Hey if anyone ships 0027 or kikyo/genkishi, and plan to participate in the collab exchange (and haven’t gotten paired yet), message me or include it in your submission form.
This time, a deleted scene which can be read as a stand-alone drabble (nsfw)
My chances for the sword emperorship went to naught: for everyone, Yuni’s mist was a mean old waffle, Jean Paul Duperier from Turin. I still haven’t meet Byakuran or Kikyo in person; the only Choice participant I talked to was Daisy, the least likely to recognize me.
Creating a false identity and revealing my unscathed face to Kikyo felt almost safe. If he rejects my advances, I’d at least get a reason to settle a score with him instead of a ten-year-ago dream. Or he’d reject me later, when he knows I was Saru from Choice. I would try to use him to meet Byakuran and he realizes everything, attacking me on the spot and making me activate my skeleton ring.
I shouldn’t even wear it on dates with Kikyo. When I turn to a clot of pure flame, he’d swallow it all with no leftovers, no corpse would fall on the ground.
I have already fallen, now it’s his turn.
Kikyo lies on the floor, propping himself up on an elbow, sleeveless cloak wide open, implant lights mildly on his chest. I crawl up and hang over him clenching his hip between my knees. He looks like he has just fallen from above, snake heads hit the floor first, necks bending, like giant spider’s legs, and Kikyo softly descended on the hot planks. Sunlight pours through the breach in the verandah roof.
Kikyo waits, head perked, smiles with green lips. Flame goes out in his implant but a light in his eyes burn all the more. I put a cherry in his mouth, and he sucks my fingers in, still smiling, until I draw them out, wet with his saliva, stained in green lipstick - only then his Adam’s apple moves slightly. Finally, he swallowed. In the same flash of time Kikyo’s fingers cup a bump in my crotch, stretching the fabric and tracing the cock inside. Kikyo unbuckles my belt, pulls my pants down to the jack boots and I push my cock into the big hand with short green nails.
I sink on my knees above his face, propping my hands against the floor. Green hair strands trail around. Kikyo tenderly caresses my balls, his lips close around my cock, pulling back the foreskin. Incredibly tender tongue covers the head. I try to plunge deeper in his throat but Kikyo holds me out by balls, lifts me up, pulls and tilts down - even on his back, my cock in his mouth, he is still controlling. Little time is left to triumph over me. Soon he’ll twitch in dry heaves and convulse on the floor. A poisoned cherry is dissolving in his stomach.
One cherry for a huge man like him? I should feed him a whole fruit bowl. I’d lay his head on my lap and hand-feed him, he’d take the cherries from a lover and a friend. I shouldn’t wait until he figures out I was Saru.
Or should I protect him from myself and never try to get acquainted?
Or should I dispose of my executioner and meet Byakuran disguised as Kikyo? It’s another matter that he would instantly recognize me - he even doesn’t need to see through my illusion, he just asks anything about Kikyo’s work, and I’m revealed, and if I even kill him, his subordinates make a short work of me in the next breath. Am I ready to die with him or he isn’t worthy?
Another snippet of erotic fantasizing from the same story
I will never know what he was in his homeland before Byakuran recruited him. Kikyo isn’t much older than me, he hadn’t have time to finish the university before the representatives battle. Most likely, he doesn’t have any education. With an appearance like this, one can be only a musician. Probably he played in restaurants, went to star search shows. It was easy for the Gesso to find him: the yakuza cover show business, those in the know couldn’t but notice such powerful source of flame. If he didn’t try to make a career (sounds ridiculous!) and go to producers, if I finished my education and became an engineering officer my father wanted me to, I could meet musician Kikyo in a crewing agency or on a cruise liner during a trip to Mafia Land. A good reason to get acquainted with a compatriot and then to go masturbate together, and then, one on one, comparing our lengths, my cock will, as if unintentionally, touch his to make him realize we can masturbate mutually or rub against each other. I wonder if he bends me over and rubs against the ass crack or allows me to touch him, face to face, cock to cock - standing or lying, no matter: then he’d have to hug me, and afterwards it’d be hypocritical to dodge a kiss and say “no homo”.
He’d say it at once.
He’d trample me if I hinted at it.
If I demanded a revenge, his snake jaws would grab and toss me into the ocean. Flopping about in the water, I’d see snakes wrap the ship and break it to pieces. Two snakes dive in the water, far enough from the pieces of the sinking ship. Their huge heads stride on the seafloor, like legs, carrying Kikyo above the water to the seashore. I’d drown, exhausted, or one of the snake heads would pull me under water and hold there until I suffocate.
A usual musician, though, can’t know how to turn to a gorgon. I’d pretend I am a normal person who has never heard about dying will flames; I wouldn’t wear rings to make him believe.
He saw me in the helmet, with a burned and stitched face. Chances are he won’t recognize me; if so, I shouldn’t open up. If I open up, say, write a letter with a flame seal: “I demand satisfaction. Such and such time, such and such place”, he’d come and say he can’t use flames, he has no weapon. “Man, flame really exists”. I’d say I can wait till he can. From now on, everything is up to him but he obviously wouldn’t want to make friends with me; he’ll try to pinprick me for laughable chivalry. He’ll despise me all the more. I should either drown him or pretend I’m a usual person if he doesn’t recognize me.
I can’t listen to visual kei but will have to because of him. Ten years ago, when he was a musician, I tried to act as a true rivethead and forbade myself to listen what I really liked. Belief is one matter, I thought then, but listening to gushing Christian rock was a shame. I would never ask Kikyo to play for me.
The wind swings white curtains on the open window. Lots of light and air, wide white bed. Kikyo is massaging my feet. He lifts up my foot, I wait him to put it on his shoulder. It will be painful and deep. But he presses my foot against his chest and strokes it, his heart beats under my foot. A soft condescending smile brings his ministrations to nothing. They are filled with the mocking “hey baby, I’m so big and strong!” I squeeze my lips and frown; in response he cups my foot and covers it with kisses - the inner side, the sole, the ankle. A warm wave strikes me from inside, hands weaken and tremble, and I clutch my cock under the fabric of my dive skin.
“How it takes off, your packing”, Kikyo turns me on my stomach, unzips and pulls down my dive skin. Shivers get up and down my spine under his big hand, under his lips kissing my buttock. Heart pounds. I try to rub my cock against the bed from habit, but Kikyo scoots me back over.
“It’s to make you stop feel shy”, he whispers mockingly, wrapping my forehead with a tongue of flame. On the end of the green vine appears a purple bud. The vine crawls down my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut as if eyelids can save when the flame eats my eyes out. “You don’t see me. You can moan, squirm…”
So much irony and superiority in his voice I will better pretend I’m a stone.
“I want to know I’m a good lover”, Kikyo bends over and whispers in my ear, “And my darling likes what I do”.
The word “darling” made my heart swell and blow up. Hotness floods me inside. I don’t care that a vine is blossoming on my head, as if it ate a part of my brain and I stopped caring like that Lecter’s patient. Kikyo bends over me - I feel the warmth of his body, he must hear my heart’s pounding, so loud it muffles his kisses. Kikyo’s lips sink on my Adam’s apple, chest and belly, and I spread my legs to his wet kisses. He doesn’t want to focus on my cock, purposedly ignores it, swollen and throbbing. Sure. Kikyo wants me to ask. He needs a voicework. I raise my hips slightly and draw his name.
Kikyo shifts one leg over me. I lose my breath. I don’t see but know the smirk of calm superiority is still on his lips. The man who can smash islands is pinning himself on my cock. His body is devouring me, mires me in like a little boat deep into the whirpool, squeezes like at the bottom of the water body where no light finds a way. He wriggles on me grinding his hips, he’s smiling - I sure know he is, and I smile in response. I hear he starts masturbating. He must be uncomfortable. I fumble for his cock, Kikyo hands it to me and freezes, bending backwards, and I perk up my hips under him. Shame I don’t see his face blush, mouth open slightly in semi-smile. He’s now so sweet, so sincere, with rumpled hair and blurry eyes.
I came in the sink and wiped myself with toilet paper. I unlikely will learn which instrument he played (something makes me guess it was a bass) but he’d smash it against my head if I ever hinted at what I had just imagined.
This is a nsfw snippet from a 45 K (to date) Gen99 fic where Genkishi wears nice long dreads instead of that godawful bob, becomes Lambo’s mentor and tries to use him in his revenge attempts which hinder Giglio Nero’s deal with the Gesso.
For ten years I was sure Kikyo was a cyborg until I blurted it out to Yuni. She argued he wasn’t one on the representatives battle. I felt pierced, wind and frustration whistled through my chest: why am I a fool? I’m not second-sighted, how could I know I had to check with Yuni ten years ago. Frustrated, I barely figured out I was glad.
He isn’t a cyborg! His carnage box is handheld, it can be stolen, he won’t be able to turn to a gorgon! How will I steal it? Soon is Valentine’s day - I should take him to a bar and drink him under the table. Ridiculous. The last time I drank was in 2011, Gamma poured cognac in my coffee when we were in Seville - our family lobbied the construction of Gemasolar. Lambo found our photos in my files and asked why I kept photos with that ugly Gamma. “Vongolas beat you for a reason”, I snapped.
However much they were repugnant, I’m not that hypocritical to call them physically ugly, either Gamma or Kikyo; the latter is just tall and powerfully built but has quite a plain face, however he’s a man subsuming the best masculine traits. I will never become as manly, calm, cool, composed and self-conscious; I wanted to say “rational” but this would make me idealize Kikyo: I saw him only once, in a dream ten years ago, I don’t know how rational he is or just looks so because of his colossal self-assurance which make me ascribe cool logic and a sunshine of the spotless mind to him. How can one call him rational when he agreed to become a cyborg because of no illness, had his body cut and a Lemarchand’s box implanted? When I learned that a Funeral Wreath didn’t just possess a Mare ring bearer (I have never held one in either reality) but was a cyborg too, I felt a little bit easier. Better is a false ring than a body alteration.
In this reality he’s devoid of this last drawback - advantage, in fact: an implant can’t be stolen but if we sat down to drink I’d lit to the gills at once; I wouldn’t take out even a handheld box. I don’t know how alcohol proof he is; I have never seen him in this reality. There’s no sense in seeking a person who is certainly stronger than me; no sense in sword attack at a mass destruction weapon who has so much flames that each of his hairs can turn into a 500 meter long dinosaur. I wouldn’t be able to do a number on his head. I’m like a sculptor with my flame, not a brain-washer. I’d freeze against his flame snakes reaching to my face…
…and I wait them to suck my flame out but they lick my face with their forked tongues. He just wanted to scare me.
Swollen, twisting snakes fall on white Funeral Wreath’s uniform and pink t-shirt, turn to hair again. Confused, I watch him move along the room. The word “flit” is stupid but how else can I call easiness and grace, unbelievable for an upstanding man. I demand revenge solemnly. Now Kikyo will choose the time and place.
“Due to the code duello”, he smirks.
“I won’t accept a refusal.”
“But you don’t want it for real”, Kikyo cups my face in his cold hands. To gnaw at my face?
A kiss - how did you guess? How did you understand, Kikyo?! - light, tender, right away with the tongue. Like a draught of water. I don’t have time to answer, I open my lips and he lifts his head up, and I hold him on by wrists. Wait, don’t go! I shudder. Don’t stop what you have started! I kiss his hands. “How did you guess?” will sound stupid. I’m embarrassed to look in Kikyo’s eyes - I know he glances quizzically. If I see his smirk I won’t go on. I still look at his hands, I turn them to kiss his palms and wrists, lick his fingers. He kisses me again, the look in his eyes unreadable, maybe taunting. He doesn’t take it to hear, he wholly is an unbearable lightness. Don’t go. I meet his kiss and hold him by the back of his head until he pulls away. The same smirk. But it doesn’t matter now: he takes my hands and pulls me on the bed, sinking on it like a green, pink and white ice-cream sinks in a cup. Boneless grace and sharp features. I cover him with my body and he throws his head back, face cut-glass - alabaster? - only pureness and transparency in it, calmness and ease. I’m not desired, I’m just being condescendingly settled down like I quiet little Lambo.
All my attempts to give Kikyo an adoring face or to make him whisper lovesome slobber were in vain. I put him on top to make him more active and my face burned in shame; as I tried to overcome my own reluctance, I lost vague image of Kikyo.
I came with blood and peeped into internet - supposedly it was the result of no fap marathon under the slogan “I won’t masturbate to Kikyo”. I got aroused from one thought about him standing near; for years I tried to hammer it home he wasn’t the reason, it was just a coincidence, I could think about anything at the moment - and I masturbated to a “right” image of a faceless woman. When I at least admitted the issue was about him, I was done in three seconds of fantasizing about us kissing in a park or in the sea. I thought it was impossible, people will see, and I was done, I wiped a wet stain off, I even didn’t need to touch myself. We went in the water together and I rubbed my cock between his hips - Kikyo is one head taller than me - and I looked at the water drops on his chest and shoulders. How will I come to him, he’ll definitely notice. He’ll notice and die; hopefully I won’t fap to the memories about a dead man. I lay down on Kikyo’s lap, my back against his chest, and he kissed my ear, neck and jaw behind the ear. My eyes were smarting, face spasmed in self-contempt.
I switched off the laptop and dragged to the bathroom, took an unpacked vibrating egg from the cabinet and went back to the bedroom. Light doused, I curled down trying to drive away the image of Kikyo hugging me from behind, huge and warm. I could fully fit in his embrace, my head on his shoulder, face in the small of his neck.
Most likely, in reality he’d play a moron: what revenge are you talking about, nobody hurt you. He’d pointy-headedly assure me I was an aggressive hallucinating psycho attacking an innocent man, slandering a stranger, so that I get rattled and want to apologize. I’d take hours to explain I don’t slander or hallucinate, I came to him for a reason and it’s he who smugly lies in throat denying he had killed me. He’d sit, tough and calm, noing at every word of mine and waiting with a smirk when I abase myself. I’d crawl away, devastated, or spoil for a fight, and Kikyo’d hide my corpse.
If I came to solemnly say I forgive him, he’d have a laugh on me, jesting at scars that never felt a wound.
I would never make it to “I want you”.
We could if only he wanted to make it up to me. I don’t know how to make him feel guilty, a wish to reclaim fault instead of avenging me for his own remorse.
Unalloyed idiocy, a wish to make my executioner feel guilty.
Obviously, I won’t tell him anything. That’s all I need, another humiliation. I despised myself enough: if I wanted a man, why he turned out to be my executioner?
My fantasies about Kikyo made as little sense as this vibrating egg. Pressed against my cock, it only buzzed. I didn’t feel anything. Ad writers lied on forums, and I didn’t figure out they were ad writers.
Nanananana~ 99Gen for OTP questions (Sorry x"D I had to)
How do they behave towards each other in public vs. in private?
They’re not very affectionate in public.
They’re not very affectionate in private either, to be completely honest. They seem like the type of people that enjoys personal space, so I’d imagine they’d be pretty courteous to each other even in private. But occasionally there’d be soft touches and lingering gaze, which are things they wouldn’t really do in public.
Would they ever hurt each other intentionally? How ‘bout unintentionally?
*Looks to Genkishi’s death*
Welp... I assume you meant after they started their relationship.
Kikyo is not really a gentle person in nature. He tend to criticize and/or attack people on instinct sometimes. So he’d have to hold himself in check and not rise to Genkishi’s provocation, because emotionally, Genkishi’s somewhat more fragile than most people.
Genkishi... may actually attempt to hurt Kikyo at times? Passive-aggressive comments ect. There’s some unresolved bitterness from the future... He have some unresolved bitterness towards Byakuran and himself, which he may take out on Kikyo, because Kikyo reminds him a bit of himself sometimes.
What’s the biggest problem in their relationship?
Well Kikyo kind of killed Genkishi once.
Do they recognize each other’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities?
I don’t know if I should say Kikyo is perceptive, or that Genkishi is very easy to read, but it’s probably both.
“You bastards,” are the words Genkishi first says to him and Byakuran in the present timeline. Genkishi’s voice, however, lacks the heat the words warrant, and so both Byakuran and Kikyo laugh, though Byakuran is still bleeding heavily from his abdomen thanks to Bermuda and his gang of zombie-Arcobaleno.
Byakuran really needs hospital, but he doesn’t seem to particularly care as he nudges Kikyo towards Genkishi.
“I don’t want to deal with this particular drama, Kikyo-chan,” he says, expression as flippant as always, which means there’s nothing to worry about -- and so Kikyo leaves him to Irie Shouichi and Daisy’s care.
Genkishi looks a lot better in the present than he does in the future, but maybe that’s because his eyebrows have yet to face whatever disaster it is that occurs between this moment and ten years into the future. Kikyo reminds himself to tell Genkishi to not use wax.
But there’s a time and place for everything, and so eyebrow advice are better to be left for another day. Even though Kikyo does want to save Genkishi’s eyebrows -- dear god he’s attractive now.
It’s not just the eyebrows that are different -- Genishi’s hair is longer, more uneven and in a natural bedhead that Kikyo wishes Genkishi had the sense of keeping later on as well. Maybe Kikyo has a thing for messy hair. Who knows.
He could blame the previous points for what he does next. He lunges forward, Genkishi moves to meet him, and, well, Kikyo will have a hard time gelling up his fringe later, that’s for sure.
Genkishi is an awful kisser, Kikyo finds out; he’s stiff despite his usually good reflexes, and he’s prone to slobbering when he gets too into it, but it does nothing but make Kikyo more exasperatingly fond for this teen slash young adult. Their future may be horrid -- may have been horrid, once, but now there’s the relief of a finished battle behind them. (Though Genkishi arrived late, just in the nick of tme to save Byakuran for whatever reasons the swordsman has.)
Kikyo holds Genkishi by the slender hips, feeling the hard bone sticking out from Genkishi’s thin frame. Genkishi could slip away from him; he’s always been like a ghost, from what Kikyo recalls, even in his unfaltering loyalty. Maybe the loyalty itself was what had kept Genkishi in the world for so long in that ‘verse.
KIkyo can’t say he doesn’t get it, because looking at his own memories, he does.
“I hate the both of you,” Genkishi manages to spit out between the kiss and their gasped breaths. Genkishi’s voice is emotionless, void from emotions, depressngly so.
“Well, you sure show it in a very funny way,” Kikyo muses and kisses Genkishi’s cheek. Genkishi flinches, and it’s one of the first real touches of emotion that Kikyo sees on his face.
“I’m glad you made it out alive,” Genkishi mutters, and the break in his voice is uncharacteristic. Kikyo finds some amusement in it, and snickers. “I still cannot forgive you--”
“Perhaps I’m not asking you to, Genkishi,” Kikyo says, false sweetness in his voice. “I just wish-- I just wanted to let you know not everything was fake by the end of that time.”
Genkishi’s face is worth witnessing in the variety of emotions that run across his eyes and the curl of his lips.
Kikyo doesn’t know if he has any right to feel so exasperatingly fond as he does for a man he’s meeting formally for the first time.
