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Yūji sat seiza-style on the luscious silk cushion with his head bowed and gaze focused on the point that floor and shōji met. His clammy palms rested on his thighs, elbows bent outward so that he could flow into a bow the moment his customer arrived. The silk kimono wrapped around him had been cool against his skin initially, but now it was stifling and the underlayers were clinging to him. He could feel sweat prickle on his nape.
If the house’s tayū saw him, he’d get an earful while having fistfuls of drying powder shoved into every crevice that could be reached. Geto-oneesama was generally patient and forgiving, doting, even, when it came to the lower ranked oiran, but there was none of that today. The house had been frantic when the news that the shogun was visiting had been delivered, and Geto-oneesama had pulled Yūji into his personal quarters to get him ready.
It wasn’t the first time the shogun had called on the house to host him but it wasn’t any less of a production than the first time. Of course it was an honor to host the shogun but it would have been helpful if the house of the shogun gave more than a few hours notice. Or, at the very least, had a predictable schedule so the house wasn’t caught flat footed every time the shogun sent a messenger.
Though, Yūji supposed, they should be thankful that the shogun gave them any sort of notice as opposed to just showing up. He couldn’t imagine Geto-oneesama’s reaction if that were the case. He’d probably drive himself to an early grave.
Yūji resisted the urge to lick his lips from nerves lest he risk ruining the paint dabbed on them. Instead, he smoothed his hands over his thighs, removing the invisible wrinkles while subtly trying to dry his clammy palms at the same time. He didn’t know why he was so nervous to entertain the shogun tonight.
Except, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he was nervous as he glanced to his right.
A large mirror had been brought into his room and installed the hour previous. It stood nearly as high as the ceiling and was easily five feet wide. It was polished to a high sheen so Yūji had no problem seeing himself in crystal clear clarity. The wooden trim was made from keyaki and inlaid with gold that was twisted into the shapes of vines. The mirror was worth much more than Yūji himself, and probably more than Geto- oneesama . It could have only come as a gift from the shogun. There was no way it had been purchased by the hose.
He could see most of his room reflected in the mirror but the centerpiece was himself. Yūji had a feeling that he would remain the centerpiece in the mirror through the night. It was, after all, the shogun’s seventh visit to the house and with Yūji.
Tradition dictated that Yūji could only begin servicing the shogun on his third visit with the oiran. However, providing full service was, to be frank, impossible due to the shogun’s sheer size. Yūji had been nervous and downright fearful when he’d been called for the third visit. He had spilled sake on the shogun when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The shogun had been unbothered by the accident and tired quickly of Yūji’s apologies, redirecting the oiran into guiding them to the lavish bedrooms for such an occasion.
When they arrived though, the shogun made no moves to undress himself, only commanding Yūji to strip. He’d shivered as the inner layer of his kimono slipped from his shoulders to expose him to the cool air and cooler gaze of the shogun. His gaze had fallen to the ground in deference but the shogun had cupped his chin to force Yūji to look at him.
The shogun towered over Yūji. It wasn’t often that he’d been made to feel small but the shogun was something else. Whispered rumors attributed the shogun’s monstrous features to dark rituals, vows made with ashura, and blood-drenched sacrifices, depending on who was telling the tale. He’d heard names such as the Cursed King and Demon Shogun and Two-Faced Spectre.
Nearly eight feet tall, the shogun barely fit into the bedrooms of the house. Yūji stood mid-torso on the shogun and had to tip his head all the way back to look up into the four icy blue eyes framed by dark, black markings that watched him. He’d felt like prey beneath the weight of the shogun’s gaze, a rabbit caught in the jaws of an Ussuri bear.
His shivering had increased as four hands began running over him and nervous, nearly fearful, tears had wet his lashes. The shogun had lifted him with ease and then laid him on the raised futon amongst thick furs and cool silk.
‘Do you fear me?’ the shogun had asked. Yūji’s soft whimper and trembling lip had been answer enough.
‘Good,’ the shogun had said. Then he’d serviced Yūji with fingers and mouth, teeth and tongue.
Yūji hadn’t stopped shivering that third night, though it had evolved from cold fear to pleasured warmth. After the shogun had had his way with Yūji, he’d left before the morning sun rose. WIth Yūji, he’d left the traditional najimikin and, slightly less traditionally, two chopsticks engraved with his name. The chopsticks were black lacquered and shined of high quality. At their widest point, they were wrapped with rose gold that had been engraved with sakura blossoms.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth visits had all gone much the same way, although the shogun’s services and ministrations had escalated with each visit and his gifts become more extravagant. It was clear that he was preparing and pampering Yūji.
Which lead all to tonight. While Geto-oneesama had painted Yūji’s face and twisted his hair up to be pinned by the shogun’s gifted chopsticks and slipped on the two layers of the silk kimono , he had talked. He’d thanked Yūji for being his favorite imouto before making Yūji promise he wouldn’t tell the other oiran that he’d admitted that. When Yūji questioned the thanks, Geto-oneesama had stepped away from him, admiring his work with a soft smile that edged toward being a little sad.
‘I think this will be your last night in the house, Yuu-chan ,’ Geto-oneesan had said with misty eyes before dismissing Yūji to his rooms.
The shōji rattled as it slid open and Yūji flowed forward until he was in dogeza, forehead pressed to the floor and toes curled beneath him. He could feel the shogun’s gaze on the back of his neck where his kimono’s collar had pulled away from his skin to reveal the white makeup that had been painted on his nape. It was a part of the oiran style Yūji would usually forego but the night was to be special so he’d asked Geto- oneesama to paint him. The skin left bare formed a range of inverted mountains, the largest in the middle and framed by two smaller ones. The white paint extended down his back where Geto- oneesama had added his own flare, though Yūji hadn't had the chance to look at it.
The shōji rattled again as it was shut and Yūji shifted back into seiza though he kept his gaze low.
“You’re beautiful.”
There was no stopping the flush that spread over his face and down his chest. Yūji lifted his hands but forced them back to his thighs, not that they would help cool his face with how clammy they were. Blushing clashed horrendously with pink hair so he focused on calming his thundering heart. He could hear Geto-oneesama’s voice in his ear chiding him for behaving like a novice. It helped soothe his frayed nerves.
“Thank you, oyakata-sama . I am pleased that you approve.” Yūji finally lifted his face to take in the mountain of a man before him. Even in a casual, dark blue yukata , the shogun was impressive and intimidating. His entire aura screamed power. Yūji didn’t understand how enemies of the shogun or the Emperor could stand to face him as warriors. He wasn’t weak or meek but the shogun made the world tremble and bend before him.
“Do you wish for some refreshments, oyakata-sama? I have had ocha prepared and sake warmed, if you wish for something stronger.” Yūji rose until he stood before the shogun. He gestured with a sweep of his hand to the low table to the left. It was already set with simple snacks and a jug of water. An ikebana arrangement was the centerpiece, one of his own creations that he’d labored over to ensure the proper message was conveyed.
A large palm cradled Yūji’s cheek before sliding down his jaw to cup his chin. His attention was brought back onto the shogun.
“The only thing I want tonight, Yūji, is you.”
Yūji gasped at breach in propriety of the shogun using his given name, and with no honorific no less. The blush that had begun to recede was back in full force. He could feel heat at the tips of his ears as well. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. There was nowhere for him to turn to, pinned as he was by two sets of glacial eyes that drank in his reaction to the shogun’s words.
“Then I am yours,” Yūji whispered. It was all he could think to say.
He lifted his hands from where they’d come to rest on his waist and placed them on the knot of his obi, but found large hands engulfing his.
“Allow me,” the shogun said. Yūji lowered his gaze and his lashes, the hand on his chin slipping away.
While two hands worked to free the obi’s knot, the other two hands began plucking the decoration from Yūji’s hair. The two jade combs with delicate golden flowers on it were the first to go. They were pulled free from the smaller buns to the left and right of the larger, central one. He could feel fingers pressing into the base of the buns where smaller, functional pins would be to hold his hair in place. The buns came free at the same time his obi did, hair cascading down his back as the long slip of cloth dropped from his waist and his kimono parted.
The shogun then moved his top set of hands to his main bun where he pulled a gold lacquered comb free. A gentle touch rustled his hair and Yūji knew that the shogun was fingering the chopsticks engraved with his name. He hoped that the engravings hadn’t lost their clear, crisp quality from his thumb rubbing over them. Even now, Yūji could feel the ridges of the kanji that made up the name Ryomen Sukuna.
“I wasn’t aware the chopsticks were used in this manner.”
“They’re not, generally,” Yūji said. “It’s a little improper but Geto-oneesama insisted.”
“I’ll have to thank the tayū when I see him.”
Ryomen-sama’s fingers were back in his hair, removing the pins that held Yūji’s main bun up. When the final pin was removed, Yūji felt his hair shift and a few strands slip free, but most of it was still held by the chopsticks that his hair had been woven around. Those only survived a moment more before Ryomen-sama slid them free and the rest of Yūji’s hair fell against his back like a cascading pink waterfall.
Yūji lifted his hands to his hair and combed his fingers through the long strands to tousle them. To say he wasn’t relieved would have been a lie. While he was sorry that Geto-oneesama’s hard work had been taken down in mere seconds, it was a relief to his scalp. His was long enough to brush against the curve of his ass and was heavy enough on its own. All the pins and jewelry, on top of having his hair pulled tight enough that he thought it’d rip from his head, gave him a headache.
“Better?” Yūji could hear the amusement in Ryomen-sama’s voice. When he looked up into his face, the left corner of Ryomen-sama’s mouth was tipped up the barest amount.
“Better,” Yuuji confirmed.
Ryomen-sama’s bottom set of hands came up to part Yūji’s kimono further, but did not push the layers from his shoulders. Instead, he pinched the brightly coloured silk fabric between his fingers.
“Is this a favorite of yours?” Ryomen-sama asked.
Yuuji turned his head to the side to look at his shoulder where the kimono hung. The underlayer was a simple, thin sheet of white silk. The kimono itself though was a costly green silk of emerald. It was patterned with golden rice grain and pink sakura petals. When Yūji shifted, the kimono would ripple to give the illusion of wind tugging on the grain and flowers. It had been one of the first kimonos he’d purchased after becoming a yobidashi tsukemawarashi ranked oiran, and was indeed one of his favorites.
“It is.”
“Then I will apologize ahead of time for its possible - probable - ruin. I promise to give you another one,” Ryomen-sama said.
“What do you me-” Yūji began but found himself breathless as he was lifted by Ryomen- sama as if he was weightless. They didn’t go far as Ryomen-sama maneuvered them onto the raised futon.
Unlike the previous visits though, Ryomen-sama joined Yūji on the bed, arranging them until Yūji was sitting in Ryomen-sama’s lap, his back pressed against a strong, broad chest. When he lifted his gaze, Yūji started and then laughed breathlessly at himself when he realized he was looking at himself and the shogun in the mirror. However, the more he looked at their reflections, the less amusing and more arousing the sight became.
Yūji knew he was small compared to Ryomen-sama but he’d never really been able to compare their size difference until now. He looked like a doll in a giant’s lap. The deep red of his lips and the matching paint dabbed at the corner of his eyes were striking against his features. Strands of his long pink hair had fallen over his shoulders and his kimono was parted enough to see the cut of his chest and upper abdomen. He struck a delicate balance between hard and soft.
He noted that his nipples were hard. Ryomen- sama must have noticed them too, because his top set of hands appeared on Yūji’s chest where they began pinching and rubbing his hardened buds.
Yūji released a surprised moan at the sudden, though not unexpected, attention. The flush that had lingered since the shogun’s compliment deepened and started inching its way down his chest.
“I’m glad the mirror fit,” Ryomen-sama said. When Yūji found the shogun’s eyes in the mirror, their normal crystal blue quality had darkened to a deep azure. A thrill raced through Yūji and he shivered.
“Are you afraid?” the shogun asked, mistaking Yūji’s shiver.
“No,” Yūji tried to say. It came out as a breathy sigh and he let his head fall back against Ryomen-sama’s broad chest, the length of his throat on display. He could feel the shogun’s heart beating beneath his head, a soft, barely contained bah-boom, ba-boom held behind a cage of bone.
Yūji raised his arm and bent it back, watching his movements in the mirror. He pressed his palm against the shogun’s upper right forearm and slid it up onto his bicep. He followed the length of the arm, stopping to trace one of the tattoos with light fingertips, and then continued over the arch of the shoulder to press his palm against the side of Ryomen-sama’s neck. He tried to curl his fingers around the shogun’s neck but Yūji was already stretched out, exposing the long, lean line of his body.
Ryomen-sama curled over Yūji until he could press his cheek to Yūji’s temple, an impressive display of flexibility by the shogun.
“You should be,” whispered Ryomen-sama .
Quicker than a viper strike, the shogun’s lower set of hands gripped the back of Yūji’s knees, pulling them up and apart so that Yūji was on full display. Embarrassment flooded through him but there was little he could do in the shogun’s powerful grip. The top set of hands were still playing with Yūji’s chest and held his torso against Ryomen-sama.
The lighting in Yūji’s room hadn’t been dimmed before they’d moved to the futon so there was no way for Yūji or Ryomen-sama to miss the telltale glistening of Yūji hole or the way it gaped just a little. Geto-oneesama had also guessed the intentions for tonight and recommended that Yūji prepare himself the best he could prior to getting ready for the night.
He’d taken Geto-oneesama’s suggestion to heart and had lubed up his fingers to open himself up. Even though he’d never seen the shogun’s cock clearly, he had felt it. It had taken Yūji the better part of twenty minutes - and it was only that quick because Ryomen-sama had gotten him up to three of his fingers - before he’d managed to work his fist inside himself. He’d been dripping sweat and panting in the crook of his elbow, tremors of pained-pleasure wracking his body. Yūji was tempted to fist his cock until he’d dirtied the inside of his house yukata but resisted. He wanted to bring the sweet sensitivity into the night with Ryomen-sama.
One of the hands on Yūji’s chest slid down his torso and over his abdomen. He whimpered when the shogun ignored his hardening cock and tickled over his taint. Yūji could see in the mirror how close Ryomen-sama was to touching his puffy, pink rim and he arched against the shogun’s chest, trying to encourage him onward. He huffed in deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He was getting too wound up already.
“Please,” Yūji squeezed out in a tiny voice. He shifted as much as he could in Ryomen- sama’s lap with his legs splayed in the air like they were. He still had one hand pressed against the shogun's neck, and the other grasped at the forearm between his legs.
Ryomen-sama moved his finger over Yūji’s twitching hole, sliding through the lube that glistened there. He pressed down, but not enough to breach.
“You prepared yourself,” the shogun remarked. Yūji could see in the mirror that Ryomen-sama’s pupils had blown wide in both sets of eyes. The deep azure was but a sliver to be seen.
“Yes,” Yūji replied, though it wasn’t a question. His breath was shaky as the shogun rubbed small, teasing circles over his rim. “I didn’t want to waste time.”
Ryomen-sama curled his finger and hooked it into Yuuji, the stretch easily equal to two of his own. He threw his head back against the shogun’s chest and moan at the feeling of the finger sinking deeper and deeper into him, past what his own fingers could reach. Yūji’s breath stuttered from his chest as he tried to roll his hips. He had no leverage though and whined, a sound bereft.
“I had thought you nervous when I came,” Ryomen-sama mused. “I didn’t know how you would like the mirror.”
Yūji hadn’t known how he’d like the mirror either but it turned out that he was more vain than he thought because the sight of the debauchery before him was both embarrassing and enthralling. He liked looking at himself, and he especially liked looking at himself with Ryomen-sama at his back.
“I am a little nervous,” Yūji admitted. “But I like the mirror.”
Ryomen-sama pumped his finger a few times, brushing against Yūji’s prostate, and then pulled out before pressing two fingers back into him. Yūji’s breathing grew ragged. The stretch was already almost too much. He could feel the burn in his rim and heat in his lower back. He’d need a warm bath to soothe his aches.
When the shogun withdrew his fingers and scissored them to stretch Yūji further, a sob rose up in his throat and the trembling started in his body. He could feel tears springing to his eyes where they clung to his lashes. His makeup would be ruined soon.
“Look,” Ryomen-sama commanded.
Yūji’s eyes dropped to the place where Ryomen-sama was hooking his fingers and groaned at the sight. The shogun had the tips of his fingers still in Yūji’s hole, spread wide, and Yūji could just make out the pulsing pink of his insides. It was hotter than it had any right to be and Yūji could feel the heat already building in his stomach. He knew he wouldn’t be lasting long.
“More,” Yūji begged.
“It’s too soon,” Ryomen-sama said.
“ Please , more!” Yūji sobbed as tears slipped down his face. The charcoal that rimmed his eyes would be the first casualty of tonight’s service.
Ryomen-sama pressed his nose to Yūji’s hair and sighed against it. Yūji thought he was going to deny him again but then a third finger was pressed into him. His mouth dropped open in an O, though from pleasure or pain, he wasn't sure. The hand not sinking its nails into the side of the shogun’s neck scrabbled over Ryomen-sama's forearm and then dropped to grip at the shogun’s massive thigh.
Yūji could feel how excited Ryomen-sama was against his lower back and drool pooled in his mouth at the thought of getting that cock inside of him. He was a little afraid, yes, but the shogun had never hurt him more than Yuuji wanted it to hurt. He’d always made sure it hurt so good too, and just knew it would be even sweeter than anything else before.
He’d just have to survive the preparations first.
The shogun pumped his fingers into Yūji, slow and steady. He was filled so full already and wished he’d spent more time earlier preparing himself. Despite taking his own fist, Ryomen-sama’s three fingers were nearly as thick as the widest point of his fist. He could feel his hole fluttering, tightening and loosening alternatively. The shogun’s fingers were rough as they dragged over his ridged walls, catching and scratching the sensitive tissue deliciously. When Ryomen-sama prodded at his prostate, Yūji cried out a watery moan that was thick with tears. Every breath in was a shaky gasp, like he was struggling to keep his head above rough waters.
Despite the feeling of being stretched so, so thin, Yūji could feel a pool of liquid heat churning low in his abdomen. It was molten metal, thick and heavy, pulling him down as it grew larger. It burned to the point of pain and, yet, he didn’t want it to stop. He could feel as it slipped into his veins and along his nerves to heat his body up and melt in - around - his brain. His thoughts became sluggish and his tongue was thick in his mouth, all but making speech impossible.
“Open your eyes,” Ryomen-sama commanded, a light whisper in Yūji’s ear.
Yūji obeyed, opening his heavy eyelids and blinking them until he could see clearly through the haze of pleasure that swirled and flowed through his body. His own face caught his gaze first. Debauched couldn’t begin to describe the look of ecstasy on his face. He was flushed from the roots of hair all the way down his chest. Spittle clung to his lips like tears clung to his lashes. His make up was smudged and smeared, blackish-grey charcoal running from his eyes and red paint blurring his lips. The red paint at the corner of one eye had smeared toward his temple. His chest was heaving beneath the shogun’s talented fingers. Though they stopped pinching and pulling at his pink, swollen nipples, they still brushed and rubbed against them, occasionally flicking hard enough to draw a jolt and a moan from Yūji. His kimono had slipped off his shoulders to rest halfway down his biceps, the two halves of it slipping around his sides. His cock was turgid and bobbed with every one of Yūji’s movements. The head - dark red, nearly purple - was shiny with precome that oozed from the slit and down the length of it.
Behind Yūji was Ryomen- sama who was like the looming shadow of a mountain. Yūji could no longer make out the blue of the shogun’s eyes, eclipsed as they were by his pupils. The shogun’s hair, a darker pink than Yuuji’s own, as if it had blood poured over it, had fallen into disarray. A few strands of hair stuck to the shogun’s forehead, darkened further by his sweat.
Yūji’s cock twitched and a fat glob of precome slid from the slit where it trailed over the head and down his cock’s length. It mixed with the tight curls of almost-red hair at the base of his dick. His fingers twitched against Ryomen-sama’s skin, nails catching just enough to leave a hint of a mark on the shogun that would fade quickly.
“Ryo-Ryomen-sama, please,” Yūji begged. His heated cock ached with how hard he was. He was tighter than a bow string, ready to snap at even the softest of plucks. He felt too tight in his skin, too wound up. The sensations that rushed through his body, pressing from the inside out, trying to escape, teetered on the edge of too much and not enough, and the pleasure was painful. The urge to take up his own cock was choking him, pulling more tears from him and wetting his face further. He could taste the saltiness of them on his lips.
Behind him, he felt as much as heard the shogun’s rough breathing, like the man had the weight of a thousand boulders on his chest. Yūji had a moment of clarity, of pride, knowing that the shogun seemed just as affected by their activities as Yūji was, even if he was better at keeping his composure.
Ryomen-sama removed his hand from Yūji’s chest, to which Yūji whimpered at the lost. The shogun distracted him by brushing his fingers over Yūji’s prostate though. The touch was teasing and featherlight. It made Yūji tremble and gasp as his hips shook trying to seek Ryomen-sama’s touch out again. He wanted to cum so badly, his early ministrations compounding what he was feeling now, but he also wanted desperately to hold on, to wait until the shogun was finally, finally inside him.
“Hurry,” Yūji pleaded, arching his back and rolling his head so he could look up at Ryomen-sama through wet lashes. He couldn’t see any of the shogun’s features, just beneath his chin, but the way his Adam’s apple bobbed let Yūji know that the other knew what he was asking for.
“Please, I can’t, I need- I want.” That didn’t mean Yūji couldn’t press the shogun just right, to manipulate him into getting what he wanted right now.
Yūji pulled his gaze back around to the mirror and could see the shogun’s fingers working on his own clothing. He could feel Ryomen-sama’s knuckles brushing against his back, felt the other shifting behind and beneath him. Yūji gasped when he felt a sudden heat against his lower back, the weight and size of it pressing against him, bigger than he imagined.
Yūji wanted it. He needed it.
His mouth went dry at the thought of having the shogun’s cock within him. Yūji wanted to see it, wanted to know how much it would split him open.
He licked his lips.
Ryomen-sama removed his three fingers from Yūji’s hole, and Yūji would have mourned their loss if not for the promise of something better. He was focused on the mirror, on his ass where his rim was pink, puffy, and shiny. It was stretched wide enough that he had to flex to close it, his pink insides otherwise on display.
The hands beneath his knees lifted Yūji up as if he weighed little more than a flower. It took the shogun no discernible effort. Ryomen-sama held Yūji up off of his lap, higher on his chest until Yūji was nearly nestled beneath his chin.
The new position put Yūji at an advantage to see what he had felt during all the prior visits with the shogun.
Standing proud beneath Yūji was, not one, but two cocks of immense size, one beneath the other. They were covered in black markings etched into the flesh, similar in design to the few markings that Yūji had glimpsed on the shogun . He’d wondered how far the tattoos went and he now had his answer.
A worm of fear seeped into Yūji, but he was quick to banish it. There was no way the shogun would expect him to take both cocks. At least, not yet, though the thought of maybe trying that in the future had Yūji’s gut clenching in anticipation.
Ryomen-sama’s free hand appeared and gripped the base of the top cock, stroking the length. He twisted his hand when he reached the head in a movement that caused the shogun to shiver, his four eyes sliding half closed.
Yūji couldn't wait any longer. "Ryomen-sama, please!"
The shogun released a breathy huff, the closest thing Yūji had heard to a chuckle from the shogun, but the other grabbed the base of his cock and held it. He lowered Yūji until the tip of his cock was touching Yūji's hole, but stopped just short of breaching Yūji.
"Are you sure you want this? There is no going back. You will be mine after this, Yūji."
It was the first time the shogun had outright stated his intentions for Yūji, and he found the he didn't mind them one bit. He'd miss the house and the other oiran and especially Geto-oneesama, but he'd come to realize that he loved the shogun, a silly thought if there ever was one. They'd only met, really, a handful of times, but Yūji couldn't deny the feelings as he gazed at Ryomen-sama's deep blues through the mirror. His heart trembled and chest tightened. He wanted the other man in any and every way he could get.
"Please," Yūji breathed.
Yūji has intended to watch Ryomen-sama enter him, but he was almost immediately shoved over the edge that he'd been teetering on all night. The stretch as the shogun sunk Yūji down onto one of his lengths was past what Yūji thought he could handle. It made his fist almost seem easy in comparison as pain lanced through his ass and lower back. He gasped against the stretch, tears refilling his eyes as his breath was caught - stuck - in his throat. His bottom lip trembled as he sunk his teeth into it until he could taste the paint and coppery blood.
When the shogun finally eased the head of his cock in, the flare almost too much for Yūji to handle, the pop of it as it entered Yūji's hole broke the dam that had held his release back. White streaked across his vision, invaded it, as pain and pleasure overlapped. He felt as if he were caught in a stormy ocean, helpless as he was thrown about, only hoping that he'd be able to take a breath, though he couldn't fight it if he were to drown. His skin was electric, miniature bolts of lightning dancing over and through his body. Liquid heat raced through his veins, warming him up and searing him from the inside. In the far, far distance, Yūji heard a groan, the brief thought of Ryomen-sama flitting through his head, there and gone.
After a small eternity, the crashing ocean became ebbing waves. There was a low buzz of pleasure that still played along his nerves, making him jittery and sensitive - and sensitive he was - but Yūji was able to pull back into himself.
The first thing he noticed was that he was still sinking onto the shogun's cock. He forced his heavy eyelids open and immediately found the place where he was connected with Ryomen-sama. It seemed impossible to him but couldn't deny what he saw in the mirror: he was only halfway down the shogun's cock.
The second thing Yūji noticed was the veins that had popped on the shogun's arms and in his neck, a look of stormy, intense concentration on the other's face. He could feel a minute trembling in the hands that held him, could pick out the small twitches of jumping muscles. Ryomen-sama was clearly putting every ounce of effort into taking his time with Yūji, to avoid hurting him any more than necessary.
Yūji wanted to say something to the other, but his thoughts came and went in disarrayed fits, and his tongue had been replaced by cotton. He lifted a trembling hand, a herculean task, and rested it on one of Ryomen-sama's forearms. The rest of his body remained limp and relaxed in the shogun's grip.
Centimeter by centimeter, Yūji watched as his body swallowed the large cock. After a second small eternity, the shogun dropped him the final small distance and Yūji was once more in Ryomen-sama's lap. Yūji whimpered at being so full and, behind him, the shogun groaned at finally sheathing himself inside Yūji.
They sat like that for minutes, each trying to compose themselves, to get themselves back under control. All of Yūji's training fled him as he simply focused on evening out his breathing and not gulping air as if he was drowning. His gaze was on the mirror, disbelief edging along his senses. He dropped his sights down to his stomach to verify what he'd been seeing in the reflective glass.
He was stretched wide, could feel it in the way his rim was pulled and the way it was pressed tight against the shogun's girth. The fullness he felt was a physical weight, heavy against his displaced insides. The shogun's second cock stood between his legs, resting in the crux of his thigh. What really had his attention though was the outline of Ryomen-sama's cock pressing through his abdomen. It pressed from the inside, a brand, pushing the skin of his belly. He raised his free hand and touched his abdomen, awed by the sight. When he pressed down hard against his stomach to really feel the shogun's size within him, Ryomen-sama caught his hand and pulled it away.
"Don't," was the low, rough warning Yūji received, his hand tiny and encased in Ryomen -sama's. It was more a growl than words, the sound vibrating against the back of Yūji's head.
Yūji looked back at the mirror to take in the shogun. The mountain of a man looked ready for battle, every muscle tensed and ready to spring into action. His face was darkened by his focus and concentration. Yūji could see a small slip of the demon warlord other claimed the shogun to be. It was clear that Yūji was in an equally dangerous as it was thrilling position. The other man, always so composed, looked ready to snap.
Yūji wanted to see him lose control.
"Fuck me," Yūji said in a voice barely above a whisper. It was indecent and improper, and Geto-oneesama would faint to hear such language, but it was exactly what Yūji wanted. He wanted to be fucked by the man inside him.
Ryomen-sama released a real growl, bared his teeth at Yūji through the mirror, flashing his sharp double canines. The hands that held Yūji's legs tightened to the point of bruising. The shogun's free hand came up to rest against Yūji's neck, his hand so big he simultaneously cradled Yūji's jaw. The shogun's thumb and forefinger were tight, holding Yūji's head in place. Flashing blue eyes met Yūji's deep, warmed honey.
"Watch what you say," the shogun warned darkly, his voice curling like smoke around Yūji's senses.
Yūji lifted his chin - or rather, tried to. The effect was muted by Ryomen-sama's grip on his chin. He steeled himself for what was sure to happen. He was, after all, a master manipulator when it came to men's desires.
"Fuck me." Yūji put as much authority behind his command as he could summon. He was sure it fell flat of any command that the shogun could issue, but it did its job nevertheless.
It was as if Yūji had removed the last restraint from the shogun. With no warning, Yūji found himself thrown forward, his ass up in the air and his cheek crushed against the soft furs that lined the futon, his kimono torn silk scattered and tangled around him. One of the shogun's hands was on his nape, pinning him in place; another cradled his abdomen, pressing against the cock hidden behind his belly. The final two on Yūji's hips in a grip that would leave black bruises and bloody half crescents. He could feel the press of teeth against his shoulder, sharp points that threatened to tear the flesh like a predator at meal time.
Yūji glanced up, toward the mirror. The angle wasn't great but he could just make out Ryomen -sama's shape bent over his back, a mountain turned into its shadow. Equally large, but more terrifying as the darkness swallows everything within its reach.
He moaned at the sight - a breathy, shuddering moan that held just a hint of fear and awe.
The shogun looked up at the noise, their gazes meeting in the mirror. He released Yūji's flesh and rose up over him. The shogun must have shed his yukata during their change in position because Yūji got an eye full of his naked chest. He already knew that Ryomen-sama was well built, practically cut from stone, from his time as a warrior, but knowing and seeing were two different things.
White and pink scars were scattered all over the shogun's torso, the worst of which seemed to bisect his abdomen, the scar thick and knotted. It was as if someone had tried to gut him. Heavily drawn tattoos slashed across the wide expanse, sometimes interrupted by scars, other times over scars. From his shoulders, to chest, to abdomen, Ryomen-sama was all sculpted muscle. The sight had Yūji's cock twitching to full hardness.
"Fuck me."
Another growl and then the shogun was withdrawing from Yūji until only the head remained inside his ass. He gasped at the feeling of being emptied, but the feeling didn't last long as the shogun thrust forward, forcing his way back inside Yūji's abused hole. Yūji choked as the air was punched from him from the force of the thrust. Ryomen-sama's second cock slid against the hollow of his hip, along the length of his own cock, and smeared pearly white liquid over his abdomen.
The shogun built up a rhythm that was a balance of speed and power. Yūji could tell he was barely restraining himself from hurting Yūji, the shogun well aware of what he could do to Yūji if he truly let go. It was enough though, even if for a wild moment Yūji had the urge to press Ryomen-sama further. Every thrust in took Yūji's breath away and brushed up against his prostate. He whimpered when he had the air to do so and cried silent tears when he didn't. The slap of the shogun's skin against his filled the room, along with their own noises of pleasure.
Ryomen-sama's grip never wavered as he kept a tight hold on Yūji. As the shogun continued to ride Yūji, he even began pulling back on Yūji's hips, further scrambling his thoughts and his insides.
Yūji was helpless in the face of the shogun's pleasure and allowed the man to take from him, though he gave it all willingly. He was a ragdoll to be used and the thought sent a spike of pleasure through Yūji.
The shogun's pace increased, the rhythm faltering. The hand on his abdomen pressed firmly into his skin, highlighting the outline of the shogun's cock through Yūji's belly.
A snarl ripped through the air and Ryomen-sama was pressing himself deep into Yūji to spill his seed. Warmth flooded through Yūji, quickly filling him up. He could feel the shogun's cock twitching inside of him, the sensation pushing Yūji's pleasure toward the edge.
However, before he could find his own cock, the shogun moved the hand on his abdomen to grab the base of Yūji's cock in a firm, almost painful grasp. Yūji whimpered at the touch, but before he could voice his displeasure, Ryomen-sama withdrew his cock leaving Yūji empty. He cried out at the loss, upset enough for tears to spring forth as he yelled into the furs, but even that didn't last long as the shogun slammed his second cock into Yūji.
The thrust struck his prostate with cruel precision, as painful as it was pleasurable. Tongue and teeth appeared on his back, licking, sucking, and biting in turns. The grip on his cock remained right, denying Yūji his release. He cried out against the unfairness and the pleasure and the pain as the shogun loosened his own reins and fucked Yūji roughly.
One of the hands on his hip peeled away, but it was only seconds later that a rough palms fell against his ass cheek. Yūji screamed as he was struck, knowing the skin would redden deeply, maybe even split. The hand on his nape snuck around until it was at the front of his neck where pressure was slowly added until he was struggling to breathe. He could feel teeth sinking into the skin of his back, drawing forth blood, the wounds agitated by a probing tongue.
Yūji looked toward the mirror again.
His long hair was a tangled mess hanging over his shoulders, darkened at his hairline where he was sweating. A few strands clung to his forehead, temple, and cheek. Most of his makeup was gone, cried, drooled, or smudged away. What remained was a smeared mess that made him look downright awful. His bottom lip was split from where he'd bitten into it. Blood trickled over one shoulder and dripped to the furs beneath him. His beautiful kimono was in tatters, hardly recognizable for what it once was.
He continued to watch himself as Ryomen-sama continued to fuck him. Yūji jostled with every thrust, but was held in place by teeth and fingers and nails. The pleasured-pain that burned beneath his skin was ready to burst, but with the shogun's grip still on him, Yūji could do little but cry and whimper as he trembled beneath the shogun.
The rhythm that the shogun had settled into broke again and became erratic. His thrusts were harsh as they jabbed at Yūji's prostate ruthlessly. The hand around Yūji's neck tightened until he could do little more than gasp small breaths. Teeth found their way to Yūji's nape and sunk into the flesh there, and then Ryomen-sama was spilling inside of him again. The shogun's moan vibrated against his skin.
Yūji struggled as he was filled to the brim. He could feel his belly distending from the amount of cum that the shogun had fucked into him, the pain acute and sharp. The shogun didn't let up though, his hips moving against Yūji's in little thrusts as if to push the cum deeper inside of him. The grip on his neck finally cut off the last of his air and black spots popped in Yūji's vision.
Just as unconsciousness began to take over Yūji, the grip on his neck released the same time the grip on his cock changed. As Yūji gasped in cool air, the shogun stroked Yūji's cock, root to tip, and twisted his palm roughly over the head.
The orgasm hit Yūji like a crashing wave throwing him against a cliff. Pleasure rocked through Yūji and overpowered all other sensations. It was all he knew as he was dragged into a deep darkness, an ocean closing over his head as he sunk to its depths.
When Yūji finally regained consciousness, it was to the feeling of a thick tongue lapping at his hole around a finger that was knuckle deep in him. His body felt like it had been filled with stones and he didn't even try to move. He simply moaned, words nonexistent in his thoughts. The touches were more painful than pleasurable, his body far too sensitive for anything other than soft furs and a warm bath.
The ministrations stopped, the tongue disappearing as the finger eased itself from his hole.
Yūji wanted nothing more than to sink into a proper sleep for the next two weeks. Maybe a shower if he awoke before the end of two weeks, but definitely sleep now.
A large hand cradled the back of his skull, fingers massaging gently. He moaned again and the shogun's face filled his vision.
"Are you alright?" Ryomen-sama asked. "Should I call for one of the others? The tayū, perhaps?"
Yūji moaned and shook his head minutely. He didn't want to deal with the fuss of having one of the others coming to his aid. He'd be fine. Eventually.
"A bath, perhaps?"
Another moan, another shake of his head.
"Is there anything you want, Yūji?"
One. There was one thing Yūji wanted.
"Kiss," Yūji whispered, though it sounded more like 'kish' from the way his cheek was smashed against the bed.
The shogun's mouth twitched down into a frown as he tried to decipher Yūji's words - word.
"Kiss," Yūji tried again, this time trying to pucker his lips.
"Ah, of course," the shogun said. He leaned into Yūji and gave him an awkward kiss. It was silly and endearing and Yūji wasn't even sure the shogun would entertain the thought of such a thing after their act, but touched that he did.
"Sleep," Yūji muttered when Ryomen-sama pulled away from him after their touch of lips. His eyes fluttered and then closed, the sight of the shogun's amused face carrying him toward sleep.
"Of course."
Yūji’s last thought before he was swept away was if he could get the shogun to give him a bath personally when he woke up. More of his attention was the least Yūji was owed, after all.