Has Aoshi really invited Saitou to a private interview because he has case-related information? Or is this a complicated cover for something else entirely?
It had always been a contest of sorts, ever since they’d first met. Though never any good reason for it, there it was: from the moment Saitou had stepped into that dojo knowing more than Shinomori did, a subdued air of competition had reigned between them and marked their every meeting. And so far, they were about even. Saitou had consistently been better-informed than the Okashira during the Shishio affair, but while trying to deal with Yukishiro in Tokyo, Shinomori had generally been one step ahead.
Which was what made Saitou so wary now.
He paused before knocking on the blue-roofed building’s side door, the staff entrance, as he’d been instructed. He really had no idea what to expect within. This was an odd situation, more even than usual when a possible informant requested a private conversation with an investigator — and that was saying something. The offer was not entirely on the level, and it was a sense of intrigue about that that had drawn Saitou here more than that it might be a useful lead for his case.
“Oh, hello, officer,” said the young woman who answered when he did knock. “Shinomori-san is expecting you.”
He said nothing as she bowed him inside and led him upstairs to one particular room of several on the third floor. There she rapped at the shouji, waited for the quiet welcome from within, and left him.
Saitou entered. Contrary to what he would have expected of the former Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, it was a bright, comfortable room, at whose other end Shinomori stood looking out a half-open window. Despite this orifice, the air was somewhat heavy with a rather oppressive-smelling incense, but otherwise the scene was not unpleasant. Rather than being relaxing, however, this rendered the wolf all the more cautious.
“Saitou.” Shinomori turned. “Hisashiburi.” He wore a yukata pulled close, which, especially against the daylit window, marked the almost unhealthy-looking slenderness of his figure. With the light to his back, his eyes beneath his long bangs appeared very dark.
“Good morning,” Saitou replied, watching him, and calculating the accuracy of the ninja’s greeting: indeed, they hadn’t really spoken since the end of the Yukishiro incident, though they’d seen each other often enough since Saitou had transferred to Kyoto.
Shinomori moved from the window, walking past the officer to the door and listening at it for a moment before locking it. He then seated himself beside a tea service. “Join me.”
As he complied wordlessly, Saitou’s tension was rising, and he kept a careful watch on the other man without letting it appear that he was doing so.
“Youngest child of a rich family abducted,” Shinomori was saying succinctly as he poured tea for them both, “and a government spy assigned to the case because the only existing clue is a name overheard from one of the kidnappers that matches that of a recently-subdued and supposedly-dissolved revolutionary group.”
Saitou had to appreciate this kind of conciseness; he wished the people he worked with could command half as much. “You seem to have a decent grasp on the issue,” he nodded, accepting the cup from the ninja’s slender hand.
“Better than you do,” Shinomori replied.
“Which is why I’m here.”
A placid nod. “The kidnapper was once a bitter enemy to the Oniwabanshuu.”
That, perhaps, cleared things up a bit, but Saitou still couldn’t believe that the other man was really being anything like candid.
“He is dangerous,” Shinomori continued, “and what’s more, he knows who you are.”
Saitou pretended to sip his tea. It didn’t smell unusual in any sense, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Shinomori wouldn’t bring him here without a specific purpose, and so far the information provided only bordered on useful. “It’s true there are more that do than I’d like, but it usually doesn’t make much difference.”
Still impassive, the ninja went on. “It might. You could defeat him in battle, it’s true. But he knows this. He won’t be straightforward; he won’t come at you fairly.”
“I’m used to that,” Saitou remarked, then added with a slight smirk, “I’m not altogether straightforward or fair myself.”
Shinomori brought his own cup slowly to his finely-formed lips; Saitou didn’t think he actually drank, either, though. “What’s important to understand about this person is that he has an obsessive nature, and absolutely no reservations when it comes to getting what he wants.”
“That’s true of most people on some level or other.” Growing a little tired of the excessive incense in the air, Saitou lit a cigarette. Shinomori must burn the stuff all day and all night, to be inured enough to sit right next to it with the smoke floating up into his face like that.
The Oniwaban didn’t seem to care that the officer was smoking in his private chamber without bothering to ask permission. “This man has not only motive and drive, but ability and resources, to get what he wants.”
So far this felt like either a diluted warning or a very abstract tip; neither was likely to be particularly helpful, nor could Saitou believe that such roundabout information could possibly be Shinomori’s reason for inviting him here. Maybe a more straightforward treatment of the exact nature of this exchange would get better results. That had been Saitou’s main point of curiosity in coming, after all — what Shinomori would demand in return for his communications, whatever they were. And perhaps once that was established they could get down to names and other actual facts… if there were any. Well, depending on what the ninja wanted and how Saitou felt like responding to it. Which latter idea had been another point of curiosity that had brought him here.
“You’re getting impatient,” Shinomori observed calmly. “But what if I tell you that you are this man’s target?”
Well, that did get Saitou’s attention, as it was obviously meant to. Still, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“But you might not escape this time.”
Saitou noticed the very faint upturning of Shinomori’s lips in the same instant he reflected that his cigarette tasted odd — the flavor of the tobacco combining with the incense creating an unusual sensation in his throat — and that his limbs felt strangely and increasingly sluggish.
The tea had been a distraction; that idea had crossed his mind, but as a distraction from what, he had not been able to discern. He hadn’t considered the incense a threat, given that Shinomori was closer to it than he was. And he rarely gave his own cigarettes a second thought, which, of course, Shinomori had counted on. But all this reflection was too late now.
“And his name I believe I can guess,” he said quietly, finding every word more difficult as what resembled a great weariness began to spread inexorably through his body.
“By now I hope you can,” Shinomori replied, reaching out and catching the cigarette as it fell from Saitou’s lips. It was the last thing the officer saw.
Any doubts he’d had about the intentions with which he’d been summoned here were erased when he began to regain consciousness.
He didn’t think he’d been out long, for he could not yet move, could not even open his eyes. His breathing was shallow, and he felt somewhat dizzy even lying still. His senses were vaguely in tact, however, so he was aware of lying stretched out on his back on a soft surface — a futon, if he was not mistaken — of Shinomori beside him — right up against him, actually, with a hand on his chest — of a significant lack of clothing — yes, both of them seemed to be naked — and of certain things that had been done to him while he was unconscious — namely, he seemed to have been… washed. Since he didn’t think Shinomori had a general cleanliness fetish that went quite as far as drugging people in order to clean them up, the intent here must be sex.
No reservations indeed.
The ninja, apparently noting Saitou’s return to awareness, sat up; though still in darkness, Saitou could feel the movement and sense its direction. Shinomori did not speak, which came as no surprise, only grazed his palms over Saitou’s chest. A slow, soft caress, it awoke in Saitou instant frustration that he could not move, and gradually changed to a more pointed touch as the Oniwaban’s fingers began languidly to explore the contours of the officer’s stomach and chest. A few of Saitou’s muscles twitched slightly under this treatment, and a shiver ran through him as the dragging fingertips circled almost carelessly one of his taut nipples.
He was momentarily preoccupied with the gentleness, the apparent fragility, of Shinomori’s hands. They were long and warm and seemed more like those of an artist than someone who practiced heavy kenpo. But there was not much time for such thoughts, as their actions at the present moment must be infinitely more engrossing than their shape. For, moving slowly farther and farther down his body to brush and probe and lag along his hips and thighs, their almost delicate application became more teasing, more maddening, with each passing moment.
Abruptly the touch ceased entirely, and Saitou shivered again as echoes of the tantalizing sensation crept over him like remembered pain from an age-old wound. Then breath moved across his face and Shinomori’s lips, unexpectedly soft but decidedly purposeful, descended onto his.
Saitou couldn’t respond to the kiss, and wasn’t entirely sure he would have if he’d been capable — to show willingness in this situation would be unbecoming — but Shinomori’s talent at it left little to be desired, considering the motionlessness of Saitou’s own lips. He was quite impressed, actually, that a kiss so necessarily one-sided could be so enjoyable. And with the action heightening the responsiveness of his own body and thereby, perhaps, hastening his recovery from the drug, he finally managed to open his eyes. He found himself staring into bright blue, and was amused (and not particularly surprised) at the little jolt of sensation that went through him at the sight.
The ninja drew back slightly, trailing his tongue over Saitou’s lips as he did so and maintaining the lock between their eyes. He stayed away only long enough to remark, “I would prefer you more responsive, but that isn’t an option,” before, closing the distance once more, he ran one of those exceptionally fine hands down Saitou’s body and gave him something he might have wanted to respond to. Whatever his chemical state was, Saitou had no trouble becoming very erect at the touch.
The ninja worked his hardening length slowly and methodically from base to tip as he began unhurriedly traversing Saitou’s jaw and neck with his agile mouth. The officer’s breathing, previously the deep consistence of a sleeper’s, rapidly shortened to a quick and audible cadence, a marked contrast to Shinomori’s deliberate, measured movements.
As the kisses moved down Saitou’s chest and the ninja’s skilled grip made him harder and harder, the older man also began to wish he could be a little more responsive, regardless of whether it would be appropriate voluntarily to give a positive response. He was glad of his inability to show surprise the next moment, however, when, without warning, oiled fingers pressed slowly inside him. Why this should be a surprise he wasn’t sure; it made perfect sense, given the situation. It was just that he’d never been penetrated before, and had become so accustomed to being on top that he had perhaps started to take for granted the way things worked.
And suddenly Shinomori’s tongue was gliding along Saitou’s erection, meticulously-rubbing fingers close in its slick wake. He never actually took him fully in his mouth, and Saitou was certain that this, along with the unnecessarily leisurely process of preparation, was just another deliberate torment and reiteration of the ninja’s complete control. Yes, the former Okashira played this getting-what-he-wanted game very well. So well that, torment notwithstanding, Saitou was not wasting any effort at the moment considering what he was going to do when this was over.
Shinomori added another finger. The sensation was odd, but elating, and increased the pleasure of his attentions elsewhere in a way Saitou would not have guessed. Should have guessed, given that he’d been on that end of this sort of exchange often enough, but still could not entirely have fathomed without experiencing. The other caresses were slowing, however; Shinomori evidently didn’t want him to come yet, and must be aware that Saitou could have less control of it in his current state.
For all he was enjoying this, lying still did not make for the most satisfying sex. Saitou’s body, whether aided by his will or not, was exhausting itself straining to work through the chemical influence and regain control, while Shinomori, with the utmost patience, systematically continued his arousing preparations. Saitou heard himself moan inarticulately, and thought that was probably a good sign. Shinomori apparently thought that was the signal for the main event.
As the ninja drove slowly into him, Saitou could hear his own voice again, wordless but unmistakably approving. His lips had managed to move somewhat this time, and when Shinomori’s again closed over them the kiss was much closer to mutual than the previous had been. Though unable to reciprocate when his mouth was worked open and thoroughly overrun by Shinomori’s tongue, he could feel thus the muffled groan from the Oniwaban’s throat that indicated just how good it was to be inside him.
He could never have guessed from the symptoms exhibited by his partners in the past how this would feel. The clinical awareness that it was tight and uncomfortable as well as almost overwhelmingly thrilling and stimulating could never encompass his present sensations. He wondered what it would be like when he had control over his body; for the moment, however, he dismissed this thought, as well as the subsequent query as to whether he was planning on finding out.
Shinomori was stroking him again, and Saitou’s clarity of mind was deteriorating; it was a short-lived reflection that his inability to move and imperfectly-parted legs couldn’t make for a very convenient position, that it was lucky the younger man was so flexible. The rhythm into which Shinomori had smoothly guided them, the building tension and pleasure, was overcoming logical thought.
Twitching fingers longed to clutch at and test the texture of the skin above him, but Saitou’s arms were still too heavy and unresponsive. Authority over his muscles was returning, however, gradually but certainly; how much time passed before he was able to reach up sluggishly and grip the ninja’s rocking body he did not know, but as his climax approached he was aware that his nails were digging into the scarred flesh of Shinomori’s sides.
Evoking a low cry that did not sound even slightly drugged, the white-hot rush of orgasm spread through him. He could feel himself tightening almost painfully around Shinomori, who groaned and quickened his pace with hands bracing against the futon. Not long after, even before the clenching sensation throughout Saitou’s body had fully dissipated, Shinomori let out a long, unsteady sigh that ended in a slight moan, and grew still. He dropped his form back onto Saitou’s and lay panting against the officer’s shoulder for some time.
Well, this had certainly been an entertaining and unique experience, and now that its intenser moments had passed Saitou had opportunity to contemplate its ramifications. He wasn’t really sure what he planned on doing; this was so much more than anything he’d expected in coming here… though at the same time not entirely surprising. But if Shinomori thought he was going to take it lying down (in the figurative sense, of course), he was very much mistaken.
The ninja raised his head and kissed Saitou languidly as he slowly drew out. Here was another unfamiliar sensation that the wolf found rather pleasurable than otherwise, the constriction and return to normal configuration of that particular opening; but, though he returned the kiss to the greatest extent of his current ability, he did not otherwise react. Shinomori’s eyes, staring into his, were equally devoid of communication; they were exceptionally bright, though, and the flush on the former Okashira’s face was particularly attractive.
Finally Shinomori sat back with a soft, contented sigh, and, leaning away, busied himself with something Saitou did not care to make the effort to look at. After a few moments the officer felt something cool and wet touch his chest, and shivered inadvertently. As Shinomori continued to sponge him off fastidiously and almost, he might have thought if he’d been given to such fancies, affectionately, Saitou reflected that this fixation with cleanliness seemed eminently typical of the younger man. It was amusing and perhaps somewhat charming.
Once they were both cleansed to the Oniwaban’s satisfaction, Shinomori took the water basin away somewhere and, returning, pulled Saitou up with both hands. Saitou found that the drug had worn off so far as to allow him to sit unswaying with little trouble, but he was still dizzy. Of course Shinomori, placid and apparently emotionless, was aware of this, and, logically, had no fear of retaliation at this point.
He had produced a neatly stacked and folded set of clothing — Saitou’s uniform — and was shaking the articles out in preparation for helping the officer into them. Saitou did not refuse the assistance, nor, when he was fully dressed, did he object to Shinomori giving him a hand up. As the ninja donned his yukata again in continued silence, Saitou concentrated first on maintaining his equilibrium in this precarious standing position, then on fastening his upper garment.
But fine motor function was still beyond him, it seemed, and after a moment Shinomori pushed his hands away and buttoned the jacket for him. As he did so he finally spoke, quietly: “The boy will be returned to his parents this evening; they will find him unhurt and probably the better for our hospitality.”
Saitou made a noise of acknowledgement; then, as the ninja’s deft fingers finished their task and the imperturbable gaze rose to meet the officer’s, he decided to try for something with a few more syllables. “You do realize…” But as even this short phrase left his reluctant tongue in more of a slur than he would prefer anyone to hear from him at any time, he broke off there.
Shinomori’s eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of his mouth twisted upward by a fraction; it was obvious he didn’t need the I’m not just going to let this go spoken aloud. “Of course.” Leaning up, he touched a brief kiss to Saitou’s lips. “It’s your turn.”
After a moment, Saitou returned the pseudo-smile and nodded slightly. Then, very slowly at first so as to accustom himself both to the foreign ache in his lower half and the precautions necessary for walking in his still-slightly-blurry state, he turned and headed for the door. He was fairly sure that before he would run into anyone, he had the entire length of the hallway beyond and a staircase to make sure his movements would not betray the events that had just transpired. He did not throw so much as a glance behind him as he left the room.
So his case was closed. The dangerous, roundabout, obsessive former enemy of the Oniwabanshuu had had his way, and the only question remaining now was what Saitou was going to do about it. The officer’s emotions were mixed, to say the least.
By the time he’d reached the street below, he had resumed, if not his usual brisk stride, a natural enough gait. This disturbing dizziness would certainly pass; the bemusement was sure to take more time, the animated scheming that had already gripped his brain even longer.
Though he wanted a cigarette, he didn’t consider himself up to the task of extracting and lighting one just yet. He glanced back at the third-floor windows of the Aoiya, but, though a little disoriented, didn’t think Shinomori’s room was on this side of the building. Noting that his enunciation was still somewhat inhibited he murmured, “My turn…”
The possibilities were endless.
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