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Title: Expected Defeat
Author:
jedishampoo
Rating: NC-l7
Pairing: Homura x Kougaiji
Summary: After his defeat by the war gods at Houtou Castle, Kougaiji is
looking for revenge. Or something.
Warnings: Dubcon-plus, a little blood/biting.
Author's notes: Written for
despina_moon in
the
yuletide_smut
exchange (second of my three stories there). This was writing outside my box but
I enjoyed doing it. Thank you to
saltcandy, who
came through with instant Homura help, and to
sharpeslass for
the quick beta! Thank you also to com mod
rroselavy for her
kindness and work.
Expected Defeat
Kougaiji had come alone. He slid off his dragon’s warm, leathery back to stand
on the cold, cloud-slicked tiles of the castle at Mount Ryokai. It was midnight
and moonless-dark, but he could see that he stood at the very edge of the castle
roof. Far, far, below, a thousand feet or more, he could see the castle
entrance, tiny lights moving as soldiers, youkai-turned-gods, milled about on
their rounds. Below that, night-grey clouds tumbled down the mountain to
disappear into blackness, a few more thousand feet or so to sea-level. It looked
just like home.
The dragon huffed at him, worried. Kougaiji reached out to pat her nose, then
thought better of it. He slapped her rump and gave her a whispered spell to send
her home. Before she could even be indignant she was gone, carried off by wind
and the spell and her powerful, silent wings.
Then he was truly alone, just as he should be. His retainers would be angry when
they discovered he’d left, but Kougaiji didn’t, or wouldn’t let himself, care.
His people were loyal, almost too loyal at times. Why should Dokugakuji or Yaone
or-- gods forbid, his little sister-- have to fight Kougaiji’s battles for him?
They never should, and so Kou had slunk out of the castle, alone and quiet,
sneaking past his own soldiers’ backs. He supposed he should be angry that the
guards missed him as he skulked in the shadows, that they’d missed what was
right beneath their noses. They should have been extra-vigilant in these days
after the war gods’ attack on Houtou Castle and the theft of the Seiten
Scripture. Kougaiji could discipline them later if he chose-- but he wouldn’t.
They were loyal youkai who’d suffered grave defeat when the War Gods had
attacked Houtou Castle-- just as he had. They mourned their dead
brothers-in-arms-- just as he did.
The power that had killed them was an amazing power, one the likes of which
Kougaiji had never seen, even from his father. It had been fabulous power,
wielded by a coldly handsome and mocking god. The power to do whatever one
wanted, to go where one wished and take whatever caught their fancy. It was
power abused, dangled like a toy in front of a child, teasing, knowing words and
all.
Kougaiji wanted it. Was the power in that sword, maybe? There were so many
things he could do with that power, the first of which would be to--
Kougaiji sought control over his own thoughts; there was nothing he could do
until he’d defeated his enemies, as he’d planned. First he had to find a way
into Mount Ryokai Castle, which, by report, Homura and his other god-companions
had subjugated only weeks ago. It was famous enough, one of those “towers to
heaven” that had been so popular to build several hundred years ago, before
Heaven disappeared and gods stopped visiting the earth.
Kougaiji wished the gods had stayed in heaven where they belonged. Instead, they
were here, at the top of this black, pagodaed tower, a dark castle, so much like
the one he’d lived in all his life. Tower to heaven. Didn’t anyone know
that having such a ridiculously tall and imposing tower only invited one’s
enemies to try and scale it?
“Come to think of it, my father probably wanted them to,” Kougaiji whispered to
the cold tiles and the clouds. “Probably this Homura does, too.”
“Are you speaking to me, or to yourself?” came the drawling voice, as precise
and arrogant as Kougaiji remembered. Homura.
“I’m talking to you, now,” Kougaiji told the unseen voice.
“Then come down where I can see you, youkai prince.”
“I will,” Kougaiji said.
“No one can say that you don’t have courage,” the amused voice said. “Be
careful. It’s very dark and slippery up there.”
Kougaiji didn’t deign to answer. He stepped off the edge and twisted in midair,
catching the very curl of the roof, and swung to the balcony below. Homura’s
handsome, placid face was framed in a small window not three feet away. He had
the same expression he’d worn while he destroyed Houtou Castle: wide mouth
not-quite smiling, both differently-colored eyes unfathomable. He executed an
elegant turn and showed Kougaiji the back of his black-haired, elegant head.
“Come in,” Homura said.
Kougaiji took a deep breath-- not from fear, just preparation-- and tried to
copy Homura’s deliberate walk, whether he was watched or not. He did have
courage, and he had purpose.
Kougaiji entered an open door only a few feet away and stopped just inside. He
was in a massive rectangular room, little high windows opening to the balcony on
all sides. A long red carpet marked a trail on the otherwise bare stone floor,
leading off to a doorway at the opposite end of the rectangle. There was
nothing, and nobody, in the room, except for Kougaiji and Homura. Homura was
facing him again.
Had Homura been standing here, alone, with no furniture, doing nothing, being
bored and dramatic? Probably. It seemed like the sort of thing he might do.
Waiting. He’d been waiting for me. Gods could wait a long time. Today Homura
was lucky.
“You know why I’m here,” Kougaiji said, the words of the chant forming already
in his mind, vibrating to his lips. Heat grew in his clenched fists, burning
with his own power.
“I do,” Homura said. The edges of his fire-and-violet robe spread, and he
stretched out his shackled wrists, palms up. “Are you going to inflict your
fiend upon me again, already?”
“Maybe I don’t want to inflict you on my fiend,” Kougaiji said, and released his
fireball. “Raaghhh!”
Power flowed, flared down and through Kougaiji’s veins, poured from his fingers,
searing heat that turned the carpet to ash and made the stone floor grow red and
still Homura stood there, palms up, beckoning.
“Shit,” Kougaiji said, and ended the fire-spell. He stared for a few moments,
huffing, regaining his breath. Homura wasn’t even tanned, let alone as singed as
Kougaiji had hoped. Only Homura’s red chakra and his mismatched eyes glowed as
the stone cooled and the smoke dissipated.
“Impressive,” Homura drawled, unmoving and languid except for his lips. “So you
think you want the scripture?”
“I didn’t say that,” Kougaiji said, and decided to execute Plan B-- kicking
Homura’s ass the old-fashioned way. He shifted his feet. “I don’t care if you
have the scripture or not. I care that you attacked my home.”
“Are you very possessive over what is yours, Prince Kougaiji? Is that why you’ve
come to face me alone, so that you can have me all to yourself?”
There was that same, seductively arrogant voice, reading his mind, reading his
heart-- no.
“I didn’t say that either. I came to defeat you.”
Homura let his hands drop to his sides. His chain clinked and rattled as it went
slack. “I told you I was a war prince of heaven, correct? I remember your
father. I remember how he was subdued.”
“I don’t care,” Kougaiji said. He was filled with anger, with energy, with
power. He lunged at Homura, fingers outstretched and long nails prepared to
rend, tear, kill, release; god or not, there had to be a way he could be killed.
Genjyo Sanzo bore a chakra, but he could be injured; so could Homura, surely.
Kougaiji lunged until he stumbled as, without even seeming to move, Homura
dodged his attack.
“Do you have his strength? Do you have his evil?”
Kougaiji caught his balance and pivoted. Homura lifted his chin and stared
Kougaiji down, as if from a great height that didn’t really exist-- how the
hell did he do that?
“Tell me, youkai prince-- what is it you are fighting for? Are you fighting to
be free of your father? Free of your stepmother?”
“You talk too much. And you talk too slowly. I’ll be dead from boredom by the
time you’re finished!” Kougaiji lunged again, this time going in for a
roundhouse kick, careful to keep his balance, and yet somehow he still ended up
splayed on the floor.
“Heh,” Homura not-quite-laughed. “You have more in common with Konzen Douji--
well, you would probably know him as Genjyo Sanzo-- than you might think.”
“I don’t care about Genjyo Sanzo!” Kougaiji yelled and leapt to his feet again,
arms out in a defensive position even though Homura’s stance was as languid and
bored as ever and when had he moved? “All I’m thinking right now is that I have
to kill you if I want you to shut up! If he knows you, he’ll probably give me
the Maten Scripture in thanks!”
Then Kougaiji saw something he didn’t expect. There was a flash in Homura’s
eyes-- it gave his smooth god’s face an expression that looked something like...
glee? Then-- shit, Homura was fast. His shackle-chain was cold beneath
Kougaiji’s neck. Somehow it had gotten there and Kougaiji was on his knees and
Homura’s muscled body, which seemed so fluid and at ease, was hard as steel and
was pressed up against Kougaiji’s back.
“Kaff,” Kougaiji said as the chain threatened to cut off his breath altogether.
Then suddenly he could breathe again, but his hands were grabbed and dragged to
the floor. He was dragged down with them, Homura at his back. Homura had
Kougaiji’s wrists captured in one hand above his head; the chain snaked between
Kougaiji’s arms and across his cheek and down to the other hand pressed against
his stomach, holding him. The hand was doing something, some spell, maybe, it
was so hot--
“Get the hell off me,” Kougaiji growled. He tried to move, but couldn’t. Not his
arms, not his legs, captured under Homura’s. He hated being powerless, he hated
not being able to see his enemy--
“Why are you here?” Homura said into Kougaiji’s ear, breath warm, but not as
warm as that hand, those fingers digging into the bare skin of his belly.
“I told you why I’m here.” Kougaiji waited for anger to set in, for panic, for
anything-- and instead found that he was just waiting. The heat was spreading
out from his stomach, through his veins to pound fire into every nerve. “What
are you doing?”
“Hmm,” the warm breath, cool by comparison, said. “I’m not doing anything...
beyond the obvious. You’re doing it for me.”
“You’re not Zakuro. Don’t try any of that mind-crap on me.”
“I don’t have to.” Kougaiji couldn’t move but Homura could; he was sliding his
body against Kougaiji’s, his thighs rubbing into Kougaiji’s ass, his cape
settling over them both like a blanket. “Isn’t it comfortable, sometimes, to not
have to keep trying? When all hope is lost? Having the strength to let go of
everything is true power.”
“Giving up is cowardly,” Kougaiji managed to grate out. He felt as if his lips
could barely move, as if he was immobilized, hovering, waiting-- he
couldn’t even move his head to see if anyone else had entered the room, could
see them, could see his dick filling with pulsing blood and straining against
the front of his pants.
“When we first fought, I told you I liked you,” Homura said. His tone of voice
was the same as always but it sounded to Kougaiji’s ears like a whisper,
intimate. He backed off a little but Kougaiji remained frozen, listening to the
sound of rustling cloth and a zipper, then felt those strong fingers ripping
apart the front of his own pants, searing tattoos of power into his belly as
they freed his throbbing cock. “Is that why you came here?”
“Of course not... stop it, asshole,” Kougaiji mumbled, sounding unconvincing
even to his own ears.
“Did you hear what I said about letting go?” Homura grabbed Kougaiji’s cock and
squeezed and holy shit that was power. Even if Kougaiji could have freed himself
he wasn’t sure he would have, the way those fingers clenched and pulled and
thrummed-- or was that his own body?
“I hate you,” Kougaiji said. He hated this but he deserved it, for not
being powerful enough.
“Not everything needs to be a struggle,” Homura said, shoving and rubbing thick,
dry god-flesh against Kougaiji’s bare ass. “Imagine a world without struggle.
Where you might not even exist, where you don’t need to fight for others or
against those closest to you, any more...”
“Nnngh,” Kougaiji managed, as Homura’s hand squeezed and swiped a thread of
pre-come from the tip of his cock then left it, bereft, to thrust a finger
between his ass-cheeks. He found he could move, a little; his body arched as if
his knees could dig into the stone floor, press himself against those invading
fingers. He deserved it even though he hated it-- No, he didn’t really hate
it after all, did he?
“Imagine all the things you love about the world, without the things you hate in
it,” Homura was saying. He might have sounded a little breathless; Kougaiji
couldn’t tell if it was his own breathy panting covering the true sound of
Homura’s voice. “The beings. Those are what you hate most, correct? No beings
fighting, a world to develop without gods, without youkai, without humans...
Peace.”
“Nnooo...” Homura could talk all he wanted about a lack of struggle, a world of
nothing, but was this not a struggle? A struggle that Kougaiji was losing,
miserably, though he didn’t care and maybe that feeling of not-caring was what
he’d sought, what Homura had found?
“Ah!” Homura did cry out when he shoved thick flesh inside Kougaiji, burning him
from the inside with his power and his words, then pounded them in, rough and
hard and Kougaiji’s head fell forward onto their three joined hands, his two and
Homura’s one. The wrist-shackle cuff was digging into Kougaiji’s lips and Homura
was shoving into him so hard that he thought it might break his teeth, but he
didn’t care, he could endure it and hate it if he wished.
Then there were no more words from either of them for a few short minutes, just
the sound of their breathing and hard slap of skin and the squelching of
Kougaiji’s body giving in and letting go, all echoing sometimes off the stone
floors inside and the thick clouds outside.
Kougaiji deserved it, all of it, and the power would never be his unless he
understood, but how could he understand when his body, Homura’s hand on his cock
and his heat filling him, was ruling his thoughts? It was tight, he was hot, his
blood was thick and hot, he was ripped apart from the inside and it felt good.
There was flesh under the hard, metal cuff shoved into his mouth; Kougaiji found
the flesh with his teeth, bit down, tasted the blood of a god.
“Ahh!” Homura cried out again, and Kougaiji bit harder, held on, even when he
was yanked upright by his face and teeth and wrists and still Homura thrust into
him, in and out, tearing pleasure out of Kougaiji every time he let it. A sharp
pain ripped through the sensitive cartilage of his ear. Homura had bitten it.
“Nght!”
“Ha! Isn’t this what you in the lower world expect of your gods? Ah!” Homura
said, voice now hoarse. His movements slowed, more time between each thrust,
more time for Kougaiji to burn. “A bite for a bite?”
“Nght, Nght,” Kougaiji tried to say, but was muffled by the skin and metal in
his mouth. Kougaiji arched into the bite, into the sharp pressure inside, and
came, onto himself, onto the stone.
Homura jerked a couple more times, then stopped, but Kougaiji barely noticed or
felt anything. He barely felt it when he was released and fell forward onto the
stone, to breathe, to recover from the most draining orgasm of his life. After a
moment or two he rolled onto his back, to see what the god had in store for him
next. Did he care? He wasn’t sure, yet.
Homura was re-zipping his pants, and watching Kougaiji. He lifted his hand and
examined it. “Interesting. I’ve been bored and tired by most things in this
world, anymore, since... well, never mind.” He shook his bleeding hand at
Kougaiji. “Go.”
Kougaiji heard the sound of footsteps on thin carpet-covered stone, coming from
the direction of the doorway, the one to the inside of the castle. He regained
enough strength to pull up his own jeans. The zipper was broken but the button
was intact.
What the hell had he done? What the hell had he let be done-- again?
“Tell me. Just tell me or kill me. What do I have to do to kill you?”
“You don’t need to kill me,” Homura sighed, and turned away, walking towards the
sound of the footsteps. “It won’t matter soon. I’ll tell you the same thing I
told Son Goku: Grow stronger. Strong enough to let go.”
“That’s not an answer!” Kougaiji yelled. Or was it? It had made sense,
when he’d been-- but somehow, it didn’t make sense anymore. There was something
about himself that he just didn’t understand.
“Go before Zenon and Shien find you here. Or you can perhaps take lessons from
them, if you will not listen to me.”
“Hell,” Kougaiji said, and gained his feet. He heard voices-- the voices of the
other gods. Perhaps he should leave.
Yes, he’d been humiliated. Still, it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. Not
giving up-- living to fight another day-- that was power, not... whatever Homura
had offered him.
Kougaiji headed out the door to the balcony. The cold and the wet and dark were
still there, outside. He’d have to find another way down without his dragon.
Well, he had other powers he could call on.
Kougaiji would get home, alone. But alive. Maybe that slimy asshole Nii could
make himself useful, and come up with something. Something to help Kougaiji
grow stronger.
End.
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