun-jun up as he tried to pull Kurama down. The captain stared. Kurama’s expression was endearing, but the move was a pin.

“Yoko,” Shun-jun breathed. "You're strong."

“Kurama.”

“Kurama. Be a darling and bend over.”

“My plants.”

“You have your rose. Earn the rest some other way.”

Kurama struggled slightly, but the captain was waking, drawn out of pleasure for the battle. Kurama sensed it and retreated with a meek smile; he did not want a physical fight. “How do you want me?”

Shun-jun dragged Kurama down to his chest and held him there, like a lover. “Oh, you bad, bad thing."

Kurama made himself smile, lashes low.

"Do you know what I wanted to do to you when I found you? Oh…listen to that. Your breath just stopped…stopped dead, just for a moment.”

His hair stroked down, Kurama seethed under the hand, lip curling.

“I was going to put you in chains.”

Kurama opened his mouth but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“Leave you in a cave. Feed you nothing. Use you like a dog. Until you died. Orders were to execute you on sight, you see; you were too dangerous, too dangerous to be control. But I knew I could have you.”

“Why did they think I was dangerous?”

Shun-jun laughed.

“No, truly. I was a thief. I…am very weak. It is nothing to hold me down. Anyone could do it. One with half your power could rape me, as you have."

“But who could snare you?” He pushed Kurama out. “Just me. Only me. Lay down.”

Kurama was tumbled onto his stomach, but the captain kept his hair like reins, yanking his neck back.

Then the grip moved to his thighs, spreading them.

“You’re proud."

“Shouldn’t I be?” Shun-jun smiled.

“I was a child.”

“A warlord.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing…I just – “ Kurama shook his head, thinking: I just wanted a family. Someone to eat with – people to return to. Friends. And they needed money, and they had the energy and brains to get it.

“Quiet, innocent.” The man leaned down. His tongue slithered into Kurama’s flesh.

Kurama jumped, yelping and drawing his knees up, thighs far apart. Shun-jun prepared him. First with his tongue and then with his fingers.

Kurama whimpered and tried to think of nothing. The touch was cool, strangely soft, and too deeply taboo for him to think hard on.

“I thought you said it would be fun,” Shun-jun said, slipping his middle finger in and out. “You seem sad. I suppose you’re missing your little band.”

“Risa.”

“What?”

Kurama tensed as the man pawed him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back.

“Who’s that?”

“What do you want to do with me, Shun-jun?”

Shun-jun raised one knee, settling Kurama in his lap, facing away. Kurama sat straight. There was a small sensation on the small of his back. A slapping sound; Shun-jun was tapping his cock against him. “Hang on to my knee.”

Kurama wrapped his hands around the man’s lifted knee. The flesh stretched over the bone.

“Now open up.”

There was pressure, then pain, then worse pain. Dull pain and sharp, throbbing. He panted, trying not to dig his nails into the man's leg.

“Oh yeah. Yeah. Good, good fox. Now…now ride it. Like a carousel horse. Yeah. Ride the pony.”

Kurama cried out. Pain hammered at his spine.

“Up and down, up and down the golden pole. There you go.”

Kurama put his weight on the man’s knee and lifted, then lowered; lifted, then lowered.

It hurt.  Kurama wept.

Finish it, he told himself.

“You seem up for anything tonight. Let’s go deep.”

"No, no – "

Holding Kurama’s hips tight to him, he climbed up awkwardly. Kurama’s forearms scraped the blankets as he went down.

“I don’t…” Kurama started. But he gave up. If Risa could suffer, so should he. If Risa died, why not die?

“Like this,” Shun-jun said. He grabbed Kurama’s wrist and jerked it up behind his back. Kurama’s shoulder hit the bed. He pulled his other arm in front of his chest to compensate, but Shun-jun took that one as well.

“Please!”

“Just like this.” Shun-jun rolled his hips forward. At first he pulled Kurama’s torso up, hauling him back by the arms. Then he pushed Kurama’s wrists up between his shoulder blades, laughing, “You hold still now.”

Kurama’s eyes teared at the pain. His mouth opened, trembling, soundless.

“I remember your face under my foot. You were so shocked! So surprised. Could you have been more arrogant?” Shun-jun slapped his cheek. “Little dumb whore.”

Kurama tried to speak.

“Tell me. What happened to your caches, the treasures? I don’t need the money, but we can use the artifacts to buy peace among your kind. Demons.”

“Stop – slow down at least– "

“Oh, no. No no no. Not this time little boy.” Shun-jun leaned forward, biting into his ear: “I’ll follow you till the end. Right on your back. Ride you into the ground, my precious little bitch.”

Shun-jun began to go fast, shifting back and forth. Kurama was shaken in short jerks, rocked along with him. The rhythm caught him, like the thrum of wheels on a desiccated gravel road, throwing him into a buzz of movement and pain and sensation.

Kurama wailed softly into the cloth, saliva running down his lip and staining the bed. The pain was white hot. Each unhealed injury seemed to well up in his mind, huge, tearing wider, bleeding and so tender -

Shun-jun let go of Kurama's arms so he could dig his fingers into the boy’s narrow hips. Kurama pulled them around his head, as if he could make himself a new room, a fortress, in the dark. Shun-jun spread his thighs and smacked him, a hard slap on the right flank. “Aw, the ripple of flesh. Under a bit of force, even a nasty criminal like you is attractive.”

“You said…” His voice came out too young, so he grit down. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“It’s a line in the sand, fox. Imaginary. You stepped over it…over…ohhh - !”

He put his weight on Kurama’s head and shoulders, forcing him to lie with his chest on the blanket. He pulled his hand down into the small of Kurama’s back; with the boy’s knees in the way, the posture curved his spine until was nearly snapped.

Kurama put his head sideways on the covers. “My plants – please – " He just wanted them so badly, it was all he could think of, covering himself in green, safe.

“Shut up,” Shun-jun growled. His face was a gargoyle, concentrating as he rasped his cock through the tight ass. Suddenly, the pressure built and he let it overflow. Kurama jerked, trying to claw himself away from the man as he felt the sticky liquid tracing his insides. He screamed Shun-jun finished, twisting. He stayed in. Petting Kurama, he spoke gibberish: "Yeah, yeah…that’s right. My boy. Took it all. Angel bitch.”

Kurama waited until he finished. Then he asked again.

“My plants.”

Shun-jun laughed. “No fucking way.”

“You said – “

“It’s rude to make the person your cock’s in unhappy. I was just being polite.”

Kurama lifted himself shaking off the bed, but Shun-jun let him go.

*

Kurama wrapped himself up and went to the baths. No one was there so late, except a few families with their children. He went to the edge of the pool nearest the draining vent, and he bathed there so that his dirt, evidence of his betrayal and crime, would not get all over them. They were innocent. They had nothing to do with these politics.

He stayed up, healing his face and the cuts inside him – all the things that couldn't be hidden during negotiations.

He meditated.

When he was finished, Kurama realized he was alone.

He took his towel to the corner and slept against the warm rock, getting a grime of minerals from the water on his cheek and side.

In the morning, he returned to the room.

"There you are," Zel said. "We thought they killed you."

Shun-jun watched him. Kurama lifted his chin, pointing at the Marrin's costume he was trying to put on. "Let me help. They will be glad to see you understand how to wear it; it will go a long way to suggest you also understand them."

Shun-jun let Kurama adjust his clothing.

Later, Kurama led them in and sat in front. He listened to each one of the Marrin's concerns and one by one addressed them, answering what he could and promising to find out what he did not know. He spoke of trade agreements and educational opportunities and technological exchanges. When asked about the bruising at the edge of his hairline, Kurama said, "I feel nothing in regard to my injuries when I imagine what the opposing army could inflict. We do not want to lose your people to the ground. We would much rather have your friendship."

There were details to sketch in, but eventually the Marrin council members looked at one another, convinced. The girl said, “We will join you.”

*

“You fight for them tomorrow,” Kurama explained, as the Marrins left for a discussion with their people. “If the battle goes well – “

“We don’t fight,” Shun-jun corrected. “We take the documents back and send troops.”

Kurama stared. “Then the Marrins will all be dead in a month and the territory will be hostile.”

“Not my problem.”

“Shun-jun. Shun-jun, stop!” Kurama ran in front of him, holding a hand to the captain’s chest to stop him. “Papers mean nothing here. You said that I could offer them immediate protection. You told me that directly."

"Immediately after the papers go through and the alliance is approved. Koenma was clear. Look, we’re leaving. Tell them the troops will be here.” He shrugged. “When they can.”

“No. I won’t lie to them. And I won’t kill their race for your stupid files. Either you fight tomorrow, or the deal does not happen,” Kurama said.

Shun-jun’s eyes flashed. "Listen, you little whore – " He looked up, but the Marrins were still in the room; he could not choke the fox yet. He said through clenched teeth. “If you disrupt this, I’ll have your hide.”

“You can’t.” Kurama hissed. “I am the only one who they’ll make the peace with; they rightly distrust you for abusing your own people. You need me till then to get your precious peace agreement. I won’t let them sign.”

“You told them?”

“They saw the marks of your hands on me when I bathed. They can see the edges and traces of bruising I could not heal. I only have so much energy."

“You were showering with them?”

“You know baths are public,” Kurama growled. “Marrin culture is collective – “

“So are we,” Shun-jun hissed. “And if you don’t fix this, you’re public property for the rest of this trip.”

Kurama stared at him. “So…what will you do on the way home? Kill me?”

“Crossed my mind.”

“F-fuck you.” Kurama’s eyes narrowed, more in pain than anger. “You think I’ll broker a truce that makes me expendable?”

“Oh? Ha. You'll defy the prince’s first order to you? I suppose I’ll get to watch when you’re thrown into hell. Maybe I can even help you move in, add a touch of home to it.” Shun-jun stroked Kurama’s cheek. “You’re so warm.”

Behind the touch, Kurama heard the logs in the fire tumbling over, consumed.

Kurama saw a path through it, out of the flames safely, at the same moment Shun-jun grabbed his hair.

“Fox, you listen – “

“No. I've kept to my contract. In those instructions, I was allowed to offer protection, policing, and food assistance - but I was never required to lie to get their alliance.”

“Damn it, Kurama – “

“You can kill me. You’re right. No one will know, except Hiei.”

“Your little boyfriend.”

“He has the Jagan eye, so he sees this. He will not care what I suffer, unless I die, but if that happens he will tell Koenma.”

The Marrin came back in.

“No one will listen.” Shun-jun hissed in Kurama’s ear. Then he let go of the red hair with a jerk and stood, pacing to the back of the room.

The Marrins crowded in, filling the captain's absence. Kurama tried not to collapse.

“What is this? You say they are kind, this is a good alliance," the Marrin woman said. "But if you are how they treat their allies, we want no part of it.”

Kurama smoothed his hair. “My friend and I disagreed and his manners are too casual for the circumstance. But it is a dispute internal to our small team. There is nothing about this that…reflects Spirit World policy to allied territories. And I am ready to offer you our services.”

“Can they really defend us?”

“You will see tomorrow if you are satisfied,” Kurama smiled, as if it were a promise. "Nothing will be signed expect what is contingent upon your survival."

*



“You have to!” Kurama roared. “This is not your decision to make!”

Shun-jun laughed, his eyebrows high with astonishment. “Did you hear that?”

“Heard.” Cerene said, sharpening a knife. Harker rolled over, putting a pillow over his ear.

Kurama backed up. “I didn’t mean – “

“To shout?” The captain smiled, turning to him.

Kurama nodded. “Y-es.”

“What about screaming?”

Kurama rubbed his fingertips.

“Hm. What about moaning?”

Kurama’s eyes narrowed in disgust. He shook his head and moved for the door. “Forget it. You lazy fucking cowards.”

Shun-jun charged in, grabbing Kurama by the throat. He tossed him back into the wall.

Kurama stayed where he slid down. Even standing would be a sign of aggression, as hostile as a raised fist.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Kurama said, sitting in Shun-jun’s shadow, as petulant as a human teenager. “I’m going to go tell them the vast empire they allied themselves sent them an army. And that army just doesn’t feel like fighting tomorrow – they’d rather carry paperwork back to their boss, like dumb mules. Leaving the whole tribe to die, slaughtered.”

Shun-jun leapt at him, sliding forward on his knees, straddling the boy’s coiled body. He slammed his hand against the wall.

Kurama shifted, looking up. Close, the captain smelled like – everything he was trying to forget.

Shun-jun smiled. “Remember when you tore out my earring?”

Kurama trembled. Stop it, he told himself, stop.

“Fox?” His eyes flicked down as the captain’s fingers pinched his earlobe.

“Don’t touch me.” Kurama turned his head. “I suppose that you spent your strength holding me down the other night. You’re all too exhausted to lift a sword now.”

“What, you think you’ll goad me into changing my mind?”

“I don’t think it’d be worth trying. What good could five of you do against the hoardes lying out there now with their torches?”

“We’ve taken down worse,” Cerene laughed.

“And better,” Shun-jun whispered. He let his hand drop down, stroking the boy’s neck. He shoved his knee between Kurama’s legs and pressed his thigh tight into the fox’s groin.

With the wall firm and strong against his shoulders, Kurama braced himself. Without warning, he shoved Shun-jun hard in the ribs. “GET OFF.”

The captain took a step back, then struck out. Kurama blocked his arm, raising his own, but the captain folded them away and struck him in the forehead. Kurama’s head popped back into the wall; his eyes went black, vision crinkling up as if he were looking through plastic wrap.

Shun-jun, smelling of the cave and the dirt, fell on top of him. Kurama struggled to crawl away, testing the man’s pin. Shun-jun kept his weight on the boy and grabbed his hair. Kurama felt the strain, then the speed – 

He felt the first two blows. But then it was like being at the bottom of the ocean. Everything was dark, even the swirling light, and the pressure held him cold to the ground. He couldn’t move, or hear. There was nothing.

He felt hot lips, but cold hands, cold floor. No clothes, or clothes soaked through.

Then it hurt.

Crammed, breaking.

The memory fit and he came back, knowing the rape, aware of what and probably who – but there was nothing to be done about it.

But wait.

And cry, he cried out. It made it feel better, made it right to react, better than keeping it in and choking.

*



Slowly, he came back. Color came back, then sound.

I have a concussion, Kurama tried to say, but there weren’t words yet.

There was a tongue on his neck. Sweet slow lips nursed up and down.

Leave me alone, he murmured.

Kurama, Shun-jun called. “Kurama.”

No.

“Kurama.”

He held still, remembering. Marrins. Yuusuke, his family, his human mother. His fights.

“What?”

Kurama licked his lips and tried again. “I won’t argue.”

Shun-jun scoffed, then laughed. He pulled Kurama hair off his neck and bit just under his jaw.

“I won’t scream…”

“You scream all you like.”

“I…won’t raise my voice to you.”

“What do you think you’re promising? Like I want something from you? What did I say already: you got nothing to give that I can’t take faster than I can ask.”

So Kurama begged.

*



After what might have been two hours, Shun-jun became disgusted with the cold body below him. The sweat began to stink; the boy grew cold from the air, and his face was chill with tears and snot. Shun-jun stood and yawned. He kicked Harker off his blanket and tumbled down. He was snoring in minutes.

Kurama pulled himself away.

*



He washed, and the elder woman from the council came over with a group of Marrins. They gave him soap that smelled of sweet grasses and animal fat. He took it in thanks, and they brought him a drying robe. He wept and they stood with him, silent, until he stopped.

“You are injured again.”

“I had an argument. The captain and I do not get along.”

The woman sat down. “You see our concern.”

“I do.”

“We do not want to be abused as you are.”

“I think I am a singular case. We have a history. And we are the same species at the moment, he and I.”

“He does not mate; he wants to prove dominance.”

“One cannot dominate another without their permission.”

“Yet you bleed.”

“That is blood. Not submission.” He looked at her. “I know I look weak, but I am also a fighter. Tomorrow, if they will not, I will be your champion.”

She stared. “Thank you.”

He felt a rush of warmth, glad that she did not insult him. “I know I am weak, but I will rest. I am weak, but I can still fight. I ask that you gather weapons for me. I will die for you. If it comes to that, you will be none the worse.”

“We will give you what we can.”

“Not from your people, not metal. I am an animal spirit – “

“I’m sorry,” she said, motioning to the soap; a mix of animal fat. “Have we – “

“No! No. I am not offended,” he smiled. “We are vicious creatures, you and I, both predators. But to fight, I need plants. Seeds, stems. Anything you have that lives, bring it to me.”

*

A sweet mist filled the room.

Wolf rose. He gasped and choked, then charged the doors. But they were blocked.

He slid down softly.

*

Kurama sent the population back and stood on the ledge with the council and twenty of their fighters.

Below them, the enemy lay spread, so far down they were specks of light. They were colorful against the snow. They huddled around tents and mirror-based stoves. They had set up forges and streets, chow halls, practice rings. They had brought their city with them, ready to move into the caves and hollows.

Kurama remembered their kind. They were parasites that made nothing but war. Some beings were like that. They loved the game, the pain, they loved surviving and the giddiness of watching others die. They had their own joys and rough culture, but it was geared towards this, like army ants, like locusts, eating all other life alive before moving on.

“Witness me,” Kurama said, thought Yoko was in his voice. He took a knife from one and opened his veins, slitting long shallow cuts into his forearms.

He knelt in the grass and meditated, picturing the world changing as he liked it. Grass jetting skyward, pushing through dead leaves. Vines twining and pulling up. Tree roots cracking rock. Falling petals.

He turned to the old woman. “This will end me briefly. Take care of me after I fall.”

“We will.”

Kurama smiled, and put his hands to the ground. The enemy below was sleeping and treading on knives, without even knowing.

*



Grass sleeping deep in the ground, woke. It felt the vibration of demon’s hooves, and it heard the song of blood. It rose, shooting up, invigorated with primal, sly energy.

The demons were pierced as the blades of grass touched the sun.

The army hacked back, ignoring the screams. Algae crawled over the slime of melting snow, blanketing the corpses in green.

The dying demons’ blood sunk down, gulped away by the hungry roots.

The vines wanted more; they twisted around feet and arms and swords, immobilizing, cracking bones, climbing. They downed swords. They choked necks.

Trees creaked, reaching out for food. Their roots felt over the moaning injured, grawing them, covering them, sucking them dry.

Their branches bloomed. Petals fell like hail.

*



Kurama slipped down, catching his head on his arms.

The Marrins’ fighters came near the edge, watching the carnage. The old woman grabbed him.

“I’m tired,” Kurama said. “You will have to finish.”

“There is nothing to finish. All the invaders are – are gone. Under it all."

“Check again. There only needs to be a seed, remember. You can either kill them all, or show mercy. Either act is a seed. Choose what you will sow.” Kurama stretched out.

Someone lifted him, letting his red hair trail like a flag. Kurama let himself be carried back inside the warm walls, where his wounds were bound.

*

Hiei watched the small redhead, bandaged and draped in fur and wild jewelry, as he was led to a place of honor at the feast.

“That’s your nature,” Hiei murmured.

“You awake?” The man asked.

Hiei rolled over. “No.”

*