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Original Fiction
Title: Atsui (Hot)
Author: Juxian Tang
Fandom: Fushigi Yuugi
Pairing: Nakago/Tomo
Rating: NC-17
Warning: contains scenes of abuse and non-consensual sex
Archive: yes
Series: The sequel to Samui (Cold)
Feedback: juxiantang@hotmail.com
URL: http://juxian.slashcity.net
Summary: In this story, you get to know about Tomo's past - and some more stuff about Nakago/Tomo relations.


Note: Main roles of Chinese Opera:
Sheng is the leading male.
Dan is the female role.
Jing, mostly male, are the face-painted roles who represent warriors, heroes, statesmen, adventurers and demons.
Chou refers to clowns.

His hair was wrapped around a hand. The pain was habitual, sickening, as he felt little strands pull out under the merciless tug. Yet he knew better than struggling to get free or trying to reach and ease the pain. The man yanked on his ponytail, driving him closer - although he was already as close as possible. Chuin felt his lips crushed against the man's pubic bone.

Teeth, he thought, careful with the teeth. If he scraped Seng, they would make him pay for it; they would likely be pleased that he gave them a reason to make him pay. Last time they had knocked him out two teeth; one of them Chuin managed to press into place, hoping that it'd grow in, but the other was gone.

He clawed on the crumpled sheets under him, fighting panic as the cock in his throat cut off his breath. Seng always did it, always slammed so deep that Chuin thought he was choking. But the man would let him go, eventually; they didn't want Chuin dead, did they?

His throat was painfully distended with the thick intruder - and Seng continued pressing Chuin's face harder, right into his groin. The man's pubic hair was coarse, moist with sweat. Trying desperately to stay still, Chuin moaned in anguish. It seemed to be the only thing Seng lacked to reach the climax.

"Yeah, baby." The man's voice was hoarse, low with upcoming orgasm, as his hand kept yanking Chuin's hair convulsively. "I know you like it. Take it all. Take me all."

Finally the head of the cock swelled, and thick bitter fluid filled his mouth. Chuin tried to swallow spasmodically, knowing that fitful contractions of his throat heightened the man's pleasure even more. And no matter how he tried, some of Seng's come still got to his windpipe. For a few more agonizing moments the man kept fucking his mouth - and then let Chuin go.

He collapsed over his knees, choking and sputtering. A trail of sperm leaked from his mouth and he wiped it quickly, before Seng had time to notice. The man's hand still was buried in Chuin's hair, still pulled ruthlessly.

"Filthy slut."

"Pathetic son of bitch."

Now when his mind wasn't occupied with Seng's cock tearing his throat and agonizing attempts to breathe, Chuin again became aware of Tiang's presence, of the thrusting cock in his rectum. It wasn't that Tiang was smaller than Seng; both brothers were extremely well hung - but for some reason what Tiang did was always less painful than Seng's ministrations. Maybe, he just didn't have enough imagination.

Or maybe, Chuin thought, his asshole was already used to almost anything they could do.

He felt his body being pushed forward with every thrust of Tiang. He also felt the man's sharpened fingernails dig into his thighs, leaving bloody traces, as Tiang tried to keep him motionless. If only it was nearing the end, Chuin thought; if they just came and let him go. He buried his face in his clenched hands, closed his eyes. This way, in darkness, hearing just the panting breath of the man behind him - it was almost bearable; almost possible to live through.

No such luck. A cry was caught in his throat as Seng yanked his head up, with relentless brutality.

"Come on, bitch, don't you know your duties? Lick me."

His face was driven against the man's groin again, pressed to the softening cock. Chuin gagged at the reeking smell coming from the pubic hair. God, the man never washed; what would Seng's admirers say if they knew that the luxurious silks he wore on the scene hid an unwashed body? But no, no one knew; it was Chuin's privilege to serve the outstanding _jing_ in bed.

There was no sense in this thought, in being ironic over what he couldn't change anyway; and as Seng rubbed Chuin's face against the stinking groin, Chuin obediently opened his mouth and licked the hairy balls.

"Yeah, good..." The voice became throaty again, and Chuin felt with sinking heart how the man's cock twitched to life once more. "You do it so good, bitch. It's the only thing you're good at."

A savage twist on his hair made Chuin gasp in pain; but worse than this pain, there was the knowledge of what was going to be next. Please, he thought helplessly, please don't let them say it.

"You're only good on your fours in bed," Seng continued in his breathy, husky voice, rubbing Chuin's face against his crotch. "There's nothing else you can do, slut. You'll never get to the stage, little cunt. You'll never be an actor. You're only good to serve real actors - but to be a jing?"

"Or even a chou..." Tiang added; the amplitude of his thrusts became wider and his voice faltered, both in effort and laughter. "Never!"

"Never," Seng added.

* * *

Never... Tomo woke up, still hearing this word, said in a worked-up, panting voice. He still felt the coarse thick hairs on his lips, the foul taste on his tongue. He rubbed his mouth frenziedly, trying to get rid of the sensation, even though he knew it wasn't real; just memory... an illusion.

The windows in his bedroom were opened widely, showing the starry sky behind them, but it still felt like the air in the room didn't move. Tomo hated nights like this. He lay in the bed, covers thrown away, and felt how trickles of sweat dried on his body slowly.

His body was clean; not tainted with greasy hands, not marked with savage traces of scratching fingernails - he could see it clearly, looking at himself: at his bare chest with pale nipples, at his long limbs and concave belly with a very faint trail of down going from his navel to the dark curls in his groin. His seishi sign wasn't glowing at the moment - he wasn't angry, just felt drained out.

No one would ever do to his body something he didn't want to; no one ever again. There would be no pain that he wouldn't be able to stop, no hated hands on him. Thoughtfully, Tomo ran his fingers over his ribcage, watching the long claw-like fingernails, painted bloody red, on his pale skin. Tiang and Seng used to wear their nail this long; they said it made their hands look more expressive, when on the stage.

"You'll never be an actor..."

His hand clenched on the silk sheet. Not true! He became an actor - the greatest actor of all times - there was hardly anyone who would dare to dispute it. In the dimly lit room, Tomo found with his eyes the crown with feathers, standing at the mirror, glimmering gold. He was an actor... He could have everything he wanted - face-paint, costumes, headdress; no one was going to take it away from him.

Any troupe would be happy to take him now - to give him any role he wanted: not only _jing_ but even _sheng_, should he want it. Well, he was a Seiryuu seishi, wasn't he? The power was his. But he didn't need their pathetic stage any more; in the world of illusions he was able to create, his success was far more staggering, the audience he gathered far more abundant.

He wasn't a pathetic boy any more, the troupe's slut, kept out of pity and because of the constant availability of his body. It was all in the past for Tomo, all in the past.

It was just these nights that sometimes brought his misery back - the nights he hated.

He covered his face with a hand, shielding the millions of the star-eyes, looking at him from the lilac sky. Seiryuu, do you watch your seishi? I'll serve you good, I'll do everything I can and more than that. Because you've chosen me - you've taken me from what was worse than hell...

* * *

The first one was the mayor of a city where they had to perform. Chuin was four or five, as he recalled now. He remembered being dressed up like a doll, his long hair combed smoothly and thin threads of silver and gold plaited through the strands. He remembered his father - foster-father - making a fuss around him, the man's usually good-hearted face pale and somehow alarmed.

"Just don't cry, Chuin. Remember, don't cry. And I'll... I'll buy you a stuffed bear, after that."

The troupe needed a permit from the magistrate to perform in the city. They could've paid money for it - but Master Xiu, the chief of the troupe, must've heard about the mayor's special preferences, so, they decided to spare money.

Later, Chuin knew his father hardly had any saying in it. The man was a chou - and he was getting older, holding precariously his stand against the younger candidates. He couldn't expect the troupe to feed a foundling whom he had fancy to adopt.

And he did buy Chuin a stuffed bear after everything was finished - after Chuin was brought back to the troupe camp with his pretty clothes crumpled and stained with blood and silver and gold threads in his hair torn. For many nights after that Chuin went asleep, hugging the sawdust filled bear to his chest and crying himself senseless.

He remembered his father sitting next to him, patting his hair and saying in a hasty, helpless whisper.

"Come on, don't cry... It's all over now... Everyone has to do something for the troupe... Don't cry, please, my heart's breaking when you cry like this..."

Then there was another city and another official who agreed to take his payment in kind. It always hurt, and soon Chuin grew to be scared of every new city panically - but there was nothing he could do, so, he had to live with it.

* * *

He didn't even know if he hated his father for it; Tomo still didn't know it. The man had picked up him in the street, on a cold autumn day; there were all chances Chuin wouldn't survive otherwise. And he cared for Chuin, cared best he could.

The truth was he was the only person who'd ever cared for Chuin. The sudden thought struck Tomo, making him shudder and give out a short moan into his hand. He'd never thought about it... But it was true; the only person that had ever found him loveable - it was his father, the clown, the man long dead.

And even now, being what Tomo was, being one of the most powerful men in the country - there still was no one other who would love him.

It made him want to scream, and Tomo clenched his teeth on the heel of his palm, feeling a thin trickle of blood ooze into his mouth. It didn't matter... it didn't matter... He was a seishi, he didn't need anyone, let them not care... He still had his powers.

Calm down, calm down... Blood stopped as he licked the shallow wound on his palm - and the sob never broke from his lips as Tomo took his hands away from his face. The sky blurred in front of his eyes, stars gleaming dully and distant.

There was someone in his room. The realization struck Tomo as he sat up, gasping. And at the next moment Nakago made a few soundless steps to his bed and a hand covered his mouth.

Tomo's eyes stared widely, all other thoughts gone from his mind, as he looked at the blond man in front of him. Nakago's face was shadowed - and even if it were not, Tomo knew there would be no expression on this face: just utter calmness etched into the heartrendingly beautiful features. This face Tomo could see in his inner vision every time he closed his eyes. And still he couldn't help it - he stared, drinking fully the powerful silhouette of the man leaning to him.

No word was said; Tomo's mouth was covered - and he knew Nakago didn't talk unless he needed to - or wanted. But it didn't matter; the main thing Nakago was here.

Perhaps Tomo wasn't the only one who dreamed badly on this night.

After that first time, after Tomo's visit to Nakago's quarters that left him with torn rectum and bleeding for days, he had waited for his body to heal and gathered his courage to pay another visit. He knew the next time probably would kill him - but he also knew that it wouldn't stop him from trying. And then, one night, he walked into his room sensing another presence there. And Nakago stood at the window - just like Tomo had stood a while ago.

Their second time was as different from the first as possible - and yet no less strange - and leaving, Nakago said in that flat, totally emotionless voice of his:

"Don't come to me again. I'll come to you."

And he did; oh so seldom - once for ten or twenty times he visited Soi - but he did; and it meant Tomo could wait. This waiting... this waiting was like the most powerful drug, poisoning his life - but it was also the only thing, maybe, that made his life worth living. For he knew Nakago came to him because he found something here - something only Tomo could give him, not even Soi could. Tomo didn't know what it was - but even so, wasn't it happiness to know there still was something? Something that Nakago needed in him.

The hand on his mouth was hard - hardened with reins and sword hilt - and cool even on the hot night. But it wasn't trapping - Tomo knew it; a movement of his head, and he'd be free. Only if he freed himself, Nakago would most possibly straighten and leave... and never come again.

Tomo stayed completely still, his body keenly attuned to any movement, any sign from Nakago - and when he felt the slightest push, he slid back on the pillows, onto the silk layer of his spread hair.

He knew Nakago looked at him, could feel this gaze even if he couldn't see the eyes - and the awareness of his nakedness under this stare was so intense he almost couldn't keep quiet, his body vibrated, twitched minutely, involuntarily. He knew Nakago could sense it, through the hand that still was on Tomo's face; but the shogun didn't mind, did he?

The other hand of Nakago was pressed into the pillow next to Tomo's head, bearing the weight of the man. But they still were close enough for Tomo to almost feel the lines of Nakago's body against his own, the warmth of the other's skin. And the gaze... it was physical, it had a weight and texture, sliding over Tomo's body, all the way along his chest and belly, to the joining of his legs, to his cock that rose as if on a clue to excruciating hardness. He was so hard so quickly that it almost hurt - and when Nakago's hand left his mouth finally, Tomo sobbed and gasped soundlessly, choking.

The dim light fell on Nakago's cheek, taking his exquisitely drawn profile out of the darkness, as he sat on the bed next to Tomo. Tow of his fingers trailed over Tomo's body lightly, from the collarbone down, on the skin that felt still a little tightened with dry sweat. A touch on the nipple, as casual as all the way of the fingers was, made Tomo convulse.

"It's hot here," Nakago said in his unfaltering voice.

Sometimes Tomo thought he did on purpose - talked aloud to make sure his voice didn't tremble, there was no sparkle of animation in it. And there was not - Nakago could be proud of himself, of his control. Well, if he wanted it to be this way - it was okay for Tomo... He would lose control for both of them.

Tomo didn't hold onto his pride at all.

* * *

He didn't remember when he first wanted to become an actor. It must've been those early years he had no memory of - because when Chuin began to realize himself, he already had this dream, already knew what he wanted. Looking at the glorious figures moving on the stage, kings and concubines and warriors - and then seeing them behind the scene, tired and huffing, discarding richly adorned clothes and turning back into people he knew so well... it was a miracle Chuin never got tired of. He wanted to be one of them, his face painted and his hair composed in a complicated hairdo, his voice and hands and body merged into one mystery, serving to create a character of irresistible attraction.

By six he knew the lines and moves of all roles in all plays they staged, even of a chou, although God sees he never wanted to be a chou, like his father was. His father always told him how much time and labor it took to become an actor, how flexible the body must've been, how much endurance one had to have. Chuin didn't doubt he could manage it. He trained; he trained even when his body was bruised all over and ached agonizingly after his visit to this or that official.

He was probably eight when his father asked him to show what he'd learned to Master Xiu and two other leading actors of the troupe. Later Chuin (and Tomo) knew pretty well what happened there - could read it like in a book. But then he was just an over-excited kid, and his father seemed agitated as well.

He sang a few arias of _jing_. As long as Chuin remembered himself, he wanted to be a _jing_. Not a _sheng_, as most kids would dream, the romantic hero - but the powerful warrior with frightening paint on his face. He could feel how his reedy voice filled with power as he sang the proud lines. And so excited he was, that, finishing, he still could hear nothing but his own voice resounding in his ears.

Later Chuin recalled how Master Xiu called his father up - how a little smile curved Luo's - the _dan's_ - lips. He recalled how his father flushed and then went white and then grabbed Chuin's hand and pulled him away from Master Xiu's tent. And when in the evening, going to sleep, Chuin asked hopefully when he was going to start leaning to play, his father just said:

"They think you're too young to learn yet. You need to wait a little." And. "I'll buy you fruits in honey tomorrow."

He should've blamed his father for lying, for stealing the precious years from him. But, maybe, if the man said the truth - that Master Xiu said they didn't need another kid with ambitions and Chuin should've better thought how to please his customers with his body more successfully - it still would change nothing for Tomo.

He was twelve when another official turned his services down.

"What are you trying to slip to me?" he screamed at the troupe chief. "He's too old! He's worthless."

"You're worthless." It was what the Master - not Master Xiu but a new one - repeated as he beat Chuin unconscious in his tent, poured water on him to bring him back to consciousness and beat again. "We had to spend money because of you. No one wants you! You don't deserve the rice you eat. Well, since you're no bringing profit any more..."

He raped Chuin on the floor spattered with blood - and then threw him out of the tent, declaring that every member of the troupe who was willing could have a go on him. Some declined, but there were many more that gladly took occasion. Chuin remembered his father's wailing voice, reaching him through his own cries and laughter of others.

"Easy, easy, he's just a child, you'll kill him..."

Finally, back in their tent, Chuin sobbed soundlessly - he'd lost his voice when screaming - and his father held his hand, moving his thumb in soft circling motions over Chuin's palm.

"If I'm old enough, when will I learn to play?" Chuin asked in his hoarse voice. He remembered the circling movements stop. The pause was so long that he raised his bruised face and looked at his father inquiringly.

"It's too late, Chuin," the man said very softly. "You see, the schools take kids at the age of seven or eight - and you... Master Xiu then... he decided you didn't need to learn..."

* * *

Tomo shivered. There was a weird contrast in playing those memories in his mind while his body melted in pleasure. But sometimes he thought it was this contrast that worked for him better than anything. It made him twisted, of course... so what?

Nakago's hand kept travelling over his body, tracing the joining of his ribs over the solar plexus, sliding down from the raised ribcage to the slope of the belly. Tomo's breath was hastened, the only sound in the silent room, desperate in its loudness. He wanted to cry Nakago's name aloud, just to let out a little bit of torment and pleasure overwhelming him. But he knew Nakago would just ask, in this indifferent voice of his, what Tomo wanted.

Tomo would call his name all the same, when the pleasure became unbearable, he knew it. But not yet; he still could keep it quiet now.

The first time, when Tomo had broken Nakago's resistance and made Nakago touch him - in the brutal, damaging way... fist in his rectum, tearing him open, making him bleed... Tomo knew Nakago had done it with hatred - with the wish to punish Tomo for all he had done, for all Tomo's interest to his past, for Tomo's awkward attempts to get into favor. Nakago didn't understand that all Tomo wanted was to show how similar they were... and, maybe, it would outrage Nakago even more if he found out Tomo considered them similar. But it was true; they both knew what it was to bend over for someone stronger; they both had been lied and taken and manipulated by the adults.

What Tomo wanted to show was that if his soul that felt empty and withered like a dry stem could be reborn since the first moment when seeing Nakago - then Nakago could knew love as well. Even if not with Tomo...

And when on that night Nakago had told him to get out - despite the pain Tomo's body was in, despite the absolute coldness of Nakago's voice - it still seemed to him he managed to break something in the man.

Then Nakago came to his room - and there was no hurt that time, no fingers stabbing into his body - but hands sliding over the skin and soft lips - so soft... Who knew how soft Nakago's mouth could be when it wasn't compressed into a pale line?

That first time, fisting him, Nakago seemed to be repulsed with Tomo's nakedness, with even a glimpse of his skin. Since then, he wanted Tomo naked - or, rather, expected him to be - and his eyes wandered over Tomo's body with that strange expression that was part greediness but part questioning - as if he was looking for something in Tomo he didn't even know was there.

"I knew I'd find you awake," Nakago said. His fingers pressed to Tomo's navel and ran down, to his groin, making Tomo arch and clench his teeth not to cry out.

Nakago was fully dressed; just without his armor. It was always how Nakago came; and it was the way he was going to stay, Tomo knew. He'd never removed an item of his clothes as they were together. Sometimes it was painful; to imagine this beautiful body, hidden under the silk - and not being able to see it, even when they were close... together...

Tomo didn't bear it. His hand reached on its own accord, rubbed over Nakago's silk-covered arm. The feeling of warmth through the thin material was overwhelming, so intense that Tomo moaned through clenched teeth. And so brief... He knew how it would end - and still felt a pang of harsh disappointment as his wrists were caught and pulled above his head, pinned to the bed. Nakago's hand held both of them, with unrelenting force - but Tomo wasn't going to struggle, was he? It was almost as good as touching Nakago - to be touched by him.

Strange... with so many times as he had been held forcefully in his life, when raped or beaten - being held by Nakago was as different as one could imagine. Being held by him was... bliss. And then soft lips lowered on his chest, mouth locked on his nipple, teasing and sucking.

Nakago kissed him... He'd done it for the first time on that night he'd come to Tomo's room - and Tomo swore to remember this moment forever, knew that this memory was stronger than any other one he had, of pain and betrayal and cruelty he'd gone through and inflicted to others. Oh, later he wondered if it was another way Nakago demonstrated his control - the other side of pain; but he didn't care... let Nakago care what he put into every his movement, every act. Tomo just wanted to remember these kisses, soft lips trailing over his body.

Never on the mouth... Nakago never kissed him on the mouth - and it somehow made the kisses less than they were. But Tomo was afraid of wanting more. He already had so much...

Nakago's mouth was never cruel. Sometimes Tomo wondered if Nakago realized it, if it was conscious choice. But as the hand tightened around Tomo's wrists, the mouth nibbled and sucked on his nipples, terribly skillful, maddening, making Tomo writhe and buck and moan pitifully.

"Nakago... Nakago-sama..."

"You make so much noise." For a moment the lips were gone from his skin - and it was both a relief and a torment.

"No..." He tossed his head from side to side, feeling the strands of hair brush over his face. "I don't make much noise at all."

It seemed to Tomo he heard a chuckle - no, not really heard it, rather fancied it. And then Nakago's hand caught a long strand of his hair, ran it through the fingers.

His fingers could be so soft, too; playing with the longer strands above Tomo's temples, spinning them absently. Tomo didn't know again if Nakago was even aware he did it - and was afraid to breathe to break the moment. His body craved for more touch - but the feeling of Nakago's hand smoothing his hair was almost better than anything any closer contact could bring.

* * *

Since the Master turned him down for the whole troupe, it became Chuin's place to serve the willing actors. Soon his father died; but it actually didn't change much. The man hadn't been able to protect him anyway.

Years went by; there was no actor in the troupe whom Chuin didn't pass through his body. Some of them lost interest after a few times, entered serious relationships or found a more enthusiastic partner. Some were too lazy to look for anyone when Chuin was always handy - or just liked doing it to him.

He finally used to his anus being stretched around another cock, first learned to feel nothing and then, embarrassing himself, even enjoyed it. He was considered pretty good at giving blowjobs - but he liked it less since it demanded more participation from him. His day was occupied with cleaning, washing and doing errands for the troupe. His night was for those who wanted him in their tents. And in the evenings he hid behind the scene, watching again and again the performances the troupe gave.

He still knew the lines and the moves even better than the actors themselves.

Sometimes he thought it was what kept him from finishing his life, at the moments when it became too unbearable - the opportunity to watch others play, just like he himself wanted to. And there was hope... he would never admit it to anyone - and not that anyone was interested - but despite obvious, Chuin still hoped. He would be an actor one day.

He sang to himself in sotto voce when working, when no one could hear him. This was how he didn't lose his ability to talk, he thought later. After his father's death, he had no one to talk any more. Others talked to him, granted - ordered him and yelled at him - but he didn't need to answer to that.

It was how Seng caught him once - singing. Seng and Tiang were two new _jing_ taken to the troupe, just a few years older than Tomo was - and they were considered a hoot. The man stopped, resting his hands on his sides, looking at Tomo, and screamed for his brother:

"Listen to it, Tiang, he sings your part!"

They both looked at Tomo then, as if he was some fascinating bug.

"He thinks he sings better than you, Tiang."

"He probably wants to take my place."

"Or mine."

"He thinks he can be an actor, doesn't he?"

"An actor?"

"Oh yes. He acts pretty good, on his fours with his ass up the air."

"And his mouth sings much prettier when he has a cock up his throat."

This teasing gave their fading interest to Tomo another spur. They got liking at taking him to their tent for the whole night, using him from both ends, showering him with mockery at the same time.

"Great Ruo Chuin... We're so flattered you grace our bed with your presence."

Tomo came to hating the sound of his name since then.

He started drinking. He realized he could drink himself to such a state when his body didn't feel pain and the jokes sounded in his ears like dim ringing. He didn't have money for buying booze so, he stole. Sometimes he was caught and beaten, got all the fingers on his left hand broken once. But most often he managed to get away.

Seng and Tiang didn't like when he was stoned and unresponsive, so, they beat him just to get any reaction from him. One day, Chuin thought, they would just beat him to death - and then it would be over.

By the time he was sixteen, he felt like an old man.

* * *

"Don't look." Nakago's fingers, feather-light, touched Tomo's face, making his eyelids fall. Tomo knew what it meant; his body ached in anticipation, the arousal so strong that it bordered on pain. Nakago's mouth clamped on his nipple again as a long-fingered hand slid to the groin, wrapped around Tomo's cock.

The unrelenting skill of Nakago's every touch was devastating. He could turn every kind of pain into pleasure, Tomo knew it; but oh what he could do when he didn't try to hurt...

Tomo whimpered under the palm moving over his shaft. He couldn't keep still, tossed his head from side to side, feeling the strands of hair whip over his closed eyes. He could see nothing but the darkness of his lowered eyelids - but he felt the gaze on himself. Nakago watched him; didn't look away for a moment - watched every sign, every indication of his excitement. Tomo couldn't understand it - why Nakago did it, what he wanted; but there was nothing he could do as well.

The hand was gone from his wrists but Tomo didn't move, didn't dare to reach. He heard the softest whisper of clothes as Nakago reached to himself. Why, why wasn't he letting Tomo touch him? It was always like that - he brought Tomo to peak, while taking care of himself - or even not taking care, as the case might be.

Why was he doing it like that? Sometimes Tom wanted to cry, thinking about it. Was it how Nakago had sex to Soi? Tomo knew it wasn't. It was just with him, with Tomo...

"I'm not a homosexual," he recalled cold, passionless voice of Nakago. "I don't do men."

Maybe, it was all about it - about keeping his integrity from being tainted with consensual sex with a man? If so, let him keep his illusions, Tomo was pretty willing to let it stay as it was... as it was...

He couldn't think any more. A shriek was caught in his throat as his body was shaken in a wave of flooding pleasure. His cock twitched in Nakago's hand, spurting a jet of white liquid, pulsing in agonizing pleasure. He fell back on the bed, drained out, with his face wet with sweat and his eyes still closed, and felt how hot liquid leaked over his belly. And was it so or it just seemed to him that there was not only his own come on his skin now?

* * *

His power came to him when he lay spread on the filthy sheets in Seng and Tiang's tent. There was a vile taste in his mouth and come mixed with blood leaked from his loose anus. Tiang sat on his wrists, not letting him move - and Seng knelt between Chuin's spread legs. He had a pin in his hand - a long thick pin with decorated hilt that was used for fastening the stage crown to the hair.

"The bitch is drunk again, brother. He thinks he won't feel what we do to him when he's like that."

"Bet he's wrong, brother."

"Sure as hell he is."

The pin stuck into his body; a hot trickle of blood ran over Chuin's skin. The pain reached even through the haze of his mind and he cried out, and felt Tiang's hand clamp on his mouth.

"See, it works."

"Oh yeah, it does."

The pin was pulled out, coated in blood. Chuin wasn't limp any more but panicked, thrashed and tried to get free. But they were strong and stout while he was malnourished - and there were two of them. So, they held him down.

Seng's fingers rolled his nipple, working it up to hardness. Chuin knew what would happen next, didn't doubt the man would do it. But there was nothing he could do to prevent it, couldn't even beg, with his mouth covered. He just stared, over the hand on his mouth, and moaned, and tried to shake his head - to no avail.

He screamed into Tiang's hand when the pin pierced his nipple. The point came out of his skin, with trickles of blood.

"Looks good, isn't it?" Seng said. "And feel even better, right?"

He twisted the pin when tearing it out, and Chuin screamed again - and earned a heavy slap for Tiang.

"Shut up!"

"Should cut his vocal chords," Seng muttered. "If we want to keep playing with him."

The pin stuck again, this time in his navel. Chuin restrained a cry. It hurt terribly but Seng's words... Seng's words were even worse, burning in his mind. Cut his vocal chords... He'd seen such operations done, with criminals and for medical reasons. Then he wouldn't be able to sing... then he would never...

"I like him silent better," Tiang said. "Now, let me."

The bloodied pin lay into his hand and he aimed at the place on Chuin's abdomen. Chuin felt the point enter him, with ripping pain - struggled to tilt up his head. And then, under a streak of blood, blue lines emerged on his skin, composing a glowing sign.

And at the very moment power filled him. He knew he wasn't Ruo Chuin any more - he was something different, something far stronger. He knew he could kill Seng and Tiang effortlessly - and every other man in the troupe, could destroy without feeling remorse and without being afraid of punishment.

So, destroy he did.

* * *

Once he said to Nakago that on the day when he found his seishi power, he was reborn; and it was true. The boy who had lived sixteen years through misery was gone. Tomo, Seiryuu seishi, was different. A great actor; a powerful warrior; a lover to the most beautiful man in the world.

Yes, a lover. Maybe, Nakago didn't think so, maybe, he would kill Tomo if he knew Tomo thought this way - but as he lay in his bed at the moment, the slight spasms of aftershock still going through his body, it was how he called Nakago. My lover, my beloved...

A hand brushed over his face, in a gesture that could be a caress if it wasn't so short. Tomo turned and managed to catch the palm with his lips blindly. Nakago's hand was gone immediately.

"What do you think you're doing?" Oh that voice again; so sane - so unaffected. How did he manage?.. Tomo opened his eyes, eyelids feeling too heavy, his stare dazed. There was starlight in Nakago's hair, like hundreds of fireflies entangled in it - but his eyes were frozen water, as always. "I told you not to touch me."

"Okay, okay," he whispered helplessly, "I understand."

"You're hopeless, Tomo. You never learn."

He said it - but he didn't leave - and his fingers were plaited into Tomo's hair again, patting and tugging in casual motions. It was just a half-caress - but Tomo thought nothing felt better than that, nothing in his life.

"Then teach me," he said with a grin. His body was awakening again, even though he knew it was a futile hope.

He could expect anything from Nakago in reply to this audacity; a blow - a flash of anger in the sapphire-blue eyes - or getting up and leaving. But there was nothing, just a hand fingering his hair stopped for a moment and then moved again.

"One day..." Nakago said - and in the pause, Tomo's mind prompted him, one after another, every variant what it could be. One day I'll let you kiss me. One day I'll fuck you, not with my hand, not using my palm on your cock - but really. One day I'll hold you against my naked chest... "One day you'll tell me..." he said.

"What?" Tomo asked just with his lips, afraid of the answer.

"About your past."

And then he would know about Tomo as much as Tomo knew about him. They would share more than just a touch.

One day...

The End

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