[PoT] Quietude, R, Romance/AU, FujiRyo [geisha]
Title: Quietude
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fuji is a male oiran, and a successful one at that. His apprentice, Ryoma, has a lot to learn however.
danna ~ The patron of a geisha; the same word used for “husband” or “keeper of a shop.”
geisha ~ Person who is skilled in the arts and is expected to entertain.
oiran ~ A general term for high-ranking courtesans, used in the latter part of the Edo period (mid 1741 - mid 1868). The term replaced tayu.
shamisen ~ A three-stringed banjo-like instrument (sometimes spelled samisen).
taikomochi ~ The male equivalent of a geisha, entertaining by performing or telling stories and jokes.
tayu ~ Highest class of courtesans, used earlier in the Edo period, later replaced by the term oiran.
uchiwa ~ A non-folding fan.
yuujo ~ “Play women”; courtesans of all ranks during the Edo period.
Quietude
by meitachi
“Fuji-san,” Kachiro murmured, bowing lowly, “you have a visitor.”
Fuji lifted his gaze from his calligraphy, brush still poised in hand, and let his eyes come to a rest on the boy in the doorway. He smiled. “Thank you, Kachiro. Please tell her that I will be down shortly.”
“I will show her to the tea room, as usual, then.” Kachiro bowed again and slid the door closed.
Turning back to his parchment and brush, Fuji let the smile fall from his face. With a small moue of concentration, he finished the last character of the haiku, sweeping the ink-laden bristles against the parchment, his left hand holding his sleeve out of the way. Then, carefully lifting the brush, he set it in its holder and after placing weights on the parchment to make sure it wasn’t accidentally blown away while the ink dried, he finally rose gracefully to his feet.
If Kachiro said he had a “visitor” rather than a usual “guest,” then it surely was none other than his “mother,” the woman who owned the little okiya, or geisha house, he had come from. He was independent now, and wealthy and successful enough to have his own set of rooms above a well-known teahouse, but he could never turn from his roots. He owed her a great deal, after all, and she would never let him forget those debts now that he was so well-known.
No one had expected Fuji to turn out to be such a popular yuujo-he had actually been trained as a taikomochi, the male equivalent of a geisha, but somewhere along the way he’d decided that he was rather fond of the feel of skin against bare skin. And given his almost-feminine features and small, lithe body, he was attractive enough to solicit numerous offers, such that he could afford to be choosy now. Overall, he was quite successful and fairly content with his place in life.
Smoothing down the faint creases in his heavy, silk kimono, Fuji made his way down the stairs, his stockinged feet silent against the tatami. Reaching the tea room, he knelt and bowed low upon entering.
“Ryuzaki-san,” he said respectfully, smiling as he joined her by the tea setup.
She was old, he knew, and had a young granddaughter being trained in her okiya now, but she remained ever dignified. “Fuji,” she said to him, even though she’d by far earned her right to address him by his first name, “I’m afraid I have to be blunt today.”
Fuji quietly poured her a cup of tea, wrist angled to bare the least amount of skin; there was no man to tempt now and Ryuzaki would only be offended if she caught him practicing his provocative moves on her.
Despite her statement, the mistress of the Seishun okiya spent a good five minutes discussing the weather and the tea before she got to her point. “There have been rumors lately,” she said, sipping her tea, eyes downcast, “about your apprentice.” She did not meet his gaze because that would be rude, but Fuji could hear the gentle accusation in her voice.
“What rumors, Ryuzaki-san?” he inquired politely, though he could already guess.
Setting her tea down, she tugged on the sleeves of her kimono for a while, the navy blue silk making her skin look even paler and more fragile. Old, thought Fuji, almost pityingly. It was almost a shame that humans had to age.
“I’ve heard,” Ryuzaki said gravely, “that Echizen has been…not saving his purity for his future danna. He is too young. When he is fifteen, he will become a full-fledged yuujo and may choose patrons to his discretion. At this time, however, perhaps Fuji should keep a better eye on his apprentice?”
A quicksilver flash in those blue eyes, then Fuji was smiling again, nodding. “Of course Ryuzaki-san is correct. Do not worry, though, for rumors are only rumors. Echizen has done nothing inappropriate as of yet. But I shall certainly watch him more keenly now and keep him away from any situation that may lead to more of such rumors.” He made a shallow bow, dipping his torso forward the slightest bit, deferentially.
This seemed to satisfy Ryuzaki. “Good,” she said, her gnarled fingers wrapping around her tea cup again. “That is good.”
Fuji spent another fifteen minutes with her before she declared that she needed to get back to see to Sakuno-chan’s music lesson. Bidding her goodbye with another bow and a polite comment that he was sure Sakuno’s talent with the shamisen was astounding, he let Kachiro show her to the door. As soon as she left, Fuji pulled an ivory comb from his hair and told Kachiro to send someone to fetch Echizen.
Frowning, he went back upstairs to await his erstwhile apprentice. Rumors, hm? That wouldn’t do at all. A brief glance at his parchment told him that the ink hadn’t dried completely so he left it on the table and crossed the room to his mirror. Fuji inspected his reflection critically-his hair was loose and wispy around his face, pulled back on the left with two combs, one of jade and one of tortoiseshell, and a flower pinned behind his ear. His face was unpainted except for the streaks of pink between his eyelids and eyebrow. As an oiran and not a geisha, he wasn’t expected to follow the geisha-style of makeup. His patrons, after all, were looking for a boy, even if he was a pretty one.
As he let his gaze fall to his reflection’s kimono, he let his hands trail over the silky cloth. Though his kimonos were just as expensive as any well-known geisha’s, his were, in the end, less complicated to get off. It had a lot to do with the robes he wore underneath it, much fewer than a proper geisha did, and again, with what his patrons expected by the end of their visit.
This particular kimono was sea-blue at the shoulders and faded into a mossy green that were rolling hills with willow trees that waved branches into the sky. The obi was of dark green, threaded with the same silver that accented the willow leaves. One of his best, Fuji thought, because it accentuated his eyes. A brief smile flashed at that; he was starting to get vain, wasn’t he?
There was a knock at the door and Fuji turned from the mirror as Kachiro stepped inside and bowed. “Echizen-san is downstairs,” he announced.
“Bring him up here, please.” Fuji seated himself near his desk and picked up an uchiwa, fanning himself gently.
When his young apprentice, only twelve, slid the door open, Fuji trailed cool blue eyes over him, taking in the gold-orange-brown kimono he wore and the ivory comb clutched in his hand.
“What do you want, Syuusuke?” Fuji was asked, the comb tossed in his direction.
“This is not proper behavior for an apprentice yuujo,” Fuji said mildly, voice disapproving. Still, he caught the comb and tucked it back in his hair. “Bow properly and then come sit beside me. How am I ever going to make you into a successful yuujo at this rate, Ryoma?”
Golden eyes flashed at him. “Your problem.” Jerking a perfunctory bow that was only just low enough, Ryoma made his way to Fuji’s side. He kneeled in an abrupt manner, but his inherent gracefulness kept him balanced and his kimono unruffled. “So,” he said, hands sliding to rest on his lap as was proper, “what do you want?”
Fuji swatted him with the fan. “No successful yuujo is that direct either.”
Ryoma rolled his eyes. “Syuusuke,” he complained.
“Do it properly,” he was told, Fuji waving the fan in the most unthreatening way possible but his eyes promising far worse than the fan ever could. “Or I’ll make you sing for me before I tell you anything.”
Sighing, Ryoma let his gaze fall on his lap and murmured, “It’s a lovely day outside. The air was so warm when I came to see you. Thank you for giving me that wonderful opportunity!”
Fuji smiled. “Perhaps we can take a stroll together later. I’d like to visit An, wouldn’t you? She’s been telling us to drop by for awhile now. It’s only polite that we stop for a moment.”
“Of course,” replied Ryoma. “But we shouldn’t stay too long, since she might be busy.”
“Naturally.”
“Perhaps we could leave now, if you have nothing occupying you right now?”
Ah, the lead up. Letting the fan slow to a stop, Fuji looked away from Ryoma and sighed. “Actually, Ryoma, I asked you here for a reason. I’m afraid Ryuzaki-san was just here-Ryoma,” he admonished, swiftly turning to give his apprentice a blue-eyed look.
Ryoma wrinkled his nose, completely inappropriately. “How do you do that?”
“Don’t think thoughts like that, it’s not polite.” Then Fuji laughed. “And she’ll probably curse you.”
“How would she know what I’m thinking?” groused Ryoma.
“The same way I did, I’m sure,” replied Fuji fondly. “We know you too well. Now stop thinking ‘what an old hag’ and listen to me. You were doing so well before.”
Ryoma smirked. “Before you got distracted, you mean.”
Fuji bared his teeth in a smile. “You’ll know when I’m distracted, Ryoma.” He raised his hand and let the edge of the fan trail along the younger boy’s cheek. “But right now,” he said softly, “let me finish.” He cast a questioning look at his apprentice.
Ryoma nodded, falling silent.
“Ryuzaki-san was just here and she told me she’d heard some…rumors…about you. Oh, I’m sure they aren’t true, but they’re quite dangerous all the same. They concern your, ah, purity, and I’m sure you know the importance of retaining it until you’re fifteen, but we need to make sure your reputation-“ Here, Fuji stopped, and sighed. “Ryoma.”
His apprentice had started snickering to himself, raising a hand to his mouth to muffle the laughter in his sleeve, but all the same… Ryoma saw Fuji’s expression and laughed outright. “Retaining my purity,” he snorted, “until I’m fifteen. Oh Syuusuke, you wish.”
Fuji’s smile was wry. “Saa,” he said serenely, “it’s not as if they can tell anyway.”
Ryoma’s laughter subsided into a smile, edged with something more predatory. “True,” he agreed, getting to his knees and inching forward. “I could’ve been touched by a thousand hands before and they wouldn’t know.”
A hungry look settled into the blue depths of Fuji’s eyes. “Hmm,” he murmured, reaching to pull Ryoma the rest of the way into his lap. “But I wouldn’t let you be touched by a thousand other hands.” His own hand rested on Ryoma’s cheek, stroking its softness, before sliding down as he smiled, slipping under the collar of the kimono and accompanying underrobe.
Ryoma’s breath exhaled against Fuji’s ear. “Syuusuke doesn’t like to share,” he said, a smug tilt to his voice even as he shrugged out of his now-loosened kimono. He draped his arms over Fuji’s shoulders, feeling talented hands work at the bow of his obi, undoing it deftly.
“Not Ryoma,” agreed Fuji, pressing his lips to the place where neck met shoulder. “I don’t like sharing my Ryoma.”
“That,” gasped Ryoma, as Fuji dragged his nails down Ryoma’s bared spine, “isn’t going to work so well-“ He struggled out of the bottom half of his kimono and left it in an undignified pile on the tatami as he straddled Fuji and pushed him down onto the futon. “-when I turn fifteen,” he finished. “You’ll have to give me up.”
Fuji’s eyes narrowed and he placed a territorial nip on Ryoma’s jaw. “Won’t.” The smile that appeared on his face was sharp and confident. “I never give up anything that’s mine, Ryoma,” he purred, rocking his hips up.
Ryoma’s hands clenched on Fuji’s obi as he breathed, hard, struggling to focus on the task of untying the obi and not the heat that was spreading though him, fast and hard and tingling. With a bit of deft fingerwork, Ryoma freed Fuji from the confines of his kimono and immediately pressed against him, rubbing skin against skin.
Fuji’s breath escaped him as he closed his eyes. Blindly, he pulled Ryoma’s head down to kiss him, hot and wet, sliding his tongue into that warm mouth suggestively. His left hand slid over Ryoma’s bare thigh, tracing featherlight patterns along the inside, feeling the younger boy tense against his touch.
“Syuusuke,” Ryoma panted into his mouth, shifting on top of him.
In a quick move, Fuji flipped Ryoma over onto the futon, and hooked his legs over Fuji’s shoulders. He leaned down and kissed Ryoma again, lingeringly. “Just don’t scream,” he murmured, as Ryoma’s hands clenched in Fuji’s loose underrobe, spread beneath him. He looked up with hazy golden eyes and Fuji felt something clench in his stomach, something electric that sent a jolt straight to his groin.
Leaning down again, Fuji let his lips and tongue trail over Ryoma’s collarbone as his hands unerringly found their target. Ryoma gasped and arched into his touch, a soft sound escaping his lips. Fuji stroked Ryoma, talented fingers wrapped around the younger boy’s cock, thumb playing once over the sensitive tip, and Ryoma whimpered, writhing.
Bending down, Fuji teased Ryoma with a slow, maddeningly lick up the length and back down again, causing the boy the thrash against the futon, barely muffling his cries.
Scented oil, thought Fuji, and had to pull away from Ryoma to get the bottle from beside the head of the futon. He poured too much over his fingers in haste but he didn’t worry about it, too pressed by the wanting in Ryoma’s eyes and the insistent throb of his own body. Quickly slicking the oil over himself, Fuji held Ryoma’s gaze as he slid a finger into the younger boy.
Ryoma moaned and Fuji captured the sound with his mouth.
Another finger, another kiss, a whispered, frantic Syuusuke, and a last finger, stroking, teasing, and Ryoma bit his lip and begged with his eyes.
Fuji slid his fingers out then, and thrust into Ryoma, panting and watching golden eyes glaze over in effort to keep silent. Brushing sweat-soaked bangs from Ryoma’s face, Fuji held still for as long as he could, looking down at that young face, and then Ryoma moved, rocking, and Fuji couldn’t stand it any longer.
In Fuji’s elegant and sparsely decorated room, warm spring afternoon with the sun filtering through the screens on the windows, Fuji pulled out and thrust into Ryoma, fucking him atop a pale green cotton underrobe and a forever-destroyed silk kimono. It was a good thing Fuji had more than thirty other kimonos to don and deep-pocketed patrons who were almost always willing to contribute to their favorite yuujo.
“Syuusuke,” sighed Ryoma afterwards, sprawled in a boneless pile on Fuji. He traced nonsensical patterns over the pale skin of Fuji’s chest. “Do I have to become a yuujo?”
Fuji stroked his hair, ornaments fallen out long ago, and replied softly, “What else can you be after seven years of training?” His smile was almost a little regretful around the edges. “But you’ll be successful, maybe more successful than I am or will be. You will be the most amazing oiran Japan has seen.”
Ryoma raised his hand and caught Fuji’s, pulling it down to his lips. “Mada mada dane,” he said, flicking a look up at his lover. “You’re not that old yet, Syuusuke.” He pressed a kiss to each fingertip and then laced his own fingers through Fuji’s. “I’ll still come to you when I’m a yuujo.”
“Mmm, nice to know I won’t be forgotten…” Fuji’s voice was teasing but his eyes were somber. He brought their interlaced hands up to his mouth and left a soft kiss where their hands joined. Their breathing was all that sounded in the room for awhile, and Ryoma grew drowsy, eyes drooping closed.
“Saa, let’s take that stroll, Ryoma,” said Fuji cheerfully, jerking Ryoma from his dozing.
Golden eyes peered up at him. “It’ll take another hour for us just to get our clothes back on,” Ryoma complained, looking perfectly comfortable where he was and as if he wouldn’t mind not moving for a few hours.
Still, Fuji dragged him up and dressed him, smoothing down his gold kimono until it looked nearly as tidy as it did earlier, the tail ends of his obi falling neatly down his back. Then he endured helping Fuji find another kimono to wear and helping him dress, but despite Fuji’s indecision as to which kimono would be most appropriate-the mauve one with chrysanthemums or the crimson one with cherry blossoms?-and the hassle of finding matching hair accessories, Ryoma found himself not unhappy. In fact, he might even venture to say that he felt “content.”
And when Fuji was finally ready to go out, he smiled a grateful smile, and pulled Ryoma to him for a soft kiss, which made Ryoma flush without quite knowing the reason.
Then the two of them headed down the stairs to brave the streets and pay An a visit.
--
Started/Finished: 06/02/05
Edited: 06/03/05
Notes: I suppose this is set in the Edo period, as I’m using all their terms. Back in the day, “geisha” used to be male, and “yuujo” as well. Fuji is one of the high-ranking courtesans, famous and well-kept, which is surprising considering he’s only fifteen, but shush, this is my AU and I can have it however I want. I know geisha take on apprentices (“maiko” in Kyoto or “hangyoku” in Tokyo) but I’m not sure an oiran would; Fuji does in any case. Here is a more complete glossary of terms. And as I have no idea what male oiran wear (efio_47 suggested “nothing”), I put them in kimonos. Let’s pretend.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fuji is a male oiran, and a successful one at that. His apprentice, Ryoma, has a lot to learn however.
danna ~ The patron of a geisha; the same word used for “husband” or “keeper of a shop.”
geisha ~ Person who is skilled in the arts and is expected to entertain.
oiran ~ A general term for high-ranking courtesans, used in the latter part of the Edo period (mid 1741 - mid 1868). The term replaced tayu.
shamisen ~ A three-stringed banjo-like instrument (sometimes spelled samisen).
taikomochi ~ The male equivalent of a geisha, entertaining by performing or telling stories and jokes.
tayu ~ Highest class of courtesans, used earlier in the Edo period, later replaced by the term oiran.
uchiwa ~ A non-folding fan.
yuujo ~ “Play women”; courtesans of all ranks during the Edo period.
Quietude
by meitachi
“Fuji-san,” Kachiro murmured, bowing lowly, “you have a visitor.”
Fuji lifted his gaze from his calligraphy, brush still poised in hand, and let his eyes come to a rest on the boy in the doorway. He smiled. “Thank you, Kachiro. Please tell her that I will be down shortly.”
“I will show her to the tea room, as usual, then.” Kachiro bowed again and slid the door closed.
Turning back to his parchment and brush, Fuji let the smile fall from his face. With a small moue of concentration, he finished the last character of the haiku, sweeping the ink-laden bristles against the parchment, his left hand holding his sleeve out of the way. Then, carefully lifting the brush, he set it in its holder and after placing weights on the parchment to make sure it wasn’t accidentally blown away while the ink dried, he finally rose gracefully to his feet.
If Kachiro said he had a “visitor” rather than a usual “guest,” then it surely was none other than his “mother,” the woman who owned the little okiya, or geisha house, he had come from. He was independent now, and wealthy and successful enough to have his own set of rooms above a well-known teahouse, but he could never turn from his roots. He owed her a great deal, after all, and she would never let him forget those debts now that he was so well-known.
No one had expected Fuji to turn out to be such a popular yuujo-he had actually been trained as a taikomochi, the male equivalent of a geisha, but somewhere along the way he’d decided that he was rather fond of the feel of skin against bare skin. And given his almost-feminine features and small, lithe body, he was attractive enough to solicit numerous offers, such that he could afford to be choosy now. Overall, he was quite successful and fairly content with his place in life.
Smoothing down the faint creases in his heavy, silk kimono, Fuji made his way down the stairs, his stockinged feet silent against the tatami. Reaching the tea room, he knelt and bowed low upon entering.
“Ryuzaki-san,” he said respectfully, smiling as he joined her by the tea setup.
She was old, he knew, and had a young granddaughter being trained in her okiya now, but she remained ever dignified. “Fuji,” she said to him, even though she’d by far earned her right to address him by his first name, “I’m afraid I have to be blunt today.”
Fuji quietly poured her a cup of tea, wrist angled to bare the least amount of skin; there was no man to tempt now and Ryuzaki would only be offended if she caught him practicing his provocative moves on her.
Despite her statement, the mistress of the Seishun okiya spent a good five minutes discussing the weather and the tea before she got to her point. “There have been rumors lately,” she said, sipping her tea, eyes downcast, “about your apprentice.” She did not meet his gaze because that would be rude, but Fuji could hear the gentle accusation in her voice.
“What rumors, Ryuzaki-san?” he inquired politely, though he could already guess.
Setting her tea down, she tugged on the sleeves of her kimono for a while, the navy blue silk making her skin look even paler and more fragile. Old, thought Fuji, almost pityingly. It was almost a shame that humans had to age.
“I’ve heard,” Ryuzaki said gravely, “that Echizen has been…not saving his purity for his future danna. He is too young. When he is fifteen, he will become a full-fledged yuujo and may choose patrons to his discretion. At this time, however, perhaps Fuji should keep a better eye on his apprentice?”
A quicksilver flash in those blue eyes, then Fuji was smiling again, nodding. “Of course Ryuzaki-san is correct. Do not worry, though, for rumors are only rumors. Echizen has done nothing inappropriate as of yet. But I shall certainly watch him more keenly now and keep him away from any situation that may lead to more of such rumors.” He made a shallow bow, dipping his torso forward the slightest bit, deferentially.
This seemed to satisfy Ryuzaki. “Good,” she said, her gnarled fingers wrapping around her tea cup again. “That is good.”
Fuji spent another fifteen minutes with her before she declared that she needed to get back to see to Sakuno-chan’s music lesson. Bidding her goodbye with another bow and a polite comment that he was sure Sakuno’s talent with the shamisen was astounding, he let Kachiro show her to the door. As soon as she left, Fuji pulled an ivory comb from his hair and told Kachiro to send someone to fetch Echizen.
Frowning, he went back upstairs to await his erstwhile apprentice. Rumors, hm? That wouldn’t do at all. A brief glance at his parchment told him that the ink hadn’t dried completely so he left it on the table and crossed the room to his mirror. Fuji inspected his reflection critically-his hair was loose and wispy around his face, pulled back on the left with two combs, one of jade and one of tortoiseshell, and a flower pinned behind his ear. His face was unpainted except for the streaks of pink between his eyelids and eyebrow. As an oiran and not a geisha, he wasn’t expected to follow the geisha-style of makeup. His patrons, after all, were looking for a boy, even if he was a pretty one.
As he let his gaze fall to his reflection’s kimono, he let his hands trail over the silky cloth. Though his kimonos were just as expensive as any well-known geisha’s, his were, in the end, less complicated to get off. It had a lot to do with the robes he wore underneath it, much fewer than a proper geisha did, and again, with what his patrons expected by the end of their visit.
This particular kimono was sea-blue at the shoulders and faded into a mossy green that were rolling hills with willow trees that waved branches into the sky. The obi was of dark green, threaded with the same silver that accented the willow leaves. One of his best, Fuji thought, because it accentuated his eyes. A brief smile flashed at that; he was starting to get vain, wasn’t he?
There was a knock at the door and Fuji turned from the mirror as Kachiro stepped inside and bowed. “Echizen-san is downstairs,” he announced.
“Bring him up here, please.” Fuji seated himself near his desk and picked up an uchiwa, fanning himself gently.
When his young apprentice, only twelve, slid the door open, Fuji trailed cool blue eyes over him, taking in the gold-orange-brown kimono he wore and the ivory comb clutched in his hand.
“What do you want, Syuusuke?” Fuji was asked, the comb tossed in his direction.
“This is not proper behavior for an apprentice yuujo,” Fuji said mildly, voice disapproving. Still, he caught the comb and tucked it back in his hair. “Bow properly and then come sit beside me. How am I ever going to make you into a successful yuujo at this rate, Ryoma?”
Golden eyes flashed at him. “Your problem.” Jerking a perfunctory bow that was only just low enough, Ryoma made his way to Fuji’s side. He kneeled in an abrupt manner, but his inherent gracefulness kept him balanced and his kimono unruffled. “So,” he said, hands sliding to rest on his lap as was proper, “what do you want?”
Fuji swatted him with the fan. “No successful yuujo is that direct either.”
Ryoma rolled his eyes. “Syuusuke,” he complained.
“Do it properly,” he was told, Fuji waving the fan in the most unthreatening way possible but his eyes promising far worse than the fan ever could. “Or I’ll make you sing for me before I tell you anything.”
Sighing, Ryoma let his gaze fall on his lap and murmured, “It’s a lovely day outside. The air was so warm when I came to see you. Thank you for giving me that wonderful opportunity!”
Fuji smiled. “Perhaps we can take a stroll together later. I’d like to visit An, wouldn’t you? She’s been telling us to drop by for awhile now. It’s only polite that we stop for a moment.”
“Of course,” replied Ryoma. “But we shouldn’t stay too long, since she might be busy.”
“Naturally.”
“Perhaps we could leave now, if you have nothing occupying you right now?”
Ah, the lead up. Letting the fan slow to a stop, Fuji looked away from Ryoma and sighed. “Actually, Ryoma, I asked you here for a reason. I’m afraid Ryuzaki-san was just here-Ryoma,” he admonished, swiftly turning to give his apprentice a blue-eyed look.
Ryoma wrinkled his nose, completely inappropriately. “How do you do that?”
“Don’t think thoughts like that, it’s not polite.” Then Fuji laughed. “And she’ll probably curse you.”
“How would she know what I’m thinking?” groused Ryoma.
“The same way I did, I’m sure,” replied Fuji fondly. “We know you too well. Now stop thinking ‘what an old hag’ and listen to me. You were doing so well before.”
Ryoma smirked. “Before you got distracted, you mean.”
Fuji bared his teeth in a smile. “You’ll know when I’m distracted, Ryoma.” He raised his hand and let the edge of the fan trail along the younger boy’s cheek. “But right now,” he said softly, “let me finish.” He cast a questioning look at his apprentice.
Ryoma nodded, falling silent.
“Ryuzaki-san was just here and she told me she’d heard some…rumors…about you. Oh, I’m sure they aren’t true, but they’re quite dangerous all the same. They concern your, ah, purity, and I’m sure you know the importance of retaining it until you’re fifteen, but we need to make sure your reputation-“ Here, Fuji stopped, and sighed. “Ryoma.”
His apprentice had started snickering to himself, raising a hand to his mouth to muffle the laughter in his sleeve, but all the same… Ryoma saw Fuji’s expression and laughed outright. “Retaining my purity,” he snorted, “until I’m fifteen. Oh Syuusuke, you wish.”
Fuji’s smile was wry. “Saa,” he said serenely, “it’s not as if they can tell anyway.”
Ryoma’s laughter subsided into a smile, edged with something more predatory. “True,” he agreed, getting to his knees and inching forward. “I could’ve been touched by a thousand hands before and they wouldn’t know.”
A hungry look settled into the blue depths of Fuji’s eyes. “Hmm,” he murmured, reaching to pull Ryoma the rest of the way into his lap. “But I wouldn’t let you be touched by a thousand other hands.” His own hand rested on Ryoma’s cheek, stroking its softness, before sliding down as he smiled, slipping under the collar of the kimono and accompanying underrobe.
Ryoma’s breath exhaled against Fuji’s ear. “Syuusuke doesn’t like to share,” he said, a smug tilt to his voice even as he shrugged out of his now-loosened kimono. He draped his arms over Fuji’s shoulders, feeling talented hands work at the bow of his obi, undoing it deftly.
“Not Ryoma,” agreed Fuji, pressing his lips to the place where neck met shoulder. “I don’t like sharing my Ryoma.”
“That,” gasped Ryoma, as Fuji dragged his nails down Ryoma’s bared spine, “isn’t going to work so well-“ He struggled out of the bottom half of his kimono and left it in an undignified pile on the tatami as he straddled Fuji and pushed him down onto the futon. “-when I turn fifteen,” he finished. “You’ll have to give me up.”
Fuji’s eyes narrowed and he placed a territorial nip on Ryoma’s jaw. “Won’t.” The smile that appeared on his face was sharp and confident. “I never give up anything that’s mine, Ryoma,” he purred, rocking his hips up.
Ryoma’s hands clenched on Fuji’s obi as he breathed, hard, struggling to focus on the task of untying the obi and not the heat that was spreading though him, fast and hard and tingling. With a bit of deft fingerwork, Ryoma freed Fuji from the confines of his kimono and immediately pressed against him, rubbing skin against skin.
Fuji’s breath escaped him as he closed his eyes. Blindly, he pulled Ryoma’s head down to kiss him, hot and wet, sliding his tongue into that warm mouth suggestively. His left hand slid over Ryoma’s bare thigh, tracing featherlight patterns along the inside, feeling the younger boy tense against his touch.
“Syuusuke,” Ryoma panted into his mouth, shifting on top of him.
In a quick move, Fuji flipped Ryoma over onto the futon, and hooked his legs over Fuji’s shoulders. He leaned down and kissed Ryoma again, lingeringly. “Just don’t scream,” he murmured, as Ryoma’s hands clenched in Fuji’s loose underrobe, spread beneath him. He looked up with hazy golden eyes and Fuji felt something clench in his stomach, something electric that sent a jolt straight to his groin.
Leaning down again, Fuji let his lips and tongue trail over Ryoma’s collarbone as his hands unerringly found their target. Ryoma gasped and arched into his touch, a soft sound escaping his lips. Fuji stroked Ryoma, talented fingers wrapped around the younger boy’s cock, thumb playing once over the sensitive tip, and Ryoma whimpered, writhing.
Bending down, Fuji teased Ryoma with a slow, maddeningly lick up the length and back down again, causing the boy the thrash against the futon, barely muffling his cries.
Scented oil, thought Fuji, and had to pull away from Ryoma to get the bottle from beside the head of the futon. He poured too much over his fingers in haste but he didn’t worry about it, too pressed by the wanting in Ryoma’s eyes and the insistent throb of his own body. Quickly slicking the oil over himself, Fuji held Ryoma’s gaze as he slid a finger into the younger boy.
Ryoma moaned and Fuji captured the sound with his mouth.
Another finger, another kiss, a whispered, frantic Syuusuke, and a last finger, stroking, teasing, and Ryoma bit his lip and begged with his eyes.
Fuji slid his fingers out then, and thrust into Ryoma, panting and watching golden eyes glaze over in effort to keep silent. Brushing sweat-soaked bangs from Ryoma’s face, Fuji held still for as long as he could, looking down at that young face, and then Ryoma moved, rocking, and Fuji couldn’t stand it any longer.
In Fuji’s elegant and sparsely decorated room, warm spring afternoon with the sun filtering through the screens on the windows, Fuji pulled out and thrust into Ryoma, fucking him atop a pale green cotton underrobe and a forever-destroyed silk kimono. It was a good thing Fuji had more than thirty other kimonos to don and deep-pocketed patrons who were almost always willing to contribute to their favorite yuujo.
“Syuusuke,” sighed Ryoma afterwards, sprawled in a boneless pile on Fuji. He traced nonsensical patterns over the pale skin of Fuji’s chest. “Do I have to become a yuujo?”
Fuji stroked his hair, ornaments fallen out long ago, and replied softly, “What else can you be after seven years of training?” His smile was almost a little regretful around the edges. “But you’ll be successful, maybe more successful than I am or will be. You will be the most amazing oiran Japan has seen.”
Ryoma raised his hand and caught Fuji’s, pulling it down to his lips. “Mada mada dane,” he said, flicking a look up at his lover. “You’re not that old yet, Syuusuke.” He pressed a kiss to each fingertip and then laced his own fingers through Fuji’s. “I’ll still come to you when I’m a yuujo.”
“Mmm, nice to know I won’t be forgotten…” Fuji’s voice was teasing but his eyes were somber. He brought their interlaced hands up to his mouth and left a soft kiss where their hands joined. Their breathing was all that sounded in the room for awhile, and Ryoma grew drowsy, eyes drooping closed.
“Saa, let’s take that stroll, Ryoma,” said Fuji cheerfully, jerking Ryoma from his dozing.
Golden eyes peered up at him. “It’ll take another hour for us just to get our clothes back on,” Ryoma complained, looking perfectly comfortable where he was and as if he wouldn’t mind not moving for a few hours.
Still, Fuji dragged him up and dressed him, smoothing down his gold kimono until it looked nearly as tidy as it did earlier, the tail ends of his obi falling neatly down his back. Then he endured helping Fuji find another kimono to wear and helping him dress, but despite Fuji’s indecision as to which kimono would be most appropriate-the mauve one with chrysanthemums or the crimson one with cherry blossoms?-and the hassle of finding matching hair accessories, Ryoma found himself not unhappy. In fact, he might even venture to say that he felt “content.”
And when Fuji was finally ready to go out, he smiled a grateful smile, and pulled Ryoma to him for a soft kiss, which made Ryoma flush without quite knowing the reason.
Then the two of them headed down the stairs to brave the streets and pay An a visit.
--
Started/Finished: 06/02/05
Edited: 06/03/05
Notes: I suppose this is set in the Edo period, as I’m using all their terms. Back in the day, “geisha” used to be male, and “yuujo” as well. Fuji is one of the high-ranking courtesans, famous and well-kept, which is surprising considering he’s only fifteen, but shush, this is my AU and I can have it however I want. I know geisha take on apprentices (“maiko” in Kyoto or “hangyoku” in Tokyo) but I’m not sure an oiran would; Fuji does in any case. Here is a more complete glossary of terms. And as I have no idea what male oiran wear (efio_47 suggested “nothing”), I put them in kimonos. Let’s pretend.