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@marshmallowbirb
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Hey guys! If you’re following me for fics, please head on over to the following places:
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I will no longer be updating here after today! This goes for my art blog - rosedore - and my main blog - curieousdreamer - will be severely limited posting from here on out.
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Smoke and Fire: Chapter 1
Title: Smoke and Fire: Chapter 1 Series: Food Fantasy Rating: Mature Summary: Mafia AU based on Peking's new skin. Plucky reporter Yuxiang would do nearly anything to get away from being assigned to desk duty - including throwing herself into the middle of a mob war to get a scoop. Will she get the story of a lifetime... or will she just become another casualty in Peking Duck and Boston Lobster's proxy war? Pairing: Peking Duck/Yuxiang, many many others in the background Spoilers: For that one dope ass Peking skin, I guess? Other than that, this is an AU, we don’t need spoilers where we’re going!
It was a rainy early fall Friday afternoon when he dropped it on her desk.
Yuxiang looked up from her typewriter to see her editor sliding the manila folder on top of her other papers. The Food Soul with the crisp suit and the long white hair gave her a look full of pity over his round glasses. Plum Juice seemed genuinely regretful for what he'd apparently decided to assign her.
“What's this?” she asked, curious about the sorry look she'd just received. She stopped typing the advice column she'd been working on up til then and picked up the file.
“Yuxiang,” Plum Juice began, his voice serious. “You know you're one of my best reporters…” Yuxiang quirked an eyebrow. For Plum Juice to open with such a thing, he had to be very distressed indeed. She was well aware that he was supportive of her professional ambitions. He wasn't the one who'd seen fit to relegate her to desk duty, after all; that would have been the editor-in-chief.
“Yes…?” she asked skeptically. Plum Juice took a quick sweep of the newsroom with his eyes; as it was a Friday afternoon, the room was relatively quiet. Very few of their co-workers had lingered long after lunch. Most of them were already out at their after-work watering hole.
“What's the problem, Plum Juice?”
The man released a long sigh before meeting Yuxiang's eyes again.
“There's a story I want you on,” he began. He picked up speed as he continued talking. “It's dangerous. Every investigative reporter we've sent out has come back with nothing, or not come back at all.”
“And you want to send me out on it?” She knew she sounded incredulous, but the truth was that she wouldn't turn it down anyway. She had been itching to get her nose back into other people's business for months. Sitting behind a desk writing schmaltzy advice columns didn't suit her and Plum Juice knew it.
“I do,” Plum Juice affirmed with a nod. “I have faith you'll be the one to crack this case.” Yuxiang regarded him skeptically.
“Is that all?” she asked, sliding the file open with her finger. As she flipped through the papers, she caught a few relevant details; it was a mob case with targeted hits and trafficking, the usual sort of organized crime beat. From a quick glance, Yuxiang wasn't quite sure what was so special about this. They dealt with organized crime on a daily basis.
“The truth is,” Plum Juice began, “I managed to convince the editor-in-chief to give you a chance on this one. It's been a tough nut to crack, so I proposed you might have an easier time of it, being a woman and all.” Yuxiang made a small, disgusted noise; while Plum Juice was more than happy to have a woman on the crime beat, their editor-in-chief was not. It had been a source of constant tension since he’d taken over the position months ago.
It didn't help that it was common knowledge that he'd gotten the job because his Master Attendant was the owner of the paper.
Still, Yuxiang sighed, snapped the file shut, and pushed her reading glasses up her nose. She wanted out of that stuffy bullpen so bad that she'd risk life and limb for it.
“So why have the other reporters been coming away empty-handed?” Plum Juice leaned against her desk and folded his arms.
“From what we can tell,” he began, “The ones who come up empty-handed are most likely spooking the target before they can make contact with him.” Yuxiang's eyebrow rose as Plum Juice picked the file up and began to flip through it.
“And the ones who died?”
“Were too close to making contact.” Plum Juice found the page he was looking for and pulled it out. He handed it to Yuxiang, who regarded it with a skeptical eye. It was a profile of a Food Soul with a blurry picture paper-clipped to it. The picture itself showed nothing; just the back of a man in a non-descript coat. The only thing remotely remarkable about him was the braid that hung the length of his entire back.
“This is the target,” Plum Juice continued. “Peking Duck. He's supposed to be head of an organization called the Forbidden City Family. According to our informants, they've got their fingers in everything from hit jobs to illegal gambling and prostitution.” Yuxiang took the file back from Plum Juice and slid the profile back inside.
“Never heard of him,” Yuxiang muttered as she flipped through the information.
“Apparently their family just recently arrived from the Light Kingdom and it's got the local bosses in a tizzy.” That explained part of it, but something didn't sit right with Yuxiang. She kept up with the news from her former home and she'd never heard a peep about this man or his family.
“According to the local police, we should expect a large-scale gang war soon,” Plum Juice continued. “Unless they can step in and catch him first. That's why they need our help. In exchange, we get a front row seat to the action.” Yuxiang was unconvinced.
“If they haven't been able to nail Boston Lobster yet, what makes them think they can catch this ghost?” Yuxiang already knew the answer: Boston Lobster had his claws in everything, including certain people at the local police station as well as the courthouse and some of the local newsrooms. Even if he was the dirtiest criminal in town, they all knew he was practically untouchable.
“C'mon, Yuxiang,” Plum Juice dropped his voice. “You know the answer to that as well as I do.” Of course she did. Lobster practically ran Hilena. In fact, it sounded a lot like they were being sent out to do his dirty work.
“Why don't they just hire a gumshoe, then?” she pressed on. This seemed more up their alley, anyway.
“They’ve tried. The ones that would even take the case had about as much luck as the newsies.”
“So none at all.”
“Right. Look, if you don't want to do this, I completely understand.”
“I never said that.” With that, she snapped the folder shut and stood from her desk. “But I haven't finished this advice column, so…” Not that she actually wanted to, and Plum Juice knew it. He sighed and slid off her desk.
“Right,” he grumbled. Yuxiang knew Plum Juice enjoyed the advice column as much as she did. Still, she moved out of her chair so he could slide around and take her spot. “I'll finish you up. You can head on over to the precinct and meet up with Black Tea. She'll be your liaison for this job.”
“She's expecting me?” So he knew she’d take this job after all.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “She said she'd be in her office. If you go now, you can start tonight. Probably get a good head start on it by the weekend.”
“If he's as hard a nut to crack as you say,” Yuxiang remarked, pulling her purse down from the coat rack by the door, “It isn't like I have to worry about getting scooped.” Plum Juice was suspiciously silent.
“Right?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “Don't hold me to this, but I heard the Tribune put Popcorn on this story.” Yuxiang crinkled her nose. This Peking Duck fellow must really have burned through their reporters if they were bringing Popcorn in. It wasn't that he was a bad reporter; quite the opposite. It was just that he tended to annoy people until they spilled whatever he was looking for.
An unfortunate side effect was that Popcorn also tended to annoy everyone else in the process. That included Yuxiang. And she was sure she'd run into him on the trail.
“Ugh,” she mumbled. “Well, I'll try to avoid him. Thank you, Plum Juice. I'll see what I can dig up.”
Within the hour, Yuxiang found herself hanging her coat in the 3rd Precinct of the Hilena Metropolitan Police Department. The newspaper she worked for, the Capitol Register, had a fairly tight relationship with the police, as did their rival paper, the Hilena Tribune. Of course, if they were to get their crime beat out in a timely fashion, such a relationship was a necessity.
To that end, she had worked with Black Tea before. The brown haired Food Soul was also a Light Kingdom ex-pat, so they at least had that common ground. They were also both pretty taciturn under normal circumstances, and that made Yuxiang much more comfortable with her than any of the other cops.
“Mind if I smoke?” Yuxiang asked as she put her bag down and sat across from Black Tea. The brunette gave her a flat look over her tidy desk and sighed.
“Milk won't like it,” she admonished. “Please just wait until we're finished.” Yuxiang gave a small sigh but didn't complain; she knew Black Tea’s partner could be a real bulldozer when she wanted to be.
“Yes, ma'am,” she replied tartly. “Now, what do you have for me?” Black Tea swiveled in her chair to face her and picked a file up from the wooden “in" box on her desk.
“Plum Juice has probably already given you most of our intel,” she said as she slid the file over the polished wooden surface. “But the noose is really starting to tighten around our necks here. The tips we've been receiving suggest this Peking Duck character and his men are planning something. We're running out of time to bring them in.” Yuxiang took the file and began flipping through it.
There was a bit more information about their target in the police file. He was a uniquely skilled assassin, as well as a very powerful Food Soul. He wore a monocle. He may have had some kind of psychic powers. He had been rumored to haunt the darker districts of Lighttown. His gang were also a complete unknown; there wasn't a single name connected with the Forbidden City Family other than his. And he was a smoker, too, as it turned out.
Yuxiang finished her perusal and snapped the file back shut. She added it to the folder she'd already been carrying in her bag and turned back to Black Tea.
“So you're pursuing this Duck character because you think he'll be easier to bring in than Boston Lobster,” Yuxiang casually remarked. She couldn't help but prod at that thread. She wondered how Black Tea would react. The other Food Soul simply sighed.
“As much as I would personally love to put him under the jail,” Black Tea remarked flatly, “The higher-ups have pulled resources off his case to try and nip this new gang in the bud. The logic goes that it'd be easier to bring down a smaller, newer gang than a better established one.” Yuxiang crossed her legs and propped her chin against her hand.
“Convenient for Lobster,” Yuxiang remarked with a smirk. Black Tea gave her a long-suffering sigh and allowed her eyes to flutter closed.
“Isn't it?” she breathed, her voice dropping. “What a pain. But I can only do my job, Yuxiang. I may hate it, but my hands are tied.” Yuxiang felt a pang of pity. She reached across the desk and covered the other woman's hand in a congenial gesture.
“Mine aren't,” Yuxiang said under her breath. “If I turn anything up, I'll send it your way, alright? In the meantime, do you have any good leads on our current target?” Black Tea's stony façade was firmly in place again.
“The closest we've managed to narrow it down is the Qīnglong Alley area,” she replied, “There are a few speakeasies and pawn shops in the area that you might check. So far, the man has been like a ghost, though. If we didn't have that picture of him, we'd be inclined to believe he didn't actually exist at all, to be honest.” Yuxiang nodded, removing a small notebook from a pocket of her purse. She scratched down the lead then replaced her pen and paper before standing.
“Got it,” she replied, meeting Black Tea's eyes. “I'll head over and check it out. Will you be in tomorrow?” Black Tea shook her head, then tossed a cautious look around the room.
“Call over to Coffee's place to check in,” she whispered. “If I’m not there, he or Chocolate will be. I don't trust these phone lines, to tell you the truth.” Yuxiang had worked with Coffee and his fiancé before; he was Milk's brother and ran a detective agency out of the back of his coffee shop. His business was deeply intertwined with the 3rd Precinct through Black Tea. They were, as far as Yuxiang knew, inherently trustworthy.
“Thanks, Black Tea,” she said with a nod. “I'll check in tomorrow morning.” Black Tea nodded her assent and Yuxiang was on her way.
As she emerged down the stairs outside of the police precinct, the streetlights flickered to life. It was still early, not yet quite 4 o'clock, but the cloud cover was so thick that it was almost as if twilight had come early. Yuxiang turned her collar to the cool wind and pulled her pack of cigarettes out of her purse. Just as she was about to light the tip, another lighter struck right in front of her face. Startled, she backed up to see the mischievous blonde boy standing in front of her.
“Well, well!” Popcorn said with a smirk. “So you're my competition this time!” Yuxiang’s expression melted from surprise into flat inscrutability. She almost wondered who Popcorn's liaison at the precinct was, but then decided she didn’t actually care.
“I suppose,” she answered hesitantly. She really didn't want to encourage him.
“Finally,” he chirped, laying a hand upon his chest. “Some appropriate competition! Those other boys the Register has been sending out have been such dullwits!” Yuxiang fought to keep from rolling her eyes; she knew this was his just his weird way of trying to sweet talk her. She wasn't interested in the least; Popcorn had a reputation for having no standards as far as women were concerned.
“You don't say,” she responded dully. “And have you gotten very far?” She didn't want to feign too much interest, lest Popcorn decide he wanted to talk much more.
“Of course!” he chimed. “I dare say I'll have this all wrapped up by the end of the weekend!” Yuxiang lit her cigarette and began walking. He was all talk.
“Good luck to you, then,” she stated plainly from the side of her mouth. She wasn't really concerned whether he heard her or not.
“And you as well, my dear! When I scoop you, you simply must buy me a drink!” Yuxiang waved, cigarette between her slender fingers. She had exactly zero intention of being held to such a ridiculous demand.
It was already half past nine when Yuxiang slid onto the bar stool at the Leafy Piglet. She had gone straight home after visiting the police station to change her clothes, discarding her dowdy brown work skirt and white dress blouse for a crimson, short-skirted lounge dress. She had let down her hair, going from her usual tight bun to a long ponytail topped with a cute red pillbox hat. But changing her clothes alone didn't account for the lost time.
No, that came from beating the streets of Lighttown.
Being an immigrant herself, she wasn't exactly a stranger to those who lived in Hilena's Light Kingdom quarter. Although she had moved nearer to her downtown office years ago, she was still on friendly terms with many of the shopkeeps there. The unfortunate part about this was that most of them were already aware of her occupation. That made prying delicate information out of her targets much harder, even as they dealt with her kindly. An inquiry about the Forbidden City Family or Peking Duck was more likely to result in a friendly counter question about her health as it was any useful information.
Scouring Qīnglong Alley had been just as frustrating. Yuxiang had already visited four speakeasies, two nightclubs, and five hooka lounges. She wasn't exactly the kind who would go on a pub crawl, so she was certain she looked badly out of place. She hadn't exactly expected to scratch up information on the first try, but even she had to admit that this whole ordeal was discouraging.
At this point, she was willing to simply take a drink from this bar and call it a night.
She flagged the bartender over to her. It wasn't a terribly busy Friday night; there were just enough people to keep the room smoky, as far as Yuxiang could tell. The bartender - a shirtless, muscular man in a vest with shaggy green hair – sidled up to her with a drink already in his hand. With a grin, he placed a napkin on the bar in front of Yuxiang and then sat the drink down.
“Er, I haven't ordered…”
“It's from the gentleman in the booth over there,” he replied calmly, flicking a finger over Yuxiang’s shoulder. “He sends his regards.” Yuxiang's eyebrows pinched together as she turned. She hadn't been there long at all and she certainly hadn't noticed anyone give the barkeep any orders. Before she could question him about it, he was back down the bar, chatting up another customer.
The corner of the restaurant that the shaggy-haired bartender had pointed out was so poorly lit that Yuxiang couldn't make much out at all. There was a single occupied booth with only one man in it, and he appeared to have a drink in front of him. From what Yuxiang could tell, he also had a cigarette in his hand, the cherry glowing red as he took a drag. Curious and a little hopeful, she picked up the drink from the bar and slid off the stool. Maybe this man was the lead she'd been looking for.
Strangely, as she got closer to the booth, it didn't become much clearer. Perhaps the lighting was too bad, but it was nearly impossible to make out the man's features. Schooling her expression, she tried not to squint.
“Were you looking for some company?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from him. She removed her cigarette case from her purse and snapped it open. By the time she'd brought her cigarette to her lips, her new companion had already opened his lighter and struck the flint. Closing her eyes, she leaned in and took a drag, lighting the end.
“Not particularly,” he replied. “But you seemed like you were.” His voice was like dark velvet, sweet and thick. Yuxiang found her eyebrows rising before she realized it.
“What made you think that?” she asked. She had masked it in her voice, but her heart had begun to race. What was causing that reaction? Something about this situation was worrisome, but by that token exciting as well.
“You're a bit out of place here, aren't you?” he asked, voice kind but somehow dangerous. “One might even be given to think you're trying to pry into places you don't belong, hmm?” Yuxiang tried to retain her poker face, but that wasn't exactly a comforting thing to hear. He had said nothing threatening or scary at all, yet somehow she felt like she'd been dunked in ice water.
Smoothing her nerves down, she recited the response she'd prepared in her mind hours ago.
“You got me, big boy,” she said with a smile, flicking the dead ash from her cigarette into the ashtray. “I'm looking for a specific person, actually. You don't think you could help a dame out, do you?” He chuckled in response, sending a shiver down Yuxiang's spine.
“So I've heard,” he replied sweetly. “And that depends on what you need. Tell me, my dear: what business do you have with Peking Duck?”
Bingo.
Yuxiang did her best to hide her excitement. But this was it: she was finally on his trail. This man must have been part of the Forbidden City Family.
“I was hoping to offer him my services,” she bluffed. “I'm adept at accounting and writing copy, and I can type at least a hundred words a minute.” The man sitting across from her seemed amused. For a moment, Yuxiang was afraid he'd call her on her lie. He placed his cigarette in the ash tray and tented his hands.
“There is no shortage of qualified secretaries and accountants,” he answered succinctly. “Unless you have some other unique qualifications? Or perhaps you'd be better suited to a job with no qualifications?” Yuxiang felt the color rise to her face. Had she been less piqued by his comment, she might have been thankful the light was too poor to see her angry blush. Instead, she found herself struggling to control her temper.
“Well?” she pressed on, trying not to give vent to her feelings. “Do you have any of those jobs available?” This response actually seemed to give the man pause. He seemed to be reevaluating her. Good.
“You're quite desperate, aren't you? Why?” Yuxiang looked away with a “hmph".
“I have no reason to tell an intermediary,” she huffed, dropping her voice. “I will discuss that, but only with Peking Duck.” The man took a long drag from his cigarette. Then, when that seemed inadequate, he took a deep drink of his liquor. He seemed to be mulling over the ultimatum. It was nearly an eternity before he spoke again.
“Very well,” he finally replied. “We may have a use for you.” As he spoke, he slid a business card across the table to Yuxiang. When had he gotten that? She took it and squinted to read it in the dim light. It was a card for a pawn shop located several streets away.
“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, looking up from the card.
“Tomorrow at one PM.” His voice was firm. “Come alone and tell no one where you're going. If you do, it won't go well for you. Understood?” Yuxiang nodded her agreement.
“I do. I'll be there.”
As she moved to stand, he reached out a hand and stopped her.
“Aren't you going to finish your drink?” He seemed amused, but he did make Yuxiang realize she hadn't touched her drink. She sat back down again, stirring it before bringing it to her lips.
“I wouldn't want to be rude,” she murmured. It was a gin and tonic; Yuxiang found she didn't mind at all.
“Hurry and finish it, then. After all, you're going to be very busy tomorrow.”
Yuxiang was barely able to sleep that night. Not due to the drink or the exertion, really; it was due more to her nerves. What exactly had she agreed to at that bar? Would it be worth it to get her story? Would she be able to get away safely if things got too intense?
She supposed that was what her police liaison was for. With that in mind, around nine in the morning she called over to Coffee's café. She'd already been awake for hours at that point, but she also hadn't wanted to make a nuisance of herself by calling too early.
“How did it go?” Black Tea asked when she finally got through to her.
“I think I have a lead,” Yuxiang breathed excitedly. “I… think I may have also committed to working in a brothel.”
“Yuxiang.”
“You don't need to scold me,” she scoffed. “I’m going to do my best to avoid that particular career change.”
“I would certainly hope so,” Black Tea quipped back. “Doesn't seem like a line of work you're cut out for, no offense.”
“None taken,” Yuxiang replied. “But I'm concerned that if I give you the address I'm supposed to meet them at, that something may go wrong.”
“You know I don't approve,” Black Tea’s voice relayed her skepticism. “But I understand. Do you want to meet somewhere afterwards to check in?” Yuxiang considered her situation. She was walking into the tiger's den. It wasn't a bad idea to have a back up plan in place.
“How about this,” she offered, “There's a café not far from there called the Cozy Cat. If you don't hear from me by five, I'll meet you there.” Black Tea seemed to consider it for a second before replying.
“Very well, then,” she finally said, her hesitation obvious. “But if it helps you get closer to this guy, then I'm all for it.”
At 12:59 sharp, Yuxiang found herself three streets down from Qīnglong Alley looking up at the façade of a pawn shop. It was agonizing deciding what to wear, but she eventually settled on a plain brown dress suit covered with her thigh-length, fur-trimmed red overcoat. She figured it was dressed down enough to avoid suggesting she'd like to work as a call girl while also being businesslike.
The front window of the shop was decorated with the tackiest Light Kingdom trinkets she could imagine: lucky ceramic cats, red lanterns, paper umbrellas and wooden slat curtains to name a few. The inside seemed dark, but the sign on the door proclaimed the business to be open. Trying to keep the trembling out of her hand, she pushed on the door, swinging it open.
The bells atop the door jingled, betraying her presence as she stepped inside. Her first impression from outside was proven correct; the shop was cluttered, dimly lit, and smelled of dust. Surely this place made no money. Yuxiang's mind immediately snapped into thinking that the pawn shop might be a front for some kind of money laundering scheme.
Just as she was about to pick up a lacquered music box and examine it, the cheerful voice of a young girl stopped her.
“Welcome to the Bamboo Smoke Pawn Shop, miss!” came the cheerful greeting. Yuxiang looked up to see a young teenage girl with long black braids smiling sweetly at her. She was dressed in a pink silk pair of pants and top of the type that Yuxiang recognized as being popular in the Light Kingdom. “Were you looking for something in particular today?”
“I… I had an appointment at one,” she stammered, nearly tripping over the words. Ugh, why was she nervous? She'd been an investigative reporter for years. She'd infiltrated more frightening places than a poorly lit pawn shop in Lighttown. This would be cake walk.
Still, the girl's face lit up with recognition. She beamed and then motioned for Yuxiang to follow.
“Oh, good!” she chirped, “Uncle has been expecting you! Follow me!” The girl turned, braids swinging gracefully behind her.
They passed through a beaded curtain on the far end of the showroom into a second, darker display room on the other side. Yuxiang dodged to avoid the wares set out on the tables, but the younger girl seemed just fine with where everything was. Finally, they reached a bookshelf full of scrolls on the far end of the room. The girl rearranged the scrolls in a manner that Yuxiang found entirely inscrutable. And then, there was a click and the bookshelf began to move.
It slid slowly to the side to reveal a slightly better lit hallway on the other side. That was a relative thing, of course; the light was still dim in the hidden corridor, flickering with the tungsten bulbs swinging from the ceiling. Yuxiang nearly choked on her breath.
“Uncle’s office is this way,” the girl commented before traipsing down the run-down hallway. Yuxiang tarried for just a second more before following along behind her.
“It's amazing that this is all behind that little shop,” she remarked, trying to seem casual. The chipper girl gave her a proud smile.
“Oh yes!” she chirped. “It goes way farther back than this, and it even goes underground!”
“We're not underground right now, are we?” Yuxiang asked. It wouldn't change her situation, but it was still good information to have.
“Oh no! We haven't gone quite that far,” came the reply. Then, the girl stopped before a wooden door set into the cheap stucco wall.
“Uncle!” she called. “Your guest is here!” Yuxiang heard the door unlock. What she heard after that nearly stopped her heart.
“Thank you, Hawthorne. Please send her in and then excuse us.”
It was as though there wasn't even a door between them. But that wasn’t what had unnerved her.
The girl named Hawthorne seemed unphased, though. She gave Yuxiang a grin and a wave before dancing off back down the hall. Yuxiang watched her go until she was out of sight.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and opened the door.
The office on the other side was at once utterly plain and yet still quietly sinister. There were a pair of wooden chairs situated before a wooden desk, a lounge sofa, a bookshelf, a potted plant, wooden blinds with the afternoon sun peeking through. And on the other side of the desk…
Yuxiang startled as the door swung shut behind her. She heard the lock slide into place automatically as well. There was no escape.
“I'm to understand you've been looking for me,” came the same gentle voice from the bar last night, just a hint of amusement showing through. “Have a seat, my dear, and let's have a chat. Shall we?”
Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 3
Title: Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 3 - Coal Black Series: Angels of Death Rating: M Summary: Little Red Riding Hood AU. Rachel Gardner wanders the woods alone at night in a red hood, looking for her own death. When she finds it, however, her death has other plans. Pairing: Zack/Ray Spoilers: AU, but probably for the whole game eventually? IDK.
Zack woke the next morning, warm and comfortable. Something was strange. It was usually just a bit chilly when he woke in the mornings, and it was certainly chilly this morning too. But he was underneath a blanket and that was far from the norm.
Without realizing it, his tail began to thump on the soft fabric covering the floor of his cave. Soft fabric? Where had that come from? It wasn't terribly concerning, so Zack made a semi-conscious decision to ignore the oddness. Instead, he tried to go back to sleep. But there was something else stopping him – something that felt very nice.
It was his ears. The fur was being scratched, short nails scraping the skin underneath. The points of his ears flicked, responding instinctively to the stimulus. He whined a bit, realizing vaguely that this was what was causing his tail to thump.
Oh, it was heaven.
He burrowed his face down into something soft to get more of that wonderful scratching on his ears. When it stopped, a small whine escaped his throat and his fingers flexed into that nice, warm pillow. Suddenly, there was a squeal, causing his ears to perk up once again. The pillow began moving underneath his hands and consciousness flooded back into Zack’s mind.
Oh.
Shit, right.
Zack sat bolt upright, banging his head on the top of his little cave. As he gingerly rubbed his head, the curses came spilling out.
“Satan's cock and balls!”
Oh right. That girl was still there. He cracked an eye open to find her sitting beside him, watching him with a sort of detached curiosity. Rubbing his head managed to dispel the ache from the bump, but his pride still ached just a bit. Who just went and petted a grown ass wolf's ears like that? Did she not know those were highly sensitive? She'd also unintentionally pricked at an unpleasant memory that he thought he'd forgotten.
He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice though.
“Sorry,” Ray apologized, her voice dull.
“Why would you even do that?” he grumbled. “Just for that, I oughta bite you.” She at least had the common sense to look somewhat embarrassed.
“Well, our dog liked getting his ears scratched,” she muttered, a finger next to her lips. That little admission raised his hackles. He didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. Instead, he decided on simply being irritated.
“I'm not a dog, dammit!” It was true, but why did it suddenly feel like a useless declaration? Frustrated, he moved to crawl out of the cave and out of Ray's mound of blankets. “I'm gonna take a bath.”
“Ah!” she called after him, leaving the blankets for a second before shivering and covering back up. “It's still too cold!”
As Zack stretched, he realized that it was indeed still very cool. The sun hadn't even cleared the hills yet and a frosty haze still hung over the forest ground. It was going to be a clear day, but until it was properly light out, it was probably safer for Ray to stay where she was.
“Not for me,” he replied. A grin cracked his face, his earlier consternation fading. What was with this girl? She was cold all the time! Well, whatever. He began walking towards the stream, frosty leaves crunching under his boots.
As he walked, Zack cracked his neck and reflected on his new companion. She didn't seem to smell quite so badly this morning; in fact, she'd absorbed a lot of his smell overnight. Since it wasn't as bad this morning, he might hold off on making her take a bath until it was warmer out. She seemed to get cold so easily anyway. Of course, he could always just wait a few days and she'd probably smell less sick and more like him naturally.
Either way, he was going to get his bath no matter what she did.
Rachel was colder when Zack left, but it wasn't unbearable. She didn't intend to sleep any more that morning anyway. Instead, she took some pieces of salted meat from the barrel and a few bites of spiced apples and made those her breakfast. He'd probably want to leave as soon as he returned, so it was better to eat before then.
It was still cold out, so Rachel kept the blanket wrapped around her, the wolf's warmth evaporating slowly. His scent lingered, though. It wasn't bad, really, and it did remind her of her family's dog. His reaction earlier was a mystery to her, though.
He'd liked having his ears scratched, hadn't he? His tail had thumped and he'd curled against her legs, just like a puppy. It was adorable and Rachel found her cheeks burning just thinking about how soft his ears were. But he'd admonished her once he woke up, so maybe he didn't like it after all? Or maybe he was just embarrassed? Rachel chewed the salted pork and continued thinking about it.
By the time Zack returned, she was up and about, gathering their things and rolling up her bedroll. His hood was down and his hair was still wet and sticking to his head and ears. He'd opened his jacket, presumably to help dry off, so Rachel also had a clear view of his chest and stomach. She had secretly expected his whole body to be furry since his ears and tail were. Instead, he was wrapped neatly in bandages, showing no skin or fur. As he shook the water out of his hair, Rachel cocked her head to the side.
“Are you injured?” she asked, slightly concerned. If he had injuries that massive, he might die before he could kill her. Something about that struck her as sad and unacceptable.
“Huh?” came the startled response. “What, the bandages? Old wounds.” His voice sounded nonchalant but Rachel noted how quickly he closed his jacket back over the bandages. If he didn't want to talk about it, she couldn't make him, though. She decided to drop the subject.
“Do you want breakfast before we set out?” She had set him aside some meat, along with some pickles; he probably couldn't live on meat alone either.
“What's that?” he asked, nose crinkling, pointing at the pickles.
“Pickled cucumbers.”
“Nah,” he dismissed them, “They smell like death.” He did take the meat, though. Rachel watched him scarf it down, quietly happy that she had been of some use. After a moment, she turned back to her bedroll and continued rolling it up.
Not a few moments later, Zack joined her in gathering their things. He lashed the meat barrels together with the bedroll. Rachel thought the whole contraption looked terribly cumbersome, but he lifted it with ease. He only stooped a bit as he loaded himself down; after he'd taken a second to adjust the weight of the pack, he was nearly walking just as normal.
“C'mon, let's get outta here,” Zack grumbled. Rachel retrieved her basket, latched her cloak, and followed him closely.
Surprisingly, the two made decent time.
Zack only knew he had to head “south" to find his old friend. Well, “acquaintance" would be the better way to describe him. The older wolf had taken him into his monastery when he was younger; Zack had chafed at the rules and restrictions that accompanied the place and had caused more trouble than he was probably worth. In response, he'd been politely dismissed. The brothers at the monastery pointed him towards the northern forests and sent him merrily on his way.
He had no intention of joining them or being subservient to them now. But the Father there was a decent sort and he figured if anyone would know the way to an unoccupied territory, it would be him.
Regardless of all that, he had to find the monastery before he could solicit their help. This was where Ray was proving her usefulness. Although the daylight hours were much shorter than in the summer, she was adept at finding their way with the aid of the sun and moon. For as long as he'd lived on his own, patrolling those woods and the surrounding mountainsides, Zack had never really noticed much about those sorts of things. Sure, he knew the sun tended to come up in the same place for most of the year, and the moon varied by time of month. But it had never occurred to him to learn in which direction those things happened.
Ray, on the other hand, seemed to be able to use that information to point them vaguely southward. Or she could have been leading them in exactly the wrong direction, Zack would never know the difference either way. But she had been honest so far, so it was worth trusting her.
In the blink of an eye, a week passed.
It was largely uneventful. They traveled by day, keeping off the main road unless the forest wasn’t passable. Ray had protested at first, worried that the forest was harder to traverse, but Zack was adamant: other humans would pose a problem, and neither of them wanted to be separated from the other.
That was provided they even saw any. The town Ray had left was deserted and they hadn't seen any travelers. Zack hadn't even been able to pick up their scent. In fact, Ray was the first human he'd scented in weeks when he came across her. That sickness he'd seen in her town really seemed to have culled the whole lot of them. It really was a miracle she was even still walking.
That also proved to be a bit of a problem, though. Zack was used to walking, running, and trekking through wooded areas; he'd been doing it since he was a little pup, after all. But it rapidly became obvious that Ray wasn't used to it. Maybe it was because she was recovering from that illness or maybe it was because she wasn't used to travel. Either way, she carried a sickliness and thinness about her that annoyed Zack.
It also made her slow sometimes, and Zack really couldn't tolerate that.
The first day or two, he'd stopped so she could take breaks. But that only made him frustrated and restless. The compromise they'd worked out was for Zack to simply carry Ray under his arm like a log. He was certain he looked a fool, stomping through half-frozen forests with a limp girl under one arm and two barrels strapped to his back with a blanket. His back was strong enough to carry it all, but he wasn't sure his pride was.
She never wound up taking a bath, either. It wasn't like she smelled bad; she was about average for a human, as far as Zack knew. It just became less irritating as the sickness worked itself out of her.
Aside from her weakness, though, she did seem to be recovering. He even gave her extra meat, all the while admonishing her to hurry up and heal, hurry up and keep up with him, hurry up and stop making him worry. Even as he scolded her that he wouldn't wait on her much longer, that was exactly what he found himself doing.
The worst parts for Ray seemed to be at night. The cold didn't bother Zack much; it was just a natural part of living in the woods. If it was cold enough to snow, he'd just curl into a ball and sleep until it was warm enough to move around. Not Ray, though.
She couldn't sleep in the cold, not even with that huge blanket of hers. Every night without fail, she'd curl under it and shiver until he crawled in with her. She never asked or complained, which Zack supposed was tolerable. But he couldn't sleep if he knew she was just going to be awake all night anyway. As soon as he pulled her tight to his chest, she'd fall asleep.
He would have been lying if he said it wasn't awkward to wake up holding a woman. The last female he'd been around for any length of time was the bitch that had given birth to him, and none of the males he'd been near had gotten that close to him. Most of his victims had been male humans, as well; the females didn't seem to get out into his woods quite as much, although their meat seemed just a bit more tender. In fact, before the man had gone into his cabin and expired, Zack had had his eye on the village doctor. That man was always going through his woods, narrowly escaping him every time.
He was fine when he was walking with her during the day. It was during those small spaces of time that Ray was asleep and Zack was not that his mind started doing weird things. Usually at night, he was too tired to do much thinking before falling asleep. But in the mornings when he woke, if she wasn't already awake, that was when the trouble came.
Sometimes he'd wake sweating because he'd dream of people he'd known – mostly the two humans who'd taken him in after that bitch had abandoned him. Ray's lingering human smell must have triggered their memory. The couple of times he'd dreamed of them, he'd spent the entire rest of those days reticent and unwilling to even speak to Ray. She must have been worried, but Zack tried not to think too much about it. It was for her own good.
Those were the days he wanted to eat her most.
It wasn't just because she was unintentionally pricking at something that rekindled his spark of hatred for humans. Those were the first humans he ever ate, and salted pork was a poor substitute. Waking up with her scent right under his nose made him miss it. But there was something else too.
That ugly human woman who'd adopted him had petted his ears, too. That was probably what made the connection in his mind. It wasn't fair to Ray, of course, and Zack knew it. Still, he couldn't help what he dreamed.
The other weird thing that tended to happen in the mornings was much more foreign to Zack. He could explain why he'd wake up hungry from her scent. What he couldn't explain was the weird feeling he'd get some other mornings when his sleep had been dreamless. He'd wake with Ray cradled in his arms, her head on his chest, little hands near her face, maybe her leg crossing his at the ankle – and with his dick uncomfortably at least half-hard between them.
Sure, that had happened a couple of times before he met her, especially first thing in the morning. But with someone else there, especially a human girl, it would just make things awkward. He had no intention of mating with a human like some deviant, and he wasn't even sure if she would know what that was anyway. Just the thought of it was something repulsive on its face, but… was Ray really like other humans? That was the thought that nagged at him and was also possibly the source of his weird feelings. Even so, the situation also made him feel an uncomfortable combination of embarrassment, shame, and frustration. So it was always a weird struggle on those mornings to sneak out of the blankets without waking her so he could take care of it with some cold water without her knowing.
The days they traveled together were far less eventful, though. They chatted a little on the days he hadn't had nightmares, and Zack found it pleasant enough. The girl rarely smiled and never laughed, which had the strange effect of being calming and irritating at the same time. Calming because nothing made Zack want to hunt a human more than seeing them stupidly happy; with Ray, that was never really a problem. It was irritating, though, because of the lack of stimulation. Most of the time, she was just there.
He didn't want to just travel with a small shadow.
But that was mainly how it went. Making time by day and resting by night. Most nights there was only the shelter of the trees, although one night they had found another small cave in which to sleep. The nights got progressively colder, frosts going from light, sparkly, merry things, to freezing the earth solid. He'd been successful in keeping her from making a fire thus far, but his body warmth wasn't going to be enough for her soon. When the snows came, she was going to need a fire, maybe even one of the abandoned cabins they sometimes passed. Perhaps when that time came, he'd just sleep far enough away that it wouldn’t bother him. But a nagging feeling inside his head told him he probably wouldn't be able to tolerate that.
Human farming was going to be the death of him, Zack just knew it.
It was on the eleventh day of traveling together that the forest began to change around them. It was imperceptible at first: a little bark stripped from a tree here or there, some human trash by the roadside, a depression in the leaf litter, or a few broken branches. Rachel noticed those things but didn't know exactly what to make of them.
Zack seemed tense, though. A bit after lunch, Rachel could sense a shift in his behavior. He could be quiet or moody, but this seemed to be something else entirely. After a couple hours, Rachel finally placed exactly what it was: he was on guard. As they continued south, he only grew more tense.
It was close to sundown when Zack put out a hand and stopped her.
“We need to go around,” he said quietly. “Maybe closer to the main road, o-or on the other side of the river.” Rachel stayed where she was, cocking her head to the side to watch him curiously.
“What's the matter?”
“It's not good,” he growled. He was distracted now. Rachel watched him sniff the air then scan the forest with his eyes, the setting sun reflecting off his pupils. His ears flicked atop his head, clearly trying to pick up any nearby sounds. Rachel certainly couldn't hear any noises as quiet as he could. She also knew his night vision was much better than hers; they might need it soon, it seemed.
A murder of crows erupted from a copse of trees further into the forest, creating a racket that made Rachel jump. They both watched them fly into the sunset, knowing that there was a reason the birds wanted to escape.
“Shit,” Zack breathed, watching them go. “She's already close.” Rachel’s eyes slid to meet his. She could read something very close to panic there.
“She?”
He grit his teeth and seemed hesitant to answer. Finally, after several seconds, he reached over and grabbed Rachel. Tucking her safely under his arm, he began running.
“We're in a bitch's territory,” he huffed as he ran. “I met her once, when I was just markin’ out my area. We gotta --"
Zack was cut off by a long, loud howl. He froze in place, jostling his bedroll pack as he did so. The sound sent a shudder down Rachel's spine as well. It was something she hadn't heard since the night Zack hunted her in the woods. Just as he began to run again, there was a second howl coming from the direction in which they were running.
“What the hell?!” Zack hissed, digging in his heels. “She has a pack now?!” Rachel wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she knew that if Zack was spooked, it had to be bad.
“You don't like her?” Rachel asked. Did wolves have kingdoms and factions like humans?
“Hell, no!” he barked in return, nearly dropping her. “That crazy bitch?! I never wanna see her again, and neither do you.” As soon as he stopped talking, he started running away from the directions of the two howls. When his footsteps began sounding throughout the forest again, Rachel heard something else, too.
It was a woman's maniacal laughter.
Something about it chilled Rachel right to her very toes. She wrapped her arms around Zack as he carried her, shifting her weight to be less like a bale of hay under his arm and more like a baby clinging to its mother's side. She buried her face in his chest and held on for dear life as he picked up speed.
Then, just as suddenly, Rachel felt him stop with a jerk. She managed to hang on tight to him with a squeal, but it was obvious his foot was caught on something. Only a fraction of a second more saw them both tumble to the forest floor. Zack broke her fall, holding tight and making sure she didn't roll away. With a crash, the bedroll pack he'd been carrying dislodged and broke apart on the forest floor; the barrels rolled across the leafy ground while the blanket tangled into a jumbled heap.
Rachel and her basket fared much better, though. When she opened her eyes again, she was laying on top of the wolf, hands clutching his hooded jacket.
“Shit fuck godDAMN!” The expletives poured out in a steady, hushed stream. Even so, Rachel knew something was wrong. She’d seen Zack stumble before; he always got back up afterwards. But this time, he wasn't moving from his spot.
“Zack?” Rachel breathed, pushing off his chest and supporting herself with her arms. His face was contorted in pain, but he still managed to acknowledge her when she called to him.
“I'm stuck,” he growled. Rachel looked down at his legs. One of them was caught in a metal clamp, the kind Rachel knew was used for hunting bears and deer. If her leg had been the one caught in that, she was sure it would've been bitten clean off. Zack's leg was at least somewhat protected by his boot, but Rachel could see that the teeth of the trap were digging into the boot.
Suddenly, the sounds of laughter and stomping were much closer. Rachel pulled at his jacket, trying to brace herself on the ground and pull him away from the trap. She slipped against the cold, wet leaves and couldn't get purchase, but she doubted it would matter anyway; she wasn't strong enough to be able to pull the trap out of where it was staked to the ground. Zack growled in response anyway.
“Stop it,” he hissed. “I can't avoid her now. But you gotta hide.” Rachel could see he was deathly serious. In response, she frantically scanned the woods. Dusk was falling quickly and her vision was nowhere near good enough to outwit a wolf.
“Where?” she asked breathlessly. Zack had sat up by then; with a great deal of effort, he then pushed himself to his feet. As soon as he was standing, he grabbed Rachel's cloak, pulling her to him. Then he hoisted her up by her waist. For just a second, he held her aloft and she went perfectly limp. It was strange, but even though he'd acted suddenly, she knew she could trust him.
Then, unsteadily, he braced himself against the forest floor and sent her flying. The next thing she knew, Rachel was lying draped across a low tree branch, her basket still on her arm. After a moment of shock, she pulled the rest of her body up onto the branch. Once she was better balanced against the trunk of the tree, she turned back to look at Zack. He was trying to yank the bear trap out of where it was bolted to the ground.
“Zack?”
“Just stay up there!” he barked back. “If she sees you, she'll kill you!” Rachel squeezed herself closer to the tree. She wanted to die, certainly, but she had promised her body to Zack for food. Strangely, she wanted to know he'd be okay after she was gone.
“She'll eat me?”
“No, stupid, she'll just kill you!” he huffed, still struggling with the trap. “We're in her territory, you're a strange female, and she's probably in heat! Now shut the hell up!” Admonished, Rachel fell quiet, clinging to the tree and trying her best not to move. The clanging noise of Zack struggling with the steel claw masked the sounds of anyone approaching.
It wasn't long until that was drowned out with the crazed laughter, too. Rachel huddled down against the tree, as still and quiet as she could possibly be. She couldn't see her yet, but she knew the wolf woman was approaching Zack in the dark. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, she could make out her figure.
She was dressed all in black, with a short skirt worn over a tight pair of breeches. Her neckline was low enough that even from her vantage point in the tree, Rachel could see her deep cleavage. And unlike Zack, whose hair, ears, and tail were all black, her ears and short bob were blonde, fading to pink at the tips. Her hair shone with what little light the rising moon gave off, sleek and glossy, as though she had taken great care of it. Worst of all, though, Rachel could see something that looked like a stiff, black stick held between her hands.
With a wicked smile, the wolf bitch regarded her prey. He'd stopped struggling by then and Rachel could hear his low growl.
“Well, well, well! Welcome back, Isaac!”
Little Black Book - Chapter 3 of 3
Title: Little Black Book: Chapter 3 Series: Food Fantasy Rating: MA/AO/R-18 Summary: Six months after the events of their fondness stories, Yuxiang is given Peking Duck’s sin diary from the kingdom he helped destroy. What follows is a descent into depravity. Pairing: Peking Duck/Yuxiang Spoilers: For both Peking Duck and Yuxiang’s backstories
Yuxiang was certain she was blushing, but she took the provocation. Her feet finally left the floor as she crawled into Peking's bed, letting the curtains slip closed behind her. As soon as the two halves of cloth met, her world was plunged into absolute darkness. The blackness was so complete that it immediately induced a sense of vertigo.
Or that could have been Peking's doing.
“I take it you read my last entry?”
She could feel him surrounding her completely then, just like that night in the hidden library when they'd met. But his voice, it was in her ear.
“Yes,” she said clearly around the lump in her throat. Peking's hand slipped beneath the collar of her robe and trailed lightly over her breast. The pads of his fingers were like raw silk, smoothing over her erect nipple in tightening circles. As he spoke again, he gave her a small, teasing pinch.
“Then you're going to become my plaything.”
It felt like an admonishment. Who was she, an inexperienced historian, to someone as worldly as him? She only read about history; he created it. His hand left her breast and continued lower, stopping to rest on the swell of her lower belly. She wanted him to go lower, although she was too nervous to say it.
“I… I am,” she finally said, nearly mortified at her own boldness. She could feel his smile against her neck, but his hand lingered in the same place.
“Mm,” came the pleased reply. “My bed has rules, my dear. You should listen carefully.” He didn't seem to expect a reply, so Yuxiang stayed quiet. While he spoke, though, his hand made lazy circles over her skin. He left trails of heat wherever he touched.
“By passing through my bed curtains, you have agreed that I own your entire being now,” he murmured, teeth grazing the flesh of her neck. “But you already knew that, didn't you, my pet? That means you may not be touched by anyone but as I choose – not even your own hands may touch my property without my permission. Do you understand?”
She did. She had understood that since earlier in the day when he had stopped her in the river from touching herself.
“I do,” she answered, her voice quiet but sure. She felt his right hand run through her hair, catching a handful and wrapping it idly around his wrist.
“When you are in my bed, your name no longer has any meaning,” he continued softly. “You are only my pet here. And I am only your Master.” He gently tugged her head to the side by her hair, laying a stinging kiss onto her neck as he waited for her acknowledgment. Yuxiang had to fight to keep her head clear enough for an answer as Peking tongued the place he'd just bitten.
“If you call my name, I will stop whatever I am doing. Do you understand?”
“Y-Yes, Master.” Yuxiang understood it for a safety measure, but she also knew it was a threat as well. But her answer clearly pleased him, as his left hand began traveling again. His middle finger was the first to reach the patch of fine hair covering his prize. It slid easily into the wet fold of flesh, the tip of his finger finding her hard nub immediately. As he began to roll over it slowly, he continued speaking.
“But if you disobey me...” His lips were on her shoulder now, and between the vibration of his voice and the pressure of his finger, Yuxiang felt jolts of heat rush through her body. But just as quickly, his thumb joined his finger, drawing her clit into a painful pinch. She gasped sharply at the pressure, trying to understand why it hurt while also feeling wonderful.
“Don't disobey me, my pet.”
As she whimpered and tried to keep her hips from moving, she could feel him press his smile into her shoulder.
“But you know,” he spoke into her flesh again, “You've already been so sinful today.” His words sent a surge of ice down her spine, followed closely by the heat from the pain between her legs. He stroked her clit then, still pinching it between his thumb and middle finger. It hurt, but she didn't want him to stop.
“I've looked forward to your punishment all day.”
His voice was rough with need, quivering with excitement. Yuxiang knew exactly how long it had been since he'd practiced his sadism on anyone. She could practically feel him tremble in anticipation behind her; while she had been absorbed in imagining all the terrible things he'd do to her, he had likewise been planning what he'd do to her, eagerly engineering ways to draw out the most enjoyment from her torment.
“You look so mature, but you're really innocent inside, aren't you? My sweet girl, my pure little poppet… but you have a place that's begun to get dirty, don't you?”
Yuxiang gasped and fought the urge to cover her face as the pressure from his fingers grew more intense. Why was she embarrassed? He was currently working over the place to which he referred, switching suddenly to be more gentle now instead of painful. Hearing him point it out was another matter entirely, though. But that also told her what she needed to do.
“Y-Yes, Master,” she confessed shyly, “All day, my thoughts have been so impure. I've become tainted… from that book…” She could feel him shudder against her skin, his grip in her hair tightening. But his delicious finger moved away, leaving a damp trail over her belly. After another kiss to her neck, Yuxiang understood why.
She was pushed onto her back, making her fall into a soft pile of cushions. Following that, her knees were pushed wide apart, leaving her vulnerable and all the way open. Was he going to mount her? Her head spun with wild possibility.
Then she felt strong fingers squeeze her thigh; another set rubbed insistently at her entrance. They spread her outer lips apart, revealing how wet and how well-coated her labia was. Truthfully, her body had been ready for him the entire day.
Hot breath hit her slick entrance, cooling it ever so slightly and she realized what was happening. He was inspecting her. At least that was what made the most sense; Yuxiang wasn't entirely sure whether he could see in this darkness or not. But Peking's face being that near to her most private spot made her feel self-conscious… and a little shameless.
“I see,” he drawled. “How filthy you've become down here…” He laid a kiss on her clit, drawing it into his mouth with a hard suction. Then he withdrew again. “I should make you repent of those wicked thoughts, but… I am the one who's done this, aren't I?” Then he leaned back into her, licking the juices from her spread lips.
Yuxiang struggled to stay mostly still, stifling her moans by placing her fingers in her mouth. Far from the pain she had expected, Peking's mouth was bringing her nothing but pleasure. It was hot and wet, gently stroking her outside with his thumbs while his tongue lavished attention upon her slick inner walls. It entered like a snake, filling her passage and darting back and forth to tease her.
He didn't just explore with his tongue, though. True to his word, he sucked at her lips, cleaning the sticky nectar from them. Her bud wasn't safe either; he pressed it against his upper teeth while running his tongue along the roof of her passage. Yuxiang was almost ashamed at the flood of juice that caused to gush out of her.
It was really all she could do to keep from riding his face. Perhaps she was enjoying herself too much, because he stopped and drew back.
“Pet,” he addressed her, “I suppose I'm hungrier than I thought. So why don't you touch yourself while I clean you? I want more of your cream.” Yuxiang rushed to oblige him as he went back to work, pressing her little pearl down and rolling it back and forth beneath her finger. As he licked the heat back into her sopping slit, she did her best to become even wetter for him.
Finally, her mind wasn't working itself ragged trying to find the ulterior motive behind his actions. Instead, Yuxiang had completely lost herself to the moment, only having to concern herself with following Peking's orders. She wasn't trying as hard to contain her cries; even they were beginning to seep out.
“Ah!” Peking called to her, lips brushing her slick opening. “Your voice is beautiful, pet! I want to hear it more!” His request was so sweet that Yuxiang was compelled to obey. As his tongue hit a particularly sensitive spot, she cried out in earnest. Being able to be loud only made the pleasure more intense.
It was just too much. The few times she had awkwardly managed to bring herself to climax were nothing like this. Waves of alternating heat and cold washed over her as she felt her muscles pulse around her lover's tongue. Yuxiang nearly froze stiff as her orgasm claimed her. Her voice stilled and quieted, the intensity subsiding. Peking pulled away a few moments later, leaving her to cool.
As her senses returned, Yuxiang realized he was above her, between her thighs. Her pulse quickened when she discovered she could feel his cock, too; it pressed eagerly against her stomach as he kissed a trail up her breasts and to her neck. Was he going to enter her now? She found that she really hoped he would.
One of his hands slid up her neck and cupped her cheek, turning her face towards his kisses. Yuxiang relaxed into his hand, allowing him to play along her jawline, barely registering the scraping of teeth as he did so.
“Oh, my sweet darling pet,” he crooned, nipping at her earlobe. “Did you come?”
“Yes, Master,” she answered without hesitation. Had she been more observant at the moment, she might have questioned the strange shudder in his voice as he asked, or the curve of his lips when she answered. She might have done well to notice his ragged breathing or how intense the atmosphere within his bunk had become. But Yuxiang was utterly complacent with him at the moment and could not have guessed he didn't feel the same.
“Oh no,” he very nearly sang. “What a shame… I told you, didn't I? You belong to me…”
Yuxiang snapped back to full consciousness at his tone. It was far more dangerous than anything she'd ever heard from him before. The atmosphere had grown oppressive enough in the bunk for her to finally notice, as well. As she turned to look at him, she found that she could actually see his eyes: both of them for once, glowing an eerie yellow in the darkness.
“Who told you to come?” he hissed, leaning into her. She could feel all of him – every bit of his length – press against her, angry and unashamed. She didn't dare move, though. This was the side of him that she nearly never saw; the one who had thrived in that blighted kingdom for years.
“N-No one,” she answered hesitantly. Yuxiang wasn't sure if she was terrified or incredibly turned on. She knew she probably should be afraid, but she also held deep inside that Peking would never truly hurt her. She had to trust him.
“No one? So you decided it yourself.” His tone was stern and icy. “Oh, my dear. Only I make decisions like that in this bed. Only I can give you permission to come. My pet isn't allowed to act on her own here.”
She could just faintly see his smile, reflected from the sickly yellow light in his eyes. It made Yuxiang feel cold from head to toe.
“You'll need to be punished, of course.”
She could feel something constricting around her wrists, holding them still beside her head. But Peking also still held her down with his body.
“Were you hoping I would fuck you now?” he whispered, rocking his hips gently against her. Yuxiang could feel that he wanted to, or at least she was relatively sure that he did. But it also appeared to be true that she wanted that more than he did at the moment. He was mocking her, holding back laughter.
“I… I…”
“Don't lie, dear heart, I'll know.”
“…I was.”
That sinister smile did not waver. Rather, Peking pulled away from her; she could feel him hovering over her, hands trailing down her body as he sank back into the darkness. They came to rest on her hips, fingertips digging into her flesh.
“But you were such a bad girl today, pet,” he scolded gently, his voice taking on a discordantly lyrical quality. “And my cock is only for good girls. So you must earn that privilege. You must tell me your sins, so that I can punish you for them. And perhaps when I feel that you are contrite enough…”
She knew logically that he hadn't moved from his position between her legs. But it felt as though his next words were whispered directly into her ear.
“…I will fuck you so hard you won't be able to stand tomorrow.”
Yuxiang could feel it then. The head of his cock, soft and hot, pressing against her slit. She held her breath, waiting for his next action. But he didn't move and she didn't dare press forward. He was daring her to defy him, to try and claim him. And when she took the bait, he would certainly torment her even more. Yuxiang whimpered from her indecision. After another few moments, he withdrew with a chuckle.
“You learn so well,” he crooned softly, pushing her legs back together. His mask seemed to be firmly back in place, the angry, violent Peking Duck hidden again. “What a fine pet you'll make. But first we must lash that sinfulness out of you. Come.”
She still couldn't move her wrists on her own, but she could feel her body being turned over. A pile of cushions supported her stomach and her rump was pushed high in the air. Her cheek rested against the soft, warm sheets and her wrists were pressed down on either side of her face, supporting her weight. She could feel him behind her, pushing her knees apart. First her left leg, then her right, had a strap fastened around it. As he tightened the straps down, she realized that her knees wouldn't move together anymore; he'd placed some kind of bar between them, leaving her spread wide open for him.
Then Peking covered her from behind, draping across her back and ass like a blanket. His hands squeezed her sides, slowly traveling up her body until he found her breasts. They hung like heavy fruits, dangling against the bedsheets, her sensitive nipples grazing the fabric. He cupped each one in his hands, squeezing gently as he pressed against her backside. Her robe had ridden up her back, offering no protection from him whatsoever. Yuxiang squeezed her eyes shut, mewling from the pressure on her breasts and the feel of his cock digging into her rear. She felt his chuckle reverberate through her own body, knowing he was delighting in teasing her.
His purpose became clear soon enough. With a metallic ‘snap', one after the other, something cold and hard latched onto her breasts. Yuxiang cried out in shock and pain; her nipples had been bitten by cold metal clamps and the faint jingle let her know that they were now connected with a chain. When he tugged it, the painful jolt sent hot shockwaves from Yuxiang's breasts to her slit, on down to her toes.
“I'm ready to hear your confessions now,” he whispered, moving from her back and leaving her cold. She knew where he was, though. He was right behind her, one hand planted firmly on the swell of her ass and squeezing it tightly.
Yuxiang felt something else flitter across her thighs then. It was light and cold and firm and she recognized the texture. It tickled as Peking made it dance over her skin, but she knew what it was for. Just the thought made her juices flow again, the lubrication dripping from her onto the sheets below. She couldn't wait to hear the sound of it against her ass. All she had to do to hear it was to speak her sinfulness aloud.
“Master, I… I read your journal last night.” The slap from the riding crop sounded against her rear, stinging sweetly and causing her to gasp. His force was perfect, not hitting too hard but still hitting hard enough to be satisfying.
“And what kind of ideas did that give you, pet? Did it excite you?” Yuxiang gave a sharp gasp as he tugged her chain, causing her breasts to sting.
“Y-Yes!” she cried despite herself. “I want to do those things, too!” The snap of the crop made her gasp, but Yuxiang continued. “I want to be controlled by you, Master! I want your discipline!” Two more snaps. She hardly even knew what she was saying anymore, but the sting of the leather against her flesh was good incentive. It hurt, but it also burned, filling her with heat from her knees to her navel.
“You want to be as depraved as me, I think. What else do you want?” Another tug of the chain, another sharp squeal. Yuxiang needed a moment to catch her breath before she continued. At the rate she was going, he would push her to orgasm again.
“I want…”
Another slap against her ass, this one dangerously close to her swollen slit. She imagined him slapping her there and cried out again.
“What do you want, pet?”
“Please, Master…”
He snapped on the other half of her slit this time, catching the side of her lip. She shuddered, feeling her whole body shake.
“I want you to fuck me,” she confessed, trying to bury her face in the sheets. “I want… I want you to make me come again.” The crop struck again, harder this time, three times in quick succession. Yuxiang could feel tears leak from her eyes. How was it possible that she could sense his love in those strokes? It was there every time he struck with the crop, but that wasn't all she felt. There was also anger simmering just beneath the surface, and a desire to inflict pain; Yuxiang knew those feelings weren't directed at her, but they snapped into her with every strike anyway.
“My dirty little poppet,” he hissed, “Have I poisoned your mind so badly? I won't give you your release so easily. I want to have more fun with you. Your pain is so delicious…”
He tugged at her breasts harder than before, stretching them downwards by the nipples until Yuxiang thought they might bleed. But even though it was painful, it was also exquisite, causing her to burn and cry out with need. Peking chuckled behind her. That terrible creature was beginning to show itself again.
“I forbid it,” he continued, his mirth seeping through, “I forbid you to come just now. You still haven't told me what you did this morning.” Yuxiang wanted another snap from that riding crop. She wanted to simply obey him, losing the burden of her overactive mind. She hungered for his approbation. The terrifying Peking Duck that ruined nobleladies and destroyed countries, she wanted that Food Soul to punish her.
“I tried to make myself come,” she breathed, curling her fingers into the sheets. When the crop came, hard against her cunt, it was like a blessing.
“I tried to hide it from you!”
The slap was harder this time, almost hard enough to be only painful, but Yuxiang loved it. He had reserved his harshest punishment for her keeping things from him. She panted against the bed, hot all over. It was so close, but she wanted to obey him with every fiber of her being. She only wanted to come when Peking told her she could. Most of all, she wanted him to be inside of her when she did.
“What a little sinner,” he murmured, pressing his middle finger against her opening. Yuxiang didn't dare move as his digit sank into her soft, quivering folds; his index finger joined in after a few strokes, making it difficult to remain still. He was testing her, stretching her from the inside. When he pressed firmly against the roof of her feminine cavern, it caused a flood to leak out. It ran down her thighs in rivulets, soaking the sheets beneath her.
“I should just leave you here like this,” he breathed. “Ass in the air, hungry for my cock.” His fingers worked inside her, moving rhythmically to simulate what she really wanted. “Would you like that, pet?”
Yuxiang didn't think he would really do it, but the thought tantalized her. That longing she had felt all day, stretched out indefinitely. The romance and beauty of endless thirst. Knowing that it would be just as unavoidable a temptation for him, too.
“No, please, I… I'm… I'm going to come, Master,” she whimpered, feeling her end draw near. “Please… not yet…” He had to know. He had to know how far he was pushing her. So it was no surprise when his fingers slid out, letting the chill night air envelope her hot slit instead. She was immediately pulled back from the edge of her climax, denied that final satisfaction.
“You've become such a good, honest girl so quickly,” he said, rubbing gentle but firm circles into the flesh of her rump with his thumbs. “Would you like your reward now?” Yuxiang went still, a chill moving up her spine. It couldn't be that simple, could it? But she had to play into his hands.
“Yes, Master,” she replied, rubbing her cheek against the soft sheets. She felt the belts loosen around her legs and the bar being removed; a moment later, her breasts were released as well. A confused noise caught in her throat as Peking's hands caught her around the waist and pulled her backwards. He cradled her tightly against his chest as he leaned back into a sitting position. The curve of her bottom fit nicely against his groin, his hot length squeezed between them; his legs were stretched between hers, allowing her to straddle his lap. One hand grasped her by the breast, kneading her where she'd been clamped just a few seconds ago and dispelling the pain. The other hand pulled at her thigh, spreading her legs further than they had been with the bar between them. When he was satisfied that she was in a good position to ride him, Peking slid her up his stomach, freeing his cock to sit directly between her legs.
Yuxiang sat perfectly still, nearly quivering from the effort as Peking scraped the flesh of her throat with his teeth. Her slit throbbed as he positioned his cock right between her folds. He didn't push inside just yet, though. Yuxiang whimpered softly, her impatience eating at her. Peking only chuckled.
“You want me so badly, don't you?” He moved beneath her, stroking between her lips slowly as he spoke. “But I'm concerned, pet.” His hand drifted from her thigh to her labia, using his fingers to spread her open for him. When he was satisfied with his position, he moved his hand back to her thigh with a squeeze. “You're a virgin, aren't you?”
Yuxiang suddenly felt self-conscious again, although it was mostly superficial. With the things he'd been doing to her, it should hardly have mattered. But even that observation felt like an admonishment, prickling her with those thrilling, icy feelings.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice sweet and hesitant. “Is that bad?” As she whispered her hesitation, Peking rubbed the head of his cock against her opening. She could feel some slickness already gathered there, but as he moved against her, it spread even further.
“It's good for me,” he replied, pressing his smile into her neck. “I can educate you just how I like. Soon you'll be every bit the cock worshiping little slave girl that I desire you to be.” She sucked in a sharp breath as the tip of his head found a snug spot between her lips. Just as she thought he might finally push into her and put an end to her torment, though, he slid back away again.
“But I'm worried you might not be able to take all of it this time. Perhaps we should try again later, hmm?” Yuxiang bit her lip. She knew he might withhold his favor again, but by the same token, she couldn't let that go unchallenged. She moved ever-so-slightly, hoping to take him inside. He retaliated with a swift pinch to her nipple, eliciting a squeal.
“Ah-ah. Be patient or I won't reward you.”
“Master, please,” she breathed, hoping to tempt him with words instead, “I want it inside of me.” He found that perfect spot at her entrance again and cradled the head of his cock there. Yuxiang could feel the tip push just past the slit of her labia, but he went no further. She could cry.
“What do you want, my pet? Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” She could feel him move, but he still went no further in. Yuxiang stifled a frustrated cry before answering.
“Please, Master! Please fuck me! I'm dying for it, I--!”
She was silenced by Peking's index and middle fingers sliding into her mouth. Tears trailed down her cheeks as the mortification from her outburst set in. But he didn't intend to give her time to worry about it.
“I am not a cruel master,” he breathed his answer into her ear. “Since you have been such a good girl, I will allow you this. Use your fingers to spread yourself open for me.”
Forgetting the little shame she had left, Yuxiang did just as she was told, holding herself open with trembling, excited fingers. Almost instantly, he sank deeper in, the entire head of his cock squeezing into her opening. His fingers muffled the ecstatic moan that escaped her throat. She could also hear him inhale sharply behind her ear.
Yuxiang had read her fair share of pillowbooks and ladies' novels. In all of them, they described the heroine's first time as painful, almost like being torn apart. It was always a bloody mess that ached the next day, and as such, she had gone into this expecting something similar. But that wasn't what she was experiencing just then. It didn't hurt at all; on the contrary, she could feel herself stretching around him, welcoming him, and it was delightful. She wanted all of him.
“Oh, it's like you were summoned just for this,” he remarked, sounding as breathless as she felt. His fingers left her mouth, allowing her to exhale sharply, panting from his intrusion. “Can you take the rest?”
“Yes! Please! All of it!”
For a moment, he drew just a fraction of his length back out. Yuxiang’s heart nearly stopped, afraid he had reconsidered. Just as she was about to whine her disapproval, he slid back into her, easily fitting inside to where he had been and surpassing it. Slowly, he filled her all the way to the root. Yuxiang stretched around him, growing used to the intrusion. All of him was inside her now, creating an overwhelming sensation of fullness. She allowed her head to fall back onto his shoulder as it overpowered her senses.
“So good,” she whined as he began to work his cock back and forth inside her. “It's so good!” She felt him laugh softly into her neck as both his hands now gripped her thighs from underneath, keeping her legs spread nice and wide.
“Do you like your reward, my dear?” The words raised goosebumps on her arms and puckered her nipples. But it also made her grow wetter as he worked at fucking her.
“Yes!” she gasped. “Please don't stop!” She thought she might very well die if he didn't let her finish this time.
“If you please me well,” he murmured into her ear, “I'll give you something even more special at the end.”
Yuxiang had a good idea of what he meant. It was reckless and a little dangerous and under normal circumstances she probably would have strongly advised him against it. There was really no way of knowing what the results would be; there were no recorded instances of Food Souls producing offspring, anyway. But with the state she was in just then, not only would she not scold him, she felt compelled to actively encourage him. She needed what he was going to give to her.
“Master, I want the special treat,” she whispered, her breaths coming in huffs now. “I want you to be happy with me!”
“What a greedy little pet…”
Even as she mewled her pleas to her Master, Yuxiang knew she must have been an undignified sight, hair messy from play, robe barely still clinging to her arms. Her ample breasts bounced violently with every rough stroke he gave her, and she loved every one. Her legs were spread as wide as they would go, baring her most private place to the night air as it greedily devoured her lover's cock. In just a little more than one day, Peking had transformed her from a dignified historian into a wanton harlot.
And Yuxiang absolutely loved it.
In fact, the mental image of her spread wide and riding him sent a jolt up her spine. With a gasp, Yuxiang realized that the heat pooling where Peking squeezed her thighs threatened to overflow to the rest of her body at any moment. After all it had taken to simply get him inside of her, it seemed cruel that she could be brought to climax so soon.
“Master!” she cried. “I-I'm… I'm going to come… please… please let me come!”
She felt teeth at the nape of her neck. Every second Peking delayed his answer was like fresh torture.
“How could I say no to such an obedient girl? Come for me, my love.”
Yuxiang’s eyes nearly rolled back into her head. He had never called her that before. Even if it was just a literary flourish, just hearing him say it was orgasmic. That, combined with his command, meant that she wouldn't have been able to hold back even if she wanted to. With a choked gasp, the heat flooded her body in waves, causing her to release a fresh gush of nectar onto his lap. She squeezed him tightly inside of her, feeling his every movement that much more intensely.
Peking continued to thrust inside of her, though; her orgasm didn't slow him in the least. His strokes were sharp and growing faster, along with his breathing. As the haze cleared from her mind, she realized why that was: he was close to his own orgasm.
“Master,” she mewled as he continued to pound her mercilessly, “Master, please… I want your other present…” She felt his hands move from her thighs to her hips. His fingertips dug into her flesh as he used the leverage to have her ride him harder.
“Have you been good enough, pet?” he breathed. “Have you earned it?” He knew Yuxiang was a clever woman and would have already figured out his meaning. He was giving her one last chance to stop him. The problem was that she didn't want to. She wholeheartedly wanted what he was about to do to her.
“Master, please,” she murmured her encouragement, leaning back against his shoulder. “Don't pull out.”
With that, it seemed as if the tables had turned. He captured her lips in a kiss, devouring her hungrily. And as he did so, he pushed himself inside of her as far as he could go, striking a point so far back that it actually hurt. Then Yuxiang felt something that made her whimper against his lips: the rush of liquid heat inside her as it pulsed out of him. She was already soaked, but this felt different. It was silkier and hotter and made her feel fuller.
Peking relaxed a bit, too. Whereas his fingers had before been digging into the flesh of Yuxiang's hips, his grip was now gentle. One of his hands drifted over her lower stomach and to the place where they were connected. As he slid out, his fingers pinched her outer lips closed.
“You worked so hard for this, my dear,” he whispered into Yuxiang's lips. “You wouldn't want to lose any of it.”
She lay on Peking's lap like that for who knew how long, kissing his jaw and being kissed by him. They were clearly both spent, but neither had the compunction to move, either. But somehow, they had managed to slide down onto the bed to lay down anyway. Finally, after what seemed like a quiet eternity, Peking spoke one last time.
“The children will wake soon. So for now, sleep, Yuxiang.”
The darkness of the bunk seemed to recede, as though the sun were rising. Yuxiang knew that wasn't it; that much time hadn't passed. It was simply that Peking had released whatever charm he'd placed on his sleeping space and the normal moonlight was creeping in. She could finally see him.
He had rolled to his side to watch her, his eye half-lidded. The moonlight glinted cool and blue off of it, and Yuxiang found that strangely comforting. He smiled gently at her, and although she was deeply tired, she felt compelled to move to him. Although he seemed a bit surprised, Peking welcomed her to his chest where she laid down her head. Coiling his arms around her, Yuxiang thought that finally his presence didn't seem constrictive; it was warm and comforting, as was his soft chuckle.
The elegant pair entered the teahouse arm-in-arm. He had dressed in his soft white trousers and beige tunic, and she in her favorite red cheongsam. This teahouse, located along the post road, wasn't exactly fine dining, but it would suit the two of them just fine for a treat.
“A private booth, please,” Peking requested when the hostess asked their preference. These sorts of places were known for their discretion, as well as their curtained private booths, but they weren't exactly being discrete today, were they?
That thought charmed him, as did the jingle of the silk lead he had attached to his dear pet's collar before stepping out of their wagon in front of the teahouse. Oh, they could pretend that it was all to play a part for the humans they met along the road, but both he and Yuxiang knew the truth: that he just liked making her wear a leash and she just liked wearing one.
Likewise, they were also pretending that their visit to the teahouse was to celebrate another job well done. He had dispatched the owner of the general store, who was involved with human trafficking for the remnants of that damned cult and he been rewarded handsomely for it. But both of them knew that it was more that they wanted to see how far they could go in public without being arrested for indecency.
As it turned out, with the proper guidance, Yuxiang was something of an exhibitionist. She had asked to be tied with the silk ropes she currently wore underneath her dress this morning; if their host had looked closely at the opening of her dress, she'd have noticed the red cord running straight down between her ample breasts.
They were seated at their booth and had barely ordered their tea before Peking's hand was up her skirt. The little tease, she had learned so quickly after their first night together the week prior. But Peking could hardly blame her; he was acting a hundred years younger himself.
When he burned that wretched country to the ground, he knew he wouldn't be a Food Soul much longer. If he was lucky, he would run out of energy and fade away. But he always knew that wasn't possible for someone of his level of strength. He would fall; it was inevitable. He would lose himself and unravel into base hunger and bloodlust. A Fallen Angel living in the ruins of that blighted land was the only fitting end for it.
But the very night he carried out his years long plan for vengeance, a stroke of luck fell into his path in the form of the little minx currently sitting beside him. With Yuxiang beside him, it was easier to hold onto his sanity. Yes, keeping her alive was selfish, but Peking Duck was nothing if not selfish.
“How are your ropes, love?” he asked, just as casually as if he were discussing the weather. He detected the hint of a blush along her nose and it delighted him. He also happened to know that if he hooked his finger under the rope beneath her collar and pulled, that it tightened the cord that ran over her clit. So naturally, that was exactly what he did.
“You did – ah! – a wonderful job as – mmm! – as always!”
Oh, she was so charming when she could barely speak.
He could very nearly see her pert little nipples poking through the heavy brocade of her dress, held up for inspection by those taut silk ropes. Peking was suddenly struck with the urge to undo the frogs on her blouse and run his palms over her pert breasts.
“Come sit on my lap, dear heart,” he said, his voice warm as a sunbeam. She gave him a knowing smile and obliged. By the time the tea came, he could only instruct the waiter to leave it on their table and shut their curtain behind him; Peking was otherwise indisposed.
A Good Stiff Drink
Title: A Good Stiff Drink Series: Food Fantasy Rating: MA/AO/R-18 Summary: An average argument between Red Wine and Steak turns into something a bit more obscene. Pairing: Steak/Red Wine Spoilers: Minor spoilers for both Fondness Stories!
Shimmering droplets floated through the air, catching the sunlight like crystals. The sounds of heavy breathing were only interrupted by the swish of steel slicing a path through the air. The spicy fragrance of tea roses mingled with the masculine scent of sweat and blood.
And Red Wine hated all of it.
“Hate" may not have been the best word to describe it exactly. “Resented" may have been closer to the truth, or that it irritated him. As he stood underneath the cool, shady stone archway leading into the garden of the villa they had bought with the inheritance from their old Master Attendants, Red Wine could clearly see the source of his irritation. He lifted his nearly ever-present wine glass to his lips and sipped, eyes sharp and narrow.
That damned Steak was out there, swinging his sword at nothing like an idiot.
Red Wine knew he called it “training", but he also felt that it was in reality an extension of Steak's vanity. He fancied himself a gallant knight, noble and upstanding, almost like a child playing dress up. It was a silly diversion and Red Wine had no time for that sort of macho nonsense. An uncharitable interpretation to be sure, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment.
But a small part of him thought, as disgusting as the sight was, that it was charming in its own way. And he resented that, too.
“You can join me, you know.”
The barbarian hadn't even bothered to walk over before speaking – although truthfully, it was just as well that he hadn't. Red Wine could smell his sweat – and the blood flowing through his veins – from where he was standing. Either would have been more irritation than he could be expected to bear, but together… It was better that Steak remain where he was.
“I can't be bothered,” came the sneered reply. Steak snorted.
“Your blade will get rusty if you don't use it, you know.”
Red Wine pushed away from the cool stone wall he'd been leaning against. He wouldn't be provoked into leaving the shade, but he was certainly feeling provoked.
“On the contrary,” he retorted, “I'd rather not waste my energy on petty games like this.” Steak sheathed his sword with a huff.
“Well, now I don't feel like it anymore, either,” he grumbled. “You've ruined my mood, you scoundrel.” Red Wine felt his hackles rise.
“Don't blame me for your lack of diligence,” he shot back over the rim of his glass. “If you're going to play at training, follow it all the way through or don't bother.” Steak gave him a sharp glare and walked towards him. But much to Red Wine's chagrin, rather than stopping to confront him, the horned man simply walked past. As he did so, he shoved Red Wine with his bare shoulder; it was only barely disguised as an accident. The redhead threw a glance back at his reluctant companion and the corner of his mouth turned up with just the barest hint of a smile. Red Wine grit his teeth. He didn't know what the worse insult was; the intentional “accident" or the smell of Steak's sweat now clinging to his beautiful jacket. He was absolutely disgusted.
“I'm going to take a shower,” Steak called dismissively. Like hell.
Like hell was Red Wine going to let him get away with that sort of disrespect. Even as the horned man disappeared into the hallway leading back to his quarters, Red Wine stomped after him. His irritation wouldn't allow him to drop the argument. They were going to settle this today.
“You absolute barbarian!” he spat, sliding out of his jacket and folding it over the crook of his right arm. “You uncultured swine! I'll now have to have my jacket cleaned! How will you take responsibility?” Steak had already disappeared into his room and shut the door behind him, but Red Wine would not be deterred this time. He was itching for a quarrel, and by the gods, he would have one!
Rather than simply stand and yell into the door, as he had done many times over the years, he turned the knob and walked right in, discarding both wine glass and jacket on the table by the door. Of course Steak couldn't be bothered to lock his door, either; more arrogance, Red Wine decided.
The bull-man had already thrown his sweaty training shirt into the floor and was in the process of sliding off his pants when Red Wine swung the door inwards. He looked down his nose in disgust. Not only had he missed the hamper, but Steak had no business looking as tempting as he did. It wasn't odd to be able to see his stomach; he left it bare most of the time, not a care in the world who might see those ridiculously chiseled abdominal muscles. But now Red Wine could clearly see his sculpted legs and tight ass. From the angle he was viewing him, he could just barely see his front side as well, but it was all hanging out in the open, too.
He didn't even have the good manners to look ashamed.
“You could knock, you know,” Steak said flatly. He turned, giving the black-haired man a full view of his front. Red Wine caught sight of the other man’s naked rod, swinging gently with the motion of his turn. His eyes snapped back up to meet Steak's face with a glare.
“Would you have answered?” he asked sharply. He ignored the disgusting feelings that the sight of his naked companion stirred inside him and focused instead on his anger.
“Of course not,” Steak shrugged the question off. He found his towel, left hanging over the back of his desk chair, and slung it around his hips. His nonchalance made Red Wine hate him even more.
Well, again… perhaps “hate" wasn't the right word for it. But Red Wine resented whatever the feeling was supposed to be.
“You see?” he shot back, stomping over into the redhead's personal space. “Why would I rather yell into a door than your face? Don't assume I’m the same type of simpleton as you! If I feel the need to speak with you, then I will!” Steak’s lip curled over his teeth.
“What is your problem today, you cur?!” He instinctively backed away a step and Red Wine followed right along. “You stare at me while I train, sulking in the shadows, then act like a spoiled brat when I try to talk to you! Have you any wonder why I'd want to shove you?”
This backed Red Wine up half a pace. Perhaps his own behavior had been less than exemplary, but he felt completely justified. The two of them had been together for years, grating each others' nerves. They were in practice nearly every bit as married as their old Master Attendants had been, but without the intimacy and with far more argument.
“Because you irritate me, as usual!” Red Wine shot back. “With this false sense of nobility, like a child! Just watching you gets under my skin!” Steak's eyes narrowed; if it had been anyone else, Red Wine would have thought he saw a glimmer of understanding pass across his face. But he knew for certain that with Steak, that couldn't be the case.
“Then why watch me like you do?” Steak asked, a suspicious glint in his eye. The question stole Red Wine's breath. Why did he continue watching when it irritated him so? It wasn't even that he just coincidentally came across Steak, either; if he didn't see him for too long, he would seek him out, only to be annoyed by him just as well. It usually ended with the two of them throwing punches.
“Well, that's…” He really had no answer. He realized it, then hissed under his breath, bringing his thumb to his mouth in a sort of nervous gesture. There was no way to answer this without sounding as though he actually enjoyed watching Steak, was there?
Because a part of him, a part he was increasingly realizing he was disgusted by, really did enjoy watching Steak flex his muscles.
“I have to make sure you aren't doing anything stupid.” It didn't even sound convincing to Red Wine. And for as little as he thought of Steak's intelligence, he doubted he bought it either.
“Every time I train?”
Now it was Steak's turn to invade Red Wine's personal space. He stepped towards the shorter man; since Red Wine refused to back down, though, they were mere centimeters from each other now. Red Wine nearly sputtered a denial, but Steak stopped him by wrapping his hand around his cravat.
“If you want to fight me, then you only have to say so.” Steak's voice was low and dangerous; it was a confusing tone from him, to be sure. He was usually loud and comically non-threatening, as far as Red Wine was concerned.
“But I don't want to disrespect their last wishes,” he continued, pinning his partner with a smoldering glare. Red Wine knew exactly to what Steak referred. On her deathbed, Red Wine's Master Attendant had made him swear to look after this idiot; her husband, Steak's master, had elicited a similar promise from him.
“Did you have to bring that up?” Red Wine hissed. He really didn't want to think about that in such a tense situation as they were in at the moment.
“Then what is it?!” Steak very nearly yelled. “You don't want to fight, you don't want to train, and you only came by to needle me! What is it that you want?!” Red Wine raised his hand to remove Steak's from his cravat, but as his hand wrapped around the other man's it lingered there. Steak's hand was hot, distractingly so, and Red Wine hesitated to pull him away. The words were stuck in his throat. But Steak seemed to have drawn a conclusion, if the look on his face was any indication.
“Wait…”
“Don't you dare,” Red Wine admonished, eyes narrowing. But Steak's gaze was as hot as his skin.
“You…”
“Don't even think it.”
“Like hell I won't!” Steak bellowed, shaking him by the collar. “Is that it?! You stupid idiot! Is that why you're such a bastard to me?!” Red Wine finally squeezed his wrist and released himself, encroaching again into Steak's space and forcing him back. He wouldn't allow him to speak such profanities; if he said the words, they were more likely to become reality, and Red Wine didn't think he could bear that.
“If I'm a bastard to you, it's because you deserve it!” he fired back. “How arrogant do you have to be to think such things!? If I wanted you, I would have you! What is there to admire about you?! Your body? Your voice? Your pigheadedness?” Regardless of his words, though, Red Wine could feel his face flush as though he'd had too much to drink. But it was entirely likely that Steak didn't even need to see that; the lie was obvious in his words. Steak was well-aware that his looks were admirable. That was never his problem.
“Liar,” Steak answered him simply. Just that one word was enough to nearly send Red Wine into a rage - not because the accusation was untrue, but because it was entirely too accurate. His eyes flashed as he continued trying to deny the obvious.
“Why would I lie?” Red Wine spat back. “Just because I watch you train doesn't mean--" Steak didn't let him finish.
The horned man twisted his fist into Red Wine's cravat, pulling him against his chest. Getting sweat on his clothes was the least of his concerns at the moment, though. While he could feel Steak's firm pecs and stomach through his shirt, Steak had also crushed his lips against Red Wine's. This wasn't a shy or awkward kiss by any means; it was hungry, hot, and aggressive. It was entirely possible that every bit of irritation Steak had been feeling was being channeled into kissing Red Wine into silence at that moment, and Red Wine couldn't honestly say he disliked it.
But he could at least pretend to himself that he did.
That was a thin façade, though. Steak's hot mouth, parting his own and invading it with his tongue, was overpowering him. His musky scent, stronger now from sweat and exertion, filled Red Wine's nostrils and nearly made his head swim. He covered the hand securing him against Steak's chest again, with no intention of pushing him away this time.
Something within Red Wine was coming undone. Every untoward thought he might have had about his companion up until now was completely squashed without mercy. Every inkling he had, every spark of sexual desire, Red Wine had ruthlessly crushed before it could grow into something more, pulling it out like a weed. But now, with Steak pressing against him, undoing his vest buttons, those feelings were bubbling up again. The familiar revulsion tried to fight against it like usual, but the stronger feeling was desire and something new – something closer to acceptance. Something that encouraged him to kiss back just as viciously.
Perhaps a bit too viciously; his enthusiasm led him to snap against Steak's bottom lip just a bit too hard, drawing blood. It was only a drop or two, mixed with saliva, but that was all it took for Red Wine. He pulled back as though he were the one who was bitten, leaving Steak looking a bit confused. He didn't even seem to realize Red Wine had drawn blood for a few moments before licking his lips and tasting it there.
“Dammit,” Red Wine hissed, covering his mouth. Was it the kiss or the drop of blood that was causing the strain in his pants? Either way, his head felt hazy with lust. Having successfully suppressed his disgust, he was afraid his desire would run unchecked. What would that look like? Attacking Steak? Attacking Gingerbread or the local humans? Could he even trust himself to try satisfying his carnal urges without giving in to bloodlust?
He was brought back to the moment by Steak's breath on his cheek.
“It didn't hurt.”
His voice was even and hot. He also went right back to undoing Red Wine's vest, eventually moving to his necktie.
“And if you tried to attack me, I'd stop you.”
“Bastard.”
Contrary to what he'd just said, Red Wine wasn't angry at Steak at all. In fact, that was exactly what he needed to hear at that moment. That drop of blood – it was delicious. More than that, it was intoxicating, and with no disgust to hold him back, he wanted more. More of Steak's blood, but even past that, more of Steak's body. He could feel the other man's erection through his loosely wrapped towel, pressing insistently against his hip. More heady than the raw physical attraction, though, was the realization that Steak knew how Red Wine felt and he accepted it. He hadn't yelled or pushed him away; he hadn't admonished his disgusting desires. He had simply looked them in the eye, considered them, and nodded his acceptance.
“I can stop, if you want,” Steak murmured, his voice husky. “You can walk out of this room and forget I said anything.” His hands said something different, though; they were now occupied with Red Wine's belt, making steady progress towards undoing his pants. In return, Red Wine brought his free hand to Steak's stomach to feel the hard muscle flexing beneath the hot skin.
“Like hell,” Red Wine hissed, spreading his fingers and sliding his hand toward his prize. “You started this, you little cocktease. You know very well that I want you, don't you?” Saying it like that, speaking it out into reality, was freeing. Rather than the fear he had previously felt at confronting those dangerous feelings, there was a rush of anticipation. And even as his partner trailed kisses along his jaw and down to his neck, Red Wine could feel his teeth.
“Who started what?” Steak grumbled back. “From where I'm standing, you started this with your staring.” Steak finally reached his target, tugging Red Wine's fine cotton shirt free of his pants and roughly shoving his hand inside. Red Wine could have complained at the indelicate treatment; instead, he opted to return it in kind, his gloved hand coiling around Steak's thick, hot member. As he began to stroke, the silken skin shifting beneath his palm, he also began to move them back towards the edge of the bed. Steak's towel, that afterthought of modesty, was left in a heap in the floor.
Finally, Steak's thighs met the bed. With only a little effort, Red Wine forced him to sit. It wasn't as though Steak was being exactly passive, either; he had worked Red Wine's pants down over his hips with one hand while grasping his cock roughly inside his boxers. The pawing he was being given was inordinately inelegant, but the roughness suited Red Wine well, too. Not that he would admit that openly.
“You act so goodly and innocent,” Red Wine observed with a toothy smile. “But this was what you wanted this whole time, wasn't it? How filthy.” Although his words were condescending in content, his tone cleanly conveyed that he was actually quite enthusiastic about Steak's hidden proclivities. Steak glared up at him, but his grip on his cock didn't waver.
“And what of you?” he asked sweetly. “If you didn't want me, why has your dick gotten this hard?” His strokes were firm and confident, nearly causing Red Wine to succumb to him on the spot. But no, there was more he needed to do.
“Who said I dislike this dirty side of you?” With a gentle but firm touch, he released Steak and moved his hands from his own erection. Then, he began ridding himself of the rest of his clothes. First one shoe and then the other, then his shirt and gloves. Finally, he slid his pants down his legs, complete with his boxers, freeing his erection to feel the warm, early afternoon air. Each piece as it was removed found itself draped across Steak's chair.
“If I knew you liked it, I would've done this sooner.” Steak himself sat on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his hands and watching attentively. Red Wine thought with a smirk that he had found another good quality to Steak – that when he was interested in something, he was quite diligent. Of course, he knew that, though; he'd seen the man work quite hard when he was motivated. But seeing it illustrated so intimately and directed towards him was quite a different matter. Well, it wasn't a bad thing to be admired if it was by Steak.
Finally free of the constraints of his clothing, Red Wine straddled Steak's lap. With his knees on either side of Steak's hips and pressing into the bedsheets, it was an easy matter to face him down. In short order, Red Wine descended upon his mouth for more hungry kisses; having easy access to Steak's cock was another advantage. He wasted no time in returning to lavishing it with affection with his hands as well.
Steak, on the other hand, placed both hands firmly on Red Wine's ass and gave it a nice, hard squeeze. He couldn't say he found it unpleasant; quite the contrary. The pressure from Steak's hands sent sparks up his spine. Red Wine groaned his approval into the other man's mouth. Momentarily, though, Steak pulled out of their kiss.
“Do you want me inside of you?”
Red Wine would never have admitted it, but he only vaguely understood what Steak was asking him. Even as Steak kneaded his rear, spreading him gently, he wasn't sure of the specifics. Perhaps it was due to the difference in their Master Attendants; a man spending his time mostly escorting young nobleladies would naturally have been less exposed to such masculine activities.
“I didn't realize you had experience with this,” Red Wine remarked with a smirk. In reality, he was hiding his own inexperience, but Steak didn't need to know that. Although he most probably already did.
“I don't,” he confessed easily. “But knights talk. I know what to do.”
To whit, Steak released Red Wine with one hand and brought that hand to his mouth. He pushed past the other man's lips and Red Wine obliged him by sucking his two first fingers. Once they were well-coated with saliva, Steak withdrew them with a devious grin. He returned his hand to its previous spot on Red Wine's ass, but with one crucial difference: his middle finger, wet with spit, was now pressed firmly against the soft ring of skin that stayed hidden there. Red Wine quirked an eyebrow skeptically.
“I'll enter here,” Steak explained earnestly, “If you relax, it's supposed to be quite enjoyable.”
“Ridiculous,” Red Wine scoffed automatically. No sooner had the word left his lips than Steak pressed his finger inwards, the spit giving him an easy passage. It nearly stole Red Wine's breath; Steak's finger had no business feeling as good as it did. He groaned through gritted teeth as Steak continued to work him further open. As he did so, he pulled Red Wine further up his stomach, freeing his cock to sit underneath him, right between the cheeks of his ass.
Red Wine wanted to be disgusted; at least that's what a small voice within told him. But in reality, what Steak was doing felt amazing. His own cock was pressed between their stomachs, squeezed tight and coated with a slick layer of precum. As the two of them moved together to kiss again, it was as though he was being stroked from the front.
“Is it, though?” Steak breathed against Red Wine's lips, voice low and husky. “You seem to enjoy this.” Red Wine nipped at him in response, nearly drawing blood again. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if he did.
“Just shut up and put your cock in,” he grumbled. He wanted to think Steak was much more tolerable when he was quiet, but Red Wine knew the truth: that if Steak was quiet, he'd be boring. Either way, if his finger was that pleasant, surely his much larger member would be exquisitely pleasing.
The redhead chuckled deep in his throat and for once in his life actually listened to Red Wine. He withdrew his finger and before Red Wine had the opportunity to really miss it, he could feel the hot, fleshy head of Steak's rod pressing against his soft entrance. Slowly, slowly, he pressed into that tight ring of muscle, entering little by little. The spit helped, of course, but it was hardly as easy as his finger had been.
“Didn't I say to relax?” Steak fussed, his voice almost a hiss. Red Wine had left off with kissing, opting instead to bury his face into Steak's neck. The feeling of being entered was overwhelming, of course, but stronger still was the ever-present musk of sweat and salt that still clung to the man's skin. Red Wine could feel his strong pulse thumping beneath his lips as well; that awareness alone was almost enough to totally distract him from the pleasure he was feeling down below. Even still, as Steak sunk further into him, his hot manhood invading Red Wine's body, he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped his lips.
Finally, he was stretched to his limit and sitting firmly in Steak's lap. If he tensed his muscles at all, he could feel the man's entire length within him, sending a flow of continuous pleasure throughout his body. And as if nothing could heighten that feeling, Steak began to move within him.
“Damn you,” Red Wine huffed. There was no bite to his words, though. As Steak thrust up into him, Red Wine likewise rode his partner. Not only was he being stimulated from behind, but that dampness against his stomach was growing, making his own cock glide deliciously between them.
“If you don't like it,” Steak breathed, obviously feeling quite enraptured himself as he pumped, “I can always stop….” Red Wine instantly snapped at his neck at the threat; not hard enough to draw blood, but oh, wouldn't it be delightful if it was? If he made him bleed, would he be able to stop himself? He certainly didn't want to stop what they were doing right then.
“Don't you dare, you cur,” he growled, fingers digging into Steak's muscled shoulders. “If you stop now, I really will murder you.” Steak chuckled and actually did begin to withdraw from Red Wine. The black-haired man hissed his disapproval.
“Just for that,” the redhead returned smugly, “I get to be on top.” He acted with a swiftness and grace that Red Wine never would've expected from him. In short order, he found himself on his back, legs spread and closer to the middle of the bed. Steak hovered above him, his eyes smoldering, sweat trickling over his skin.
“I don't care where you are,” Red Wine fussed back at him. “Just get back inside me.” Steak barely suppressed a laugh, clearly enjoying himself, but he did as he was told. He lined himself up, worked himself back in, and was pumping away again in a matter of moments. Then his hands were cradling the backs of Red Wine's knees, holding them open. Red Wine would have been fascinated that it was much easier for Steak to enter him the second time, but to be honest, he was too busy enjoying it to care. The only thing to complain about was that Steak was even more slick with sweat now.
“And… don't sweat on me…” His voice was breathy and as needy as he felt at the moment. He relaxed into the larger man, wanting to feel as much of him as he could from the inside. Even still, he couldn't help his brattiness.
“You saying that makes me want to sweat on you,” Steak chuckled even as he drove himself inside over and over. Red Wine glared, but it was half-hearted at best. He was rather more engaged with the pounding he was receiving below.
“If you do… I really will bite you… you bastard…” Steak must have known it was an empty threat, because his smile turned just ever-so-slightly more devious.
“What a terrible attitude,” he panted, “Just for that… I'm going to come before you do!” Red Wine gasped, his hands traveling back to Steak's biceps. They felt firm, flexing as he moved, and it encouraged Red Wine to dig his fingers in.
“Bastard! I won't let you! I'll be first!” His eyes burned as he pulled the larger man closer over his body. He'd missed the friction of his cock being pressed between them since they switched positions, and it was time to rectify that. If Steak was going to make it a contest to see who could climax first, Red Wine would never let himself be outclassed – especially since the other man's orgasm would most likely mean an end to their tryst.
Their next kiss was harder than any of the previous ones. Both were hungry with the new spark of competition between them, neither wanting to give mercy. Of course, the pleasure from the deep fucking Red Wine was receiving helped spur him on as well.
Steak's rhythm was steady, slow, and forceful. The nearly inhuman consistency was what Red Wine enjoyed the most; he leaned into it, pressed himself against Steak's hard abdomen, drowning in the pleasure both on his cock and inside his ass. Since neither had much to say at the moment, the silence was only broken by the heavy sounds of their panting, the creak of the strained bed frame, and the occasional moan.
Their kiss was just as deep as Steak's strokes. Red Wine didn't give it much coherent thought; rather, he finally understood instinctively how his partner felt. Had he only been honest with himself years ago, they could have done this much sooner. Steak was all too willing. He had probably waited for Red Wine to acknowledge him all this time, becoming prickly and defensive whenever Red Wine needled him instead. Rather than feel regret at this realization, it was satisfying and decadent. There was nothing stopping them from doing this every afternoon from here on out if they pleased.
The promise of future encounters sent a wave of pleasure through Red Wine's body. He groaned deep within his throat; he was close now, he could feel it. At this rate, he really would beat Steak to his orgasm. In his excitement, he kissed Steak even harder, hands moving from his firm biceps to his hard shoulders, all the way to his flushed cheeks. The kiss was hot, wet, and delicious. Perhaps a bit too delicious; Red Wine nipped him too hard and broke the skin on his lip again.
There was a long moment, stretched taut over the edge of desire and revulsion. Red Wine teetered, unable to decide on which side he would fall. He knew he should stop, should pull away from that kiss, maybe even from the whole situation. But overwhelmingly, he found that he didn't want to. The pit of his stomach ached, burning with need from that small taste of Steak's blood.
What pushed him over the edge into his desires was the realization that that small taste was all he really needed. Just acknowledging that it was delicious, that it was pleasurable, and that he wouldn't become an uncontrollable monster just from that taste allowed him to fully accept the ecstasy he felt at the moment.
Contrary to what Red Wine had believed up until that day, their kiss went from hot and fierce to warm and gentle. Although Steak must have known he'd drawn blood again, he didn't acknowledge it; rather, his breath was ragged even as his thrusts grew uneven and sharper. And as he returned Red Wine's soft, luxurious kiss, he too seemed to be leaning into that wonderful feeling.
He was swimming in that delicious sensation; therefore, it came as no real surprise when he was overtaken by those splendid waves of heat. They started where he was joined with Steak, gathered there, and spread through him like water. The jolts pulsed through his shaft, too, culminating in a thick white puddle spreading between his stomach and Steak's. He barely noticed that Steak also had gone still, his only movement the throbbing within Red Wine, flooding him with inner heat. No, their kiss, now turned languid and slow, was far more important.
“I win,” he murmured against Steak's lips, his own curling into a smile. Steak didn't bother to stop kissing him; rather, he mirrored that smile.
“Did you, though?” To whit, he gave the smaller man another lazy stroke, this one lubricated by the juice that had poured into him from his new lover. Red Wine considered this for a moment. He knew he needed to wash himself now, what with the sweat and other bodily fluids they'd both collected just then. On the other hand, even as Steak slid out of him, half-hard now, it still felt absolutely divine. It was a deep contradiction and Red Wine realized that his best option might have been to simply accept that both were true: that something could simultaneously be repulsive and oh-so-desirable.
Just like Steak.
“A tie, then,” he compromised. Maybe Steak wouldn't understand his double-meaning, but it didn't matter. He didn't really need to, and he seemed to easily accept Red Wine's proposal.
“Then we'll have to settle this later,” Steak practically purred. Red Wine couldn't help returning his devious smile again.
“As many times as we need to,” he returned, stroking his chin with a well-manicured nail. “But for right now, get off of me. I want a bath.”
“Bastard.”
“Cur.”
But both insults were delivered with a smile.
As Steak withdrew, allowing Red Wine to push himself from the mattress, he turned his head and seemed to catch something of interest. Red Wine followed his gaze, seeing what had intrigued him. It was past their shed clothes and the towel laying in a crumpled pile in the floor.
The bedroom door was now closed.
“Red Wine,” Steak said slowly, the gears in his mind clearly turning. “Did you… close that door?”
Obviously, he had not.
By sheer coincidence, however, Gingerbread couldn't speak to Red Wine without laughing under her breath for at least a week.
Little Black Book - Chapter 2 of 3
Title: Little Black Book: Chapter 1 Series: Food Fantasy Rating: MA/AO/R-18 Summary: Six months after the events of their fondness stories, Yuxiang is given Peking Duck’s sin diary from the kingdom he helped destroy. What follows is a descent into depravity. Pairing: Peking Duck/Yuxiang Spoilers: For both Peking Duck and Yuxiang’s backstories
The summer morning dawned bright and clear, the muffled light shining through the canvas of the wagon's cover. Yuxiang woke to the strange feeling of the contents of that book hanging over her head. She realized then that she had fallen asleep with it in her hand and quickly shoved it under her pillow. It felt now like that book didn't belong in the daylight, that it belonged firmly in the world of the night.
Looking up, she could see that Peking was already gone from his bunk. The curtains were open, but the inside was still hazy and too dark to really see anything. The ducklings were already out of their bed as well. Surely it wasn't that late?
“Yuxiang?”
In the daylight, Peking's voice was eerily normal. He was calling her from the front of the wagon, from outside.
“Y-Yes?”
“I have breakfast ready,” Peking chimed with the usual warmth in his voice. The utter normalcy almost lulled Yuxiang into thinking she had imagined everything.
“I'll be there in a minute,” she replied. She swung her legs over the side of her cot as she heard the door to the wagon shut. She could go for a bath, but breakfast was first. Even if she wasn't really hungry, Peking had gone to all the trouble to cook for her and she didn't want it to go to waste.
She made her way to the closet, dug out her day clothes, towel, and bath set, and snapped the simple doors shut behind her. This way, she could go straight from the campfire to the river. Hopefully breakfast wouldn't be too awkward, but now that she held that forbidden knowledge in her mind, her perception of her companion would have to change accordingly. It was eerie, but it also secretly thrilled her.
Breakfast was utterly, completely normal. Peking had made eggs and thick ham slices in their campfire skillet, garnished with roasted onions and bell peppers. There was strong hot tea brewed and sugar lumps ready for her to drink. The leaves rustled, the dew glistened, and the brook babbled across from their clearing. The mules lowed and munched their grass and the ducklings played happily in the clover. It was absolutely normal, bright, and charming.
But Yuxiang's mind couldn't help but search for the dark corners that she had neglected before. When Peking passed her her cup and brushed his fingers hers, was it on purpose? When he smiled, did it have a darker meaning? Were the ducklings giving them a wider berth, or was it her imagination?
“Your food will get cold if you don't eat it.”
Yuxiang looked up with a start. She had been pushing her food around her plate without realizing it. With a blush and a stammered apology, she went back to eating self-consciously. He was enjoying this. He had to be. But she couldn't waste food. She knew how tight their money was at the moment. So she had to finish her plate.
That pleasant breakfast, she knew it for what it was now. It was a form of sweet torture. Her carrying the memory of that journal and him knowing she had read it all. But he also knew she wouldn't speak about it; therefore he had to be the one to initiate the conversation. As he largely ignored her presence, Yuxiang could only feel the tension rise quietly. Peking was already tormenting her and she couldn't help but realize that it was only a prologue for what he truly intended to do.
“If you're done, go wash up. We'll have to go into town again today.”
His gentle voice punctured Yuxiang's reverie, making her realize that she had been staring at an empty plate. She handed it to him as he seemed to be waiting to relieve her of it. As she did, they made eye contact. While his face seemed as passive and quiet as ever, for just a second she thought she caught a flash of something in his one open eye that made her stomach flip. She quickly looked to the ground and excused herself with a stammer.
The small stream was tucked behind a thick copse of shrubbery, giving Yuxiang ample cover away from the road to bathe. Peking was always conscious of privacy when it came to their campsites; if the stream was too close to the road or there wasn't ample space for the ducks and mules, he would move on until he found an acceptable spot. Regardless, she undressed quickly; other travelers weren't who she thought might interrupt her.
The clear water of the stream was still cool from last night. It rushed quickly, a mountain stream that had only just reached the foothills and didn't exactly know what to do with all its energy. With Yuxiang's mind as full as it was, she could relate. With more enthusiasm than was probably smart, she sank into the cold water up to her shoulders. It did little to extinguish the persistent warmth in her lower body.
Bathing was almost automatic now, with as distracted by her thoughts as Yuxiang was. As she wrung out her hair, taking as long as she could, she hesitated to wash her body. Even with the chilly water, she knew there was a shameful slickness between her thighs. When she finally soaped up, she studiously avoided that area as well as her breasts. It was just too sensitive and she felt guilty for it.
She did have to wash herself, though, and eventually her hands reached the apex of her legs. Yuxiang sunk nearly to her chin in the creek and leaned against a large rock, hiding on the opposite side from the campsite. Perhaps if she just dealt with those feelings now, she could be more clear-headed later on. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers explore her nether regions underneath the water.
It wasn't that she had never touched herself. It was infrequent, but it had happened before. She had even brought herself to climax. It was just that she rarely felt the need. When her Master Attendant had first summoned her and forbade her from reading too much, it wasn't even something that had crossed her mind. But once she began reading, she had also begun to feel desire. It sometimes led to fantasies late at night in her bed, where she imagined herself with the ancient heroes she read about in the history books. And now, after reading that cursed volume, she couldn't stop the images dancing through her mind of her companion.
Without realizing it, Yuxiang had begun to rub the fleshy hood of her clit. It was hard and swollen with need, the stimulation from that damn book being more than she knew what to do with. A jolt of pure pleasure shot through her hips at her touch and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. Her head lolled back as she leaned into the large river rock, bracing herself there. If she could just take care of this now, Peking would never have to know…
At the thought of him, Yuxiang suppressed another cry. With her next breath, though, she felt her body go as cold as the stream around her. She smelled tobacco smoke.
It shouldn't have been possible. The campfire usually masked the scent of his pipe and she was too far away from the campsite to smell it anyway. Heart hammering in her ears, she turned with her back to the rock until she could see the campsite through the bushes again. He was there, hitching the mules to their wagon. But that smell of pipe smoke persisted.
He was watching her, even when he appeared not to be. And he no longer cared if she knew it. His psychic powers were much weaker now than they were when he destroyed that diseased country, but he could still easily keep an eye on her.
“Be a good girl, Yuxiang,” came his voice in her mind. It was as insubstantial as mist and she nearly questioned if she had heard it at all. But there was no mistaking it.
She knew she should worry. Just then, her body felt ice cold from the invasion of privacy. Part of her – a very large part, if she was honest - didn't mind at all, though. That part of her….
It was scary, but she thought she might like it.
Their midday errand took them back to the same town they had visited the day before. Peking didn't need to tell Yuxiang that their cover story for today would be the same as yesterday.
She would be posing as his slave again today.
She knew now what she didn't know yesterday, though: that this was all an elaborate game of Peking's, designed to make her comfortable with the idea of being dominated by him. Chances were that they didn't actually need supplies from town, either.
Still, he gave nothing away on the way there. He held his ducklings as always, hummed a warm tune under his breath as always, and drove the mules as gently as always. If she hadn't been as tense as she was, Yuxiang thought it might have been a wonderful outing. Before today, she could have happily sat beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they drove. But today she didn't dare.
She felt tired, her nerves pulled taught by every little thing. She'd had little sleep the night before and had no relief from the tension. She felt as though she’d drunk entirely too much oversteeped tea, that even if she had time to sleep she wouldn’t be able to. But it wasn't a physical exhaustion; it was mental, purely from her overactive imagination.
Perhaps that was why Yuxiang had begun to relax a bit on the ride into town. Peking would do what Peking was going to do, regardless of how much she worried or anticipated it. And the constant racing of her thoughts had exhausted her. By the time the wagon drew to a stop, she had almost dozed off.
“We're here, my dear,” the soft voice called from beside her. She felt his hand softly squeeze her shoulder, truly waking her. Yuxiang didn't panic from the contact, though. Conversely, it was comforting. She looked directly into Peking's eye; he was as kind and gentle as she had known him to be. And when he leaned in to speak to her in a hushed tone, it was just as soft.
“You can sleep when we get back to camp. But I need you awake right now.”
He smiled then and Yuxiang found herself completely awake. It certainly looked like a normal smile. But ice was crawling down her spine and her heart beat heavy in her ears. What was he going to do?
Peking descended the wagon first and hitched the mules to the post outside the shop. He then walked around to give Yuxiang a hand down. As she stepped onto the hard-packed earth, she saw where they were. It was a tack shop, a place to buy bridles, saddles, and other equipment for their mules and wagon. Yuxiang’s suspicion was displaced by curiosity. Perhaps they really did have need of some supply of which she was unaware before?
They entered the shop, Yuxiang two paces behind Peking with her eyes on the backs of his feet. Knowing what was expected of her, even if it was only an act, was a sort of secret, perverse pleasure. His steps grew hesitant for a moment as he seemed to be deciding where in the shop to go. Then he decided on a route and walked straight there.
When he finally stopped again, Yuxiang looked up to see a rack hung heavy with rods, whips, prods, and crops. She felt only the slightest confusion; Peking had never used any such instrument on the mules. But then she realized: this wasn't for the mules.
After a moment's consideration, Peking selected a riding crop with a stiff rod as long as his forearm. Yuxiang watched, pulse fluttering, as he bent it gently with both hands, judging its resilience. He examined the keeper on the end with his fingers, toying with it to test the firmness of the leather. He considered the instrument for what seemed like an eternity before he judged it worthy of his final test: he struck it several times against his pant leg.
Each strike was slow and deliberate. The fabric of his white pants muffled the noise, but Yuxiang could tell what it would have been against bare skin. Her eyes widened; his swings were nearly hypnotic and each impact reverberated someplace inside her that made it hard to continue standing in the middle of a tack shop. Peking was making sure she knew exactly how he intended to use that crop.
Yuxiang couldn't see his face, but she knew he had to be smiling.
“Come along, then,” he softly commanded, clearly satisfied with his selection. She did as she was told, heartbeat drowning out the ambient noise as they approached the counter.
The conversation with the shopkeep was cordial as always. Yuxiang said nothing, keeping her eyes down just as the slave girl she was supposed to be would have. When the clerk asked Peking how he would be using his purchase, she could hear that devilish grin creep back into his voice.
“I have a little filly that's a bit stubborn,” he chimed, his stone mask firmly in place. “I've decided she needs a touch more discipline.” If the clerk caught his true meaning, he didn't let on; he seemed to be a more innocent caliber of man than the owner of the general store. With an approving hum, the clerk took Peking's money and wrapped his purchase. When he handed it to him, Peking held it for just a second before turning to Yuxiang. The wicked glimmer in his eye stole her breath.
“Would you be a dear and take this to the wagon?” he asked, a knowing undertone flowing through his words. “Do you know where to put it, my pet?” As she took the crop, he surreptitiously stroked the back of her hand. The impact of his manipulation almost drove Yuxiang to her knees. Luckily, she stayed upright. She nodded her understanding, but he did not release the crop.
He wanted her to say it.
“Y-Yes,” she affirmed. The silence hung in the shop, thick and heavy. He wanted more.
“Yes, Master.”
Peking smiled a satisfied smile and released the crop to her. The clerk looked away discretely, finding some interesting papers to shuffle behind the front counter. Yuxiang tarried another moment before hurrying out the door with as much dignity as she could retain.
When she burst out of the shop door, she gulped the outside air as though she had been suffocating. After a moment of catching her breath, Yuxiang rushed into the wagon. She mounted the running board and entered the living space. With a snap, she shut the door behind her and leaned heavily against it. After another moment of steady breathing, Yuxiang straightened herself and made her way to where she knew Peking wanted her to deliver his crop.
The black curtains were open, allowing a small sliver of light inside his bunk. Yuxiang had never touched it, not even to wash the coverings when it was her turn to do laundry. There was something forbidding about it, a dark energy that enveloped it that Yuxiang had convinced herself she had imagined. She was learning better now.
She leaned forward, placing a hand inside the bunk to steady herself. As she bent into Peking's sleeping space, her perception seemed to shift ever so slightly. As if in a dream, Yuxiang carefully laid the paper-wrapped crop on the black silk pillow at the head of the bunk. The smell enveloped her like a wave, making her vision swim. It was sweet tobacco and spice, warm and masculine and intoxicating. It was Peking's smell and Yuxiang was bewitched by it.
“That's a good girl.” His voice came to her ear, breathy, dark, and amused. Yuxiang realized he was standing behind her. She shot upright with a gasp, as though she had been caught doing something bad.
“But you must wait until later. Come. We're going back to the campground now.”
Yuxiang nearly protested, but Peking was back out on the running board before she could speak. She wanted to tell him that she hadn't been tempted to climb inside his bunk just then. She wanted to say that she didn't want to smell his pillow, just to see what his skin smelled like. But she knew that he'd know she was lying. Her cheeks were on fire and her panties were soaked.
The afternoon passed in a haze. Between Yuxiang's mental exhaustion, her unrelenting frustration, and the tension between her and Peking, it was no wonder she passed out shortly after returning to the camp site. She settled down into her plush writing chair and almost immediately fell asleep. It wasn't until dinner time when she caught the scent of Peking's cooking that she woke up.
The sun was beginning to sink in the late summer sky when Yuxiang emerged from the wagon. She was immediately plied with hot tea and chicken stew from the campfire and encouraged to eat her fill. The butterflies in her stomach had all but destroyed her appetite, but she tried her best to clean her plate.
The firelight shone brighter as the sky darkened and the stars emerged. Across the campfire, Yuxiang could see the glowing fire reflected in Peking's eye. Just for a second, before he turned to catch one of his ducklings, she felt like she would be forgiven for mistaking him for a Fallen Angel.
She tried to smoke her pipe to calm her nerves. The nicotine helped; it also gave her something to do with her hands while she waited. She realized again that she honestly had no idea when it was going to happen or what Peking would do. But the thought of the things written in that book happening to her almost negated the effects of the tobacco altogether.
“My, where has the time gone?”
Peking was standing and stretching towards the sky. Yuxiang watched him, taking a drag from her kiseru to disguise her nerves. He looked back at her, the corner of his lip twitching up in a small smile. He knew she would come to him tonight.
In short order, he had gathered his ducklings, went inside the wagon, collected his bath supplies, and made his way back outside. As he passed Yuxiang’s spot on the wooden folding chair before the campfire, he paused, the firelight gleaming off his monocle.
“The children are in bed,” he informed her, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was a normal thing for him to let her know, but she was keenly aware that there was another meaning tonight. Before she could reply, he released her and began walking towards the stream.
“I'm going to bathe. You should do your writing.”
Normally he wouldn't have to remind her. But tonight her thoughts were so frazzled that she didn't think she would be able to accurately record the day's events. Either way, she should at least try to write. It would serve to kill time until bed at the very least.
So she settled into her comfortable writing chair and mechanically recorded the days events – or lack thereof. To describe them with her hand, it sounded like nothing had happened. But how could she explain the torment she'd experienced all day long? All the little things Peking had done thus far? The things she expected he would do very soon? She smoked another pipe, hoping it would finally calm her nerves. There was no such luck. Even moving her pen across the paper, it only felt like a means to hold back the clock until he returned.
When Yuxiang finally heard the door of the wagon open, she froze. A puddle formed under the tip of her pen as she waited for him to enter. When he did, as expected, he paused right before her chair and appraised her.
“Are you done with your writing?” he asked, his voice even. He didn't need to say more; the implications were clear and Yuxiang knew it.
“Yes,” she answered in a small voice. She tried to avoid staring, but he had tied his robe even looser tonight than last night. This time, however, he didn't bother leaning down. He simply regarded her with a small smile.
“Then why don't you change and get to bed?” Before she could respond, Peking had already turned and made his way to his bunk. In another few seconds, he had vanished behind his black curtains. Yuxiang exhaled, closed her eyes for a long moment, and set her book aside for the night.
She felt much calmer than she had thought she would as the chill of the night settled on her skin. Moving towards the back of the wagon, she opened their shared closet to find her robe folded neatly and waiting on top of her other clothes. She usually hung it up, so it was obvious what had happened; it was an implied order.
Stripping off her day clothes, Yuxiang slipped on her robe without thinking. She tied it closed with a simple single knot before taking her hair down. As she removed the ties and combs holding her ponytail in place, her hair fell loose against her backside. Taking a deep breath, she turned to extinguish her lantern, throwing the wagon into darkness.
Like a spell, she had entered a different world. It was uncertain and dangerous, the familiar shapes of the wagon distorting into vaguer and more sinister characters. Yuxiang's eyes adjusted to the darkness, but it didn't help much. She knew she was in Peking's domain now, even without passing through his black curtains.
But that was the threshold she needed to cross to fully enter his world. So with trembling hands, she reached for the thick black material. It parted more easily than she had ever imagined, allowing moonlight to shine through and fall over the bed and its occupant.
Peking reclined against his pillows, the light glinting off his monocle as he watched Yuxiang openly. His right arm propped him up against his pillows while the left lay casually across his stomach. Looking there, Yuxiang could see that his robe hung open, exposing him to the night air. For the first time, she was allowed to see all of him; his navel, his hair, his already half-hard cock resting against his thigh. Seeing where she was looking, she heard a barely stifled chuckle.
“Well? Aren't you going to come inside?”
Little Black Book: Chapter 1 of 3
Title: Little Black Book: Chapter 1
Series: Food Fantasy
Rating: MA/AO/R-18
Summary: Six months after the events of their fondness stories, Yuxiang is given Peking Duck’s sin diary from the kingdom he helped destroy. What follows is a descent into depravity.
Pairing: Peking Duck/Yuxiang
Spoilers: For both Peking Duck and Yuxiang's backstories
It had been six months since that awful night. While Yuxiang loved history – its research, its documentation, its personalities – watching it happen was a more horrifying prospect altogether. What a history book could never capture, she had witnessed firsthand: the screams, the smell of smoke, the light of the fires, that Food Soul's expression as he watched it all burn.
He had caught her in the act of trespassing and she had caught him in the act of treason. From the first moment she met Peking Duck, she had known him to be a ruthless killer, hopelessly destructive, and something of a sadist. The very first thing he did upon meeting her was to whisper in her ear and then kill a whole detachment of guards with his mind.
She could have mourned her predicament. After he forcefully stopped her death that night, it was generally understood that he now owned her soul. But Peking Duck was surprisingly gentle under normal circumstances and only asked her to record their journey together. Her life with him was pleasant enough.
They traveled throughout the Light Kingdom in his covered wagon, resting their mules by rivers by night and making progress by day. Peking had said he was looking for a good spot to settle down and start a tobacco shop, or perhaps a pawn shop, but he seemed to be in no particular hurry. Yuxiang really had nowhere else she would have rather been, either.
As long as they had been together, though, she still felt like she was far from truly understanding her companion. While it was true that he was normally a kind man, he had taken several questionable jobs since they'd been on the road. Yuxiang withheld judgment, simply recording as they went. The jobs all seemed to be within the purview of a certain moral compass; dubious, but never truly wicked. He would certainly kill for money, and often did, but only once he had assured himself that the target was worthy of his scorn. He would never harm children. His prices fluctuated depending on how he felt about the job. And Yuxiang was left out of every negotiation and only permitted to see the results when he was done. She had an inkling as to why.
Since they had begun traveling together, Peking had treated her with the utmost care. He was well aware that she wasn't that strong compared to an average Food Soul; compared to what she'd seen him do, her strength was even less impressive. It would certainly be a waste to have her hurt or killed after he'd gone to the trouble of saving her life. More than that, he always saw to it that she had everything she needed to be comfortable. She felt a bit sheltered, honestly, but she tried to be understanding.
What was strange was their relationship outside of that. Yuxiang was by nature retiring and a bit shy; she preferred books to company most days and while she could talk at length about whatever she was studying, she had trouble being sociable for more than a few minutes at a time. Peking never pressured her to socialize if she didn't want to. But when they had to interact with humans, he put on something of an act.
Most encounters they had with humans, he introduced her simply as his companion. In recent weeks, he had begun telling them she was his wife. She played along because in the end, it didn't truly matter. They never stayed long enough in one place for the humans to question them. But the last town in which they'd stopped had been different.
They had visited the town's general store to purchase supplies and Peking had struck up a conversation with the proprietor while Yuxiang browsed the stationary. When she approached the counter with her selections, she expected that he had already informed the shopkeep that she was his wife.
“Ahh, and who might your companion be, sir?” the old man asked genially as Peking produced their coin purse. He responded without missing a beat.
“This is my slave, Yuxiang.”
His face was an impenetrable mask as he replied, leaving Yuxiang out of breath. Should she make a fuss, his lie would be exposed. So she played along, heart thumping in her ears and eyes on the floor. She handed her purchases to Peking, as would be expected.
“Well, well,” the shopkeep replied, raking his eyes over her from behind his spectacles. “Seems a fine investment. Bet she's a lot of fun.” He spoke just as casually as if he were discussing the weather and Peking reciprocated cordially. But the implication wasn't lost on her, regardless of how inexperienced she was in such matters.
“Certainly. I'm very pleased with her.”
“I couldn't tempt you to part with her, could I?” Yuxiang felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Without meaning to, she found herself holding her breath. But when she cast a nervous glance at Peking, she saw a familiar glint in his eye. To the human, he probably looked calm and placid. But Yuxiang knew better. That look was deadly.
“Oh no,” he said, his jovial voice at odds with how Yuxiang knew he truly felt. “I intend to keep her forever.”
She knew she should have been angry with him for surprising her with that. But even as they drove the mules away together quietly, she couldn't bring herself to scold him. Wasn't there a grain of truth to it? More than that, though, part of her was secretly thrilled by his proclamation. Why was it such a titillating idea? Color rose to her face as they rode away from the shop side-by-side in his wagon.
“I didn't upset you, did I?” he asked softly. Yuxiang couldn't meet his eyes, either way.
“Ah, no, I was just surprised.” It was true enough, and he didn't need to know the rest.
“I see.” And the topic was closed, just like that. But his non-committal response probably meant he would use that particular cover story again. Yuxiang tried not to be excited by that prospect, and she wasn't entirely sure how successful she was at that.
Not too long afterwards, they had parked the wagon just off the post road for the night. The wagon sat between the road and a small creek; there was an area for grazing their mules, a small clearing with a well-used campfire, and copious shrubbery and trees for shade. Peking had plenty of room to let his ducklings play and the creek was good for drinking and bathing.
As the sun set and dinner was cleared away, Yuxiang settled into her writing chair in the wagon to record their day's travels. This was their usual routine, him cleaning the dinner dishes and tending the ducklings and her with her studies, smoking her pipe. Although she had felt guilty watching him work while she enjoyed herself, the one time she protested Peking scolded her. This was, after all, what he wanted her for.
The wagon itself was far more spacious on the inside than it looked from the outside. Along one side was Yuxiang's writing chair, a small bookshelf and lantern, and her cot. Along the other was Peking's bunk, a mysterious curtained place that Yuxiang had only ever seen the inside of in shadows. At the foot of his bunk was the ducklings' basket, and along the back end was their shared closet and trunks full of supplies. The front end opened out into the running board from which they could drive the mules.
Yuxiang was so absorbed in her writing that she hardly noticed Peking reenter the wagon with his ducklings. He gently placed the armful of them into their bed basket and then went on to rummage through the closet. Yuxiang only really noticed him when he passed her again on his way to the door.
“Yuxiang,” he called in an even voice, “I'm going to bathe.” She noticed the towel and bathrobe slung over his shoulder as she looked up from her notes.
“Ah,” she acknowledged, taking a drag from her kiseru. Did he usually inform her of that?
“Would you like to join me?”
He had her attention now. There was a glitter to his eye that Yuxiang wasn't quite sure she'd ever seen before. She was sure she was blushing again, but there was no way she'd say yes. He had to be teasing her.
“N-No, I'm fine,” she replied, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. “I have writing to catch up on, so I'll bathe later.” Peking smiled in return.
“Suit yourself. I'll be back soon.” Was she mistaken, or was there just a hint of amusement in his tone? He was gone before she could question it. She stared behind him at the closed door, confounded.
It wasn't that she didn't think it was possible that Peking was flirting with her. It was just that Yuxiang wasn't adept enough at social interaction to know how to be sure that was what was going on. And if it really was, she didn't have the first clue how to respond to him anyway. As she looked at where he had left through the door, though, she caught sight of something foreign on the table just to the left of it.
It was a small book, bound in black leather and with a black ribbon attached to the binding. The cover had a red band holding it closed. And Yuxiang was absolutely certain it wasn't there just a moment ago. More importantly, she recognized this particular style of book.
It was one of the sin diaries that the citizens of Peking's fallen kingdom were required to keep.
She reached for it without even thinking. Yes, she knew she should leave it where it lay. She knew it was a private journal and she should respect Peking's privacy enough to ignore it. But he did also tell her when he met her that night that “curiosity killed the cat". That man did almost nothing without a reason. Surely this was something he intended her to see, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist it.
Yuxiang leaned back into her writing chair with the contraband book clutched to her chest. Just holding it was the thrill of doing something wrong. With trembling hand, she reached for the red band, slid it over the cover, and opened it.
As soon as she saw the first page, she knew she had made a grave mistake.
An accounting of the sins of Peking Duck, His Majesty's most loyal and depraved servant, these being only those sins pertaining to lust…
Yuxiang's breath caught in her throat as she realized the exact implications of that line. First, this diary only covered sexual sins. That implied he had more journals and that all of his sins couldn’t be confined to a single volume. Second, he was the only Food Soul in that kingdom when she arrived; everyone else in this account would be human. Last, if her memory of the laws of that kingdom served her well, when Peking had infiltrated the cult, he would have had to submit this book to the authorities as proof of his loyalty, probably regularly. That alone called its veracity into question. But somehow Yuxiang suspected he wouldn't have wanted her to read it if it wasn't at least somewhat true.
As she turned the page, she forgot her earlier nervousness little by little. His writing was seductive, with the slick brush strokes of a government official and the word choices of an accomplished poet. The prose was so soft it was almost as if he was there, whispering it into her ear. And the contents of that luxurious writing were more depraved than even the nastiest erotic novel Yuxiang had ever seen.
Every manner of debauchery and deviance was recorded in those pages. It started simple enough: a tryst during a fancy dinner with a young nobleman, a secret visit from a married woman, deflowering the engaged daughter of a visiting count. Yuxiang felt her body heat as she read every filthy detail. It was more intense than a novel, because she knew that these things had most likely happened and the man responsible was her constant companion.
Not too many pages in, the sins became grander and more elaborate. Blindfolded sex parties with Peking the only one allowed to see. Experiments with the daughters of noble families to see if humans could crossbreed with Food Souls, all unsuccessful. Beatings with whips and riding crops that drew blood, yet with the victims begging for more. Yuxiang was so entranced that she couldn't help the occasional gasp or moan.
In fact, she was so entranced that she didn't hear anything else in the wagon – least of all its door closing.
“Enjoying the book?”
Yuxiang's heart nearly stopped. She strangled a scream before clutching the forbidden book to her breast, almost dropping her kiseru. Sure enough, there stood Peking, hair wet and unbound and hanging down past his behind. Wide-eyed, Yuxiang realized he only wore his bathrobe, loosely tied around the waist at that. He was carrying his kiseru in his right hand, a trail of sweet smoke following behind him. And the look on his face sent a chill straight into the bottom of her soul. Judging from his smile, she had fallen right into his trap.
And while she was frozen, caught in the act of trespassing his privacy, he leaned forward and placed a hand on either arm of her chair. She was caged between his arms, and worse, she could see straight down the half-open front of his bathrobe. Although she tried not to stare, she couldn't help but notice his shapely chest, his firm stomach, and the dusting of brown hair leading lower out of sight. Her eyes snapped back up to his, noticing how close he was. As he cupped her cheek with his left hand, he leaned forward. Yuxiang’s blood ran cold, expecting a kiss.
Instead, Peking's cheek drew even with hers. She could feel his lips move against her ear.
“Well, you've started reading it,” he whispered. “If you like it, you should finish it.”
After one more little puff into her ear, he was gone. Before Yuxiang knew what was happening, he was standing upright again, taking a drag from his kiseru. He blew a stream of smoke and gave her a knowing smile. Then he began walking towards his bunk.
“When you're finished, let me know how you liked it.”
And then he vanished behind his curtains.
It took several minutes before Yuxiang was calm enough to read again. Rather than stay in the chair, she extinguished her pipe, took the black book to her cot and hung her lantern above it. Blankets up to her nose, she read the diary late into the night.
It got progressively more and more lascivious. Peking's house had apparently had a rather spacious basement, where he kept some few of his partners for weeks at a time. They were bound with all manner of restraints – ribbons, iron shackles, rope – and tormented until they cried and begged for mercy. Some were denied food, some were played with until they pleaded for a release which they were denied, and some were splattered with hot wax or whipped with a chain. In every instance, Peking was the one doing it to them. With loving words, he described how much he had enjoyed tormenting his victims – and how much they had loved his torture. By virtue of the country in which they lived, they were all depraved sinners and he took a devilish glee in extracting payment for their sins.
Sometime in the deepest part of the night, Yuxiang reached the end of the account of his time in the kingdom. One of his last encounters had apparently been with one of the king's favorite courtesans; she was certain this was very close to the time she had met him, as turning that particular account in to the king's officers would have been tantamount to suicide. But there were still more pages left before she reached the black ribbon bookmark. Curious, she continued turning the pages. Although she thought she had become inured to the debauchery by that point, what she found next made her stomach drop.
The diary didn't end after the kingdom fell.
To put it another way, Yuxiang realized that the next pages were entries about her time together with Peking.
With the death of this accursed kingdom, I should reform and cease my wicked ways. But I must admit that a part of my soul still hungers for these terrible comforts…
His first sin recorded after the kingdom fell was using his own soul to resurrect Yuxiang.
While his stated reason – the need for a historian – was true, he apparently had ulterior motives behind that.
Her appearance suits me. Not in a solely physical way, although she does not want for anything in that area. But she appears to be knowledgeable of these matters and mature and difficult to frighten. These are all things I'll require in future. May she be a suitable companion for me and, if I am so lucky, mother as well.
Yuxiang bit her lower lip as she read the following entries. He had misjudged her only slightly when they met; even though her appearance was that of a mature and sexually knowledgeable woman, and she certainly liked to think of herself as a calm and reasonable person, Yuxiang had no such experience as that. She had never even kissed anyone, let alone even the mildest things in this account.
In subsequent entries, Peking seemed to have quickly come to that realization as well. He had tried to get her attention in the regular ways – subtle touches, engineering situations where they would be alone, buying her gifts – but had apparently been quietly frustrated by her innocence at every turn. The only thing he had had moderate success with so far was the times he had slipped that she was his wife into conversation. That particular strategy had been so effective that he'd decided to push it a little farther earlier today.
Finally, he had tried one last ditch effort to get her attention.
Yuxiang, I feel that the only way to reach you will be if you see it in writing, as it seems that you are only moved by mental stimulation. If you've enjoyed this tome, you may come inside my bunk. However, carry this warning with you: once you've closed the curtains behind you, every part of you will belong to me.
Yuxiang snapped the book shut and lay, eyes wide, staring up at the canvas roof of the covered wagon. The last entry was in equal measure terrifying and thrilling. She had never remotely imagined any of the things written in that book, they should have disgusted her, and yet…
…and yet…
…she couldn't stop thinking about it.
With shaking fingers, Yuxiang reached up and snuffed out the lantern, plunging the wagon into darkness. How could she sleep? She couldn’t get the images out of her mind. Peking with that Countess or that Knight, having an illicit affair right under the noses of the other nobles. The basement full of torture implements where there were only cries of pleasure. The young women who had begged to bear his child. Except in her imagination, she was in their place. The sheer impact of the mental imagery caused her to whimper and jam her knees together under her blanket.
Even in the darkness, she could still look across the wagon and see the black curtains. All she had to do was walk three paces and open them. He had to be waiting for her. But she couldn't do it. Not tonight. She couldn't just jump whenever he said to jump. She needed time to process everything she'd just read. Her attraction to him was now undeniable, but she was also wise enough to know that decisions made in haste rarely produced good results. Besides which, his last warning had conveyed the gravity of his request.
It would certainly be difficult to sleep tonight.
Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 2
Title: Blood Red Riding Hood: Chapter 2 - Bone White Series: Angels of Death Rating: M Summary: Little Red Riding Hood AU. Rachel Gardner wanders the woods alone at night in a red hood, looking for her own death. When she finds it, however, her death has other plans. Pairing: Zack/Ray Spoilers: AU, but probably for the whole game eventually? IDK.
The town was dark and deathly silent as the wolf and his prey entered along the main road. The quiet was unnatural; there would usually be birds or crickets chirping, cattle lowing, or mice scratching somewhere. Now there was just nothing.
The scent of death was nothing new to Zack. He killed to live and each kill had to last several days; cool caves could only keep the smell down so much. But this was a different kind of death smell. It wasn't the smell of a freshly killed human slowly going bad. It was disease, a slow and lingering death. It was the neglect that accompanied sickness, of bodies gone unburied and waste left to rot. His ears nearly flattened to his head, an involuntary sign of the unease he was beginning to feel.
The little morsel with him seemed unmoved. She hadn't lied after all, so he figured he could wait to eat her. He wasn't great at impulse control, but walking with her hadn't been unpleasant, so he supposed he could get into human farming, at least for the winter. Still, her lack of response was odd.
He expected a human girl to cry or panic or have some kind of emotional reaction to this dead village. But not Ray. She stepped over the waste and the dead in equal measure, her eyes just as empty either way. This had to be her normal demeanor; the fun little chase she'd given him in the woods was a fluke, then. How boring.
“Haaaaaaah,” Zack bayed, “This suuuuucks!” He was practically whining, but he didn't care. His companion turned to look at him, barely a hint of curiosity in her dead eyes.
“Are you sad?” Ray asked with just a touch of disbelief. Zack snorted.
“No, I'm not sad,” he huffed. “I'm pissed because I have to find new territory, dammit!” He had to remind himself that his new pet human was probably too sheltered to know much about wolves. Humans liked to huddle together in cities, far too many of them in one place for a wolf's liking. Wolves might form packs, but those were more like a family unit; they never reached the ludicrous size that human villages did. But the bitter irony was that wolves needed human settlements. Left to their own devices, a single wolf could depopulate an entire forest of decent game in less than half a year. For Zack, it would be a matter of weeks. But living on the outskirts of a town, a wolf could snag sheep, goats, pigs, sometimes whole cows! Zack himself preferred human meat, but their livestock worked just as well. Without the humans, he could probably live off deer for a month or two; he’d eventually be reduced to scraping by on squirrels and chipmunks, though.
Like hell. He'd rather leave entirely than deal with that kind of crap.
“Oh,” she replied softly. “Are you leaving, then?” What was she trying to say? Zack wasn't great at reading emotions, especially not on humans, but this girl was absolutely inscrutable. He couldn't tell whether she was trying to get rid of him or if she was lonely. She tugged on the sleeve of his jacket as he studied her face. No, he couldn't figure out that expression.
“You're comin' with me, girl,” he grumbled, eyes narrow. “Remember? I won’t kill ya now since you didn't lie to me, but now I need food for the winter.” Her lips twitched up in something resembling a smile. Combined with her weird eyes, though, the effect was more eerie than comforting. Still, she wasn't unpleasant to look at. Was this what humans felt when they kept dogs as pets?
“So you're my insurance,” he continued, responding largely to her smile, “In case I can't find any game.” Her smile faltered. What the hell, why did she look sad?
Oh right. She wanted him to eat her.
Humans were strange.
Rather than deal with her sad face, Zack gave Ray's shoulder a little shove. She stumbled a few steps down the dirt road, her expression flickering over subtly to confusion.
“You humans need supplies to live, right?” he barked, head cocked to one side. “Go get what you need. And if you try to run off, I'll hunt you down.” Her face lit up in that eerie way. When her eyes flashed with life like that, it struck something within Zack that made him distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn't necessarily bad, but he couldn't name it and therefore it was annoying.
“So if I tried to run, you…”
Oh. It was that.
“I'd find you and drag you with me anyway,” he groused, annoyed that her expression had been purely due to her weird death wish. Still, it was the first time anyone had ever asked anything of him, so he was reluctant to be too angry.
“Now go on,” he reminded her, “Get a blanket or food or whatever it is you humans take on trips with you.” She hesitated again, head tilted just a bit.
“Are you going to wait here?”
“Nah,” his lip curled over his fangs in a grin, “I'm gonna scratch up some dinner. I'll come get you when I'm ready to go.” He didn't bother to explain; he just walked away from her. He could scent her when he needed to.
In the meantime, Zack could use his nose to find something to eat. It had been days and he really was hungry. But if he was honest with himself, there was something off about Ray's smell. He hadn't noticed it until he was right on top of her and about to sink his teeth in, and truthfully it wouldn't have stopped him anyway.
But that girl smelled like death.
Specifically, the smell of this town clung to her, in her clothes and hair and on her flesh. It was faint, but whatever sickness had destroyed this town, she carried with her. If he ate her right then, he risked getting whatever she had. Even as dumb as he could be, Zack would usually not ignore his instincts. Still, the thought of eating that girl made his mouth water.
What if he threw her in a river? Would that smell come off? This brought to mind images of her bathing, without that big cloak. What would that skinny girl look like in a moonlit lake, without her clothes? Could he even wash her himself?
“Stupid!” he huffed, snapping himself out of the weird reverie. “Boring!” That sort of thought could come later. Right now, his stomach was growling.
He realized why a second later. The scent of meat and salt had caught his nose. Zack had never robbed a salthouse before – he’d never had the need – but he vaguely knew what they were. Humans hung meat there to preserve so they could eat it in the winter. If this one had been stocked before the town died, he might have a good dinner tonight after all.
Following the scent, Zack made his way around a plain grey stone block building, looking for a door. Finally finding one on the opposite side, he took a moment to inspect it. He could try to open the door, but why bother? That was human talk. With one swift kick, he splintered the old wood off its hinges, allowing moonlight to pour into the deserted room. Dust motes danced in the blue beams as they shone over a cellar door. That was where the scent was coming from.
Zack had never run into a door set in the floor before, but he wasn't about to be outdone by some human invention. True to his nature, he lifted a foot and sent it crashing into the wood. Had he thought better of the situation, he'd have realized that kicking in a door set into a floor would send his foot straight through it. Instead, Zack was now sunk half into the ground, swearing at the splinters digging into his leg.
Fortunately, it wasn't that hard to pull himself back up. A few moments later, he'd cleared the wreckage of the door away and found a set of stairs leading down into the meat cellar. It was dark and a human wouldn't have been able to see without a candle. Zack wasn't human and his night vision more than made up for the lack of light, so this wasn't a problem for him.
Looking about the cool, dry room, he had certainly found the salthouse. Sure enough, thick slabs of meat were hung to dry on large hooks. Cow and pig hocks were organized on racks and there were barrels full of whatever meat the humans had stuffed into them. He could take the barrels whole, if he wanted!
Not ten minutes later, Zack emerged with two barrels full of meat on his shoulders. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd travel with them – could he tie them to his back? – but they would surely be more than enough to last both of them until he could find more territory. His hunt over, now he could sniff out Ray.
The scent of the salted meat was strong, but the scent of death was also strong, too. Zack raised his bandaged face to the night air and breathed deeply. He could still smell her, but it was faint. She must have disappeared into a human hut somewhere. Without the threat of being hunted by the townspeople, he could leisurely stroll the streets as he looked for her.
Zack passed dark houses, their residents now forever silent. The streets were a mess: bodies in ditches or leaning against walls, muddy filth from recent rains, dead livestock, recently broken fences. He figured the remaining livestock had escaped into the woods when their human caretakers could no longer feed them. It wouldn't be enough to sustain him, but he wouldn't say no to the odd cow or goat when he got on his way.
As he passed a brick building with bars over its windows, he finally picked up Ray's scent a bit stronger than before. There was a sign with a shield and a key over the door, but Zack had no clue what it could mean. Not that it mattered; the residents there were currently food for the worms. Ray wasn't inside, in any event.
No, the blonde was certainly in the wooden hut next door. The door was ajar and her scent was strongest in that direction, but Zack hesitated. He could see light in the upstairs window, which meant she'd found another candle. Damn her and her poor eyesight. He suppressed a growl and pushed the door open. He could just knock it out of her hand if he had to.
Stomping inside, he could tell that this was a human den. The scent of old blood hung heavy here. It wasn't just from the sickness, but blood that had been spilled here before. There was the detritus of human life all around the empty house: a bare wooden table, a pair of wooden chairs, a threadbare rug, a broken plate, a cold hearth. The sleeping quarters must have been upstairs, so Zack sat the heavy barrels aside and moved towards the stairs in the back of the room.
The wood creaked as though it were suffering as he mounted the stairs. The death smell was much stronger up here, which probably meant there were corpses. As he reached the second floor, Zack could immediately tell which room Ray was in. Not only was her smell a dead giveaway, but that infernal light made it obvious. There was a larger, second room between him and hers, however, with an open door. The scent suggested that there were dead inside, so he took a peek.
It was a couple, man in the bed and woman in the floor beside it. They had both succumbed to whatever disease had ravaged the town, but the woman's body looked decidedly worse; she was probably where the smell of old blood came from. They were both well into their decomposition, but the resemblance was undeniable. Even someone as slow-witted as Zack could see that the woman was obviously related to Ray.
That would make this Ray's house, wouldn't it?
He turned to move towards the room Ray was in when his foot met some resistance. Looking down, he could see the offending item: the corpse of a black hunting dog. His gold eyes widened, one pupil visibly larger than the other. The scent of illness clung to his canine cousin. That was an ill omen.
“Raaay!”
No more dallying to look at corpses and broken fences. They needed to leave immediately. If that dog caught what the humans had, he certainly could too.
“Zack?”
She appeared like an apparition in the doorway of the other room, holding that damn candle. It lit up her passive face and glinted off her gold hair. Had the fire not been so offensive, she might have been a pleasant sight. But Zack didn't have time for sentimental bullshit. They needed to leave.
“Put out that damn candle and come on,” he growled, “We need to go.” Ray looked puzzled, but he didn't have time to explain. “Move your ass, girl!”
She must have heard the panic in his voice, because she came to his side in the next breath. She had secured a blanket to her back in a neat roll and had a large basket dangling from her arm. The other hand held the candle, still unextinguished. Feeling his hackles rise, Zack swatted it out of her hand and grabbed her wrist. The flame extinguished before it hit the floor. Then, without further explanation, he drug her towards the stairs.
“What… What's the matter?”
By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Zack was bounding to grab his barrels. He released her hand to do so and then made straight for the door. Ray followed along behind, confused. Soon they were back out in the street.
“Can you tell me now?” she asked. Zack flashed her an annoyed look but acquiesced anyway.
“You didn't tell me dogs could catch this shit,” he huffed, the accusation plain. Ray blinked, the problem dawning on her.
“I'm sorry, I didn’t realize that meant...” she murmured, looking away.
“Save it,” Zack barked. “I'll take it outta yer hide later. We gotta leave now.”
While it wasn't so much a run, Zack certainly wasted no more time heading out of town. Ray did her best to keep up, even though her legs were much shorter. Barrels weighing him down, Zack was actually slow enough that Ray could stay mostly even with him. Finally, after several minutes of silence, they reached the edge of town. Rather than stay on the road, Zack led them back into the woods.
“Aren't those heavy?” Ray finally asked, her voice quiet and breathy. Zack slowed to speak with her a bit better, winding between trees.
“Not too heavy,” he huffed. “I'd rather tie em to my back, tho. Kinda cumbersome.” Ray gave him a curious look but didn't stop walking.
“Maybe we can attach them to my bedroll?” It wasn't a bad idea, really. Zack would have to carry the bedroll, too, but it wouldn't be too much heavier.
“Alright,” he grumbled. “What'd you scratch up, anyway?” He was vaguely aware that humans didn't just eat meat, so he figured she'd need more food than what he'd found.
“Ah,” she said, opening the corner of the basket. “Canned plums, pickles, spiced apples, my sewing kit, Father's matchlock, our tinder box…” Zack felt his skin crawl.
“I told you, you don't need that,” he growled. Ray’s face was innocent enough, but he would never trust a human with fire.
“But we'll need a fire,” she protested. “It'll be cold…” Zack interrupted her with a snarl.
“You can sleep with a damn blanket!” he nearly yelled. The sense of panic that idea induced in him was immediately converted into anger. He stopped in his tracks and faced her down. After a few ragged breaths, he tried speaking again. “Look, my den isn't far from here and it's not that cold. We don't need a fire.”
Her face was inscrutable again. Zack almost wanted to shake her to figure out what she was thinking. After a few more moments, she nodded her understanding and he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. She wouldn't ask again.
Zack's den was a cave set into a small rise in the forest. Rachel would never have noticed it had he not led her right to it. It was well hidden by tree roots and leaf litter and she really had to admire how inconspicuous it was. Even in broad daylight, she doubted she'd have noticed it.
When they reached the entrance, Zack sat his barrels down, dropped to all fours, and crawled inside. It was just tall enough to sit upright in, but not to stand – at least not for someone as big as Zack. Rachel figured she'd only need to duck a little to fit comfortably. As she stooped to enter, the wolf pulled the top off one of the barrels and gleefully dug into the meat inside.
“Ugh, so salty,” he griped around a mouthful of salted pork. Rachel’s eyebrow rose but she said nothing. She noticed that even as he complained, he didn't stop stuffing his mouth. He was really kind of hapless, wasn't he? He also must have been very hungry.
She unlatched her thick red cloak and spread it out beneath her. Sitting down, Rachel could still feel the cold of the cave's packed earth floor. Regardless of what Zack had told her, she was cold down to her bones. Perhaps it was because she'd only woken up this morning and her body was still weak from sickness. Even with the cold, Rachel could barely stay upright long enough to have a few pickles out of her basket.
“Here.”
She focused her eyes on the strip of meat being shoved into her face. Zack gave her a hard stare as he waited on her to take the meat.
“You were sick before, right?” he asked. “You need meat to get better. Take it.” Rachel had almost no appetite, but obliged him anyway.
It was odd. In one night, this wolf that was supposed to eat her had shown more consideration of her well-being than anyone she could recall in recent memory. He even waited to make sure she began to eat it. Once he was satisfied she was eating, he scooted back off towards the barrel again.
“Go to sleep when you finish that,” he grumbled. “We’re gonna be walkin’ a while.”
“How far do you think we'll have to walk?” Not that it really mattered much to Rachel; as long as he killed her at some point in the winter, she would be content.
“Hell if I know,” he replied, tearing into another chunk of meat. “There's another wolf I know that might help me out, south of here.” Rachel might have looked passive, but this admission piqued her curiosity. Did wolves have friends like humans did?
“How far away are they?” She finished her meat and leaned against the wall of the cave. Even with her cloak, the cold was unbearable. She undid her bedroll and pulled her heavy blanket over herself. As thick as it was, it did little against the chill. It would certainly frost tonight.
“Uhh,” Zack hesitated. “Maybe… a couple months…?” Rachel's face was half-hidden beneath the blanket but she didn't look surprised either way. But inside she wanted to groan.
“Oh,” was all she said. It all sounded so bothersome. If she could just go to sleep and not wake up…
“Hey,” the wolf interrupted her bedtime thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“The people in that house? Were they your family?” Rachel blinked sleepily. The cold was keeping her awake anyway, so she might as well talk.
“Yes,” she replied, half-hidden under the blanket. “Mother and Father and Peter, our dog.” Although he had been her father's attack dog, Rachel had always loved Peter. He would snarl at strangers and the other townsfolk, but he was gentle and sweet with her. It wouldn't exactly be wrong to say she missed him more than her parents.
“Oh,” the wolf replied, sounding slightly confused. To further cement that impression, he scratched the back of his dingey brown hood. Honestly, he was charming when he resembled a normal dog like that.
“What's the matter?”
“It's just… ain't you too old to still be with your parents?” Rachel cocked her head against the cold ground and gave him a curious look. Did she really look that old?
“Well…” How could she begin to explain her situation? That her family had no money for a dowry because her father had a bigger tab at the local pub than anyone else in town? That if he hadn't been the town constable that he'd certainly have had to sell her and her mother to pay his debts, or that he'd threatened them with it many times over the years? That she was always just a little “off" to the other townsfolk and that none of them would have wanted her in their house anyway?
A wolf wouldn't have been interested in that sort of thing, even if he did understand all the human interactions that went into it. Instead, Rachel took her time and gave him a slow blink.
“Don't most girls have mates by your age?”
It was true, at least if she understood him correctly. The few girls her age in the town had been married off over the past couple years. She was the outlier, for reasons she considered more or less obvious. Even before they got married, none of them were close to her. Rachel had heard her fair share of giggles whenever she passed them after that, as well. While they were content to chatter between themselves about their married lives and their husbands’ proclivities, Rachel couldn't have imagined a more boring topic.
“I didn't have a husband,” she answered plainly. The wolf looked confused for a moment before turning his back to her again. “Err, a mate.” His ears flicked in understanding.
“Weird,” he said, chewing another piece of dried meat. Rachel didn't care much for conversations on the topic, but it was still too cold to sleep. An involuntary shudder ran through her frame, causing the blanket to quake. She pulled it over her head in the hopes that her breath could heat up the underside of the blanket. It didn't work very well.
Rachel gritted her teeth together to keep them from chattering. She curled onto herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. It helped a little at least. She vaguely heard Zack moving around through the cave but didn't think much of it. At least not until he lifted the corner of her blanket towards the entrance of the cave, letting a rush of cold air inside. Rachel squealed and squeezed herself further into a ball.
“Zack!” she whimpered, “Put it down!”
He did as he was told, but that wasn't what concerned Rachel just then; rather, it was the fact that the wolf was now under the blanket with her. Zack flopped down on his side facing her. Now it was Rachel's turn to be confused. A second later, he threw an arm over her and pulled her to his chest, almost smothering her.
“C'mere, Ray,” he grunted. “You're cold, right?” She mumbled her agreement into his jacket. He smelled completely foreign to her, a mixture of earth and dog fur, but it wasn't unpleasant. He adjusted his arms a bit to provide a pillow for her head and then went still; even his tail didn't move. Most importantly, he was warm – much warmer than Rachel. It occurred to her that this was probably why he didn't think they needed a fire.
Just as she shut her eyes and was nearly warm enough to sleep, she felt movement on her head. It wasn't just that Zack’s hand was now cradling her head; it was that he was also apparently sniffing her hair. Rachel could feel what little heat there was rush to her face.
“You stink like death,” he finally grumbled. “Take a bath tomorrow.” Whatever vaguely romantic thoughts she may have had died when he opened his mouth. Still, that made her a little less nervous.
Truthfully, she hadn't slept together with anyone else since she was very young. She could only vaguely remember sleeping beside her mother when she was a little girl, but her father had raised such a ruckus about it that she'd been sent off to her own room. Sometimes she was lucky enough to get their dog to sleep beside her. That was what Zack most reminded her of just then.
Raising her hand to his chest, Rachel curled her fingers against the warm cloth. With the amount of heat he put out, she could feel sleep rushing in on her. Her fatigue and illness washed over her, knocking her out. She fell asleep so fast that she barely registered the wolf beside her holding her just a little tighter.
Blood Red Riding Hood - ZackRay Month, week 1 day 4
Title: Blood Red Riding Hood Series: Angels of Death Rating: M Summary: Little Red Riding Hood AU. Rachel Gardner wanders the woods alone at night in a red hood, looking for her own death. When she finds it, however, her death has other plans. Pairing: Zack/Ray Spoilers: AU, but probably for the whole game eventually? IDK.
The forest was deathly silent as the girl with the hooded red cloak wound her way through the trees. Her footfalls were the only sound in the eerie stillness. The crunch of leaves or the snap of a twig underfoot was that much louder with nothing else to mask it. It was late fall, dusk, and chilly, but even that did not explain the quiet. No birds sang, no squirrels chattered, even the cold wind was still. To the blonde girl, this wasn't much different than her village now. Perhaps she had cursed this forest, too.
The village, which lay on the other side of the entrance to these woods, was now officially deserted. God's punishment had descended upon it, laying waste in a matter of weeks. Crops molded in the fields, the hands that would have harvested them now cold and stained with the evidence of the judgment that had taken them. Rachel Gardner, the seventeen-year-old maiden walking the woods, had that same judgment upon her, too. But instead of laying forever still in her cold bed back home like the rest of her village, she now wandered the woods like a phantom. Hands bruised with evidence of her recent illness, she clutched at her cloak as she continued on, shielding herself from the cold.
She could barely bring herself to think about those morbid things, though. She was barely thinking at all. As such, a sudden movement close behind startled her back into herself. Turning, her cape barely shifting about her body, she could see nothing behind her. The light was weak now, almost completely gone, but someone – something – had certainly just been there. The only real evidence was a single dead leaf dancing in the air. She watched it, weighing exactly what it could mean.
Heart beating in her ears, Rachel slowly turned back the way she had been going. She felt it before she saw it, hot puffs in the cold evening air. Its breath hit her cheek, tempting her to shut her eyes tightly so she wouldn't have to see her impending demise. She kept them open instead, sliding them reluctantly towards the predator.
The first thing she was struck by was just how large it was. The creature absolutely dwarfed her by comparison, causing her to shrink back a half-step. It towered above her as she fell in its shadow; she didn't even come up to its shoulder. Finally gathering the courage to lift her eyes fully, she dared look at its face.
Its face was vaguely human shaped, hooded with some kind of cloak. The hood only deepened the evening shadows, rendering its face inscrutable. The only things she could make out were a row of sharp white teeth and two burning red eyes. As it breathed, wisps of steam escaped its fangs and the two red embers were fixed on her. Despite herself, Rachel trembled.
“Little girl,” it growled, “Didn't your parents tell you to stay outta the woods at night? There's wolves out here.” Rachel stared, frozen. The voice was scratchy, grave, and male. The threat lying under the surface of his words was evident. She managed a hesitant step backwards, but he followed, making the gap between them even smaller. He cocked his head to the side and she could see a decidedly canine ear twitch at top of his hood. He wasn't human.
“I always like a little exercise before dinner,” he continued, “but you humans don't run too fast. That's why I’m gonna give ya a three second head start. Better start runnin' if ya don't wanna get eaten!” Rachel's blue eyes widened as an unbidden pang of fear struck her heart. The wolf man held up three fingers on his right hand; each finger was tipped with a wicked black claw. The moon hadn't risen yet, but whatever light remained glinted keenly off the curves of those talons. Each one was surely as deadly as a knife.
Even seeing that, her feet felt heavy. It wasn't until he began counting that the reality of the situation set in. If Rachel didn't run, she was going to be this wolf's dinner. And although she knew she deserved that fate and had actually come to this forest specifically to fulfil that fate, suddenly coming face-to-face with the reality of it caused her to panic. Her survival instinct rebelled against her guilt and morality; by the time the wolf lowered one finger and sounded out his “three", she had turned and fled through the leaf litter.
True to his word, the wolf dutifully counted out “two" and “one" before bolting into the forest behind her. With a delighted howl, he gave chase. He was fast, faster than any human, especially one weak from illness and hunger like Rachel was. She didn't need to see him chase her. That would only distract her and slow her down. Besides, he was making no effort to hide his noise; it was easy to tell where he was just from the racket he was making. His racing footsteps, his maniacal laughter, his howl, and her blood pounding in her ears all served to nearly deafen Rachel.
Since there was no way to out run him, Rachel knew she had to find a place to hide. She was too short to climb any of the bare trees she passed by, and if she hid under a pile of leaves he could certainly find her by scent. But as she ran, she could vaguely make out a large, dark shape on the other side of the copse she was traveling through. She hadn't been keeping careful track of where she was, but she had a sharp memory. If she was correct, that would have been the home of the village doctor who lived on the outskirts of town.
Wasting no time, Rachel poured the last of her energy into sprinting towards the cabin's dark porch. The house was dark, leading her to believe that its resident, Danny, was out on a house call. They weren't close – she usually only saw him to fetch hangover medicine for her father – but she doubted he would begrudge her a hiding place for the moment.
Mounting the porch, Rachel stretched a hand towards the front door. As she pushed it open, she thanked God that it hadn't been locked. A second later, she heard a heavy footstep stomp onto the bottom wooden step. He was there close behind her now. Rachel couldn't hold back a gasp as she felt his clawed fingers brush the back of her cloak. But she was just a fraction of a second fast enough; she passed through the door and quickly slammed it behind her. Without wasting a single second, she fastened the deadbolt. It wasn't a moment too soon; he was trying to tear the doorknob off. There was a large wooden bar set off to the side of the door; with a little luck, Rachel was able to leverage herself to be able to drop it into the slots on either side of the door frame. After a few more moments, the noise stopped and Rachel was able to slump against the door and slide to the floor. She watched helplessly as a shadow quickly moved across the light from the front windows and then vanished.
Why was she afraid? This was what she'd come to the woods for. She knew when she first set foot out here that this was what happened to people who traveled at night through the forest. Well, not entirely; knowing something was likely to result in death was not the same as knowing exactly how it would happen. Her reaction to being face-to-face with that man-eater was probably utterly normal.
She was just such a coward. She should have stood firm and let the wolf devour her. It was what she deserved for bringing that awful judgment to their village. It was what she deserved for surviving when everyone else had died. Had she any tears left, she might have cried then. But there was nothing left.
After a minute or two, her heartrate and breathing returned to normal and Rachel was able to look around. She was in the front room of the doctor's cabin, where he would meet with the villagers when they called on him. There were all the normal accoutrements of a drawing room: chairs, books, shelves. Set amongst jars of salve and dried herbs, she found a candle and a silver tinder box on the table underneath the window (it was a miracle the wolf didn't try to break it). After another few moments, she had a small, strong light.
Moving further back into the cabin was probably for the better. If she was away from windows, there was less chance the wolf might see her and attempt to break the doctor's property. She could move on to her death tomorrow, after she had apologized properly to the doctor for coming in uninvited. To that end, there was a door set against the back wall of the waiting room, so that was the best place to start.
Rachel had never been back there. She assumed it was a living space, or maybe a more private operating area. What she wasn't expecting exactly was for the door to open into a fairly narrow hallway with a staircase off to her left. The wall directly across from her held three doors. She figured the best door to start with was directly across from her and when she heard a door shut on the other side of it, that sealed the issue. Someone was in there. Was the doctor home after all?
Rachel turned the doorknob and slowly cracked the door open. This room was dark, also. The only light came in through a window on the far side of the room, which was set into the wall beside the back door. A bed with curtains occupied the middle of the room, and tables holding various medical instruments lined the walls. This must have been an operating room. And there, standing before the window, was the doctor.
“Doctor?” Rachel asked softly. Although her candle illuminated the parts of the room closest to her, the doctor was still in deep shadow, silhouetted by the rising moon outside
“What?” he replied, voice scratchy. Rachel's eyebrows pinched together.
“You sound hoarse,” she nearly whispered.
“My throat's dry."
Then she caught sight of the doctor's hands.
“What… big hands…”
“The better to catch you with…”
He began to turn away from the window and Rachel felt her heart thump in her ears. The candlelight reflected off his pupils. The moon glinted off his canines as he smiled.
“What big... teeth…”
“The better to eat you with!”
Rachel took a step back and felt her foot connect with something soft and firm. Before she could register what she'd just stepped on, the door was slammed shut behind her and she was knocked to the ground. Her candle was knocked out of her hand in a single strike. It fell to the polished wood floor, rolling away from her. Just before it sputtered out, she saw what had nearly tripped her; the doctor's open glass eye glinted in the candlelight, his face a stiff mask of death. She only saw it for a second, but he was definitely many days dead and covered in dark black spots. She had probably stepped on his hand. The judgment had already claimed him.
That was the least of her problems, though. The wolf was straddled across her waist, holding her down with his weight. Before she could react, he'd clamped her wrists to the floor with his clawed hands. A few drops of his drool landed on her cheek, causing her to flinch and whimper.
Don't look away. Don't hide this time. Face God's judgment. You deserve this. This will absolve the sin. You deserve this.
“You're so bony!” he cackled, “But beggars can't be choosers, right? It's almost winter, pickin’s are slim! Hey, you can cry if you wanna! Gimme a little light dinner music, girl!”
Rachel stilled and kept her eyes on him. She could see him a little better now. His face was wrapped in bandages, with a slash of black hair falling out of his hood. There was no muzzle or maw; his features were human as far as she could see. The scarce light reflected off his eyes, making them glow. But her first impression of his teeth had been mostly correct; they were white, sharp, and could most definitely rend her flesh. But his expression was changing now, from one of delight to something else. The longer she looked at him, the unhappier he looked.
“What the hell, girl? Did I scare you too much to cry? Stop bein' fuckin' boring!”
“I'm ready,” she said, a preternatural calm falling over her, “You can eat me now.” It only took a moment for him to register what she'd just said. His weight vanished from her body so fast that she gasped. His ears flattened against his hood as he recoiled and she could see a look of disgust overtake his expression.
“Like hell I will now!” he snarled. “No human ever offered a wolf anything with no strings attached! I might be a dumbass, but I'm not a sucker!” Rachel stared up at him from the floor with wide eyes. Just like that, he wasn't going to eat her? Had she escaped her well-deserved death a third time? Her body took a moment to respond, as though she was waiting for permission to move. When he turned away and stomped towards the bed, Rachel figured it would be alright to sit up.
“You… aren't going to eat me?” she asked, confused and a little hurt. The wolf flopped onto the edge of the doctor's bed, slouching forward to rest his hands on his knees. His tail swished behind him in frustration; Rachel had just noticed the fluffy black appendage, seeing it was dirty and matted as well. He cast a shining golden glare at her.
“I ain't that stupid,” he growled. “You probably got a huntsman waitin’ to cut me open hidin’ in here, doncha?” Rachel stood and gave him a blank look as she rubbed her sore wrist. “Or you'll poison me if I eat you!”
“That doesn't even make sense,” she protested, following him over to the bed. Rather than sit with him, she knelt on the floor before his feet. Looking up at him, she clasped her hands like a prayer. “It's alright to eat me. That's why I came out to these woods. I deserve it, so…”
“What the fuck,” he growled, scooting back from the eerie girl. “Go back home, kid. If you wanna die so bad, go drown yourself or somethin'!” The disgust in his expression was evident.
“I need to submit to God's judgment,” she whispered. “I can't take things into my own hands. Besides… I can't go back. No one is left in the village.”
The wolf froze. His eyes narrowed. Where before they had shone with disgust and revulsion, they were beginning to shine with another emotion. Rachel could swear that now he looked angry. She tilted her face just slightly in curiosity, a strand of white-gold hair falling between her eyes. Before she could ask, however, his clawed and bandaged hand shot out and grabbed her face. It covered her mouth, latching onto her jaw from the front. Rachel's eyes widened and she let out a small squeak as his grip tightened. He stood from the bed and she then found herself being dragged to her feet by her face.
“Don't lie to me, kid,” he growled. “There's no way that town is empty.”
“I'm not… I'm not lying to you…”
Her voice was muffled under his hand, but her words were understandable enough. Feebly, she tried to pull his hand away, but the difference in their strength was apparent. Even though he wasn't actually hurting her, his grip was still like an iron vise. At this point, his outstretched arm was even supporting her entire weight; he had lifted her high enough for her toes to just graze the floor.
Then, just as suddenly, he put her down.
“If you're lyin’ to me, I'll gut you,” he ground out, stepping up to her. Rachel gingerly rubbed her jaw while he towered over her again. It was hard not to be scared of him, but she steeled herself once again.
“So if I tell a lie, you'll kill me?”
“Don't go gettin' any ideas, you little weirdo,” he grumbled. “I still don't believe you. So I'm goin' to check the town right now.”
“Oh… Goodbye, then.”
“Whaddaya mean ‘goodbye'?” He passed her while she looked on, stunned silent. Without warning, his hand shot back towards her, clutching her cloak where it attached under her chin. Rachel gasped as her feet began to slide against the floor, being drug along behind the huge wolf.
“You're comin’ with me.”
“Wh-Why?” It was really all she could stammer out. If he wasn't going to eat her, and he was obviously repulsed by her, why would he want her to come along?
“Isn't it obvious?” he asked, his voice now more casual than really angry.
“No?”
“If the town is still there, I'm gonna kill you for lyin' to me,” he explained with a grin. “And if it's not, I’ll need some food supplies for the winter.”
“I don't know where everyone kept their stores,” she murmured, puzzled. It wasn't as if there was much to eat back at her house, either. Did this wolf even eat anything other than people? That might explain why he was so adamant about searching the town.
“I mean you,” he clarified. “You can be my emergency rations.” Rachel's eyes widened with hope. Either way, he was going to kill her. It just meant he had to ensure his own survival first.
“Ah,” she replied, her voice dull. She gathered her wits enough to catch her footing and keep up with him as they left the doctor's room. Since she was walking on her own now, he let her go. Without missing a beat, they crossed the hallway and made their way to the front room. The wolf's footsteps were quick and purposeful, but Rachel was having more trouble following along. Even though her eyes had adjusted to the loss of the candle, she still couldn't see as well in low light as he obviously could. As soon as they entered the front room, she made a beeline for the tinder box. They could always find another candle.
“What's that?” the wolf asked suspiciously. Rachel looked at him, hand outstretched to take the silver box.
“The Doctor's tinder box,” she replied simply. “I can light another cand--" She was interrupted by the wolf’s hand on her wrist. It didn't hurt this time, but she also knew she wouldn't be able to move her hand and pick up the box. His intention was clear.
“We don't need that,” he explained. “I have good night vision.”
“But… I don't,” Rachel protested as he began dragging her towards the door by her wrist. He didn't need to explain it to her: she didn't need to see. She just needed to follow him now. When they came to the door, rather than lift the bar off, he simply drew back a leg and kicked it right in the middle. The otherwise strong wood splintered and exploded outwards from the force of his kick.
“You just kicked the door down,” she stated, voice full of quiet awe. “Why didn't you…” She could see a smile spread across his face, baring his fangs. It wasn't threatening this time, not exactly. Rather, he seemed amused.
“That's no fun!” the wolf barked. “Why even chase you if you don't make it fun?” His tail wagged just a little and Rachel realized just how close wolves could be to dogs. He pulled her down the stairs and onto the dirt trail leading out into the main road going back to town. The path leading out onto the dirt road was lined on either side by the thick forest. Very little light made it through, but Rachel's eyes had adjusted to the low light well enough to see the ground.
As they reached the wider dirt road leading back into town, the wolf finally released her hand. He looked back over his shoulder at her as she drew up even with his shoulder.
“Hey, little red,” he grumbled. “You got a name?” Rachel lifted her face to look at him, moonlight lighting her features.
“Rachel,” she answered plainly. “Rachel Gardener.” The wolf's left ear twitched as he absorbed this information.
“So… Ray.” Well, close enough.
“What about you?” His face was clearer now in the moonlight, and although it was covered in bandages, Rachel could see that he was fairly handsome for a wolf.
“Call me Zack,” he replied before turning away to look down the road. The houses that made up the village were visible a ways down the road, dark and foreboding. No light was lit in the windows and no sounds could be heard except those of a few rustling leaves blowing across the dusty road. The two awkward companions, the big bad wolf and the girl in the red hood, began moving towards the darkened town.
[to be continued]
A Perfect Life
Title: A Perfect Life Series: Angels of Death Rating: R-18 Summary: After a night out, Zack attempts to take a bath. But Ray isn’t going to let him take it alone. Pairing: Zack/Ray Spoilers: For the end of the game (many years post ending)
It was barely past midnight when the latch on the glass patio door rattled. It only gave a little resistance before gliding open with a soft sound. After a beat, it slid closed again, muffled steps falling in its wake. Heavy but quiet, he padded through the darkened living room, dripping as he went.
The only source of light in the spacious and sparsely decorated luxury apartment was that which poured through the kitchen doorway. Approaching in silence, he could see that a late dinner had been laid out on the otherwise bare kitchen table; some kind of baked hamburger meat, something he recognized (with just a touch of disgust) as broccoli, and a glass of milk. He nearly left as quietly as he came.
The girl standing at the kitchen counter gave him pause, though. Her head was down, apparently reading a magazine. Her blonde hair trailed down her back, brushing the bottom of her shirt. She seemed content, a mug of tea at her elbow as she leaned on the counter by the stove. She appeared completely oblivious to the killer in her house.
He took one step into the bright kitchen, trailing blood along the clean floor, and then another. A maniacal smile spread across his shadowed face. Hand outstretched, he reached for her shoulder.
“Zack.”
He stopped, the glee vanishing as his partner turned to look at him. Rachel's eyes were unreadable as she sized him up, taking in every blood splatter on his dirty brown hoodie. Zack stared back at her in open defiance, one hand on his hip and the other holding the scythe that rested against his shoulder. He knew he was testing her patience. It was another few moments of tension before she spoke again.
“Did you have fun?” The wicked smile returned to Zack's face. While the blonde woman usually accompanied him when he killed, sometimes he just wanted a little time to himself. And while it was disgusting to think of her as a passive housewife waiting for him to come home from ‘work', well… he also wouldn't deny that the similarity thrilled him just a bit.
“You should've seen their faces, Ray,” he nearly gushed. “I got three of ‘em comin' back from a party! One of ‘em pissed himself!” He was still riding the familiar endorphin high from a satisfying kill and didn't bother to hide it. Rachel seemed unphased as he cackled, expression as passive as ever.
“Clean up before dinner,” she said firmly, pointing directly at his shirt. “I'll put those in the washer.” His expression dampened just slightly at being ordered around.
“Haaaah, c'mon, Ray,” he almost pouted, “Don't be a buzzkill.” Her expression remained unchanged and Zack knew he wouldn't get out of bathing just then. What a way to derail his plans!
“You're dripping on the floor,” she pointed out. Zack knew it was half concern for him and half concern for keeping the floor clean.
“It's not my blood!” he protested half-heartedly. Rachel cocked her head to the side; well, now she was fully concerned that he was dirtying up the floor.
“I'm glad,” she finally replied, “But you still need a bath.” Zack tsk'd but he knew he was beaten. He'd never understand her attachment to cleanliness, at least when it came to things like blood.
“Fiiiiine,” he bleated, closing his brown eye and looking at her with the gold one. He put his bloody weapon down on the linoleum, allowing the blood to pool on an easily cleanable surface (as he'd been instructed many times before). With that, he shoved both hands into his pockets, tossed the blonde one last smirk, and headed further into the apartment to the bathroom.
The bathroom was just as barren as the rest of the apartment, with the exception of a wicker basket full of shell-shaped soaps and a few arrangements of silk flowers. Two toothbrushes sat side-by-side on the counter, and two threadbare brown towels were hung from the bar on the wall. There was also enough room for both a stand-alone glass shower and a spacious tub. The tub was shaped like a triangle tucked into the corner of the room, had jets on the sides, and most importantly, was big enough for two, possibly three people. A couple bottles of cheap wash were tucked into one corner of the tub's ledge along with a ratty washcloth.
Zack had removed all of his clothes before he'd even entered the room fully. Swinging the door shut behind him, he left the bloody pile on the other side; Rachel would grab them and take care of them like she said. In the meantime, he could unwrap his bandages and run a bath.
Deftly avoiding the mirror over the sink, Zack turned on the water. Years of practice made quick work of the bloody bandages. They found their way to the wastebasket tucked beside the toilet in short order. Finally truly naked, he climbed into the warm water and leaned against the side of the tub.
With a sigh, Zack sank down and relaxed, arms resting on the ledge behind him. He was more concerned with soaking than with actually washing himself at the moment. If he stayed in the bathtub long enough, maybe Rachel would go to bed and he could throw out that broccoli. Then again, eating without her would be boring. His internal dilemma was briefly interrupted by the sound of her scooping up his dirty clothes outside the door. Zack decided then that he liked eating with Ray more than he hated broccoli.
With that thought, he grumbled and sank into the water nearly up to his eyes. He was just about to reach for the washcloth when the doorknob jiggled. Raising an eyebrow, Zack leaned back into his position against the edge of the tub. He then watched with undisguised interest as the door swung slowly inward. Rachel stepped through, impassive as usual and now completely naked except for a small bucket with body wash in it clutched to her chest.
There was a time, not that long ago actually, that Zack would have yelled, flailed, and possibly thrown a wet washcloth at her for interrupting his bath. Instead, he met her eyes, daring her to say something. She had long ago seen the skin he hid behind his bandages; he knew he was ugly, but it didn't seem to shock her or even give her pause. He didn't think he'd ever understand her weird tastes. For a long second, neither said anything. Finally, Rachel broke the silence.
“I wanted a bath, too,” she explained. If Zack wasn't mistaken, there might have been a small blush creeping across her otherwise inscrutable face. That kind of timidity was like catnip to him, causing him to smile ever-so-slightly. It was probably a pretty unsettling sight, but Rachel didn't seem affected. Rather, she padded stiffly to the tub and climbed in beside him. That little bucket only covered so much; while he hadn't exactly gotten an eyeful, it was abundantly obvious that she had filled out in certain places over the years they'd been together. Only his eyes moved as she settled into the water, which reached up to cover her chest. Like hell he'd let her know he'd been checking her out just then, though.
“The shower's over there,” he said dryly, barely hiding the smirk in his voice. Rachel sat her small wash bucket aside and her shyness seemed to vanish.
“Ahh,” she commented, turning to look Zack in the eyes again, “But I wanted to take a bath with you.” Whatever confidence Zack had developed, Ray's forwardness disarmed it. With her stoic demeanor firmly back in place, she had set him back on his heels. It was all he could do to keep from sputtering.
“Obviously!” he nearly squawked. “Geez, you just do whatever you want, don't you…” She'd broken his boldness; just this once, he flinched and looked away to the side, studying the faucet intently. Realizing the tub was just about full, he reached over and turned it off. It was a welcome distraction from the woman beside him.
“Mmm,” she agreed softly. He gave her a pointed stare, but it was already too late. Once Rachel's mind was made up, even Zack had very little chance of changing it. The blonde was nothing if not stubborn.
“Tch, fine,” he relented, leaning back and closing his eyes. He wouldn't complain, at any rate. Still, it was odd and unfamiliar for her to intrude this boldly and this far into his personal space. She was probably uneasy about something.
“Hey.”
Rachel looked up from where she had been arranging her bath bucket, which she had filled with water. Her pure blue eyes met his again, but he held steady.
“Did anything happen while I was gone?” he asked pointedly. She knew she couldn't lie to him, so it was usually just simplest to ask her what he wanted to know directly. Her eyes darted away.
“Well,” she began, almost carefully, “It was before you went out. When I was out earlier today. A neighbor saw me come in.”
The revelation hung heavy in the air. They both knew what it meant. It was the reason Rachel was so insistent about the blood stains on the floor. They weren't supposed to be here at all, so the fewer signs they'd been there, the better off they'd be. They were lucky enough to find an empty place with lights, let alone water; the fact that it was in a fairly nice neighborhood was almost too lucky for words. Presumably, either the last tenant's utilities hadn't run out yet or the building manager kept them on for show purposes. They even put a bird nest that Rachel had made herself up to block one of the building’s security cameras; they were careful to simply avoid any others. It had worked very well for three weeks, but apparently their luck was close to running out.
Since they were spotted, they needed to move on. They’d had a series of hideouts over the years, keeping mostly on the move and never staying in one place for too long. This one had certainly been the best place they'd squatted by far, but even this wasn't worth risking arrest.
What concerned Zack most, though, was how this might affect Ray. It was obvious to him that she loved this apartment. She loved having a washing machine and a stove, loved being able to take a hot bath whenever she wanted. There was even a bed left by the rental company that they were able to sleep on. Compared to the dirty warehouses and shipping containers they sometimes slept in, this was heaven. The idea that she might resent him for keeping her from those things pricked at him like a splinter.
She deserved a life like the one they'd been playing at, a real one. She would dispute that, obviously, but Zack couldn't help but think she deserved better than to be dragged from dirty hovel to dirty hovel. She could always go back to the regular world, too. If they were caught tomorrow, he'd go back to death row but it was likely the police would view her more as a victim than an accomplice, entirely regardless of how long they'd been together. His eyes had drifted across the room, distracted by his gloomy thoughts before he responded.
“You wanna leave in the morning?” he asked softly. He looked back over to her, but Rachel's eyes were studying the bathwater.
“Yes,” she replied, eyes flickering back up to meet his. “Preferably before sunrise.” He nodded solemnly. They'd need to rise early. Before his guilty thoughts could nag at him anymore, though, Rachel shifted to sit on her knees. She leaned towards him with her bucket obscuring her small, apple shaped breasts. Zack's first instinct was to flinch away, but he fought it; he'd rather see what she was thinking of doing. What weird ideas had she gotten into her head this time?
“Ray,” he said simply, pinning her with a hard look. “What are you up to?” Most people would have smiled in reassurance or laughed to fill the space. Not Rachel. She blinked slowly, a small dusting of pink spreading across her nose. It could have just as easily been from the heat from the water, but Zack had a sneaking suspicion her intentions hadn't been totally innocent. Her eyes lit up in that mischievous way they sometimes did, though; a subtle sign that she was up to no good.
“I want to wash your hair,” she answered, perhaps a shade quieter than Zack was used to. They looked at each other for a long moment, but she stood firm. He really didn't get her sometimes. How was she okay even looking at him, let alone touching him?
“What the hell, Ray,” he grumbled, turning his back to her as a way to implicitly give her permission. “You're so fuckin’ gross sometimes.” He thought he heard a half-formed chuckle behind him. She would wait until his back was turned before smiling. But now that he was thinking about that expression on her face, it was hard to think of anything else. And it wasn't exactly as if it made him want to kill her anymore, either – well, not entirely, anyway. He was a grown-ass man, after all! He had those kinds of thoughts, too, dammit! Ah well – he was facing away from her anyway, so it wasn't like she would be able to see any unintended physical reactions.
“Don't throw up in the bathtub, okay?” she chided placidly. Before Zack could protest, he felt her skin against his back and sides. She had straddled his back, thighs on either side of his hips and little feet sitting even with his legs. His breathing hitched as she shifted her position to get closer, realizing which parts of her body were dangerously close to his lower back. Was she doing this on purpose? She did have a death wish, after all, but he would never be able to kill her if he died of a heart attack first.
Before Zack's mind could get any further down that particular road, Ray emptied the bucket she had brought into the tub with her onto his head. It wasn't a swift dunking, but the bathwater certainly served to clean up his thoughts just a bit. He wiped his eyes dry with a grunt.
“Dammit, woman,” he huffed under his breath, less because of the bucket of water and more because of her thighs. She acknowledged his cursing with a small hum before her hands began working shampoo into his dirty hair. Her fingers massaging his scalp felt better than they had any right to. As weird as it was, he had begun to kind of enjoy what she was doing. He closed his eyes and leaned back into her; just this time, she'd get her way.
Although it probably took only a few minutes, to Zack it felt like a small eternity. He choked back a groan when Rachel's fingers finally retreated so that she could rinse the suds and dirt out of his hair. The bucket released a stream of transparently gray and brownish-pink from his hair into the water, but he didn't mind. It was sure to be absolutely filthy by the time they were through, anyway. In short order, her hands returned to work conditioner into his wet hair and he leaned back into them with a satisfied grunt.
Another bucketful of water and she was done. Zack found himself missing the attention from her hands as soon as she finished her second rinse. No sooner had he made a disappointed noise deep in his throat than the issue was resolved: Rachel slid her arms around his chest from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. She leaned into his scarred skin, tightening her arms in a hug with a satisfied sigh.
Zack froze. His heart pounded in his throat and his eyes were wide. Every part of Rachel's front was pressed against him from her cheek down to her thighs. Even her legs began to curl around his waist, feet resting on his upper thighs. Just a few more inches and she'd brush up against his rapidly hardening member. That thought both tantalized and terrified Zack.
“What the hell, Ray,” he finally hissed, muscles tensing. “I don't fuckin' get it.” He didn't dare move. Partially, he was concerned he might hurt her in his enthusiasm. He wasn't exactly the most experienced or gentle guy in the world, even under the best of circumstances. Of course, the other part of him was yelling to just pick her up and throw her into bed then and there. She might have looked dull and doll-like to anyone who didn't know her, but Zack certainly knew better. That damn woman knew exactly how to get under his skin and she had been doing so for a very long time.
“What don't you get?” she asked innocently. Her hands were less than innocent; the fingers of her left hand traced light circles over the scarred flesh of his chest while her right hand was beginning to move towards his stomach. She had to know that he wouldn't be able to stand it for very long. She was playing with fire.
“You, you damn weirdo!” he nearly yelled, slamming a hand onto the edge of the tub. Rachel didn't even flinch. “I know we're both incredibly fucked up, but how can you stand to just… just… touch me like that?” Her hands withdrew steadily and Zack felt her body back away, breaking contact with his. As soon as she did, he could breathe again, but he also regretted it. She had stirred up a whole storm of strange emotions within him again, not the least bit helped by the adrenaline from his earlier excursion. The easiest way he knew how to deal with it was to lash out angrily, even while his body was screaming to do exactly the opposite.
“I like touching you,” she answered simply. He realized she had moved around to his side and was still moving. Finally, Rachel had crawled through the bath to face him, sitting on her knees in front of him. Zack eyed her warily and barked out a cynical laugh.
“You could have any guy you want…”
She leaned forward, placing a hand on his thigh.
“Live a normal life…”
Her knee was right between his legs.
“…have all these things for real…”
He could feel her breath.
“…you wouldn't need to run anymore…”
Her left hand cupped his jaw.
“…you could have things just perfect, like you wanted…”
“Zack.”
He had been babbling while avoiding her eyes. Ray's voice brought his focus back. She was right there, practically on his lap, staring into his eyes with her bewitching blue ones. When she spoke again, her voice was like a soft lullaby.
“I’m not the kind of person who could have a normal life,” she gently explained. “Staying here was nice, but these things aren't that important to me. But most of all…” She brought her weight down into his lap, hitching one leg over his hip, demonstrating her intentions. Even with as dense as he could be, Zack could tell what she meant by that.
“You don't need to worry about me wanting another man,” Rachel said firmly, “Because I have the perfect one right here.” Her words struck him like a lance through his chest. The weight of her in his lap, her voice, her hands on his face, it was almost enough to make him black out. But then she did the one thing that above all others was guaranteed to drive Zack to absolute madness.
Rachel smiled.
Zack's stopped breathing entirely for a fraction of a moment before he struck. Faster than she could blink, Rachel was on her back in the water, pinned by the man she had been sitting on a second ago. The motion splashed a portion of the water out onto the bathroom floor, but it didn’t matter; the time for bathing was officially over anyway.
Her smile didn't waver. Both of her wrists were held firmly under the water. Her blonde hair fanned out around her head in a graceful wave. Her thighs encircled his waist. Best of all, Zack could finally get a good look at her – all of her, from her graceful collarbone down to the fair little patch of hair at the junction of her thighs. He scarcely realized that she might also be able to see the effect that all of her playing around was having on him. Then again, it was obvious; no sense in being embarrassed by it now anyway.
“Fuckin’ cocktease,” he cursed, his expression stoic. Rachel didn’t seem hurt by the expletive. On the contrary, it caused her to tighten her legs around his waist. The new skin-to-skin contact against his lap was just slightly slicker than the water around them. Zack knew what that meant at least.
“Are you going to drown me?” she asked innocently. It was a clear and open invitation, but not exactly the literal kind. It caused Zack to smile back at her in a dark reflection of her own expression. He shifted his hips to press against her more firmly, just so she got the idea of what she was dealing with. She had the absolute gall to look satisfied with herself.
“You'd probably like that, wouldn't you?” Zack's voice was low and thick with double meaning. Rachel seemed to think for a moment before shaking her head slowly through the water. She had clearly picked up on the innuendo, as well as what was being pressed between her legs.
“Mm, no,” she replied, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him. “I won't settle for anything less than your scythe.”
Zack's breath was stuck in his throat again. It wasn't that long ago that doing something like this wouldn't have even occurred to him. Frivolous things like sex were unnecessary at best and, if some of his victims were anything to go by, a deadly distraction at worst. There were days that even sleep was a luxury if they didn't want to be arrested. But in a safe place like this, they could afford to be a little frivolous. Or a lot.
“You little idiot,” he hissed affectionately. “You're really gonna get it now.” He released her left hand to free his right, then used it to position himself right at her slick entrance. With her newly freed hand, Rachel reached up to cup the side of Zack's face. That hand drew him down even as he slid inside; by the time he was fully sheathed, she'd already trapped him in a kiss.
Normally when they did this, it was hot and sweaty and urgent, but this time was different. The hot water made their bodies seem cool by comparison. Odd to be sure, but Zack didn't find it unpleasant at all. In fact, the swaying of the water was a hypnotic counter-current to the rhythm he was creating with Rachel.
Not that she seemed to notice the water; after a few moments, it no longer registered with Zack, either. Far more interesting were the small, hungry noises the blonde was making against his mouth. He snapped at her lips in retaliation. Rather than warning her against all her taunting, it seemed to encourage her to do it more. Even the faint taste of blood didn't seem to phase her; Rachel's free hand was wrapped in Zack's wet hair and her legs were coiled tightly around his back.
Everything she was doing was only serving to goad Zack on. Maybe she knew it, too; once they had started doing this sort of thing, she had been quick to learn exactly what to do to get him excited, usually without too much bloodshed. Today was no exception. The strength of her legs wrapping around him and the tug of her slender fingers in his hair certainly were telling him how badly she wanted him. In response, his thrusts were savage, deep, and hard.
Zack broke their kiss first; he wanted a better angle from which to watch Rachel, as well as an adjustment in position. He sat back upright on his legs and with a smirk moved both hands to her thighs. As he reestablished his driving thrusts, he fully saw what he'd been missing before - Rachel's flushed face, eyes half-closed but firmly watching him, mouth opened just a hair's breadth, expression somewhere in between ecstasy and pain. His mismatched eyes raked lower, watching her small round breasts bounce in time with the motion of his hips. His fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, turning the skin around his grip an attractive pink. Lower he went, gaze drifting over ribs and stomach until he could clearly watch the motion of their connection.
He was pulled back away from that enticing sight by a particularly loud gasp followed by a timid, half-choked moan. He must have hit a particularly sensitive spot; he hit the same spot again, consciously this time, just a bit harder. She bit down on her lip to stifle the next, more urgent noise she made, telling him that he had gotten it just right. Even better, when Rachel made those cute, birdlike noises, Zack knew that she was close to her limit. Truthfully, listening to her make such lewd sounds put him close to his, too, but he steadfastly refused to give in before her.
“Haaah, Ray…”
Only a little more and she would practically melt underneath him. It was hard to think, let alone speak, but Zack couldn't resist that last little bit to put her over the top.
“You look so innocent, but then… you make noises like that… what am I supposed ta think… Ray…”
Rachel's eyes went wide for a moment and she clapped a hand over her mouth. It only partially blocked her next high-pitched moan. Zack felt a rush of warped pride as his next thrust caused her eyes to squeeze shut entirely. There it was, it wouldn't be long now. He couldn't control the grin that overtook his face just then, sinister as it might look.
“Zack!”
It was a plea, a confession, and an expletive all rolled into one. And in the next moment, he felt it - the tightening of her legs, the squeeze of her inner walls around him, her free hand grasping for his arm. Rachel had gone over the edge, whimpering and pleading, and Zack would be damned if he wasn't just about to follow her.
It was different for him, though. He could grit his teeth and keep going for a minute longer, maybe two, but he couldn't just lose himself like that. Rachel's body was already beginning to relax under his grip, becoming softer and wetter than it had been a few seconds ago. Her breathing had gone from urgent pants to heavy, thick gasps, as though she were trying to fill her lungs with air. She was utterly sated, but there was still one more thing Zack had to do.
“Fuck,” he hissed, leaning into her for one more good push. He was buried to the hilt, and as tempted as he was to simply stay exactly as he was, he knew Rachel would be angry later if he let it end like that. So breathing through clenched teeth, he slid out from her warmth and into the cool air. Almost immediately, the alien feeling of release overtook Zack. His stomach tightened and fluttered, his jaw clenched, and his vision nearly went white behind his firmly closed eyelids. Delicious heat spread throughout him, from the bottom of his gut to the tips of his toes. With a groan, he slumped back against the side of the tub while the evidence of his orgasm dissolved into the bathwater.
His breath was ragged but deep and steady. As it returned to normal, Zack kept his eyes closed and raked his wet hair out of his face. The feeling of coming down after being with Rachel wasn't exactly like the rush after a kill, but it wasn't really dissimilar either. The biggest difference was probably that sex made him physically tired while the other did not. It also left him distracted and just a bit fuzzy headed for a few minutes.
It was no surprise, then, that he didn't register the sound or motion of the water as Rachel moved over towards him. She was in his lap, curled up like a cat, before he even realized she had left her side of the tub. She settled in, balancing on his left leg and wrapping her arms around his torso. As she tucked the crown of her head underneath his chin, he stretched his left arm to cradle her shoulders. That earlier feeling of self-consciousness was gone, replaced for the time being with an easiness. His scars didn't matter right then.
Then again, this was how it affected her: the usually stoic and cool-headed Rachel became a cuddler. Zack didn't mind at all. His lap was always open to her.
They stayed that way for what could have been hours as far as he was concerned. What finally brought him back to his senses was feeling Rachel move in his lap.
“Haaah?” His voice was low and rough as he cracked open his eyes. He didn't especially feel like moving.
“The water's getting cold,” Rachel murmured. She seemed indecisive. On the one hand, she had shifted her position as though she were planning on getting up. On the other, this had led her into burrowing further down into Zack's chest.
“Then get out and go to bed,” he grumbled. He didn't actually want her to leave his lap, but they couldn't sleep in the tub either. Rachel also seemed hesitant.
“I can't sleep yet. I have to clean the kitchen. That blood, and the dinner dishes.” She was clearly tired and it was late anyway. Zack sighed and pushed away from the side of the tub, cradling Rachel against his chest. As much as he enjoyed her company, he wasn't that selfish.
He rose from the water, dripping, and took Rachel with him. As he did, she stirred for a moment before holding tight to him. He grabbed their towels on the way out, not bothering to turn off the lights. In just a few steps, he had carried her to their bedroom. Once there, he proceeded to wrap Rachel in a towel and toss her – literally – into bed.
“Go to sleep, stupid,” Zack grumbled, slinging the other towel around his waist. “I'll take care of the kitchen. Your job is to wake me up in the morning. Got it?” Rachel murmured her assent before burrowing into the blankets of their shared bed. Even though she was fully grown now, she still had just enough immaturity to be cute – things like denying how tired she was to stay up later or rolling herself into a cocoon whenever they found a warm blanket.
Zack would join her shortly. They had a busy day ahead of them tomorrow and he needed at least a couple hours of sleep before they left. For now, though, he was going to be a responsible adult and clean up after himself, at least a little. He was definitely going to throw away that broccoli, though.
This fic can also be found at AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342424
Leader of the Pack
Title: Leader of the Pack Series: Bleach Rating: PG 13 / K+ Summary: Grimmjow and Nel stop by the human world, and this time Ichigo is the one to get the surprise. Pairing: IchiHime, GrimmNel
The sky was nearly cloudless that September afternoon. Kurosaki Ichigo leaned back into the park bench as he watched the birds fly soundlessly overhead. His lovely wife leaned against his shoulder, his arm slung around her back. Orihime watched their four year old son, Kazui, run along the grass after the dragonflies, wielding a stick as a zanpakuto. He'd been cautioned against yelling “bankai" in public, but it was obvious to Ichigo what the boy was doing anyway.
Normally Orihime brought Kazui out to the park by herself, but this time Ichigo had come along with them on her suggestion. It was the weekend and he had nowhere better to be. Furthermore, apparently Orihime had set up a play date with one of her friends and their son, and figured Ichigo would want to meet them, too. She was being strangely tight-lipped about who they were meeting, but Ichigo didn't think too much of it; she probably thought he'd be pleasantly surprised. In that case, he was content to play along with his bubbly wife's antics.
Just as Kazui had persuaded a dragonfly to land on his “zanpakuto", Ichigo saw the boy suddenly look up towards the sky. Just a split second later, he felt it too. Someone had opened a garganta nearby. Although it was masked – poorly, at that – he could clearly feel the presence of multiple Arrancar. Just as he was about to stand up to investigate, Orihime covered his hand with hers.
“Oh, it looks like they're here!” she said with a smile. Ichigo sat back onto the bench and gave his wife a curious look. While he trusted Orihime implicitly, sometimes she was just a little… flighty. Most of the Arrancar in Hueco Mundo were peaceful enough now that Aizen was confined beneath Soul Society, but that still didn't explain why Orihime had apparently scheduled a play date with them in the human world. Ichigo had precious little time to ruminate on the question before the Arrancar in question had reached their bench.
“Well, well!” the all-too-familiar voice growled, much to Ichigo's chagrin. “If it isn't Kurosaki Ichigo! I've been waiting to see you for a while!” If anyone else had said it, Ichigo would have almost been flattered. But considering who was speaking, he was mostly annoyed. He'd be lucky instead if this didn't end in a fight.
“Grimmjow,” Ichigo huffed, failing to notice Orihime's smile and small wave. It wasn't Grimmjow that she was waving at, though.
“Hi, Ichigo! Hi, Orihime!” At this, Ichigo actually looked up to see who else was there. It was Neliel, who gave a little waggle of her fingers in a wave when he looked at her. Neither one were dressed for combat. Grimmjow wore a black leather jacket, a white tank top, jeans with a couple of chains dangling from the pockets, and the black steel-toed boots he'd gotten right after he started working with Urahara. Neliel wasn't dressed much differently, although she naturally looked less like she was about to terrorize a small town on a modded motorcycle. Needless to say, Ichigo was at least a little confused about why these two had appeared.
“Hi, Nel,” he said, brows puckering. “…I don't get it, Orihime. You said this was a play date.” Grimmjow turned his head with a “tch", but Neliel’s grin grew brighter. Just at that moment, as Kazui reached them to investigate, something popped up behind Grimmjow's shoulders. Ichigo's eyebrows quirked as he processed what he was seeing.
Judging from the piece of bone mask on the top of its head, it was an Arrancar. Underneath its little bone crown was a messy head of mint-colored hair, and peeping out from underneath those sprigs was a bright pair of green eyes. Ichigo wasn't exactly sure of the specifics of Arrancar genetics, but it was hard not to see the strong resemblance between this kid and the tiny Nel that Ichigo had first met in Hueco Mundo ten years ago.
“What the hell,” Ichigo muttered under his breath, earning a pout from Orihime.
“Language,” she reminded him quietly, tossing a glance at Kazui, who was grinning. Ichigo looked nervously at his son, whom he just knew had stored that swear for later. He suspected the Arrancars cared much less, though.
“Surprised, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow said with a sinister grin. What was undeniably his child giggled and bounced a bit, undercutting his intensity considerably. Ichigo, knowing that any onlookers might see him gesturing to thin air, sputtered and waved a hand in the Arrancars' direction.
“How… How did that happen?!” Grimmjow's grin got wider, if that was even possible, and Neliel got a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Ichigo realized immediately that he was in dangerous territory. “Never mind, I know how it happened, I just didn't realize Arrancar could… you know!” This reaction was probably exactly why Orihime had decided to spring this on him.
“Daddy, Mama!” Kazui brought Ichigo's attention back down, where the child was tugging at his knee. “Can he come play?” Completely defused, Ichigo turned towards the Arrancar with his eyebrows arched in an obvious question. Neliel responded with an expression of open joy before turning to pluck the child from Grimmjow's back.
“Sure!” she replied, setting the smaller hollow on the ground. “Have fun, Stinky!” Grimmjow visibly bristled.
“I told you, that's not his name!” The Arrancar boy ran towards the open field Kazui had been playing in, oblivious to his father's barking.
“Come catch me!” he called behind to the redheaded boy. As they recessed into the field, their parents were free to talk.
“Is that his nickname?” Ichigo asked skeptically. While Grimmjow sneered, Neliel seemed perfectly chipper.
“Yes!”
“Nope!”
“I think it's cute,” Orihime chirped, suppressing a giggle. Ichigo could see that this topic irritated Grimmjow, so of course he decided to press it.
“So what’s his real name?” He could barely keep from smirking himself.
“Leorides K Jaegerjacques!”
“Stinky Vol Odelscwank!”
They answered at the same time, each as loud as the other, and then immediately began arguing. It was entirely predictable and reminded Ichigo of the time he'd first met little Nel with her brothers. Grimmjow had apparently been assimilated into their family, probably not entirely willingly.
“I told you, woman! ‘Stinky' is not a name fit for a future king! My son has to have a name he can be proud of!”
“It's perfectly fine! He can pick one for himself later if he doesn't like it. Besides, it's descriptive!”
The more-or-less human couple watched with interest. It was obvious from the lack of reaction of the other families in the park that the Arrancar hadn't bothered to wear gigai today, for which Ichigo was exceedingly grateful at that moment. But he also noticed something else. Although Grimmjow was sneering and snarling and as angry as Ichigo had ever seen him, his spiritual pressure was no more intense than it usually was. Was this for show, or was there something wrong with him?
“Hmm,” Orihime hummed, distracting Ichigo from the two hollows (one of whom was resorting to biting). “You don't think we should let Kazui-kun choose his own name when he gets older, do you?” Ichigo quirked his eyebrow. It seemed that Neliel and Orihime might have somewhat similar parenting styles.
“I'd hope he'd be proud of it and want to keep it,” he mused in return. “I mean, it's got the same character as mine and his granddad's, you know?” Orihime looked thoughtful.
“That's true,” she said. “He might come up with something better, though!” Ichigo smiled at his wife.
“Well, if he does, he can decide on it,” he replied, patting Orihime's knee. The altercation beside them had drawn down into a headlock, with Neliel having Grimmjow in a submission hold on his knees. Finally, the two hollows regained Ichigo and Orihime's attention, who both regarded them impassively.
“Oh, did you work it out?” Orihime chimed cheerily. Grimmjow growled and Neliel beamed. In that moment, it all made sense to Ichigo; probably the only one who could get Grimmjow in that position was Neliel. Smiling, Neliel released her grip on her partner, who rose to his feet. Ichigo mentally noted that he didn't look like he wanted to continue.
“Tch,” Grimmjow spat quietly. “If we were back home, I'd have shown you a thing or two.” Neliel shrugged him off breezily.
“Don't worry about him,” she said cheerily, “He's grumpy sometimes. Anyway, it's great to see you both again! And your kid! He's so big now!”
“It's great to see you, too!” Orihime chirped, leaning forward. “Oh! I have a great idea! Nel-chan, let's go get ice cream!” Neliel’s expression changed then; it was almost imperceptible, but Ichigo caught it. His eyebrow rose, but he said nothing. Neliel’s eyes darted from Orihime to Grimmjow and back quickly.
“Grimmjow?” she said hesitantly. Grimmjow rolled his eyes.
“Do what you want,” he groused, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I'm not gonna start a fight.” The tone of his voice suggested they'd had this conversation before. Neliel hesitated for another second before smiling towards Orihime.
“Okay!” she chirped, traipsing over to Orihime to pull her up from the bench. “I've never had ice cream before! What is it?” The two women began to walk as they chatted casually about what kind of ice cream to get. Ichigo would have felt sorry for Neliel, but he figured she might have the same tastes as Orihime. Not for the first time, he quietly marveled at his wife's ability to befriend anyone, hollow or not.
“Huh,” Ichigo puffed as he watched them recede down the sidewalk, “Arrancar can eat normal food, too, I guess.” Grimmjow huffed as he flopped onto the bench in the place Orihime had just vacated.
“Of course we can, dumbass,” Grimmjow tsked. “Aizen used to make us sit through these lame-ass tea parties whenever he called meetings. At least the tea was good.” Ichigo probably had the wrong mental image, but the idea of Aizen hosting tea parties made him nearly snort. Still, that brought up another point that Ichigo found interesting.
“You get to talk like that around the kid?”
“Neliel is worse,” Grimmjow replied with something bordering awe for a moment before his normal demeanor returned. “Not in the same way, though. I mean… you know how she is.” Ichigo was immediately reminded of how upsetting the constant dick jokes were when he first met the smaller Nel. More than that, it was almost eerie how… normal Grimmjow seemed, talking like this. Like a normal dad, dealing with normal adult life. Knowing Grimmjow like he did, it was deeply surreal.
“Speaking of that,” Ichigo said slowly, eyes narrowing, “You're good to her, right? You don't hit her or anything, do you?” If it had been anyone else, Ichigo would never have phrased it that way. But it was Grimmjow, so subtlety was off the table. Grimmjow snorted and didn't seem terribly offended either way. If Ichigo had to guess, the Arrancar probably had no concept of “domestic violence". Still, Neliel was his friend and he wanted to be sure Grimmjow wasn't treating her badly.
“What are you, her dad?” the blue-haired man shot back, rolling his eyes. “Any time I try to fight with her, she shuts me down. I know I could take her, but she won't even let me try!” Ichigo's expression turned flat, but he relaxed anyway.
“That… wasn't what I asked, but you answered my question anyway,” he deadpanned. It was pretty clear that the two Arrancar didn't have the same kind of relationship he and Orihime had, but it seemed like they were alright together. Grimmjow looked thoroughly unimpressed.
“Whatever,” he grunted, crossing his legs. “Just ‘cause you got all flabby and lazy doesn't mean we all did.”
“Hey!” Ichigo protested, honestly feeling just a bit insulted, “I'm not flabby! I just have a job and responsibilities and all that boring adult crap now!” Grimmjow seemed to be pretending not to have heard him.
“I mean, look at me!” he said smugly, pointed canines glinting. “I still fight all the time, protectin’ our territory and shit.” Ichigo felt his eye twitch.
“You live in a place full of hollows that are constantly trying to eat each other,” he intoned flatly.
“That's what I'm sayin',” Grimmjow replied, rolling his eyes. “That's why humans are weak! You guys don't even chase each other, how are you gonna keep in shape?” As if on cue, their two sons ran right in front of the bench they were occupying, laughing raucously as they went.
“Konsoooooo!” Kazui shrieked, flailing his zanpakuto stick wildly. Leorides cackled while gasping for air, snot and tears trailing behind him.
“You'll never catch me, Soul Reapeeeeer!”
“Dammit, boy,” Grimmjow yelled, leaning forward on the bench, fists clenched, “Don't run! Fight back!” Ichigo didn't so much as lean forward. In fact, he almost wanted to laugh.
“Hurry and catch him, Kazui!” he called cheerily. “Don't let him get away!” Of course the kids didn't seem to hear their fathers. They retreated back towards the open field, shrieking with laughter as they went. None of the other human families seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
“Heh,” Ichigo smirked, leaning back on the bench. “He takes after Nel.” Grimmjow bristled as much as Ichigo knew he would.
“Yeah, but he's my heir, dammit!” Grimmjow snarled, barely opening his mouth. “He needs to be a better fighter already.” It was less a harsh demand and more a disgruntled complaint.
“C’mon, Grimmjow, he's like three.” Then Ichigo thought for a second. “Did you really become the King of Hueco Mundo?” Ichigo asked skeptically. “I thought Hallibel…”
“Yeah, yeah, she runs the place,” he shrugged. “I don't care about all that ‘government' crap, so we get along fine.” Ichigo had really begun to doubt that Grimmjow knew exactly what a king was or did, but he had suspected that for some time. He also didn't want to press the point.
“Hard to see you ‘getting along' with anyone,” Ichigo remarked, stifling a laugh.
“She doesn't bother me and I don't bother her,” he snorted as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Neliel's always on my ass about one thing or another, so I have to make her back off. Not like that woman of yours.” Ichigo raised an eyebrow but let it slide; he doubted Arrancar really had much of a concept of marriage outside of maybe knowing the word.
“Speaking of,” Grimmjow segued, turning to look at Ichigo with a combination of barely restrained glee and maliciousness, “I guess that's why you've gone all soft, eh? You look just like any other human slob nowadays!” Ichigo was distinctly unimpressed.
“I have a job and responsibilities now, Grimmjow,” Ichigo said flatly. “I still get the hollows around town, but it's not like I'll be running off to Hueco Mundo again anytime soon.” Grimmjow snorted and Ichigo could tell that it rankled him. Now it was time to turn the knife. “What about you? You seem pretty low-key today. Can't imagine a family man like you giving anyone trouble nowadays.” The Arrancar's hackles raised and Ichigo could feel his spiritual pressure perk up. Oh, so he wasn't sick after all!
“The only reason I don't rip you apart right here is because you suck so much here I'd have to fight you in Hueco Mundo to make it interesting!” Grimmjow snarled. Ichigo would have been more concerned if he hadn't prodded him into that reaction himself.
“And Nel would get on your case, right?She'd be upset.” He tried not to smirk, but his mouth still twitched upwards just a hair. Grimmjow's face was growing redder by the second. It was a miracle he hadn't exploded off the bench yet.
“Are you sayin' I'm neutered?!” Now his spiritual pressure was spiking; apparently, those were fighting words somehow. Ichigo's eyebrows arched with the realization: this was a Grimmjow that had something to care about. His reflex wasn't to deny he cared about Neliel or their son; it was just to defend his pride.
And it wasn't that Ichigo doubted he had cared about his old Fracciones, either. Compared to how he knew other Espada treated their followers, Grimmjow was downright humane. In fact, he'd come to believe that Grimmjow had probably pursued him so doggedly, at least at first, out of the hurt and frustration of losing his gang. After all, a king with no subjects was just a guy with an ego problem.
That still wouldn't stop Ichigo from picking at him for fun, though.
“No, I implied it,” he responded, the smirk in his voice making its way to his face. Predictably, Grimmjow rose to his feet, hands balled into fists and Ichigo rose with him. It was probably inevitable that they'd get into it without their wives around.
“I don't care what Neliel said,” he growled, making the first moves to lunge at Ichigo. He stopped short, however, fist half-cocked. Ichigo realized he'd instinctively fallen into a defensive stance and consciously relaxed a bit. Grimmjow seemed frozen in place.
“Haha, got you!” came the perky voice from behind the Espada's back. Ichigo could see it then, the telltale signs that Grimmjow's shirt was being pulled tight from behind. Apparently, his son had tackled him from behind, but the tips of his hands and feet and only a few greenish-blue curls were all that was visible around Grimmjow's frame. Ichigo straightened, curious.
“Hey, where's…”
He didn't have time to finish his thought before Kazui slammed into his back in a tackle. Surprised to have been taken off guard for once, he muted his response to just supporting the preschooler's weight with his back. Clearly, the smaller Kurosaki had taken a leap from the park bench to get up that high.
“Hey, that's dangerous!” Ichigo protested. Even knowing his wife could basically raise the dead, he'd rather Kazui not try to find out first-hand.
“This is a rebellion!” Kazui yelled, laughing.
“Down wif the King!” Leorides responded happily. “You're outnumbered!” He had managed to climb his father's back and wrap his little arms around his neck from behind. Grimmjow gave a momentary smirk before his expression turned into an intimidating sneer. He clawed the air over his shoulders, intentionally missing his son at every turn.
“I won't go down that easy!” he roared, turning from side to side as Leorides clung on to his neck for dear life. The little Arrancar shrieked with laughter, legs flying out behind him as he swung.
Ichigo took this as his cue, falling dramatically to the ground so Kazui could “tackle" him effectively. The smaller redhead straddled his dad's neck, grabbing his short hair triumphantly.
“Tell your Mama… I love her…” he groaned before coughing and sputtering out one “last" rattling sigh. Kazui cheered for a moment before noticing his dad was suspiciously limp.
“Oh… Oh no, Papa?!” the four year old squawked anxiously. “This… This wasn't what our revolt was fooooor!” Ichigo never could tell if Kazui was genuinely upset or just really into his make-believe – kind of like his mother in that way.
Kazui's mother also coincidentally came into view just at that moment, carrying three ice cream cones. Neliel walked alongside her with three of her own, enjoying a chipper conversation with her brunette friend. Upon catching sight of the calamity unfolding in the park, the two of them paused and evaluated the situation. There was Ichigo, “dead" on the ground with Kazui crying over his “corpse". Not far from them was Grimmjow, swinging frantically back and forth and trying to dislodge his small son, who appeared to be dangling from the older man's hair.
“A-ah,” Orihime said before smiling broadly. “They're having fun!” Neliel grinned in return.
“This is much better than I thought it would turn out!” she replied.
The eternal night air zipped shut behind them as the family of hollows reemerged in Hueco Mundo. Neliel, being Neliel, was humming gently to herself. Grimmjow wore his perennial look of disdain. Leorides was asleep, clinging to his father's back as usual.
“That wasn't so bad, was it?” Neliel asked as they walked. Grimmjow grunted in non-committal response, rolling his electric blue eyes.
“The kid had fun,” he grumbled, avoiding the question. Like hell he'd admit he'd enjoyed himself. Not like Neliel wouldn't just assume it anyway.
“You liked the ice cream too, huh?” His lip curled in an almost imperceptible snarl. Neliel definitely saw it, though.
“It was alright, I guess,” he scoffed.
“You ate half of mine, too!” Neliel laughed, causing Grimmjow to growl and blush ever so slightly.
“But actually,” she said after a few more moments of walking, “It was nice to see you have fun.” Grimmjow tsked, but didn't correct her.
“Why're you so worried about me havin’ fun?” he grunted, looking straight ahead. Neliel's smile drew down a little, dampened as if by a cool rain.
“Ahh,” she said, eyes darting from her companion to the landscape stretching towards Las Noches, where Hallibel governed and they currently lived. “I worry a lot that you might not be happy, actually.”
“When have you ever seen me actually look happy?” he answered, looking down his nose at her. Neliel's eyes slid towards him and she opened her mouth to answer before he held up a finger to stop her. “Besides when I was tryna kill Kurosaki.”
“That's kinda what I mean,” Neliel returned quietly. “I always worry that this is – we are too dull for you. That you'd rather be out hunting on your own.” Grimmjow rolled his eyes, snorted, and looked back over the far away sands towards the home Hallibel had given them. Like hell was he going to get all sappy about things. Neliel was prone to that sort of thing, though. It didn't exactly bother him; she was pretty hot when she was distressed, but if it wasn't just for play it became a pain in his ass.
“If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” he grumbled. The taller Arrancar reached behind his back and easily dislodged his son, swung the smaller hollow around, and easily held him in his arms. The boy didn't wake at all. Grimmjow handed him off to his mother, who carried him just as effortlessly.
“Eh?” she asked, securing the boy to her hip, “Did you get tired?” Grimmjow cracked his knuckles and flexed his shoulders, his expression remaining slightly bored. Then, he smirked.
“Do I look tired, Neliel?” he growled. Neliel stared for a second before she blinked her recognition. Her smile broadened in anticipation. “It’s easier to run when you hold him.”
“Eheheh!” she giggled. “I won't let you catch me! But you better at least chase me til I cry!” Grimmjow's teeth glinted in the stark moonlight. Without another word, Neliel took off in the direction of the palace, sand billowing in the wake of her sonida. Nearly soundlessly, Grimmjow sped after her.
What Grimmjow would never say out loud was that he didn't find being with her or their son boring at all. Sure, he sometimes chaffed when Hallibel or Neliel told him not to do something, but that was a different thing altogether. In reality, even though he was socially maladjusted, he was still a social creature. Just like the cat that he was, he enjoyed the companionship of his mate and cub. And like a cat, he didn't always make it clear. But he didn't mind a healthy chase now and then to let Neliel know.
You can also find this fic at FFnet and AO3:
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13096841/1/Leader-of-the-Pack
https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341713