[Yami no Matsuei] (PG-13)
Author's Note: Written for 
kink_bingo's "historical roleplay". Featuring Muraki and Tsuzuki in Whitechapel (with Muraki's take on the case of Jack the Ripper).
A medical conference in London, and Muraki was presenting a paper on an immortal stem cell line which he had created from Tsuzuki's deathless tissue -- and claiming it had originated from a sample collected by his [Muraki's] grandfather --and he had brought along the source of those cells as his traveling companion. Most days, Tsuzuki spent time wandering around London with a guidebook in hand, but one free evening, Murak joined him, whisking him off to the East End of the city.
"I lived in this part of the city, some time ago, when I was studying at Oxford," Muraki said, holding Tsuzuki's hand through his crooked elbow. "I had a professor who lived in the area, with whom I was quite close: he told me who I was, and taught me how to sustain myself. He went so far as to let me feed from him when the need was pressing."
"Hah... maybe we could visit him?" Tsuzuki offered.
Muraki looked away, head bent. "Alas, that won't be happening: he was murdered some time ago."
"That's terrible," Tsuzuki replied, empathetically, but also wondering if his master had had a hand in the man's demise. He knew better than to ask, and so he set the thought aside.
They joined up with a tour just starting in Whitechapel, a local guide in Victorian garb, giving a lurid speech about the ghastly goings-on that had happened on the very stones beneath their feet.
"Jack the Ripper?!" Tsuzuki hissed to Muraki.
"Correct. You seem surprised, pet," Muraki said, patting Tsuzuki's hand soothingly.
"Oh, no, I didn't know that had happened here," Tsuzuki said.
"Do try not to look ignorant," Muraki whispered, patiently. "I don't want people thinking you're a mere pretty face."
"I meant, I knew it happened in London, I just didn't know where," Tsuzuki said, piping down, the better to take in the guide's spiel.
Muraki usually jotted notes into a pocket journal as they followed tours like this, but this time, he did not, a fact which made Tsuzuki feel an uneasy tightening in his chest. His master seemed to have some new plot formulating in that dangerously fertile mind of his. Tsuzuki dared not try to figure out what it could involve. He would likely find out in due time.
The next afternoon, as Tsuzuki lounged in their hotel room, a porter knocked on the hall door; on answering it, Tsuzuki found a large box from a costumer's located in the city. Tsuzuki signed for it, as he often did when packages turned up, bringing it into the bedroom.
He tried to put the package out of his mind and return his attention to the book he was reading, but curiosity got the better of him and he went to have a look. On lifting the lid, he found a package of tissue paper containing an off the shoulder Victorian gown.
"Oh, great, another dress," he muttered. Then he got a second look at the dress, noticing it had a tatty look to it, like something that a drab in a Dickensian period costume drama might wear. "Eyyyagh, I'm not wearing that. What's Muraki up to now?"
"What am I up to and what are you not wearing?" Muraki's voice asked from behind Tsuzuki. He looked over his shoulder, finding his master just entering the bedroom. Tsuzuki glanced back to the box on the bed, as Muraki peered at it. "Ahh, my order has arrived, though it appears your natural curiosity got the better of you."
"What are you planning now, Muraki?" Tsuzuki demanded, stiffening a bit as his master came up behind him and slipped an arm around his waist.
"I'll answer that question in due time, but you just called me by my last name," Muraki said, his hold on Tsuzuki slackening. "That's never a good sign when you do that, and I thought that we had agreed you were never to call me by any of my names?"
Tsuzuki bowed his head, sighing. "Yes, master, as you said, master," he murmured. "But a time like this, I couldn't help myself."
"That's better," Muraki said, pressing him close. "I thought we could engage in a little historical roleplay: I was going to have us play out the scenario on the last night of our stay here in London, but I think, instead, we'll play it out tomorrow night."
"And what scenario was that?" Tsuzuki asked, already with a good idea of what his master had in mind for them.
"A drab and her customer, with you, of course, in the role of the drab, and I as her well to do customer," Muraki replied with a smile. "There's an alley in Whitechapel where I doubt we'll be disturbed, and I've hired a room nearby where we might consummate the encounter."
"Of course, I'm playing the drab," Tsuzuki grunbled.
"But of course: you are the natural for the role," Muraki replied, his good eye snapping with delight at the prospect. "And so, you have till tomorrow to prepare yourself for the encounter. I have, as you've probably guessed, one or two requirements: don't bathe between now and then, and don't use any aftershave or cologne. I need you to be as natural as possible."
"Want me to rub a little dirt into my skin or the gown?" Tsuzuki asked, grumpily. Anything to put a ding in Muraki's perfect little scenario.
"Hmmm, no. Accuracy is key, but verisimilitude is a mood killer.
And so, the following evening found Tsuzuki at the mouth of a narrow alleyway in Whitechapel, clad in that tatty Victorian gown, a battered black straw hat with somewhat bedraggled ostrich plumes shadowing his face. As luck would have it, a few real prostitutes in skimpy modern attire and spike heels passed him by, some stopping to stare at him.
< I>Oh, come *on*, Muraki,< /I> he thought, standing with hands on hips, trying to affect a mincing sashay as he walked, and likely failing.
"Miss, you lost?" one of the working girls asked, coming right up to him.
"Sorry, no English," Tsuzuki replied, trying to keep his accent from sounding too obvious. He understood them well enough, but his spoken English was barely conversation-ready, according to Muraki.
"Well, you'd better be going your way, this is no place for amateurs," the girl replied.
A shadow moved up behind the girl, a lean silhouette in a top hat and a mantled cloak, carrying a valise at his side. "If I might interpose?" Muraki's baritenor asked. For once, Tsuzuki felt a great sense of relief at hearing that voice.
The working girl looked up at Muraki. "Another amateur? Wot, yer blue box waiting around the corner for you? Or did you wander in from a theater?"
"Hmmm, the latter is closer to the truth," Muraki said, taking one of the girl's hands in his. She pulled it away, glaring at Muraki, then looked into her hand to find a roll of twenty pound notes there.
"Hah, easiest hundred quid I've made all night," she said. Then with a mock curtsey, pantomining holding out the sides of the long skirt she was not wearing, she added, "Thaynk ye koindly, guv'nor." Then she went on her way.
"That was weird," Tsuzuki muttered as Muraki took his arm and guided him up the alleyway.
"Mmm, and it spoiled some of the effect," Muraki noted, leading the way to a small courtyard where he approached a door in one of the brick buildings and unlocked it. "After you, my dear," he said, opening the door, and holding it open as he stepped aside.
"Oh, treating a soiled dove like a lady," Tsuzuki replied, hoping he sounded all right. Muraki smirked as Tsuzuki sashayed across the threshold. He stepped in behind Tsuzuki, closing the door behind the both of them.
They had entered a small room, a bed-sitter with an iron framed bed pushed against one wall. An electric lantern made to resemble an antique oil lantern stood on a deal table by the bedside.
Tsuzuki perched himself on the bed. "How do you want me, guv'nor? From in front or from behind, trying to sound vaguely Cockney.
Muraki set the valise on the deal table, snapping it open. "From the front, if you'd care to lay back for me," he said, reaching into the bag. "But there won't be any more talk: I prefer my ladies of the night to be seen and not heard, if it can be helped." He drew a long-bladed scalpel from the valise. Laying the tip against the middle of Tsuzuki's décolletage, he cut into the fabric, slowly slicing the front of the gown in two, letting the halves fall open on either side of Tsuzuki's body.
"Y-you're not going to cut me open?" Tsuzuki squeaked, thinking of the lurid tales they had heard on the tour, the previous night, a frisson of fear running down his spine.
"Cut you, yes," Muraki said. "Open? No. It would be too messy and we haven't the time for a mess."
"Oh," Tsuzuki replied, relieved. Not that it would have fazed him physically: he could handle anything that Muraki could throw at him, but shallow cuts seemed the least of all evils. "As it pleases yah, Guv'nor," he added.
"Good," Muraki purred. as he scratched the tip of the blade across Tsuzuki's throat, deep enough to bleed, but not so deep. Tsuzuki stifled a gasp; Muraki laid a finger on his lips, then leaned in to lick up the blood that flowed freely over Tsuzuki's neck.
This was going to be a long night, one he had a feeling would require Muraki to take the dingy sheets with them at the end of it...
kink_bingo's "historical roleplay". Featuring Muraki and Tsuzuki in Whitechapel (with Muraki's take on the case of Jack the Ripper).
A medical conference in London, and Muraki was presenting a paper on an immortal stem cell line which he had created from Tsuzuki's deathless tissue -- and claiming it had originated from a sample collected by his [Muraki's] grandfather --and he had brought along the source of those cells as his traveling companion. Most days, Tsuzuki spent time wandering around London with a guidebook in hand, but one free evening, Murak joined him, whisking him off to the East End of the city.
"I lived in this part of the city, some time ago, when I was studying at Oxford," Muraki said, holding Tsuzuki's hand through his crooked elbow. "I had a professor who lived in the area, with whom I was quite close: he told me who I was, and taught me how to sustain myself. He went so far as to let me feed from him when the need was pressing."
"Hah... maybe we could visit him?" Tsuzuki offered.
Muraki looked away, head bent. "Alas, that won't be happening: he was murdered some time ago."
"That's terrible," Tsuzuki replied, empathetically, but also wondering if his master had had a hand in the man's demise. He knew better than to ask, and so he set the thought aside.
They joined up with a tour just starting in Whitechapel, a local guide in Victorian garb, giving a lurid speech about the ghastly goings-on that had happened on the very stones beneath their feet.
"Jack the Ripper?!" Tsuzuki hissed to Muraki.
"Correct. You seem surprised, pet," Muraki said, patting Tsuzuki's hand soothingly.
"Oh, no, I didn't know that had happened here," Tsuzuki said.
"Do try not to look ignorant," Muraki whispered, patiently. "I don't want people thinking you're a mere pretty face."
"I meant, I knew it happened in London, I just didn't know where," Tsuzuki said, piping down, the better to take in the guide's spiel.
Muraki usually jotted notes into a pocket journal as they followed tours like this, but this time, he did not, a fact which made Tsuzuki feel an uneasy tightening in his chest. His master seemed to have some new plot formulating in that dangerously fertile mind of his. Tsuzuki dared not try to figure out what it could involve. He would likely find out in due time.
The next afternoon, as Tsuzuki lounged in their hotel room, a porter knocked on the hall door; on answering it, Tsuzuki found a large box from a costumer's located in the city. Tsuzuki signed for it, as he often did when packages turned up, bringing it into the bedroom.
He tried to put the package out of his mind and return his attention to the book he was reading, but curiosity got the better of him and he went to have a look. On lifting the lid, he found a package of tissue paper containing an off the shoulder Victorian gown.
"Oh, great, another dress," he muttered. Then he got a second look at the dress, noticing it had a tatty look to it, like something that a drab in a Dickensian period costume drama might wear. "Eyyyagh, I'm not wearing that. What's Muraki up to now?"
"What am I up to and what are you not wearing?" Muraki's voice asked from behind Tsuzuki. He looked over his shoulder, finding his master just entering the bedroom. Tsuzuki glanced back to the box on the bed, as Muraki peered at it. "Ahh, my order has arrived, though it appears your natural curiosity got the better of you."
"What are you planning now, Muraki?" Tsuzuki demanded, stiffening a bit as his master came up behind him and slipped an arm around his waist.
"I'll answer that question in due time, but you just called me by my last name," Muraki said, his hold on Tsuzuki slackening. "That's never a good sign when you do that, and I thought that we had agreed you were never to call me by any of my names?"
Tsuzuki bowed his head, sighing. "Yes, master, as you said, master," he murmured. "But a time like this, I couldn't help myself."
"That's better," Muraki said, pressing him close. "I thought we could engage in a little historical roleplay: I was going to have us play out the scenario on the last night of our stay here in London, but I think, instead, we'll play it out tomorrow night."
"And what scenario was that?" Tsuzuki asked, already with a good idea of what his master had in mind for them.
"A drab and her customer, with you, of course, in the role of the drab, and I as her well to do customer," Muraki replied with a smile. "There's an alley in Whitechapel where I doubt we'll be disturbed, and I've hired a room nearby where we might consummate the encounter."
"Of course, I'm playing the drab," Tsuzuki grunbled.
"But of course: you are the natural for the role," Muraki replied, his good eye snapping with delight at the prospect. "And so, you have till tomorrow to prepare yourself for the encounter. I have, as you've probably guessed, one or two requirements: don't bathe between now and then, and don't use any aftershave or cologne. I need you to be as natural as possible."
"Want me to rub a little dirt into my skin or the gown?" Tsuzuki asked, grumpily. Anything to put a ding in Muraki's perfect little scenario.
"Hmmm, no. Accuracy is key, but verisimilitude is a mood killer.
And so, the following evening found Tsuzuki at the mouth of a narrow alleyway in Whitechapel, clad in that tatty Victorian gown, a battered black straw hat with somewhat bedraggled ostrich plumes shadowing his face. As luck would have it, a few real prostitutes in skimpy modern attire and spike heels passed him by, some stopping to stare at him.
< I>Oh, come *on*, Muraki,< /I> he thought, standing with hands on hips, trying to affect a mincing sashay as he walked, and likely failing.
"Miss, you lost?" one of the working girls asked, coming right up to him.
"Sorry, no English," Tsuzuki replied, trying to keep his accent from sounding too obvious. He understood them well enough, but his spoken English was barely conversation-ready, according to Muraki.
"Well, you'd better be going your way, this is no place for amateurs," the girl replied.
A shadow moved up behind the girl, a lean silhouette in a top hat and a mantled cloak, carrying a valise at his side. "If I might interpose?" Muraki's baritenor asked. For once, Tsuzuki felt a great sense of relief at hearing that voice.
The working girl looked up at Muraki. "Another amateur? Wot, yer blue box waiting around the corner for you? Or did you wander in from a theater?"
"Hmmm, the latter is closer to the truth," Muraki said, taking one of the girl's hands in his. She pulled it away, glaring at Muraki, then looked into her hand to find a roll of twenty pound notes there.
"Hah, easiest hundred quid I've made all night," she said. Then with a mock curtsey, pantomining holding out the sides of the long skirt she was not wearing, she added, "Thaynk ye koindly, guv'nor." Then she went on her way.
"That was weird," Tsuzuki muttered as Muraki took his arm and guided him up the alleyway.
"Mmm, and it spoiled some of the effect," Muraki noted, leading the way to a small courtyard where he approached a door in one of the brick buildings and unlocked it. "After you, my dear," he said, opening the door, and holding it open as he stepped aside.
"Oh, treating a soiled dove like a lady," Tsuzuki replied, hoping he sounded all right. Muraki smirked as Tsuzuki sashayed across the threshold. He stepped in behind Tsuzuki, closing the door behind the both of them.
They had entered a small room, a bed-sitter with an iron framed bed pushed against one wall. An electric lantern made to resemble an antique oil lantern stood on a deal table by the bedside.
Tsuzuki perched himself on the bed. "How do you want me, guv'nor? From in front or from behind, trying to sound vaguely Cockney.
Muraki set the valise on the deal table, snapping it open. "From the front, if you'd care to lay back for me," he said, reaching into the bag. "But there won't be any more talk: I prefer my ladies of the night to be seen and not heard, if it can be helped." He drew a long-bladed scalpel from the valise. Laying the tip against the middle of Tsuzuki's décolletage, he cut into the fabric, slowly slicing the front of the gown in two, letting the halves fall open on either side of Tsuzuki's body.
"Y-you're not going to cut me open?" Tsuzuki squeaked, thinking of the lurid tales they had heard on the tour, the previous night, a frisson of fear running down his spine.
"Cut you, yes," Muraki said. "Open? No. It would be too messy and we haven't the time for a mess."
"Oh," Tsuzuki replied, relieved. Not that it would have fazed him physically: he could handle anything that Muraki could throw at him, but shallow cuts seemed the least of all evils. "As it pleases yah, Guv'nor," he added.
"Good," Muraki purred. as he scratched the tip of the blade across Tsuzuki's throat, deep enough to bleed, but not so deep. Tsuzuki stifled a gasp; Muraki laid a finger on his lips, then leaned in to lick up the blood that flowed freely over Tsuzuki's neck.
This was going to be a long night, one he had a feeling would require Muraki to take the dingy sheets with them at the end of it...