Whoo! The final chapter at last. The ending's a bit of a downer, but just
give me a little while to catch my breath and I'll see if I can't set things
straight. I've already got an idea for
a sequel kicking around my brain.
Thanks to all for reading, and thanks with a cherry on top to all those who gave feedback; I hope you enjoyed it.
[This
chapter contains NC-17 material]
* *
*
When
he had been a child, Sagara would go to the oak tree that grew in the corner of
their property for comfort. The
branches swept low to the ground, and even near the top they were strong enough
to hold him. When he was angry,
confused, hurt, he used to climb it, as high as he could. The thought of such a strong, ancient life,
such endurance and consistency always made him feel a little better. It humbled him, and if he had felt helpless,
it reminded him that he was, but that it was all right.
He
hadn't known all that then, but as he fled the Aoi-Ya that night, Sagara at
last thought he understood. And he
wanted desperately for something so simple to be enough to assure him once
more. He looked up at the star-flecked
sky, as though expecting the night itself to wrap him in her cold arms, whisper
softly in his ear….
But
there was nothing for him, and even when he stumbled a little on a raised
paving stone, no one was there to steady him.
He was alone, completely. Even
that night in the woods outside Shimosuwa there had been the moon to accompany
him, to look on with pitying eyes as he breathed his last.
He
wanted guidance, but he understood too much already. About himself. About
these hands that had never been satisfied unless they were in the process of
reshaping. A boy in need of a father, a
band of soldiers lacking a purpose, a man who wished only to live by his blade,
a country that had never asked for his intervention… They had all been the same
to him. Blank canvases upon which to
work a delicate art.
He
had looked at Aoshi without really seeing him.
All this time, he had only been the sum of what they could be together. He had been the reclaiming of a small
fraction of what Sagara had lost, something ultimately useless, but with
sentimental value, to be worn close to his heart. As he gazed into icy blue eyes, he had only been able to see them
overflowing with regret. As he watched
stern lips, he had only been able to envision them parting around words of
gratitude. As he traced long, delicate
fingers, he had only been able to imagine how they would look clasped in
repentance.
And
when the moment had come, he had been unable to do anything but tremble before
the stunning callousness of the truth.
The
truth was, he had failed all of them.
Everyone – everyone he had ever cared for – they must have been laughing
at him now, wherever they were. Alone
beneath the night sky, Sagara cringed as though he could hear them. He lifted
his eyes, half expecting to be met with the faces of
dead men crouched in the shadowy places between the buildings, grinning.
But
he found only the high arch of the Kyoto city gates above him, and Sagara
blinked, genuinely unsure of how he had gotten here. He had wanted to leave the city, abandon everything as though his
shame could be forgotten so easily.
Live in exile, somewhere so isolated that not even the past could find
him.
It
simply wasn't possible. He could see
that even now, but he stood for a long time without looking back. And when he
did turn towards the city's interior at last, it wasn't because he knew where
he was going.
But,
in the end, there was only one place it could have been. It was long past midnight by the time he
wandered back to the Aoi-Ya; Sagara slipped inside silently so as not to wake
any of the inn's patrons and made his way down the hallway to his room. He had been hoping Aoshi would be asleep by
now, but he wasn't surprised when a pale gaze lifted to meet his across the
floor. Ducking his head a little,
Sagara pulled the panel shut, knelt beside his futon and began, with
trembling hands, to arrange the sheets over it.
Aoshi
watched him silently for what felt like a long time, his eyes warm and heavy as
a touch against the nape of Sagara's neck.
He had been kneeling, his hands folded on his thighs in an attitude of
meditation when Sagara entered, and when the silence became too thick to
breathe, he rose, stretching the tension from his joints as he circled to
Sagara's side.
He
waited for the man to look up at him, and when Sagara didn't, he sank again to
his knees and reached out with one hand to touch two fingertips to the bend of
his elbow. He cleared his throat
softly, as though afraid it had become weak from disuse in Sagara's
absence. "You… were gone a long
time. I was a little worried."
He
waited for a response - three breaths and a dozen heartbeats - and then
swallowed hard, leaning closer.
"Sagara?"
The sound of his name spoken like that, so soft and hesitant, stirred him a little, and Sagara lifted his head. He turned a little, enough to reach out and lay a hand against Aoshi's cheek, slide it back through his hair. "You know…" he sighed, not quite raising his eyes enough to look at the other. "My family still has a little land outside of Tokyo. I was thinking… I'd like to see it again. Maybe… something will still grow there."
"What?" Aoshi straightened, drawing away a
little. But a moment later, he shook
his head fiercely, pressing his eyes shut as he ducked back into Sagara's
touch. "What are you talking
about? You're… leaving?"
"No,"
Sagara said quickly, lowering his eyes.
And he bit his lip, because he had always known he was horrible at
lying. "Not exactly. I just want to see it. You can come with me if you like, and
besides, I won't be far from here."
He sifted his fingers again, slowly, through Aoshi's hair. He just wanted to push him away… or maybe
draw him closer.
Aoshi's
eyes narrowed, and he placed a hand over Sagara's, his fingers tightening. "We both know that's not true. You're leaving because of me, aren't
you?"
"Of course not!" Sagara sighed quietly. "No, no it has nothing to do with you, it's just…" And this time, he did pull back. He had to, or he would never have found the words. "It's the life I want, Aoshi. The life I've always wanted."
When Sagara turned away from him, Aoshi fell back as well, his shoulders slumping. "So, it is about me," he murmured. "This life... doesn't suit you. If that's the case, then just say so. Because you know I can't come with you."
Sagara
closed his eyes. Until this moment –
until Aoshi spoke to him like that – everything had been clear. He had known that he couldn't remain here
any longer, that trying to… would only be painful for both of them. Nothing could change that, not even
regret. "All right, then. Yes, Aoshi, I want to go. I have to, and I know you understand
that."
"No. No, I don't." Aoshi leaned after him, pressing his palms awkwardly against Sagara's shoulder blades. "Is that the way it works? You can't accept what I am, so you're leaving." His fingers curled around coarse fabric. "That's... pretty cowardly, don't you think?"
"Aoshi, stop it." With a sigh, Sagara turned, catching Aoshi's shoulders as he tried to pull away. And he wanted to assure him, but he couldn't. It would have been a lie. "You're right. It's damn cowardly. It's cruel and manipulative, but… I never claimed to be any other way."
Though Sagara already knew that was a lie as well, and when Aoshi pulled away again, he didn't try to hold on to him. He lowered his eyes, expecting – maybe hoping – Aoshi would just be angry with him. Would shout at him in injustice and frustration, bitterness and betrayal. Would just… leave him here so he could end this.
"Sagara…" he said instead, softly. "Damnit, that's not fair." He wound his fingers tightly around Sagara's collar, pulling closer. Hesitantly, he pressed his forehead to his chest. "You can't just… just walk away like that. Is that really all right with you?"
Sagara sat a little straighter, pressing his eyes closed. "I guess it must be."
"Is it?" Aoshi demanded, pulling back so he could meet Sagara's gaze. "Because, it's not all right with me." His lip curled slightly, as though with a sudden, sharp pain. "I thought… I meant more to you than that."
Sagara held his eyes, even though Aoshi's gaze seemed to burn right through him, spreading flame and venom along every vein. His guilt was bitter and cold, but so was his sympathy. "What we had… I don't regret it. But it couldn't have lasted forever. I know you understand." He took Aoshi's chin in one hand, holding him still when he tried to glance away. "It has to be like this. I know you understand that, too."
"Stop that!" This time Aoshi did push away. Hard, throwing Sagara back so he had brace a
hand against the floorboards to keep himself upright. "How can you say
things like that now? After you… You're
the one who's walking away!"
Shaking, he turned away.
"Fine. Whatever you want to
do is fine. I never needed you."
Sagara lifted a hand to the side
of his face as though he had been struck.
Those words hurt more than he would have liked to admit, maybe just
because he knew Aoshi meant them. One
of them, at least, wasn't in the habit of lying to his lovers.
"Aoshi." Easing that
bitterness aside, Sagara followed the other man's retreat. He caught him by the shoulder, not trying to
force him to move, but just to hold him a moment. "I don't want to hurt you.
I want you to understand."
For a moment, Aoshi was still -
even his shivers had subsided – then, slowly, he reached up to lay a hand over
the one on his shoulder. "I know
you don't. It's just… it's not
fair." He shifted his grip,
dragging Sagara's hand to the side of his face instead. By the time he had turned back to him, his
eyes were calm again, like an unmarred sea.
"I understand. If that's
what you want, then I can't keep you here." His shoulders trembled once faintly, and then he said, "I'm
all right now."
He wasn't, but Sagara said
nothing. Aoshi would live through this;
he knew how to survive. They both did,
and maybe that was why he was so confident.
"I'm glad." He pushed
a few strands of ebony hair behind Aoshi's ear, and climbed to his feet.
"Sagara…" Aoshi
sighed, shaking his head as he stood as well.
"Wait. You can't leave
tonight. It's late." He touched the bend of his elbow
hesitantly. "At least stay until
morning."
Sagara turned slowly, catching
Aoshi's hand in his own. He wanted this
over with – wanted to leave this place before he forgot that he knew how to -
but he really couldn't go anywhere before dawn. "All right. Thank
you."
Aoshi watched him for a moment. A long, breathless instant, stretched tight
as though between two different lifetimes.
"Good." He turned
away. "You're one of mine
now. The least I can do is look after
you like I would one of them."
Sagara smiled faintly, but
before he moved to follow Aoshi, he hesitated.
"Where… umm…" He
looked at the floor. "Where should
I sleep tonight?"
Aoshi tilted his chin back, and
his arms slipped to his sides. His
fingers twitched, just once.
"Well… here. With me." As if there was nothing more to explain, he
knelt and began to arrange the futon they shared.
Sagara sighed, though he wasn't
exactly sure why. It seemed so
meaningless, but already he was starting forward. He couldn't help it; he didn't want their last memories of each
other to be of bitterness and anger. Of
farewells.
He caught Aoshi's shoulders as
he rose once more, playing his fingertips down powerful biceps. Aoshi turned in his arms, and their lips met
in a slow kiss. He would miss this,
Sagara realized. Would miss the slow,
determined gravity of Aoshi's kisses.
The way his mouth tasted, like mint and rainwater and vitality.
With a sigh, he eased the man
back. "Aoshi…" he
whispered. "I want you to
know…"
Aoshi darted forward into a
kiss, cutting his words short. "Stop it. Don't say
anything," he replied quietly, sinking forward into him. "Haven't I always been all right? I'll get used to it." He dragged Sagara down into a firm kiss.
Sagara sighed as he held him
close, feathering a hand down Aoshi's back to trace the tense muscles from his
shoulders. But anything he could have
possibly said was quickly becoming insignificant as he pressed slightly against
Aoshi's chest, urging him to sink back to the mattress.
They shouldn't have been doing
this; Sagara knew better than to think this would do either of them any
good. But even if it was only going to
make it harder, in the end, for him to walk away, he was running out of
strength to resist. He felt as though
already time was racing ahead of them, could see already years, in a frantic
blur, before him.
And he pushed them aside,
seeking another deep kiss.
Aoshi arched slightly beneath
him, his yukata slipping from one shoulder. Sagara was quick to help him the rest of the way out of it, and
he bent over him to nibble the bare flesh just above his navel. Aoshi drew a sharp breath, fingers curling
reflexively in Sagara's hair, guiding him up his body so their lips met in a
fierce kiss. And a year ago, it would
have been enough to crumple his resolve, but something had changed in Sagara
since then; something had tightened, like a fist. He only had to glance away for a moment to regain his composure.
Aoshi sighed, so softly he
wouldn't have even noticed if they hadn't been so close that he felt the spill
of humid breath over his cheek.
"Sagara…" he murmured, slipping his hands beneath the collar
of his yukata and tugging it from his shoulders. "Don't watch me like that." He glanced away as he began to slide the
rest of Sagara's clothing off.
"Like what?"
"Like… this is the
end."
Sagara caught his face between
both hands, holding Aoshi still as he leaned in for a kiss. The man shifted beneath him, his thighs
parting to glide over the outsides of Sagara's hips. "It is the end," he whispered against damp lips,
swollen and slightly parted, dark as though with bruises.
Aoshi's eyes narrowed in bitter
retaliation, but he said nothing more.
Eventually, Sagara pulled away enough to slip a hand beneath the
mattress, retrieving a small vial of oil.
Before he could open it, Aoshi's hands fell over his and for an instant
he could feel the sword-worn places between thumb and index finger. Hard as bone, rough and familiar… for some
reason that comforted him, and Sagara easily surrendered the vial.
"It's the end," he
echoed quietly as he spilled some of the clear fluid onto his fingers. "All right, then. Let's get it over with." He reached down between their bodies,
curling one hand sharply around taut flesh.
A thin moan escaped Sagara's throat; he held his breath as Aoshi's hands
slithered over him, hot and efficient as he slicked the oil over his cock.
"Don't be like
that." Sagara reached down,
catching Aoshi's hands around the wrists and pulling them up for a kiss. The taste of oil was bitter, and his lips
twitched into a scowl as he flicked his tongue over the corners of his mouth
distastefully.
Aoshi rolled his eyes. "Idiot." He passed the back of his hand over Sagara's lips.
"But you let me fuck
you. Imagine that."
"What was I
thinking?" But Aoshi's protests
were weak, and already he was shifting beneath him, arching his back in
anticipation. "Come on…" he
hissed.
"All right." Sagara ran his hand back through Aoshi's
hair, parting it around pale blue eyes.
And despite everything he saw reflected in his gaze at that moment – all
those regrets and uncertainties and questions without answers – he managed to
relax as he arched his hips forward, joining them smoothly and without
hesitation. This… was his, after
all. Would always be his.
Aoshi moaned jaggedly, turning
his face so the sound would be lost in the curve of Sagara's shoulder. Fingernails tightened against his back,
reminding him to keep moving. With one hand
braced against the mattress, the other curled loosely in Aoshi's hair, he slid
into him again, slowly establishing a rhythm.
He gasped quietly, like a sob,
against parted lips, and reached down between their bodies, splaying his
fingers against Aoshi's chest.
Downward, until he could feel an erratic pulse beneath his palm, until a
ragged gasp spilled against the hollow of his throat. He wrapped his hand around Aoshi's desire, felt him ripple
against his touch.
Sagara stroked him deftly, in
time with each thrust of his hips. He
should have known better than to think it wouldn't be good; heat was building
behind his hips, a sweet, steady pressure.
Ahead of him, there was a long
walk back to a half-remembered home.
Behind him, his selfishness and naiveté he could do nothing but
bear. But somewhere in between, there
was Aoshi, and a slow burn climbing the column of his spine, a spreading
intensity in the pit of his stomach.
For a single moment – a span of lost time – he knew where he was and he
knew where he was going.
Beneath him, Aoshi's hips jerked
sharply, and he moaned through clenched teeth.
Warmth splashed against the curve of his abdomen, and Sagara only had
time for a gasp of pleasant surprise before the spasm of muscle and the
tightening of fingernails against his shoulder blades tore his climax from him.
He was still a moment, catching
his breath and waiting for Aoshi to regain his, then he rolled off the younger
man, propping himself up on one elbow.
He passed the other hand idly over his stomach, and when it came away damp,
he made a face. "Ugh…" Sagara wiped his fingers as discreetly as
possible on the edge of the mattress before turning back.
"Aoshi… you…" But Sagara gave up before he had even begun
to put all he was thinking into words.
His fingertips felt cold, unwieldy and bloodless, as he trailed them
over Aoshi's temple and back through his hair.
His vision was hemmed in black, and he blinked, trying to chase away the
shadows. It wasn't working as well as
it should have, but that was all right.
He was almost grateful, because by this time tomorrow, he would be
gone. And even now, in the quiet lull
between moments, he felt no stirring of regret.
Beside him, Aoshi moaned
quietly, as though waking from sleep.
Sagara leaned in, dragging his lips over the curve of a jaw. "Are you all right?" He made no move to pull back. He wanted this… as long as he could have
it. Even if he couldn't shake the
memories of earlier: Aoshi's face
stained in blood, his cold eyes when he had spoken. Sagara shivered faintly.
"I'm fine. I'm…"
Aoshi sighed, tilting his head back a little, and, just faintly,
hesitantly, while the other couldn't see, a smile flickered over his lips. Quiet and sad, like his own unspoken
farewell.
"I know," Sagara
assured. By the time he pulled back
enough to meet Aoshi's eyes, the expression had vanished. "Aoshi, I just want you to know… if you
ever need anything. Anything at all.
You'll know where to find me."
Aoshi closed his eyes. "All right. I'll remember that."
For a moment, Sagara watched
him, and then, with a quiet sigh, turned onto his back. "You'll be all right."
Aoshi kept his arm around
Sagara's shoulders, following him as he pulled away. "So will you." He reached down slightly, finding the
sheets and dragging them over him. As
if trying to bind him up, just for tonight; just for these last few hours they
had. "It's strange," he
murmured, feathering his hand down Sagara's chest. "I think perhaps… I'm starting to understand what you've
been talking about all along."
Sagara opened his eyes
sleepily. "Oh?" he whispered. "And what's that?"
For a long time, Aoshi was
quiet. As though now that he'd brought
it up, he couldn't think of the words to explain. "I'm… not sure," he admitted at last. "It's just a feeling I have, something
simple. Something stupid like that. It's calm… I feel calm."
Sagara blinked up at the
ceiling, and nudged Aoshi slightly wit his elbow. "Good. I'm…
glad." And he really was, because
Aoshi was right. Calm was the only way
to describe it. A peace so perfect it
hurt. "You'll find someone, you
know," he whispered. "Someone
who thinks the way you do. Who
can…" He shook his head a little. "Someday…" he whispered against
Aoshi's ear. "Someday it'll all
make sense."
"I hope so." He wasn't sure if Aoshi sounded entirely
convinced, but there wasn't anything Sagara could do about that. There was nothing left to say, and he didn't
want to ruin anything by trying. Aoshi
seemed to understand, and he tilted his face against Sagara's shoulder. "Goodnight."
Sagara sighed quietly at the
abrupt announcement, but he was grateful.
"Goodnight," he whispered, but he didn't close his eyes. He waited what felt like a long time, until
Aoshi's breathing had grown steady; until he was certain he was asleep, before
rising, extracting himself carefully from Aoshi's arms. Outside, he knew, the sky to the east would
be just beginning to lighten; in another hour, the sun would rise. It would rise on a different world for both
of them. In the lonely stillness of a dawn not yet broken, he tugged on his yukata
on.
His hands weren't trembling, but
when he reached to push his hair from his eyes, his fingertips came away damp
with tears. With a weak laugh, he wiped
the moisture away with his sleeve.
Silently, he knelt over Aoshi, readjusting the blankets around his
shoulders. "Goodbye, Aoshi."
Silently, he swept to his feet,
slipped out into the hall without looking back.
~End