“Then what did you mean?” Sho’s cheeks bloomed with red and his nostrils flared.
“I meant that… I meant….” Hirata couldn’t finish. The fight left him suddenly, and the burn of anger turned to the burn of shame. His own words spiraled in his mind. Unseemly things that reminded him of the way Sozaemon had spoken to him that night in his bedchamber as he forced himself onto Hirata’s struggling form. He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Sho. I’m being cruel. I didn’t mean anything. Forgive me.”
Sho was quiet a moment. “No, I’m sorry. Perhaps the way I bathed you made you feel….” He cleared his throat. “Teased.”
The precision of Sho’s guess sent a chill down his back. “I—”
“It’s my fault, Hirata. You’ve probably never been touched by a man and I gave you the wrong idea.”
Hirata’s breath hitched. “But—”
Sho nodded. “As I thought. You’ve probably barely had a woman’s touch either, I’d guess, if I know you at all.”
Sho was so wrong… about the man’s touch… but how could he explain? Sho would know how badly he’d behaved back then, inciting a ronin to such forceful behavior. “That is true.”
Sho’s brow furrowed and he turned his head to the side in his customary way of avoiding the gaze he couldn’t see with his eyes. Then he sighed. “I’ve sometimes wondered about… that part of your life, Hirata.” Sho’s voice trembled slightly.
That confession sent a warm ripple through Hirata’s entire body, erasing the argument that had come before. To know that Sho had thought about him at all in the years they were apart was a healing balm. Unfortunately, though, it didn’t erase the shame he felt at his behavior. Teased or not, the way he’d spoken to Sho was damnable. Sho was right. He needed to leave the very second he was well enough to travel. As much as he loved Sho, there was a breach between them that was unsealable. “Sho,” he said softly, just above the rippling of the water around them, “why are you telling me this?”
Sho paused again. Sadness flashed across his face so quickly Hirata wondered if he’d really seen it. “Because I’m not a heartless monster. I would never deny what we once had. Just because we were children doesn’t make that friendship less meaningful.”
Hirata stared at him. No, he thought, you would just deny it now. But in the interest of keeping peace, he remained silent. And then throbbing sprang up in his wound. “It hurts,” he murmured.
“I’m sorry, Hirata. I’m not saying this to—”
“No. I mean my wound. There’s… pain.”
“Oh!” Sho sprang forward and put an arm across Hirata’s back. “Come over here and sit.” Guiding Hirata over to the large rock, Sho bid him to sit on its sun-warmed surface. Then he knelt behind Hirata and placed a hand on each shoulder.
Sho’s touch sent immediate waves of warmth through him, making him remember the tender way Sho had also touched Aoki. He felt as if he would cry again.
“Easy now.” Sho kneaded Hirata’s shoulders in gentle circles. Bit by bit, the throbbing lessened until it had nearly subsided. “That’s better.” Sho stopped rubbing and picked up Hirata’s hand, pressing his fingertips into the pulse. After several moments, relief spread over Sho’s face and he lowered Hirata’s hand. Then he shifted around and sat, his back pressed to Hirata’s. “Lean against me for a while, until we’re dry,” he said in that soothing manner he used sometimes. “Then we’ll go back in.”
Hirata heaved a sigh. The feeling of Sho’s bare skin pressed to his made him shudder with unexpressed emotions. When they were children, of course they used to sit in this position for long periods of time.
“I remember that too, Hirata.” Sho’s voice sounded almost wistful.
Hirata started. Was Sho actually reading his mind?
Sho chuckled. “Don’t you remember? We used to be thinking the same thing at the same time very often.”
Hirata laughed too. In spite of everything, his mood lifted slightly. At least he could savor these few moments of camaraderie. “Yes, I remember. I just didn’t think it could still happen.”
Sho’s mirth subsided. “Neither did I.” He tilted his head back. “Do you remember how we used to sit like this after running through the fields and swimming in the river?”
Hirata’s heart thumped. “Of course. I could never forget.”
Sho sighed. “I used to wish time would freeze. I would always be thinking, This is a perfect moment. If I could die right now, this is the moment where I would choose to spend eternity.”
Hirata pulled in a small breath. “Did you, Sho? Did you really think that?”
“Yes.”
Emotion surged through Hirata. Before he even realized what he was doing, he turned swiftly and wrapped his arms around Sho from behind, his cheek against the other man’s shoulder. “Oh, Sho-chan, I’ve missed you so! How I love you!”
Sho stiffened. “Hirata, I beg you… don’t.” He squirmed a bit but didn’t fight Hirata off. His lack of struggle only fueled Hirata’s passion. Closing his eyes, Hirata pressed his lips to Sho’s sun-warmed skin. Sho grasped Hirata’s forearms and pulled, as if to pry them away, but not with enough force to dislodge his hold. “Hirata….” Sho’s voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “You must stop.”
“I can’t.” He nuzzled Sho’s skin some more. With a deep breath he inhaled Sho’s scent, musky, mingled with the fresh air. Instinctively, he parted his lips and tasted the same spot.
Sho gasped and surged forward, yet still didn’t fight Hirata off. “Hirata, stop. Let me… go.”
But Hirata pulled Sho more firmly to him and tasted him again, letting his exploring mouth venture toward Sho’s neck, up the curve, along the tendon. Sho’s aroma was intoxicating. His skin smooth, his flavor unlike anything Hirata had ever experienced. Hirata’s head swam, and his thoughts melted away. Feeling drunk, he lost himself in the ecstasy of holding Sho in his arms, so close, his senses filled with Sho and nothing else.
“Hirata….”
Hirata slid one hand down Sho’s arm, over the ridges and bulges of muscle and back up. The feel of him made Hirata want more. He continued, moving partway down Sho’s arm and around, letting his palm cover the left side of Sho’s pectoral muscle. Sho’s chest rose and fell under his hand. Sho’s body was rigid in his arms, under his touch, yet his breathing had the husky sound of desire. Hirata dared to brush his fingers back and forth, seeking Sho’s nipple. The pads of his fingertips found the small disk, felt it tighten under his touch.
Sho gasped again. “Hirata!” he cried and lurched forward, out of Hirata’s grip.
Hirata’s eyes flew open. His arms immediately felt the rude, cold absence of Sho’s body. “Sho!” His voice escaped in a harsh whisper.
Sho’s cheeks were flushed and he was panting. “I told you to stop!”
Shock and rejection chilled him. “I… I’m sorry.” He bowed his head. “I don’t know what came over me.” He shivered in spite of the sun’s warmth beating down. It might as well have been the dead of winter, he felt so cold. He was behaving like Sozaemon. “Perhaps I should leave now. I’m sure I’m well enough.”
“You’re not!” Sho exhaled. “Why are you like this? Can’t we just have a moment together in which you’re not demanding more?”
Hirata stared at him, struck by the frustration in the other man’s voice. He wanted to understand what Sho meant. What was it he didn’t understand? Perhaps if he could understand, he wouldn’t have pushed himself onto Sho and ruined the sweet moments of remembrance they’d been sharing. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t mean to—”
“Jiro-san!”
Hirata watched Sho spring to life at the mention of his… other name.
“Jiro-san!”
“Oh no.” Sho scrambled off the rock and grasped for the guide rope. “It’s Toho.”
“Jiro-san!” Fear and urgency rippled through the man’s voice.
Hirata too sprang from the rock and followed Sho, who was already h
alfway up the bank, his hand sliding along the guide rope.
In the clearing of the little house’s front yard, a short, stocky peasant stood, holding a young boy cradled in his arms. The boy’s head lolled back over the crook of the man’s elbow, his mouth open, eyes closed. When the man saw Sho, he came toward him, lifting the boy slightly as if offering him up. “Jiro-san, I beg your forgiveness in disturbing you this way.”
“It’s all right.” Sho reached him and held his arms out. “Here, put him down.” Together, he and the man lowered the boy onto the grass. Only then did Hirata notice the boy’s limbs and facial features twitch, eerie tremors that made him appear as if demons possessed him.
“Jiro-san, I’m so sorry,” the man said again. Up close, Hirata could see the weathered lines of the peasant’s face, the countenance of a man who worked hard outdoors, who toiled through the seasons. “He begged to see you and then this happened again. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Please, don’t apologize. You did the right thing.” Sho smoothed back the boy’s mussed hair, most of which had escaped its tie on the crown of his head. “Hirata?”
“Yes.” Hirata knelt by him. The crisis at hand made the scene with Sho feel like a distant memory.
“Inside the house, on a shelf along the far wall are my needles. Will you please bring them? They’re all wrapped together.”
“Of course.” Hirata sprang up and rushed into the house. As Sho had described, a rolled piece of cloth lay tied up on the shelf. He retrieved it and hurried back out.
Sho was rubbing one of the boy’s hands between his both of his but gently laid it down to accept his packet of needles. With nimble fingers he pulled open the tie and unrolled the kit. One by one, he pulled a needle from its place and carefully inserted it into various points on the boy’s forehead, arms, and legs.
When he’d finished, he sat back on his heels. “We’ll wait a few minutes, then I’ll remove them.”
The man nodded. His heavy brow was furrowed, his eyes misted. “Will he ever recover? I fear he’ll never be a normal boy again. He’ll never be able to work in the fields. Or take a wife.”
“It’s best not to worry about such things, Heizo-san,” Sho said. “It’s only been a few months. Children are so tender inside, these things mark them deeply.”
Hirata’s look whipped to Sho. As if Sho were not only speaking about the boy on the grass before them.
Sho touched the boy’s hair again tenderly. “Just be as patient as you can.”
The man called Heizo nodded, but his worried look never left the child.
Hirata noticed the twitching of the boy’s limbs and face had stopped and he seemed to be resting quietly.
“He always talks about you, Jiro-san,” Heizo went on. “I think he would just live here with you if we allowed it.”
“He can stay here until he feels better, Heizo-san.”
Heizo’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Oh, Jiro-san, I could never impose on you that way! He’s my nephew, my responsibility. His parents would never have allowed such a thing. You’ve already been too kind to us.”
“I insist.” Sho touched the boy’s hair again, a protective, sweet gesture. “His healing is all that matters. If I can help him, I’ll do whatever is in my power.”
“Oh, thank you, Jiro-san.” Heizo fell into a deep bow, his forehead nearly touching the ground. “We will bring you food every day, my family and I, to repay you. You’ll never have to worry.”
Sho bowed to him. “You’re very kind.”
Hirata’s heart squeezed. What a good soul Sho was! Sho’s goodness only made Hirata’s shame over his own behavior burn more intensely. He watched Sho carefully remove the needles and set them in the kit, which he rolled up and tied. Then he picked up the boy’s hand again and felt his pulses. After a few moments, he set Toho’s hand down. “He’s already better,” he murmured, “but he needs to rest. Hirata, will you bring my needles inside?” he asked as he slipped his arms under the boy and lifted him gently from the grass.
“Of course.” Hirata put aside his shame and came forward on his knees, retrieving the kit. Sho sent Toho’s uncle away, and Hirata accompanied Sho into the house.
In the shadowy coolness inside, Sho gently laid Toho down onto his futon then placed a wooden block under his head and covered him. When he rose, he went to a chest against the far wall and pulled out two folded cloths. Then he returned to where Hirata waited. “Let’s go outside,” he whispered to Hirata, “so we don’t disturb him.”
Hirata nodded. He rose and followed Sho out into the sunlight. He thought Sho would head back down toward the river but instead, Sho pulled his kimono off the rope and dressed. “Here, Hirata.” He handed Hirata one of the cloths he’d taken from the chest. “You can change into something dry.”
“Thank you.” Hirata put on his kimono, wound the sash, and tied it securely. Then he reached under and pulled off his wet loincloth. Nearby, Sho was doing the same, only now, after what had just happened, Hirata found no erotic pull, even though Sho’s kimono slipped up, giving Hirata a glimpse of his rounded, hard ass cheeks.
When they were dressed, Sho followed the rope as far as the beginning of the grass and lowered himself down. His demeanor had changed; he seemed muted, his shoulders slumped. He bowed his head and heaved a large sigh.
Hirata sat down next to him. He wanted so badly to say something to Sho, feeling that some kind of comfort was needed, but words failed him. What had happened to Toho that caused such tremors and would make his uncle question whether he would ever again be a normal boy?
“Hirata, remember when I told you I’d treated survivors of those ronin?”
Hirata’s heart lurched. That mental connection between them had remained. “Yes.”
Sho sighed again. “There were two survivors, but one died shortly after. Toho’s mother.”
“Ohhh. I’m sorry.”
Sho’s hand came out and landed on Hirata’s arm. He squeezed. “All five of those bastards,” he went on, “killed Toho’s father then raped his mother. They stabbed her too, just enough to make her die slowly of blood loss. There was nothing I could do. Toho saw it all but he managed to get away and hide.” Sho’s hand slipped off Hirata’s arm. “That’s why his uncle was saying those things.”
Without thinking, Hirata put an arm across Sho’s shoulders. To his relief, Sho didn’t try to move away. “I’m sorry, Sho.” The lines around Sho’s mouth and across his forehead, the sadness that radiated from him, showed Hirata how deeply Sho felt for the people he served. Each life was important to him and deserved the utmost care and respect.
Suddenly Sho looked up and turned to him, dislodging Hirata’s arm. “Hirata, what about you? Your wound was hurting earlier.” He picked up Hirata’s hand and before Hirata could answer, “I’m fine,” Sho was feeling his pulses again. This time, he cocked his head, listening for longer than usual.
“Is something wrong?” Hirata asked.
Sho didn’t answer right away. He listened a bit longer then gently released Hirata. When he did, he looked down again. “Hirata, I haven’t even asked you what your life was like all these years.” Sho’s voice was heavy, almost mournful. “I’ve been very prejudiced, as if our separation meant nothing to you.” Then he looked up. “What did you do all that time?”
Hirata forced himself to stay calm and not launch himself onto Sho again, as he’d done on the rock. “My father made me promise to wait until my seventeenth year before I left home to search for you.” He sighed. “He believed that if I waited long enough, I would give up the idea of leaving and stay home to help him with the dojo.”
Sho was quiet a moment. “He was… denying your nature.”
There was an odd catch in his voice, something Hirata couldn’t identify, but Hirata smiled. “Yes.” He paused, enjoying the moment of understanding between them. Then he went on to tell Sho about their years apart, everything that led up to their paths crossing in front of the gambling hall. Every
thing except…. Sozaemon. His narrative took quite a bit of time, long enough for the sun to have advanced a bit in its downward slant toward twilight.
When he’d finally finished, Sho let out a shivery breath. “And then I denied knowing you and went into the arms of a kagema. Instead of welcoming you into an embrace.”
Hirata’s insides jumped. Sho sounded quite mournful now and full of self-reproach. “It’s all right, Sho-chan,” he said, desperate to ease Sho’s suffering. “I didn’t mind. Honestly. Seeing you and… him… was a… revelation.” The words slipped out before Hirata realized what he was doing.
Sho’s eyebrows went up. “A revelation? What do you mean?”
Hirata’s face burned and he cast about desperately for something—anything—instead of the truth. “I… all I meant was, nothing really.” He fell silent, his heart pounding. He could never lie. Not to Sho, anyway.
Sho’s hand landed on his arm. “Hirata, please, tell me what you mean.” Suspicion laced his tone. There was no fooling him.
Hirata bowed his head. “I mean that I hadn’t known the act was pleasurable… until I saw you with Aoki.” He fell silent again and watched Sho’s face. Now he’d said it, there was no taking back his thinly veiled confession.
A shadow passed over the other man’s face. The wild demon look slipped in. “Hirata, what happened to you? Don’t lie. Someone violated you, didn’t they?” Sho’s eyes blazed and muscles twitched in his clenched jaw.
Hirata’s mouth and throat went dry. “Sho-chan, it was a long time ago. When you and I… I was thirteen.”
Sho rose up on his knees. “It was one of your father’s students, wasn’t it?”
Hirata took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“What was his name?” Sho’s fists clenched and unclenched.
Hirata’s heart lurched. “What difference does it make? Perhaps he doesn’t even yet live.”
“Hirata, what was his name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because if he yet lives, I will kill him. Slowly, and with the greatest pain imaginable. Before I’m finished with him, he’ll beg for death!”
Blind Love Page 7
