by Yuki Edo
A knock sounded at the door.
“Go away!”
Another knock.
“Just leave the food. Or a note. Whatever.”
The door flew open, and Hiro faced it, eyes wide. A thin, elegant woman in an incredibly long and flowing blue kimono stood there. Amber-colored eyes covered the garment, and she wore a glowing blue necklace. Several kanzashi held her long black hair up, little silver bells dangling from the end of each stick and tinkling as she moved into the room.
“Masaki’s promise doesn’t apply to me. I can go wherever I choose, whether people believe in me or not.” Her necklace glowed brighter, and Hiro could see it was not a jewel but an orb of foxfire.
Inari. Hiro had never been religious at all, or remotely spiritual or superstitious, not even as a child admiring the beauty of shrines, but still he hit his knees. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
She actually smiled as she approached him and drew him back to his feet. “I’m not offended by what you said. I’m angry you’re hurting someone I care for.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? Is that all you can say?” She grabbed his chin and made him look up. “Masaki was being patient and sweet, but you threw it in his face.”
“Sweet? He spied on me. I’m guessing you can’t understand that, how it makes me feel.”
“No, not really. I could care less who sees what I do.” She pulled her hand away. “But you should be flattered.”
“Tell that to anyone who’s been stalked. It’s scary!”
“You didn’t even know about it until a few minutes ago! And you haven’t exactly sounded scared.” She laughed and moved to a mirror, adjusting one of her hairpins, the bells tinkling.
“But if Masaki can sense things, I’m sure you can sense even more. It did scare me.”
She continued smiling, but at least she didn’t laugh at him again. “I suppose I did feel a change, but it was more fear of what he’d seen, what he’d think. You weren’t afraid he would hurt you.” She waved her hand. “Come look. This is how he does it. And why there’re so many mirrors in the house.”
Hiro moved toward the wall and saw images there in place of a reflection. Masaki wore a pair of linen pants and nothing else. He sat on the edge of his bed looking off into the distance. A moment later, he rose and stretched before running his hand down his face. He held out his hand, and a glass of what seemed to be orange juice appeared there. He drank half of it and then set it down. He walked over to his dresser and stared at his reflection, his expression unreadable. Then his face softened, and he shook his head before moving to the closet. He pulled out clothes for the day and hung them on a hook on the bathroom door.
Then he dropped his pants. Hiro averted his eyes, but Inari pulled him close and made him look. Masaki had a muscular, massive body. Hiro blushed, both from the lust stirring and from thoughts of how his much thinner, less toned body must look to Masaki. When Masaki reached down to touch his cock, stroking it a few times until he had a half-mast erection, Hiro felt his own body respond.
“Please, stop. I get it. But we shouldn’t be watching this.” Hiro didn’t struggle though, his eyes locked on the fingers gliding over that shaft.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t. But I wanted you to see what it’s like. He feels the way you’re feeling as he admires you this way. He never watched you until after he’d come to respect and enjoy your work.” She leaned in, her lips touching his ear. “And don’t put yourself down. He thinks you’re beautiful and longs to touch you.”
“But that’s just lust. That’s all I’m feeling now.”
“So you say. It must be more, since you wanted to stop, to respect his privacy.”
Masaki jerked himself for a while, but then he got in the shower and began to wash, ignoring his bouncing erection, which Hiro could not seem to do.
Inari backed off a bit but still held him. “He watches you draw even more. For hours, in fact. He admires you for your talent and passion.”
Hiro watched water and soap flow down Masaki’s body, and he wanted the man to touch himself again. He jerked his head to look away. “Please, my lady.”
A man cleared his throat. “You mean ‘my lord’, I think.”
Hiro stumbled trying to get out of the man’s arms. “You … you really…”
“Yes, I really can change whenever I please.” A handsome man twice Hiro’s size stood there. Naked, his cock erect.
Before Hiro could move, he found himself flung on the bed and pinned beneath the man. Inari’s long hair fell in waves over Hiro’s body, and while the contact felt good, Hiro couldn’t help being afraid. Inari was not a wicked kami, yet Masaki had pointed out that every god possessed some dark qualities. Hiro’s pajama bottoms were thin, his erection obvious. Inari looked but did not touch, smiling.
“If Masaki were a bad man, he wouldn’t be granting your every wish and making small talk over dinner. He’d have had you like this within moments of Akira leaving. He wouldn’t be asking you to draw for him just to have the pleasure of observing you. He’d have you bound, his cock in your mouth or your ass any time he pleased.” Inari shifted, his legs still pinning Hiro’s and his hands moving to secure Hiro’s wrists over his head. He leaned down, still not touching, but his hot breath caressed Hiro’s skin. “You’re beautiful, despite what you think. Other men have thought so, but you’ve denied your true nature. Will you let me show you how two men can be together? Masaki can have you back afterwards.”
Hiro’s heart raced, but his fear faded with every word, which baffled him. Anyone observing this scene would assume he was about to be raped, yet Hiro didn’t fear that. He stared up at Inari, who looked so handsome and powerful above him. His body was chiseled and truly god-like, every line and muscle perfect.
“I’d love to draw you,” Hiro said, taking a chance and acting on instinct.
Inari stared down at him. “Did you not hear my offer?”
“I did, and I politely decline.”
Inari leaned closer. “I’m a god. I don’t have to honor that.” His mouth was a breath away from touching Hiro’s skin, but still no contact.
“But you’re angry because I’m hurting Masaki. Forcing me, or even seducing me, would hurt him more. You won’t harm me. I … your touch … I can’t explain. Your presence is calming me somehow, but not as a trick.”
A smile slowly spread over Inari’s face. “Do you truly wish to draw me?”
Hiro sat up as Inari moved off him. “Do you ever actually need me to answer any question?”
Inari laughed, rising from the bed but not bothering to dress. “You’re a smart boy, another thing Masaki likes.”
All his life, Hiro had been praised for being creative, but never for being smart. He smiled, feeling shy a moment. “I’d love to draw you, but with clothes on. And, um…” He trailed off, wondering if he was allowed to make requests.
“You don’t wish for Masaki to know about this.”
Hiro nodded. “I don’t want him to know what you did. It might bother him.”
“He would forgive me anything.”
“But just don’t tell him, okay? And I want something else as well.”
Inari laughed, the deep sound rumbling over Hiro. “What’s that?”
“I want to see if he’ll admit to watching me. And, uh, I’d like to know when he’s watching me.”
Inari nodded. “All right. You’ll feel a warmth and tingling whenever his eyes are on you. Now, what will you give me in return?”
Hiro paused, realizing he had little to offer. “I could decorate a shrine. Create images to honor you and your kitsune. Depict legends about you, the ones you like.”
Inari rubbed his chin, and Hiro almost smiled. He could tell Inari was teasing him, pretending he had to think on it, and the humanness of it struck Hiro as comical. Finally, Inari nodded.
“I only ask one thing: if you cannot love him, do not hurt him.”
“He loves me?”
Inari hesitated. �
��True love is not yet in his heart, but you’re very precious to him. Your work truly speaks to the deepest part of him. Tread carefully.”
Hiro bowed. “I promise, my lord.”
Inari held up one finger in warning. “I love him. Remember that. Even beneficent kami have no qualms about punishment.”
“He told me about how he was, uh, born.”
Inari’s eyes clouded a moment, as if reliving a bad memory. “Yes. A sad day, though it yielded a blessing nonetheless. Do you see why you can trust Masaki? My kitsune all know one thing deep in their hearts—forcing the act of love is vile, a loathsome and dishonorable crime.”
Hiro nodded solemnly. “Yes, I see. I should have thought on that. His words when he told the story displayed how much the man’s actions repulsed him.” Shame filled him as he again thought of how his reaction might’ve offended Masaki.
Coming forward, Inari placed a gentle kiss to Hiro’s lips, and Hiro did not resist, sensing the act was a blessing of sorts, not a seduction attempt. “My lord,” he said, bowing once more.
Inari backed away but still studied him. “You have a question.”
Hiro blushed but cleared his throat. “If I’d been willing, would you’ve slept with me?”
Without hesitation, Inari shook his head. “Sweet as you would have been, no. I’d have left you here and then told Masaki how the sight of his naked body had inflamed you.”
Hiro’s mouth dropped open as the kami laughed.
“I have to have some fun, little one,” Inari said before turning on his heels and leaving the room.
Hiro went after him, but he found the hall empty. He moved back into his room and sat on the bed, unsure what to do next.
* * * *
Masaki folded his clothes by the stream and changed to his fox form before slipping into the water. He swam for several minutes, enjoying the coolness of the water as it contrasted with the beating rays of the sun high overhead. Sensing a presence, he reached out and felt Hiro nearby. Hiro approached quickly, and Masaki moved to grab his clothes and transport himself back to the house. But he sensed Hiro’s thoughts focused on him and stayed put, waiting to see what would happen. Hiro’s gaze found him right away as he emerged from between two clusters of bamboo. Their eyes locked, and Hiro moved to sit by Masaki’s clothes, sketchpad in hand and pencil poised.
Masaki didn’t know what to do. He swam a little closer, but then he stopped.
Hiro studied him and then looked down. “I’m going to draw you. Just keep swimming.” He lifted his eyes again, briefly. “Let me see how you move, how the water ripples.”
Masaki had rarely had anyone watch him perform any task, but he did as Hiro said. He moved back and forth, eventually coming closer and diving a few times, swishing his tail out of the water but being careful not to splash Hiro’s paper. He didn’t understand what Hiro wanted. The young man seemed surprisingly calm. Was this an apology? He felt a surge of admiration, and he turned to find Hiro just watching him, his pencil still.
Inari certainly spoke the truth. He does think I’m beautiful.
“You’re smaller,” Hiro said. “Look like a regular fox.”
Masaki came closer, transforming and kneeling so that only his upper chest was exposed. “We can be any size, any color, though I prefer white. The larger form’s traditional. Ceremonial. This form’s more comfortable.”
Hiro held up his sketch, and Masaki saw three different versions of himself. “Beautiful,” Masaki said.
Hiro put his pad aside and looked into Masaki’s eyes. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did. My father wasn’t a very modern man, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yes, I remember him well, and I should’ve considered it. He was stern. Close-minded. Not very open with his emotions.”
“Except anger. He was open with that. Liberal and generous.”
Masaki nodded, remembering how harsh the previous head of the family had been with his sons and daughters. “Do you want to leave, Hiro? I’ll send for Akira, if you wish.”
Hiro stared down at the water, but then he straightened his spine and gazed at Masaki. “I promised a month. I won’t dishonor my family by backing out.”
“But you don’t have to. I’ll release you. There’ll be no dishonor.”
Hiro shook his head. “I overreacted. I would … like to know you better. The way you said at dinner last night.”
Masaki let a faint smile curve his lips, though he wanted to grin widely. “Will you be my date tonight? There’s an art show in Tokyo. I wasn’t going to attend, but you might enjoy it. I’d like to discuss the works on display with you.”
“Tonight? I don’t have clothes. And it’s almost two. How will we get to Tokyo by tonight?”
Masaki smiled more broadly. “You forget who you’re talking to. I can provide clothes in your size with a thought, and I can even take us to Tokyo within moments.”
Hiro’s eyes widened, but then he smiled. “A date?”
“If you wish. No reason to hide my intentions any longer.”
Hiro drew his knees to his chest, averting his eyes again. “I talked to Akira. He’d guessed.” He looked back to Masaki. “About me. No one else knows, not even my closest friends.”
“Are you ashamed?”
“No. I won’t know anyone in Tokyo. I’m just saying … there’s been no one.”
“Not even in a club? A single kiss? Any type of encounter, shall we say?”
Hiro shook his head. “I can’t do that the way some people do. It’s not me. You were my first kiss. The very first. Period.”
“We’ll enjoy each other’s company. That’s all that has to happen.”
Hiro raised one eyebrow. “I won’t run this time.”
“Doesn’t mean I should push you.” Masaki winked as he emerged from the water and went to his clothes, producing a towel out of thin air and quickly covering himself, though not before giving Hiro a nice glance.
“That’s not pushing?” Hiro asked, laughing. He stood and dusted his jeans off. “Tease.”
Masaki tucked the towel in and held out one hand. “Am I forgiven my deceit? Meeting people is easy. Letting them in on my secret isn’t.”
Hiro hesitated, but then he nodded and shook Masaki’s hand. “Yes, but honesty from now on. I’ll do the same. I won’t behave as I did last night anymore.”
Masaki picked up his clothes. “Then I’ll see you tonight. I must tell my friend I’ve changed my mind about attending. You’ll find clothes in your room, and we’ll leave about seven.”
“Okay.” Hiro took up his pad. “I’ll finish this, give it to you tonight.” Then he walked away, glancing back with a smile a couple of times.
Masaki watched him go, wondering what had happened to bring Hiro around so quickly. He shrugged and headed for the house, not willing to question his good luck too much, lest it run out on him. If Inari had somehow orchestrated this, he would simply have to trust that his kami had acted out of love.
Chapter Four
Hiro felt the tingling Inari had promised. He hesitated in his actions, as he’d been about to change clothes for tonight. A glance at the clock told him he didn’t really have time to wait. Though he felt bashful, embarrassed, he began to undress slowly. He stripped completely, even changing his boxers, though he hadn’t needed to do so. Thinking of Masaki’s body, which he hadn’t been able to put out of his mind, he stroked himself for a moment. Would Masaki enjoy watching him? Had he watched before?
Hiro moaned as his hand moved over his cock. Why should he be ashamed? He couldn’t help what his body wanted. Leaning back against the wall, he thrust his hips up to fuck his fist. Imagining Masaki watching made him ache. Inari had no reason to lie about how Masaki felt. Hiro paused, reaching down to fondle his balls. Pre-cum leaked from his tip, and he pictured Masaki licking it from the head. Sucking him. Touching him. Hiro thought about how good it would feel to run his hands over Masaki’s muscles, over his chest and thighs. He took hold of his cock again,
pumping faster. He came with a moan, watching the cum arch up as he stroked hurriedly. He reached for a towel, but then he paused. Participating in the voyeurism and putting on a show for Masaki made Hiro feel bold and empowered. He raised his hand and licked the cum away before cleaning up the floor.
As he dressed, Hiro felt the tingling cease. Was Masaki jerking off now? Or had he done so as he watched? Hiro smiled as he looked at himself in the mirror. He’d never have believed it a week ago, but if things went well, tonight might be the night he’d waited so long for.
* * * *
Masaki accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter, but Hiro waved him away. Most of the art didn’t spark Masaki’s interest, but a few colorful prints had pleased him. Talking with Hiro, or more accurately listening to him chatter, had kept him entertained well enough. Even when Hiro didn’t seem to like a sculpture or painting, he would still find something to compliment about it. He spoke of lines and contrast and composition, and Masaki tried to keep up. If he learned about all these things, he could talk to Hiro about his art, which he very much wanted to do. As they walked, Masaki considered his reaction to Hiro’s art. He’d never been an art lover and certainly was not artistic himself. Had Hiro’s work spoken to him for another reason? Was it fate? On a whim, he scanned the air between them, looking for a red string. He’d never actually seen the red string of fate connecting two beings, but Inari had assured him it did exist, though one had to be very powerful to see it.
“Do you like this one?” Hiro asked, amusement in his voice.
Masaki glanced up and saw Hiro a couple of feet away, walking around a metal sculpture of a nine-tailed fox. The nine tails flared behind it, like the flames of a fire, and the metal had a bronzed look with copper highlights here and there. The fox looked fierce and menacing, yet it walked over a field of beautiful flowers, which seemed to be made of chunks of colored glass.
“It’s interesting. Do you like it?” Masaki asked, moving close enough to see if it was one of the items for sale or a permanent part of the museum’s collection.
“It must’ve taken ages to make. Yes, I do. I’m not sure what it means though.”
