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poisonangel Title: The Best Laid Plans
Pairings/Characters: Daikenja/Shinou
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dark themes, Sexual content
Original Request: Anything with Daikenja (preferably art but I wouldn't say no to a fanfic). Is that too vague? Um. If more prompting is needed: dark theme, NC-17 rated and can involve Shinou and/or the other ancient characters.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sagemuraken at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kkm_xmas. Thanks to crystaltear for betaing. Since this is a mid-war fic set in the past I don't use the titles Shinou or Daikenja since they don't really become applicable yet.
The drying crimson that clung to his fingers looked especially dark in contrast to the sage's smooth, pale skin. He flexed his hand and tiny cracks webbed their way through the blood.
The dark haired man slowly dipped his hand into a small basin of water. His movements were measured and meticulous, not because the situation deserved his analytical scrutiny, but because he was in no hurry to return to the world beyond the flimsy boundaries of his tent.
Dark eyes glazed over as the water in the basin took on an almost sickeningly bright red cast. He pulled a dripping hand from the cool liquid and saw how the blood was still caught along his nails. He rubbed his hands together, but the stains were stubborn.
Of course they were. It was his blood after all. It only made sense it would be stubborn too.
The advisor might have laughed at the thought if he wasn't so sure the bleak sound would have only served to increase the strain on his already stressed mental state.
War was much as he had imagined it, but that hadn't prepared him for the reality in the slightest. He was a man of theory and planning. He could make difficult recommendations and determine solutions for horrific problems. But to actually be in the midst of battle or to get his hands dirty was something of an altogether different nature.
And yet this was his choice. He had not only requested to be at the front lines, but he had demanded it. He knew he needed to be there to make instant corrections to their strategy if necessary. He also knew it was the only way to win the respect of the soldiers. But most importantly, he knew he needed to stand beside him.
The general was the one who found him. He plucked him from his solitary life of reading and meditation and showed him the world. But it was a world that was burning and turning to ash before his eyes. There were days he cursed that encounter by the tree when he accepted the persuasive blond's proposal, but it was difficult to imagine not being a part of something so important now that he was in the thick of it.
He was more than just a leader. He'd become a companion—an important one. The contemplative man had many things to consider and speculate about, but his thoughts kept drawing him back to the general. It seemed he was under his skin.
He looked at his hands again. They appeared clean this time as he ran a cloth over them to dry them and pull away any excess blood. He could no longer see the red, but he could still feel it—under his skin indeed.
"If you are finished primping, we need to discuss the southern lands."
The voice startled the dark haired man, but he did his best not to show it. However, he was sure the violet eyes watching him from the partially opened flap in his tent caught the surprise.
The advisor's eyes roamed over the other man's body. He had still not changed from the earlier skirmish. His breastplate was cracked and heavily dented and blood dulled and darkened the otherwise shiny surface of the armor. Another man in his position would look weary, but the general's spark had not diminished in the slightest as he stepped into the tent fully, allowing the flap to close behind him, blocking out the sun and muffling the sounds of the camp around them.
A few lamps tossed their soft glow around the confined space, which contained a small bed, which was really something of a luxury under the circumstances. It also housed a chair and table with maps and papers and quills spread out across it. And the washing station complete with bloodied basin and a cracked mirror, which promised to stave off any good luck that might try to work its way in finished out the space.
"Shouldn't you be in the healing tent?" Asked the advisor in a tone that clearly indicated the answer.
"I'm afraid the healers know very little about the southern lands." The general smiled as he made his way to invade the other man's personal space. He liked the way his presence could make him just a little uneasy. He needed some kind of leverage with a man so intuitive and resourceful he almost seemed able to read the future. "They get too hung up on the broken bodies. Don't tell me my advisor is suffering the same affliction."
"A war cannot be won without leadership. And dead men make poor leaders." The double black stood his ground even as the other man came close enough that their bodies would have touched if either were to take a half step forward.
"My wounds are closed, advisor." He had always believed in proof over words, so it should have been not great surprise that he unclasped his armor, removing it, and leaning it against the wooden stand, which held the basin. The protective garments he wore underneath were ripped and stained in red. He wasted no time removing them as well, until he stood before the advisor, bare from the waist up.
"It must have taken quite a bit of maryoku to heal such a massive injury." He remembered the way the metal spear had been lodged into his general less than an hour ago. It had happened so suddenly. The advisor remembered the way everything had fallen silent and then the sickening sound of broken armor, torn flesh, and the crunch of bones. And then there was a scream, which he realized later came from his own throat as it still felt raw from the intensity.
The blond nodded, "the healers took turns."
Before the double black realized what he was doing, he had reached out to brush his fingers over the newly restored flesh of the man's chest. He tried to pull his hand back the moment he realized what he was doing, but he couldn't move. The blond was gripping his wrist firmly.
Dark eyes looked up, expecting to see disgust or disapproval. But he saw nothing of the sort in the other man's face. In fact, the expression there was unfamiliar and confusing until the blond took the half step forward, bringing their bodies into contact.
The stronger man gathered him up in his arms in one fell swoop and before the advisor had a chance to speak, another pair of lips descended on his.
For all the double black's hyper observational skills, the next few minutes felt like a blur. Clothing was stripped away and it felt like there was a dozen pairs of hands on his body rather than one. And then he felt and heard his bed protest under the weight of the two full-grown men unceremoniously crashing down upon it.
Dark hair fanned out beneath the advisor as his legs were spread open to an uncomfortably wide degree and a warm body pressed between them.
There was no lubricant and no careful preparation or attention. The intrusion was piercing and painful, but he still welcomed it, pulling the more muscular body closer and tighter at every opportunity.
The thrusts were quick, almost frenzied, and unapologetic as they rocked the double black's body to the core. He was aroused, but only the blond climaxed, spilling himself inside the other man, soiling the meager sheets beneath them.
The dark-haired man parted his lips, ready to speak, even if he couldn't find the words to use, when a gasp issued out instead. He felt a calloused hand upon him, sliding loose skin over hard muscle.
The once blood-covered hands were now clutching desperately at broad shoulders and white sheets until his body shook with release.
For several minutes the only sounds coming from within the tent were the gradually slowing sounds of the two men panting for breath until the advisor finally spoke. "So, were the 'southern lands' a euphemism?"
The blond laughed, sending warm breath against the smaller man's clavicle. "You give me too much credit, but I think they will be from now on." Lips that seemed much softer than they had a few moments ago touched the advisor's mouth. It was unexpected, but he was coming to expect that from the blond.
Of course, the world had not stopped moving outside of the cozy tent. The war would extend on for months longer before what they believed to be the final battle with Soushu. But somehow it became easier for the contemplative man to cope with the harsh reality of the situation once he realized the general was standing by his side every bit as much as the advisor stood by him—or lay by him as was often the case.
And the others in the inner circle could only wonder why their sage counsel would blush each time the southern lands were mentioned in strategy sessions or why he would meet in private with the general for long stretches of time.
Pairings/Characters: Daikenja/Shinou
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Dark themes, Sexual content
Original Request: Anything with Daikenja (preferably art but I wouldn't say no to a fanfic). Is that too vague? Um. If more prompting is needed: dark theme, NC-17 rated and can involve Shinou and/or the other ancient characters.
A/N: Written for
sagemuraken at kkm_xmas. Thanks to crystaltear for betaing. Since this is a mid-war fic set in the past I don't use the titles Shinou or Daikenja since they don't really become applicable yet. The drying crimson that clung to his fingers looked especially dark in contrast to the sage's smooth, pale skin. He flexed his hand and tiny cracks webbed their way through the blood.
The dark haired man slowly dipped his hand into a small basin of water. His movements were measured and meticulous, not because the situation deserved his analytical scrutiny, but because he was in no hurry to return to the world beyond the flimsy boundaries of his tent.
Dark eyes glazed over as the water in the basin took on an almost sickeningly bright red cast. He pulled a dripping hand from the cool liquid and saw how the blood was still caught along his nails. He rubbed his hands together, but the stains were stubborn.
Of course they were. It was his blood after all. It only made sense it would be stubborn too.
The advisor might have laughed at the thought if he wasn't so sure the bleak sound would have only served to increase the strain on his already stressed mental state.
War was much as he had imagined it, but that hadn't prepared him for the reality in the slightest. He was a man of theory and planning. He could make difficult recommendations and determine solutions for horrific problems. But to actually be in the midst of battle or to get his hands dirty was something of an altogether different nature.
And yet this was his choice. He had not only requested to be at the front lines, but he had demanded it. He knew he needed to be there to make instant corrections to their strategy if necessary. He also knew it was the only way to win the respect of the soldiers. But most importantly, he knew he needed to stand beside him.
The general was the one who found him. He plucked him from his solitary life of reading and meditation and showed him the world. But it was a world that was burning and turning to ash before his eyes. There were days he cursed that encounter by the tree when he accepted the persuasive blond's proposal, but it was difficult to imagine not being a part of something so important now that he was in the thick of it.
He was more than just a leader. He'd become a companion—an important one. The contemplative man had many things to consider and speculate about, but his thoughts kept drawing him back to the general. It seemed he was under his skin.
He looked at his hands again. They appeared clean this time as he ran a cloth over them to dry them and pull away any excess blood. He could no longer see the red, but he could still feel it—under his skin indeed.
"If you are finished primping, we need to discuss the southern lands."
The voice startled the dark haired man, but he did his best not to show it. However, he was sure the violet eyes watching him from the partially opened flap in his tent caught the surprise.
The advisor's eyes roamed over the other man's body. He had still not changed from the earlier skirmish. His breastplate was cracked and heavily dented and blood dulled and darkened the otherwise shiny surface of the armor. Another man in his position would look weary, but the general's spark had not diminished in the slightest as he stepped into the tent fully, allowing the flap to close behind him, blocking out the sun and muffling the sounds of the camp around them.
A few lamps tossed their soft glow around the confined space, which contained a small bed, which was really something of a luxury under the circumstances. It also housed a chair and table with maps and papers and quills spread out across it. And the washing station complete with bloodied basin and a cracked mirror, which promised to stave off any good luck that might try to work its way in finished out the space.
"Shouldn't you be in the healing tent?" Asked the advisor in a tone that clearly indicated the answer.
"I'm afraid the healers know very little about the southern lands." The general smiled as he made his way to invade the other man's personal space. He liked the way his presence could make him just a little uneasy. He needed some kind of leverage with a man so intuitive and resourceful he almost seemed able to read the future. "They get too hung up on the broken bodies. Don't tell me my advisor is suffering the same affliction."
"A war cannot be won without leadership. And dead men make poor leaders." The double black stood his ground even as the other man came close enough that their bodies would have touched if either were to take a half step forward.
"My wounds are closed, advisor." He had always believed in proof over words, so it should have been not great surprise that he unclasped his armor, removing it, and leaning it against the wooden stand, which held the basin. The protective garments he wore underneath were ripped and stained in red. He wasted no time removing them as well, until he stood before the advisor, bare from the waist up.
"It must have taken quite a bit of maryoku to heal such a massive injury." He remembered the way the metal spear had been lodged into his general less than an hour ago. It had happened so suddenly. The advisor remembered the way everything had fallen silent and then the sickening sound of broken armor, torn flesh, and the crunch of bones. And then there was a scream, which he realized later came from his own throat as it still felt raw from the intensity.
The blond nodded, "the healers took turns."
Before the double black realized what he was doing, he had reached out to brush his fingers over the newly restored flesh of the man's chest. He tried to pull his hand back the moment he realized what he was doing, but he couldn't move. The blond was gripping his wrist firmly.
Dark eyes looked up, expecting to see disgust or disapproval. But he saw nothing of the sort in the other man's face. In fact, the expression there was unfamiliar and confusing until the blond took the half step forward, bringing their bodies into contact.
The stronger man gathered him up in his arms in one fell swoop and before the advisor had a chance to speak, another pair of lips descended on his.
For all the double black's hyper observational skills, the next few minutes felt like a blur. Clothing was stripped away and it felt like there was a dozen pairs of hands on his body rather than one. And then he felt and heard his bed protest under the weight of the two full-grown men unceremoniously crashing down upon it.
Dark hair fanned out beneath the advisor as his legs were spread open to an uncomfortably wide degree and a warm body pressed between them.
There was no lubricant and no careful preparation or attention. The intrusion was piercing and painful, but he still welcomed it, pulling the more muscular body closer and tighter at every opportunity.
The thrusts were quick, almost frenzied, and unapologetic as they rocked the double black's body to the core. He was aroused, but only the blond climaxed, spilling himself inside the other man, soiling the meager sheets beneath them.
The dark-haired man parted his lips, ready to speak, even if he couldn't find the words to use, when a gasp issued out instead. He felt a calloused hand upon him, sliding loose skin over hard muscle.
The once blood-covered hands were now clutching desperately at broad shoulders and white sheets until his body shook with release.
For several minutes the only sounds coming from within the tent were the gradually slowing sounds of the two men panting for breath until the advisor finally spoke. "So, were the 'southern lands' a euphemism?"
The blond laughed, sending warm breath against the smaller man's clavicle. "You give me too much credit, but I think they will be from now on." Lips that seemed much softer than they had a few moments ago touched the advisor's mouth. It was unexpected, but he was coming to expect that from the blond.
Of course, the world had not stopped moving outside of the cozy tent. The war would extend on for months longer before what they believed to be the final battle with Soushu. But somehow it became easier for the contemplative man to cope with the harsh reality of the situation once he realized the general was standing by his side every bit as much as the advisor stood by him—or lay by him as was often the case.
And the others in the inner circle could only wonder why their sage counsel would blush each time the southern lands were mentioned in strategy sessions or why he would meet in private with the general for long stretches of time.
