A Little Death (mini series)
(1/4)
MDNI - warnings: graphic violence, gore, sm*t, angst, and all the messy aching feelings in between. So enjoy & bring tissues w you for the ride.
Summary: Once, back at Jujutsu High, you were his. Then he defected. Now you’re sworn enemies.
But old habits die hard.
You spend your nights denying, wanting, fleeing— but you always return. Blood for pleasure, betrayal for a fleeting sense of ease. Every kiss tastes like goodbye.
You know how this ends: you will kill him.
2013
September 12th
Saitama Prefecture
19:05
Embalming rooms were all the same: white walls, sharp edges and a distinct smell of formaldehyde —hints of vinegar and burnt matches.
This odor is pungent. Fresh. Metallic.
A heaviness settles over your bones and innards as you observe the carnage before you.
What remains of the bodies are shredded pieces of flesh, strewn around the room, organs and limbs all in different states of mutilation from the vile act of gluttony.
The once pristine walls are debased by such cruelty.
You find it in yourself to take a step forward, heart beating out of your chest.
It is not here. You remind yourself. It is gone. Escaped.
There is a breath on the back of your neck.
Then, the sound of retching follows.
You exhale, the permeating smell of blood and sour milk leaving your system. It takes but a second for the tangs to overwhelm your senses once more.
You do not look back. And you do not blame him. Cannot blame him. Even you are rattled.
“Next time please find it in yourself to vomit outside of the crime scene.”
The man’s apology is quiet, almost incoherent. Your junior doesn’t get to see these scenes as often as you do.
His innocence, however, doesn’t afford him your time to wait.
Your fingers move to pull gloves from your jean pocket. The silicone slides across your skin, the action familiar and soothing.
Its remains are torn asunder as it lays on top of the mortuary table.
This was the first victim. The man the police had found amidst the labyrinth of backstreets, his stomach bloated, a neighbour screaming at the top of her lungs.
They were determined to find the cause of his death.
His face is the only part intact. The man appears to be sleeping. Face pale and eyes closed.
The rest of the body is shredded, the stomach a catalyst.
You think back to the pages that you had been sent.
The report had been simple. Animal escaped before proper autopsy could be completed. Four are dead.
It does not do the butchery justice. The reports never do.
Animal is dangerous. Caution advised. Assistance needed.
There is no animal of course. There never was. The Japanese authorities had to come up with a probable lie in order to contact HQ.
As you continue to stare at the corpse you can almost see it. The curse must have slowly eaten its way through the man’s insides. The cause of death.
Once full and warm it slept until disturbed.
The embalmers had barely gotten through the internal examination when it struck. Eating them alive, from the inside.
Your steps take you around the room, assessing the sight. Assessing the different stages of butchering.
The curse first appears to be a baby, unrestrained in its huger, singleminded in achieving its goal.
This analysis would give it a rank of grade 2.
It learns. It is unwilling to be caught.
The other three bodies lie in different parts of the room. Their limbs are scattered, chewed and some almost clean to the bone.
It is probable other curses or cured users are at play. You try not to think of it.
Your gait is measured as you near the body part closest to the surgical table. It lies below the metallic structure, under the unused trocar and other medical supplies.
The gloves on your hands stain red as you lift the torso before you. There is residual cursed energy from a human. A sorcerer.
It is so slight that it bleeds into the background, barely a spec amidst the slaughter that consumes the white room.
Ijichi’s voice rings out from behind you.
It is well past midnight as you let the cigarette hang between your lips.
The drag is routine, calming, smoke filling your lungs, lingering, then leaving in the next breath.
Fire dances at the end of your vice.
The same fire had consumed your senses not an hour before, incinerating the growing curse that had sent you all the way to Shinjuku. To complete your job.
Now, you find yourself in Kyoto, scaling the steps toward a motel room. Lighter in hand and anger slowly burning through your limbs.
The inconspicuous building is sequestered between rows of buildings, all similar in size and build. Its modernised style is common place, bare bones and with a glowing plaque that reads アマン (Aman).
You know you’re late. Later than usual. It is a given, but you rake your hand through your hair nonetheless, trying the alleviate the irritation within you.
But the lingering feeling does not abate. It lives in your gut, growing as you drop your cigarette. You step on it, squashing Camel under your dirtied foot.
The lighter you toyed with is pushed into the depths of your coat as you switch it out with a key.
You waist no time in passing through the threshold.
And you feel him before you see him.
His power is vast. A ravine in the middle of the sea as you wade toward the open ocean, feet expecting sand and suddenly, there is nothing.
It is a wonder he does not get found.
You see him through the dimness, the only light source one of two lamps atop the nightstands. Suguru is beckoning, coaxing, a devil.
The minute you shut the door behind you his gaze finds yours.
It is penetrating, the shadows on his face dancing with the firelight.
Suguru is reading, a page between his fingers, frozen in time to observe you. To take you in.
His frame dwarfs the seat he is in. Small in contrast to his refined physique. Even in the black shirt and pants you can see it, the clothes doing a poor job of hiding his years of training.
A heat within you is present, but it is the wrong kind.
And you cannot understand.
How can he sit there? Calm and collected when not four hours before, people had died by his hand.
You barely lock the door behind you as you stalk toward him, pushing at his chest the minute he stands up to greet you.
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
But what slips out is, “Kiss me.”
And you are beside yourself, grasping onto his shirt as you rise up to meet his lips. Fast. Hard.
He smells of musk and cheap cologne and sandalwood.
“Easy.” His hands are on your hips instantaneously. He squeezes slightly as he guides you away, “Easy, baby.”
But you are not up for talking. Not now. Not tonight.
You’re angry. You can feel it in your bones, the fire incinerating everything in its path. And on that path is Suguru, rightfully so.
“Kiss me,” you tell him again, “Kiss me. I don’t want to think.”
It takes a second for him to process your desperate words, and when he does Suguru is not gentle. You do not need him to be gentle.
He guides you backward, all pressure and need, as your back hits the opposing wall.
You gasp into his mouth, and he takes it.
And you push into him, your lips bruising against his as you let your fire consume this exchange.
Your lungs are already screaming by the time his hands make their ascent from your hips.
Still, you want more. Need more.
Your teeth bite down on his bottom lip and then push against his tongue past your teeth.
The taste of metal invades your senses, mixed with a cooling mint.
Suguru does not take it lightly; with vigor, his hand seeks yours, and he raises them above your head before you get the chance to tangle them in his loose locks.
You whine into his mouth, annoyed at being denied access.
The feeling of his lips curling into a smile isn’t lost on you, and you rebel.
He squeezes your hands above your head, emphasizing the need for your compliance as he parts from you.
And you’re breathless. Panting.
He traces his sore bottom lip with his thumb, sweeping over the mark that you made.
His gaze is penetrating, mean, “What’s gotten into you tonight?”
You buck once more against his strength, testing his resolve, testing the limits of what your waves can do, crashing against his immovable rock.
Your gaze wanders down to his lips as your mind works.
The need to caress his hair, rip out his hair —fingers tracing over his slightly disheveled tresses, the feeling roiling within you.
Your jaw works, eyes fluttering slowly to meet his.
His chuckle is dark as his free hand slips to trace below your bra, and you buck into his hips involuntarily. The heat of his palm against your skin sends tingles to your core.
You see the dark depths of his eyes light with a need, and he moves his knee to part your legs and slot it between them.
The friction is not enough.
You stare at him accusingly as his mouth inches over yours.
His thigh drives upward at the exact moment his hand slips under your bra to squeeze your breast.
“Yes." You pant, “I’ll be good.”
Suddenly, he draws back. Pleased.
His mischief is evident as you’re left without his body against yours.
“Off,” Suguru says, his voice heavy with demand.
And you comply. How can you not?
Your fingers move to hook under your shirt, the fabric slipping off your body effortlessly. He does the same.
You cannot take your gaze away from the skin that is revealed, marveling at his toned form and the happy trail that leads below his sweats.
The moment you are left in your bra, Suguru gets to work. His fingers move to unbuckle your jeans, sliding them down your legs as you step out of your clothes.
Your gaze follows him as he does so.
On his knees before you, he looks ready to worship. His hands trail up your legs, lips kissing up your thigh.
He is dangerously close to where you want and need him most.
Suguru’s eyes watch you, hooded, as he places a kiss below your belly button. Then, right above your pantie line.
Your hand tangles in his hair as you lean against the wall.
He slowly brings your right leg to rest on his shoulder, fingers dexterously running up and down your legs, inching toward your inner thigh.
And then he brings an open-mouthed kiss against your clothed core.
“Suguru.” Your head tips backward as you relish the feel of his mouth on you for the first time in ages.
He runs the flat of his tongue toward your clit, it throbs under his ministrations, and then, he suctions his mouth. The rush of endorphins makes you tighten your hand in his hair.
Suguru groans against you appreciatively.
And before you can complain about the fabric that separates his mouth from you, he rips it from your body.
“I’ve waited so long to taste you again.”
His mouth is back on you.
This time, there is no friction or sensation to suppress the full extent of Suguru’s vigor and mastery of bringing you pleasure.
You moan. Hands finding better purchase in his hair to steady yourself.
He devours you with appreciation, yearning, and a need — to get you to your sweet, sweet release.
No, you didn’t taste of sweetness and cherries; you were a human woman, and to him, your essence ambrosia itself.
The heat and pressure in your core builds and builds.
Suguru does not let you come.
You can see the payback for your actions in his eyes as he stops. The promise of making it up to you in the future hangs in the air; he has denied himself as much as he has you.
Still, you’re irritated as he brings your leg down and stands.
You glare at him accusingly, only to be backed flat against the wall, and Suguru smiles.
He tilts his head as his disheveled locks reveal more of his pale skin; his fingers begin to ghost your sides and then grip.
You stare at each other for what feels like eons, but in reality, it is only a couple of seconds.
And then he is kissing you.
You taste yourself on his tongue, your hands winding around his neck, and then he is lifting you.
Your legs wrap around his hips as the wall, and his muscled arms give you leverage to stay up.
You mewl into his mouth, not knowing when he had the chance to pull himself free. You can feel him. All of him now bare and heavy against your inner thigh.
The heat in your abdomen grows with anticipation of having him inside you, your denied orgasm forgotten.
And then he finally, finally enters you—
Suguru lets you adjust as he pushes inside, groaning a low sound that sends pleasure straight to your core.
You moan with him, relishing the stretch and fullness of his cock inside you.
It has been a while since you’ve had him within you, and you welcome the teetering, painful stretch as he drives into you. You adjust slowly, deliciously, as he begins to guide his hips in a steady rhythm.
Slowly, with his thick cock in you, his pubic bone begins to meet your clit with a consistency that leaves you unbearably wet.
He parts from your lips and moves down to nip at the juncture of your neck.
You give him access, basking in all that he gives you as you hold onto him. The fire in your veins mixes with the heat spreading from your core.
His nips border on painful but spur you on to grind your hips into his. He soothes the hurt with feather-light kisses, tracing his lips toward your inner ear.
“You undo me. Do you know that?”
And you can only gasp, his words wounding your heart tight.
Suguru’s gaze finds you; his eyes are heavy, hooded as he watches you, ones of spilled ink. You can do nothing else other than avert your gaze from the sight that he makes. Both of you are debased by carnal desires and something more, much more.
Your fingers tighten at the nape of his neck. Grasping his hair tightly as he drives into you deeper and deeper.
The friction of Suguru before you, the wall behind as leverage as he fucks you, makes your eyes flutter closed. The feeling is intense, growing.
You watch him watch you, his gaze ravenous and all-encompassing: the dark depths of his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, and his parted lips.
Suguru leans impossibly closer.
Forehead against forehead, your breaths mingle as you gasp and rake your nails across his upper back.
“You think I don’t know?”
His free hand moves to explore more of your body.
“I can see it in your eyes every time we meet.”
Your release finds you without warning, the subtlety of it growing and then engulfing you all at once.
Distantly, you hear him curse under his breath, and Suguru is still inside you as you leave the wall.
You whine in his embrace, entirely too sensitive and pliant under his touch.
Only when you get to the bed do you disconnect. He slips out of you with a groan, dropping you on the mattress.
You watch him run his hand through his hair as he moves toward you, his body slick with sweat.
The admiration of him and his physique dissipates as, not a second later, his hands are on your hips, and he turns you around and enters from behind.
The sound that leaves your lips is guttural.
Suguru does not stop. Your release guides him in deeper, his pace only slowing a fraction to let you breathe.
His fingers find their rightful place in your hair, the other hand on your hip, gripping you steady as he keeps you on your hands and knees.
All you can do is arch your back. Feeling his cock drive its way inside you.
The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy echo through the room, mixing with the panting breaths that leave your lips.
His long hair falls over the both of you curtaining you in a world solely devoted to the both of you.
“That’s it.” Suguru’s sweat-slicked body is closer now, his muscled hand leaving your hip to steady himself on the mattress as he leans over you, “Take it, baby.”
The feeling consumes you, and you can think of nothing else other than the pleasure.
Suguru’s cock is hard and full inside you as it continues to bully your cervix.
Your nails dig into the comforter below you, curling from the unrelenting sensation.
“C’mon pretty girl. Be good and cum for me again. I want to feel you.”
His words are like wine, heating your skin and body.
Suguru moves his hand toward your swollen clit.
And you cannot get a word out. The moment his fingers find your center, you find yourself shaking. Your legs cannot hold you.
You sob as the pressure builds and builds between your legs. His breath is hot against your cheek, mouth hovering over your skin.
And you feel lightheaded. The buzz starting at your toes.
Suguru’s hips do all the work, guiding you against his cock. One hand grips your waist, driving you on, driving into your tightening pussy.
Suguru’s thrusts become sloppy. Still, he persists, and you find your mouth opening in a silent scream.
His hot breath finds the juncture of your neck, lips suckling a sensitive spot of yours.
And then he is biting you.
Your vision is white as you cum. Hard.
The waves of pleasure come rushing in, drowning out everything except for you and him and this.
And somewhere along the way, you feel him shudder behind you, his seed filling you up and stuffing you full.
Later, you’re calm and satiated. Your thoughts lazy as they filter back in.
They are less potent, their savagery diluted.
And your fingers itch for a cigarette.
Out of the corner of your eye you watch Suguru leave the bathroom, a small towel in his hand as he nears.
You spread your legs as the bed dips, and he maneuvers himself between your thighs. Now, propped up against the pillows, you get an excellent view of him between your legs.
“I like you there.” You say.
You watch the corner of his mouth quirk as he begins to clean you up.
The first touch of the cool towel makes you squirm away and Suguru’s hand comes to gently rest on your thigh.
“Stay still. This won’t take long.”
You roll your eyes, sighing through the uncomfortable feeling.
Soon, however, much like he promised, the cloth is gone, and you’re free of Suguru’s grip on you. The heat from his palm leaves, and with it, you close your legs, reaching toward the nightstand as he disappears into the bathroom once again.
By the time he’s back, you’ve lit your cigarette.
You bring the cigarette to your lips, taking a long drag. Then, you exhale, eyes trained on the unfurling smoke as it rises toward the ceiling.
“Old habits die hard.” You tell him.
You do not look at him, relishing the familiar burn down your throat and the peaceful high that follows.
Your limbs are pleasantly aching, honey after Suguru’s touch. You feel your body sink deeper into the mattress, the covers shifting down your hips as he slips in beside you.
You hold out your vice to him, and he takes it.
Your eyes stray to watch him the minute the cigarette touches his lips. His dark features contort, and you cannot force down the flutter in your chest.
“You know…” you begin, “They died in a lot of pain. Did you intend for them to suffer?”
His answer is immediate. And you know it is a lie.
The smoke leaves his mouth, curling in a dense cloud around his upper lip, and then disperses upward.
“Are we really going to talk about this?”
And when he returns the cigarette to you you do not take it. Instead, you lay on your back, letting Suguru dictate what to do with the remaining stick.
Your eyes flutter closed, and in the dark, you feel him move toward you.
“It’s late.” His voice sounds tired, “The headquarters will want your debrief bright and early.”
Suguru’s hands are soft against your skin as you curl against him. Gentle as he moves them to card through your hair.
He is warm. Familiar. For now, this is enough. It has to be.
You do not think of the treason you are committing. It has been years. And still, you find yourself in his embrace. Still, you find yourself coming back home.
There is a gentle pressure on your hair as his lips grace the top of your head.
The feeling makes you drift.
Come morning, the sun filters through the curtains as you lie on the bed, eyes opening to stare at the ceiling.
And you know that he is gone.
Sometimes it’s you; sometimes, it’s him that leaves. It is inevitable. Always but a matter of time.
You sigh. The reality of your situation sinking its claws back into your skin.
There is a buzzing on the nightstand.
Naked and slightly annoyed, your fingers find your phone, lit up with a name you’d rather answer to after you’re done showering.
You watch the screen go black.
Maybe, if you wait long enough, he’ll leave you alone.
Still, you let your fingers slip as your phone falls beside you.
The ringing begins anew. Incessant.
You do your due diligence to ignore him. To ignore the start of your day.
The continuous sound lulls you back into somewhere between sleep and awareness. It is almost ten minutes of the monotone sound when suddenly, nothing.
Then, blissful silence follows.
Your body relaxes. Sinking deeper.
Not a second later, your phone buzzes again, and just as fast, you bring it to your ear.
“I trust you have completed your mission, and we will receive your report soon?”
“Of course, principal Gakuganji.”
The sleep still addling your mind slips from you like oil in water. And you are awake. Alert. Covers slipping down your body as you rise to a sitting position.
“Good. The council wants you at headquarters earlier than your scheduled arrival.”
Your fingers curl tighter around your device.
“9 am. We will be waiting.”
