Eternal Samurai

by B. D. Heywood

  But that hand was not enough for Arisada. “Dozo, koibito, dozo. Chinko o shaburu!” he pleaded. “Suck my cock!” His words spilled from his mouth. His fanged mouth.

  Tatsu’s “Oh yes,” blew out a on a long breath. Then his mouth engulfed that satiny head, savored its smooth texture, for only a moment before taking Arisada’s prick in so fast it slammed against the back of his throat. He choked, pulled back, keeping his lips stretched tight and possessive around the crown. His tongue swept the weeping crown, drew forth another gush of leaking juice. And a long, harsh moan from Arisada.

  Tatsu gulped, stretched his lips and opened his throat wider. Sucked every iron-hard inch down until his nose was buried in its nest of soft curls. His cheeks sunk inward as he drew back, rolling his tongue over the tender skin, lapping at the throbbing blue vein underneath. God, he loved it—the feel of satin sliding over pulsing hardness, the sea-salt brine of Arisada’s sweat, the musk of his readiness.

  Arisada’s gasped in wonder at the sight of Tatsu fucking him with his lips. That hot mouth taking him so deep. The gulp when his cockhead hit the back of the boy’s throat. The hard scrape of teeth, the roll of that tongue. And then that deep suction back, the slight smacking of Tatsu’s lips, a cold brush of air before the wet heat swallowed him again.

  Fire raced through Arisada’s body, destroying his doubt in a conflagration of in exquisite sensations. His hands curled into Tatsu’s hair, gripped hard and pulled Tatsu face to his groin. Urged the youth with a deep, pleading groans and grinding hips. Fought his need to fuck that demanding mouth, the denial adding fuel to his pleasure.

  Tatsu clawed aside the obstructive folds of cloth to cup the heavy warmth of Arisada’s sac. He fingered the fine brush of hair on the silky skin as he rolled each orb, teasing at first then pulling harder in rhythm. He popped off Arisada’s cock, dove in to tongue the scrotum, sucked in one ball. Moaned at how it filled him. A tugging a wet demand that sent fire racing into his belly.

  A tentative caress along Arisada’s perineum, A finger circled his pucker, teasing the tight muscle open. That finger entered, followed by a second, digging deeper. Electricity danced over the vampire’s flesh. Pleasure rocketed straight up his spine, spun out of every limb when Tatsu’s knuckles curled against his walls.

  Arisada bucked his ass, rocking between that hot, talented mouth and those driving fingers. He reached for his orgasm, climbing toward its crescendo, so close it maddened him.

  But Tatsu was not finished playing. This may be his only time to show Arisada his love. He pulled his fingers from the vampire’s hole with a wet pop. Sucked greedily on them, a teasing grin on his face, as he challenged the vampire with his eyes. Then he drove the wedge of his hand deep into Arisada’s chute.

  Arisada mewled with the rocketing pain and pleasure of it. He arched his back, clenching his ass muscle around that sweet invasion. Rode the wild sweep of sensation that flowed from his core along to every nerve ending in his body.

  Then Tatsu sucked the vampire’s cock again into the greedy depths of his throat. His fingers curled against the pulsing walls of the vampire’s core and grazed over Arisada’s prostate. He vibrated against the spongy sensitive gland.

  Sweet agony engulfed Arisada. His nerves, inflamed by pure orgasmic sensation, fired and fired again as his cum blasted from him. “Koibito, Iku, iku!” he howled.

  But fear rode with his ecstasy. The feeding lust possessed him. Uncontrolled, his fangs emerged, full and gleaming, from their channels. In desperation, he threw his arm against his gasping mouth. As he pumped his cum down that eager gulping throat, he sank his fangs into his own forearm, ripping through muscle and tendons. Gouts of hot blood splashed over his face. The pain lashed his orgasm even higher, spurting great creamy jets into his lover’s mouth.

  Tatsu pulled off Arisada’s still-pulsing cock. Cum spilled from his mouth, leaving a shiny trail down his chin. Even before he swallowed, his lips began lapping up the sweat slicking the vampire’s groin. Unable to resist, Tatsu nipped. “See, I can bite back,” he murmured against the wet pubic curls.

  With a satisfied groan, he nibbled up the valley of Arisada’s belly, over the arch of still-heaving ribs to that panting mouth. Tatsu slid his slicked tongue inside. And reared back at the coppery taste.

  “Holy shit, what the hell did you do?” He stared at the blood flowing from Arisada’s arm.

  “I nearly lost control. My body was the better choice. But, please, let me up.”

  Tatsu scrambled off Arisada, ripped off a corner of the sheet and wrapped around the vampire’s lacerated arm. He babbled a string of gomens.

  Arisada leaned back against the headboard. “That’s the sixth gomen you’ve said. It is not necessary, I will be fine.” He removed the makeshift dressing. The bleeding had already stopped, the wound knitting closed. One-handed, he zipped his pants. “And for the record, you have the most talented mouth I have ever experienced.”

  Flustered, Tatsu climbed off the bed, walked over to the dresser, and stared for a long moment at the Ikkansai. When he looked at Arisada, his eyes had turned sea-green cold. “I want your word, your oath, that you will not leave the city. Give us a chance.”

  “My oath? I cannot do that. And there can be no us.”

  “Yes, you can. That filthy kono yarou Sadomori tore an oath of fidelity from you. But I am asking you to give it to me freely. If you love me, swear you won’t leave. In turn, I promise never to touch you again. Just as long as I can be by your side, it will be enough.” Tatsu had not realized until the words left his mouth that he would accept any terms to be with Arisada.

  “To my shame, I have been unable to stay away from you. Today, I could have killed you. I cannot do that again. Because I do love you, I must leave.”

  Tatsu opened his mouth to protest. Only a croak emerged.

  Arisada raised one elegant hand, placed it for a moment against Tatsu’s lips. “Do not ask me to stay. Kudasai. Please give me this.”

  “You gave your allegiance to a monster like Ukita Sadomori yet deny our love?”

  “Hai, I am afraid it must be so.”

  For a single, horrible moment, Tatsu wanted to run the Ikkansai through the vampire. Instead, he turned his back. “Then there is nothing between us. Get the fuck out. The next time I see you, I will kill you.” The threat burst from his lips and shattered like a mirror under the impact of a bullet. The shards of each word burst into the air, reflecting the lie a thousand times, multiplying it, raining back onto him, shredding his soul.

  “Arisada. Yurushite, forgive me. I did not mean it.” He spun around, outstretched hand reaching for Arisada., “Yurushite,” he cried again. It was too late. The vampire was gone.

  “Yurushite,” he whispered to the empty room.

  Wearing only a towel around his waist, Tatsu stumbled into his bedroom from his shower. His mind drifted through an alien country filled with dark, formless grief. Years of training, of denying all emotion, of embracing only on the art of the sword, the honor of a samurai, crumpled before the reality of his loss.

  How in hell did things get so fucked up, so fast? From wrapping his lips around Arisada’s gorgeous cock, fingering his ass, tasting the sweetness of his spunk to driving him away with the threat of death. Jigoku, he had to find the vampire, take back those destructive words. Even if it was the last time he spoke with Arisada, he had to obtain his forgiveness.

  Cold air blasted from the open balcony door. His heart leaped with joy. “Arisada, sumimasen, I am so—“.

  An unknown form detached itself from the dark recess of the far corner. In a blur of motion, Tatsu snatched up the Ikkansai just as Fornax moved further into the bedroom. His rain-wet hair was plastered to his shoulders. His hands hidden in the pockets of his raincoat.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Tatsu unsheathed the sword and shifted his weight forward, battle-ready.

  The vampire ignored the deadly length of steel as he stared down Tatsu’s glare. “Be calm,
Cobb-san. I mean no harm.”

  “Neh? You enter my place uninvited through the fucking balcony door? I’d hardly call that a polite way to visit.”

  “As I said. I am not your enemy,” the vampire reiterated with a slight frown.

  “So why the hell are you here?”

  “It is imperative I speak with Saito-san.”

  “You forget how to dial a phone?” Tatsu recognized his animosity was unreasonable, fueled by his jealousy that the creature had been by Arisada’s side, possibly in his bed.

  “My information is for him alone. Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know.” No way would he reveal his harsh words drove Arisada away. Tatsu placed the sword on his bed within easy reach. He turned his back on Fornax, dropped his towel and started to dress. “How did you know he was here?”

  “I can smell him. His spunk is all over you.”

  Tatsu’s careless nudity caused a shiver of desire in Fornax, something that had not happened to him in years. The sweet curve of Tatsu’s spine above taut buttocks with that intriguing valley, the heavy scrotum dropping between strong lean thighs as he bent over to step into his jock. All the things Fornax loved about the male body. All the things forever denied him. Greedily, he watched the lithe, athletic body disappear beneath the layers of clothing. Sometimes, the covering of delectable parts was as erotic as the revealing of them.

  “What’s between us is none of your concern.” Tatsu’s growl interrupted Fornax’s reverie. He glared at the vampire.

  “I helped Arisada-sama care for you after the explosion. I know how much he loves you. And you are in love with him.”

  Fornax brought out his cigarettes, tapped one from the pack and lit it. His eyes flared gold with a painful brilliance in the flame. He exhaled a curling stream of pale smoke. “Arisada belongs to the Daimyō. We all belong to the Daimyō. To do anything else is to be branded a traitor. Sadomori knows about you, who you really were. He will never permit Arisada to leave his side.”

  He gave Tatsu a cold, level look before taking another drag on his cigarette. “Sadomori has sent one hundred rogues to destroy all Lepers. Before they left Tendai, he allowed each one to feed from him. His blood turns us into monsters, mindlessly obeying his last commands. Make no mistake, he will find you and Arisada. He will torture you both for weeks, letting you watch each other suffer. Do you understand?”

  Tatsu grunted. He sensed Fornax was hiding something. “Sadomori should watch out for his own ass. I’ll kill him. And no one, not even Arisada can stop me.”

  “Baka! Foolish boy. Saito Arisada is oath-bound to the Daimyō. Do not underestimate that. Your lover will be unable to cast that aside. He will protect his Seisakusha even knowing Sadomori will kill him.”

  “Arisada makes his own choices. And no matter what you or anyone else thinks, he no longer belongs to Sadomori.” He’s mine! The realization burst upon Tatsu, as solid and real as the Ikkansai lying on the bed. He’s mine!

  He stepped forward, the demand that Fornax leave hovering on his lips.

  With a mirthless smile, Fornax glanced down at the cum-splattered sheets. “Let me tell you why I ally myself with Major Blenheim. Years ago, I smiled at Arisada. I was flirting with him, not for the first time. He is my Seisakusha, and I love him. Before I drew a second breath, before Arisada-sama even responded, Ukita Sadomori threw me to the floor. With one hand, he tore off my clothing. He was laughing as he told me I would never flirt with another again because I would never fuck another again. Then he ripped off my testicles.”

  The shock of the confession reverberated through Tatsu’s senses. He stepped back his eyes wide, the demand to leave lodged in his throat. “Fornax-san. Gomen, gomen nasai. I … I had no idea.” He fought the urge to drop to his knees in the ultimate gesture for forgiveness.

  The vampire shrugged, a rueful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Now you do.” Casually, with no show of the pain his confession caused him, Fornax flicked the cigarette butt over the balustrade.

  “I will kill him.”

  “There is no killing the Daimyō. He has survived countless wars, assassination attempts, even rebellion from his own kind. Only one instance when he came close to death.”

  “How? What happened? Tell me, you owe me Fornax.”

  The vampire took out his pack again, offered it to Tatsu who shook his head. “I do not know the story. I only know his spine was nearly severed. Even his incredible healing ability could not prevent scars from deforming his back.”

  “When did this happen?” Tatsu’s mouth felt like it was filled with grit. A sick foreboding crawled over his skin and coiled into his guts.

  Fornax shrugged. “Thirteen years ago.” Light flared for an instant inside his cupped hand. He drew a deep drag, then exhaled the smoke in a lazy, curling stream.

  “Where?” Tatsu’s eyes were jade-ice, the hard look filled with nothing but death.

  A small shiver rippled over the vampire. Not so much fear, more like respect, as he recognized the warrior within this boy. “Arisada and I found the Daimyō in an abandoned farmhouse outside Nagasaki. I do not know how he managed to survive until we arrived. We hid for weeks on one of the Ryukyu Islands fearing discovery. After Sadomori recovered, he kidnapped the most-skilled horishi in Nipon and forced him to tattoo his entire back to conceal the evidence of his failure. Mochiron, of course, Sadomori killed him afterward.”

  Tatsu froze. Ukita Sadomori had murdered his family. Suddenly, Tatsu’s vitals heaved not with fear but a sick shock. Arisada had lied, denied knowledge of Sadomori’s scars. Despite his professed love for Tatsu, Arisada had protected his Master.

  Fornax interpreted the boy’s stillness as fear. The reaction reassured him. Wakatta, Tatsu would wait for the Major’s orders. Without another word, the vampire slipped over the balcony rail into the wet night. He was unaware he had just delivered Tatsu’s death sentence.

  “Fakku!” Tatsu raced across the room the balcony door. He skidded in the puddle of rainwater, mute proof the vampire had indeed been there. “Fakku!” he spat out the invective again. Arisada—liar and traitor. A cold rage burned through Tatsu’s grief, turning his love for the vampire to ash.

  Tatsu paced his living room and fought to remember the discussion between the Major and Arisada. Tatsu had been so tired, letting the conversation lull him into a drowsy state, he’d missed part of the discussion. What had Arisada said? The Space Needle. That Sadomori was obsessed with the edifice, loathed it as some sort of symbol of human superiority.

  The fucker was there, Tatsu just knew it. He yanked on his tactical gear and slipped the tanto into the sheath on his belt, tossed his dog collar on his bed. Didn’t need it where he was going. He sheathed both weapons in his harness and strapped it on. Caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes stared back, frenzied and wild with hurt and fury.

  “Su-kun, before you face your enemy, give thanks for all there is.” Ojii-san spoke at the back of his mind. That calm voice halted Tatsu’s bolt out the door.

  He turned to the small kami-dana, the narrow shelf that held the few spiritual icons from his family. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breaths he stilled his mind, brought everything into focus. With hands folded together, he knelt, perhaps for the last time, before the tiny Shinto alter. He called upon every kami revered by his ancestors for the courage and wisdom to defeat his enemy.

  “The way of the samurai is found in death” he intoned. “The way is found in honor, loyalty, benevolence, courage.”

  It was many minutes before he reached his tanden, that place in his heart where the rightness of all action dwelled. His anger and despair over Arisada’s defection melted. The purity of his purpose, washed with a clear brightness through him.

  Without another thought, he dashed down to the rain-swept street. He threw his leg over the bike, stomped on the kick starter and cranked the throttle wide open.

  The motorcycle’s angry roar reverberated in the narrow street. The back tire ski
dded once on the wet pavement before the bike leapt in the direction of the Space Needle.

  .

  Twenty-Two

  Tatsu squatted Asian-style in the jagged shadow of a large concrete slab, the Ikkansai a comforting weight across his knees. A few steps away, the wreckage of the Space Needle reared up into the sky.

  He felt alive, vibrant, as if the dawning day promised the excitement of a childhood adventure not the very real possibility of death. He took a sip from his canteen, barely noticed the water, licked his lips, craving a cigarette.

  He continued to crouch, immobile, eyes sweeping in from perimeter to the base of the edifice and back. He filtered each moment with the patience of a lion stalking a herd of gazelle.

  Beneath the crescent moon, the long shadow of the tower marked off the night. Tatsu cast his eye up to the top of the Needle some five-hundred feet above his head. During the volcanic eruption, the methane torch at the top of the tower had exploded. For several minutes, the massive fireball and the erupting volcano were twins. The fire had immolated the top spire, raced down the elevator shafts before consuming the entire structure. Windows had exploded. Flaming lumps of glass rained like black hail over the city, killing hundreds.

  The tower swayed and many feared it would collapse. Somehow, it remained upright. Now, it listed, a slight bend of two legs mid-center caused the dome to cant downward. Long metal spines—all that remained of the sundeck—cast an bizarre web of shadows over the weed-choked ground.

  Tatsu took a long, deep breath, filtering out the scent of effluvia, decomposing vegetation, crumbling concrete, rusting metal. No human presence. No coppery blood signature of the vampire. Still, his nerves thrummed. Something evil was in that tower. Something he planned to destroy without mercy.

  A tremor of anguish shook him. Where had the real Tatsu gone? The young boy who once dreamed of becoming an artist, the young man who believed he could help better the world. Would killing Ukita Sadomori truly restore his father’s honor? Balance the scales of justice? Unbidden, Arisada’s warning about the soul-destroying consequences of revenge echoed in Tatsu’s mind. Arisada, who had experienced eight-centuries of suffering, said there was no place in life for vengeance. Said it destroyed all who touched it. Destroyed love.