Naruto Fanfiction // Sweet Nightmare: Nagato & Soubi
Title: Sweet Nightmare
Series: Monoshizukanohi: Naruto & Loveless Crossover
Author: Darkprism
Genre: Kink/Romance
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Nagato from Naruto & Soubi from Loveless, with hints of others in the Monoshizukanohi world.
Word Count: ~7,200
Warnings/Notes: Language, side story, BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, role play, underage activities in flashback, KINK, impact play, hand job, anal, other things.
Spoilers: None whatsoever for the actual manga(s).
Summary: Nagato introduces Soubi into life under His Grace's care...
A/N: This story takes place between chapters two and three of The Gala. That link takes you to that story's main reference page, where you can check out extras, references, that story (which crosses six fandoms with 22 characters in my Monoshizukanohi world), and other notes. I'm including a small ton of notes at the bottom of THIS story as well. Forgive me, loves, but well... Nagato got involved. Life just got complicated. Much love and thank you for your patience.
Also, you can thank your people over on my Y!Gallery page for voting for this story to get posted sooner rather than later.
The hallways of the Uchiha manor were endless, and Soubi's sense of direction failed him after the fourth turn. He concentrated on putting one dress shoe in front of the other, else he lose what was left of his willpower and crumple to the lush carpet. He was sweating, he couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't get himself together enough to think, and he clung to the hand of the man who led them past empty rooms. Watching the walls fly by made him dizzier, so he stared instead at the pale, slender fingers wrapped securely around his own. He squeezed, Nagato squeezed back, but the proof of reality only served to make it more surreal.
Soubi had started this day with an alarm, a shower, and a shivering crying jag that had left him feeling pathetic and weak. He'd eaten a cold breakfast, watched bad TV on one of the three channels that came in almost clear on his tiny, ancient television, and he'd checked his temperature to make sure he wasn't running a fever. He willed himself ill, he longed to be brave enough to cancel his reservation at the Uchiha Gala, but in the end, he'd put on his rented tux, draped his neck in his best scarf, and caught a cab that drove him into the countryside. He got car sick for the first time in his life, and the nausea followed him like a tainted spirit to the front door of the gothic monstrosity that Itachi called home. Soubi barely remembered the man who took his coat and gloves. He didn't want to recall the dead man's walk to the library where a steward had announced Soubi's arrival, his name bellowed so loudly it made Soubi want to crawl under one of the Persian rugs and let people trample him. He had almost left right then and there: turned and said to hell with it and ran for the door.
But a pixie man with a headful of waterfall curls had smiled at Soubi and had taken his hands. The petite fairy with the pointy teeth had spoken kindly and sweetly, and Soubi was directed into Uchiha Itachi's arms. Reunited at last after years of silence, Soubi had floundered and faltered, making a fool of himself in front of the entire room. Itachi, of course, hadn't seemed to notice. Had, in fact, done everything to soothe Soubi, which made things better and so much worse. The first touch woke up the thousand memories Soubi had of Itachi's care, Itachi's strength, Itachi's charm. In an embrace, Soubi had fought the undertow, struggled against the hurricane of hope that wanted to lift Soubi up and throw him into the deepest oceans where the sharks pooled, waiting to feed.
Soubi knew Itachi couldn't be his. He understood that Itachi was sorry they'd parted ways so abruptly and wanted to make amends. Itachi offered friendship and counsel in lieu of other services, and Soubi wanted to die of shame for the way his entire being had leapt at the table scraps of affection. It just felt so goddamned good to be held, it had been so fucking long, and Soubi's better sense got submerged beneath the mayhem of old wounds, founded fears, unrequited need, and the slim chance that maybe, just maybe, Soubi could get an ounce or two of actual happiness in this forsaken life. Itachi could become a sliver of the bastion of solace Itachi once had been for Soubi. It wasn't perfect, not even close, but it was something.
So Soubi had surrendered, given up and given in, and then events melted into runnels of oozing paint. He tried and failed to recreate the transitions that had landed him in the care of His Excellency, of Pein Incarnate... of Nagato. Soubi had harbored fantasies of Itachi's former sadistic Master since first laying eyes on the owner of Haze. In the middle of many a night, Soubi had awoken covered in sweat with raging arousal pumping through his veins, and the fading visions were a kaleidoscope of Nagato's whips and Itachi's caresses; of Nagato's words and Itachi's screams.
Any sane person would understand, then, how utterly ludicrous it was to hear Nagato's thick, husky voice erupt in Soubi's eardrums and call to each and every dark corner of Soubi's soul outside of the confines of dreams. Crazy that those thin, pink lips had shaped poetic syllables meant for him--
"A pretty one... to whom the alms are due... take my arm, little one... take my arm..."
--because fortune did not befall Soubi. Luck did not know his name. Blessings were not his to be had, and Soubi's prayers were not answered. Until tonight, Soubi had been quite sure that God had disowned him long ago, and rightfully so.
Nevertheless, one moment Soubi was surrounded by Itachi in the library and the next he was facing the embodiment of every succulent cruelty Soubi could imagine. Itachi had presented Soubi to Nagato, as though Soubi were a prize, a gift, or a trade, and Soubi had never known a desire greater nor a relief more heartfelt than what he experienced when Nagato looked Soubi up and down and pronounced him acceptable.
More words had been exchanged, a deal had been made, and now there was Nagato's hand and cane and tux and hat. Nagato's gait was labored but not slow, and Soubi noted Nagato didn't so much limp as tiredly favor each leg in turn. Nagato's gray-streaked auburn hair brushed the silky nap of his tuxedo, which was so deeply royal purple it gleamed. The attire, much like everything Soubi had ever seen Nagato wear, belonged to another century; one in which men wore brocade and pocket watches and gloves. It suited him, made him timeless and mysteriously distinguished instead of older than his years, though Nagato had to be nearly twice Soubi's age. Nagato didn't seem slowed by his decades, however. He never glanced at Soubi, never slackened when Soubi stumbled, and his palm was dry and warm. They were about the same height, Nagato slightly taller in his dress heels, and the rich scent of amber and myrrh floated to fill Soubi's nose and assault his senses into further discord.
Nagato sped down a hallway lined with oil portraits, and Soubi imagined a picture of himself from high above: instead of racing through a mansion, he was curled on his side in the fetal position, freezing to death beneath falling snow. For surely, he was dying, and for certain, this was hell, as at any second the illusion would shatter, and Soubi would be nothing more than an art student with a tragic past who had gone to a party he had no business attending.
With a satisfied grunt, Nagato slowed, and Soubi kept his pace two steps behind. They entered a large, round atrium full of humid flora: small trees, leafy ferns, thorny vines. It was dark, the only light coming through a bank of curved windows along the far wall, the view beyond lit by the full moon and its reflection off fields covered in crystalline snow. Fountains burbled and fed a man-made brook, the floors were white glittering marble, and there were heavy, ornate chairs, benches, and tables interspersed among the plant life.
Together, Nagato and Soubi wound their way through urns and shored groves. The clack of Nagato's cane echoed off the vaulted ceiling that was decorated in a crumbling mosaic of branches and sky. Soubi gulped for air, and when Nagato tugged on his hand and gestured to a bench, Soubi dutifully, and gratefully, sat. Nagato had to let go to sweep around to join him, and when Nagato eased onto the chilly seat, their legs brushed and Nagato's scent was heady, stronger, consuming. Soubi was leaning closer without a thought as to how the action would be perceived or taken, and silently, Nagato turned more toward Soubi. The weight of Nagato's gaze was like anvils on Soubi's shoulders, but the touch against the scarf around Soubi's neck when Nagato pushed back Soubi's long, pale, loose hair was feather light.
"Agatsuma Soubi," Nagato murmured, and Soubi shuddered from the crown of his head to the balls of his feet.
"Your Grace." Soubi hoped he sounded respectful instead of terrified, and he prayed that the title was appropriate. He'd heard people use it on the floor of Haze, knew that Nagato often played in black robes or nothing at all but a priest's collar and laced boots. And God, but Soubi wished he hadn't thought of that image.
"Tell me what you know of me, little one." Nagato kept playing with Soubi's hair, barely raking fingers through it and inspiring wave upon wave of goosebumps.
"I... you..." Soubi ground his teeth. He would not sound like a stammering idiot in front of this man. He stared at Nagato's free hand curled around the top of the lion's-head cane. "You own Haze--"
"I did," Nagato interrupted.
"Oh?" Soubi glanced at Nagato's mouth, which turned at one corner into the tiniest smile Soubi had ever seen another person make.
"No longer," Nagato said. "Do continue."
Evidently that was all the explanation Soubi would get as to why the infamous owner of the most dangerous BDSM club in Monoshizukanohi no longer associated himself with the business. Panic fluttered in Soubi's breast at the thought of Nagato getting out of the Lifestyle altogether, and then Soubi had to stifle an inappropriate laugh. Nagato could no more quit Scene than a tiger could turn vegetarian. "You were Itachi's..." Soubi paused, considering. "Itachi's everything, for a long time."
"Mm, yes," Nagato hummed. "My Beloved Martyr. He spoke of you."
"He did?" Soubi made the mistake of meeting Nagato's gaze and got entirely transfixed on the way Nagato's pupils didn't stay still. They roved involuntarily in quick-ticking circles, around and around, and though Soubi knew it was an affliction that probably made Nagato's life difficult, it was beautifully hypnotic.
"Yes," Nagato said simply, caressing Soubi's cheek with gentle knuckles. Soubi forgot to breathe, had to draw a sharp inhale to fill his lungs, and Nagato's brow furrowed and mouth pursed. The movement was absolutely fascinating. Nagato was so pale as to be nearly translucent, and Soubi couldn't find a scrap of sense to say a damned thing.
"Agatsuma Soubi, you are starving."
"I'm sorry?" Soubi asked, seeking clarity and dying to hear Nagato say his name again in that Eastern European lilt.
Nagato cupped Soubi's chin. "How long has it been, little one, since you satisfied the basic needs of the flesh with another?"
"Many months, Your Grace," Soubi answered, any embarrassment getting lost in the mimicry of Nagato's language pattern.
"Mm." Nagato didn't seem impressed, and a fresh hit of adrenaline poured into Soubi's bloodstream. "Months that number toward years."
"How did you know that?" Soubi whispered, thinking of himself waiting for the subway with a sign pinned to his sweater that read, This lame asshole masochist can only get off if self-hate, agony, or love are involved.
Leaning closer, Nagato breathed in deeply and blew out the exhale slowly. Soubi couldn't stop shivering. "The need in you is a grave plague," Nagato droned. "When did you last feed the beast that dines on the sting of blade and the lash of torture?"
Soubi wished he could write some of what Nagato said down so it could become his new favorite bedtime story. "Not since your Martyr took pity upon me, Your Grace."
"It was not sorrow that drove him to make you sing, little one," Nagato corrected. "My Martyr loves with conviction when so inspired." Nagato's hand slid to rub Soubi's nape, the sensation overwhelming in its rarity and newness. "And you returned his fervor."
"I did."
Nagato's fingers danced and dug until Soubi's eyelids drooped. Nagato's pleased sound was so soft that Soubi nearly missed it. "And what of the man before my Martyr, little one?"
Soubi shook his head, petting the scarf around his throat. He didn’t want to sully this first meeting or this perfect conversation with that man's name, but he nearly cried when Nagato retreated. Nagato's regard grew frosty and stern, and Soubi tried desperately to think of what to say.
"Take it off," Nagato said, pure command infusing the inflection, and he folded both hands on top of his cane.
The room wouldn't stop spinning. "Take it...?"
"The veil between us, the cloth that represents your shame." Nagato gestured with a single finger, pointing in Soubi's direction. "Take it off."
For a moment, everything was yellow in Soubi's mind: jaundiced and sickly. He envisioned himself walking away, and pure misery tried to choke him. If this was a test, then he wanted to pass. If this was a crossroads, then he wanted to pick the path lined with opportunity, not the one shrouded in safety.
"Yes, Your Grace," Soubi whispered, head bowed and fingers unwinding the knots of his scarf. Nagato didn't say a thing, but a knee touched Soubi's, and the contact didn't escape Soubi's heightened awareness.
The whine of silk sounded like an infant's complaint, and Soubi's hands dropped to his lap when his scar was revealed. It was a hideous thing, the kind of mark that made children run to their mothers' skirts if Soubi showed it in public. But if Nagato wanted to see it, then fine. Soubi would let the man get an eyeful. Soubi brazenly bared his throat and tried not to glare outright in open challenge.
For an eternal second, Nagato didn't move or speak or respond, and Soubi marveled at how suffocation was entirely possible in pure, open air. When Nagato dropped his cane, Soubi jumped at the clatter. The focus in Nagato's gaze grew frightening, but when Soubi started to curl inward, Nagato's hand shot out to squeeze Soubi's wrist. "Indulge me in a moment of patience, little one," Nagato said.
Soubi nodded, and Nagato returned the favor. He removed his hat and dropped it next to the bench without ceremony. Frowning in what was clearly pain, Nagato bent to grip the cuff of one pants leg. He shifted, lifting his leg up and over the bench to straddle it. He slid closer, torso colliding with the length of Soubi's arm, and Soubi gasped when Nagato wrapped both hands around Soubi's neck without pressure.
Soubi clasped Nagato's bicep on instinct, and Nagato rumbled a low sound that was equal parts warning and comfort. "I will always speak of what will hurt before I ask you to endure it. Be still for me."
The impatience in Nagato's tone didn't translate to the careful thumbs outlining the word Soubi had carved into himself, and Soubi concentrated on breathing. When the sweeping exploration continued well past the point that Soubi could pretend to be immune, he caught the edge of Nagato's jacket and hung on. When he tried to drop his chin by a fraction, Nagato stopped him, and Soubi's quiet cry didn't inspire mercy, it sent questing palms over taut tendons, along jaw, into hair, and back again. Soubi moaned, unable to help it.
"You wear the marks with dignity," Nagato said, and Soubi rolled his neck to stare in wonder at the moisture in Nagato's eyes.
"Th-thank you," Soubi managed.
Nagato inclined his head in a brief nod, and a tear slid down his cheek. He ignored it, acted like weeping over Soubi's hurt was the most natural thing in the world for a hardened sadist to do, and his voice never wavered a note off balance. "It is a tribute, this word, 'Unloved' that you cut to honor the dead, yes?"
Soubi swallowed. "More a... reminder, Your Grace."
A feral, untempered fury darkened Nagato's features, and unreasonable lust boiled over from Soubi's balls to spread through groin and up along spine. Nagato cocked his head. "Reminder? Of what he made you believe to be true?"
Another vision in Soubi's mind: himself suspended over a pit of red-hot coals. "Yes," Soubi whispered.
Nagato stared, eyes strafing and unblinking, and at long last, he flashed imperfect teeth in a smile that would give the king of hell pause. "Pity this creature's physical form is beyond my reach. I am left to beg favor of those gone before me who yet serve me to exact my toll, but I will take temporary comfort in the fool's demise."
Soubi's pulse roared in his ears, and he was falling and landing on Nagato's shoulder before he comprehended what was happening. Deceptively strong arms embraced him, a rich voice crooned in a foreign tongue, and Soubi collapsed beneath the final attack on any last semblance of self-control. He drifted outside himself in sheer disbelief, and he allowed Nagato to remove his glasses and tuck them into Nagato's vest pocket. His breath stuttered when Nagato undid the buttons on his jacket, and he hugged Nagato tighter with one arm when Nagato's hand slid along Soubi's flank over his shirt.
"Has anyone else belittled and disgraced you as did the one for whom you took the scars, little one?"
"No," Soubi replied, lazily.
Nagato sighed and massaged Soubi's lower back. "Has there been a third love in your life?"
Soubi muffled his mouth against Nagato's lapels, and scrunched his eyes shut hard enough that red bloomed behind his lids.
"I will have your answer," Nagato said, the directive seeping into Soubi through every pore. Soubi helplessly nodded while guilt cut him to ribbons and Nagato's meandering hand tied them back together. "And I will have this man's name," Nagato prompted.
"Mr. Minami," Soubi muttered, and he knew the title would speak the volumes of details that Soubi could not.
"Who was he to you?" Nagato squeezed Soubi's thigh, and the proximity and the memories of the illicit, incriminating affair that continued to be the relationship by which all others in Soubi's life were compared stirred Soubi's cock further into life.
"My teacher," Soubi said. "He was my teacher."
Nagato's chest rose and fell in a lingering, hitching, single breath. "And were you his most favorite pupil?"
"Yes," Soubi whispered.
Nagato's fingers strayed from leg to hip to waist. "And from your elder lover did you learn pleasure, little one?" Soubi could only nod, and he was rewarded with another shaky sigh and inflammatory caress. "Did he keep you behind when the other little ones went off on their ways?" Yet another nod, and Soubi spread his legs wider, squirming to try and relieve some of the pressure behind his fly. "Mm, he made you his special assistant, but kept what you and he did hidden. Bid you do the same?" Soubi tried to stifle a whimper and didn't quite make it, because God it was as though Nagato had been in that classroom during recess and library time and after hours.
"A game you enjoyed, but--" Nagato broke off, though his petting didn't stop. He tensed, and Soubi reflected the reaction with a flinch. Nagato suddenly chuckled, the hair on the back of Soubi's neck stood on end, and Nagato grabbed Soubi's chin, wrested it to one side, and spoke with lips dragging against the grain of Soubi's stubble: "Face away, sit on your hands, and rest against me."
Getting muscles and limbs to comply was like swimming through molasses, but Soubi did his best. Nagato assisted and wrapped one arm across Soubi's neck. "You there!" Nagato called, and the squeak of a shoe was the first indication Soubi had that someone else was in the room with them. "Come here, little spy, or I'll sic the dogs upon you."
A figure emerged from the far side of a slender indoor tree, and Soubi squinted, vision blurry without his glasses. Nagato's arm tightened, and Soubi's ass rolled painfully over the joints of his fingers. "Closer, interloper, closer," Nagato beckoned.
"I was just passing--"
"I said come here." Nagato's hissing, infuriated bark got the man's feet moving, and when Soubi's nearsightedness allowed for focus, Soubi recognized the guy as the servant who had been pouring drinks in the library. The bartender was a young, slender, brunet with gauged plugs in his ears and hesitation in his gait.
"Better," Nagato mused, unwinding against Soubi. "Enjoying yourself?"
The kid held up hands in protest. "I was trying to find the head, man. Not here to break up the party or any--"
"The nearest restroom is back the way you came and that path does not require you to dally here."
The bartender retreated a step but stopped cold when Nagato covered Soubi's erection through his slacks. Tension twisted through Soubi in an unforgiving coil, and Nagato began to stroke while Soubi panted and the third man gaped. "But I will make use of you, as I can. Tell me, are you familiar with the art of love between two men?"
The bartender licked his lips, and though his upper body turned like it wanted to leave, the rest of him stayed rooted to the spot, fixated on the motion of Nagato's palm urging the steely line beneath it to dampen the inside of Soubi's clothing. "Uh... familiar... with... what?"
"Your avidity is answer enough." Nagato undid Soubi's fly and plunged a hand between the teeth of the zipper. Soubi called out when Nagato fisted his cock through his underwear, cotton and skin moving with friction that rocked a shudder through Soubi's body. He wanted to die of humiliation, but in the ruins of that downward, collapsing spiral, the burn of being trapped and watched unsnapped the fetters on fantasies Soubi didn't even realize he had. Fever sparked, hot and cold, and Soubi dug nails into the stone bench.
"Uhm..." The bartender pointed a finger at the door. "I should... I mean, you look... busy."
Nagato rested his cheek against Soubi's. "Your observations are not without merit. I require the tools to take this man."
Soubi garbled noises of pure shock, absolutely certain he didn't hear that correctly and simultaneously arching into Nagato's touch in the off chance he had. Nagato nosed Soubi's temple. "I will make him my appetizer before we feast on slaughtered lambs and calves. You will bring me what I request."
"But, see, I don't really work, ah, here? I'm just a temp at the catering--"
"I will hear nothing but your consent," Nagato interrupted, voice projecting into the rafters. "And if I cannot have it, interloper, then find a superior who will do as I ask."
"You want me to--"
"Get out." Nagato drawled the second word, and it slung irritation like a dog shaking water from its coat. The bartender spun and bolted from the room, and as the footsteps retreated, Nagato bit the shell of Soubi's ear. Soubi whined, too far gone to care about the level of desperation thrumming from his core.
"My Martyr is occupied by his pirated treasures, but I, unlike him, am not so distracted." Nagato stopped stroking and started rhythmically squeezing Soubi's shaft, almost a rolling massage, and Soubi bit a lip. "I love to make things bleed for me, weep and beg and believe for single moments that existence is only pain without end. For there is nothing sweeter to me, little Soubi, than being both destroyer and savior. I live for eyes that look unto me as a god of a world we have discovered and will plunder for darkness to throw into the maws of our intertwined demons."
Soubi tried to nod, tried to say that he would do that, did do some of it, already, and would die trying to live up to the rest, but the sentiments got tangled around his tongue when Nagato focused efforts on the covered head of Soubi's dick. He grunted in time to the attention, bucking to and fro in Nagato's hold.
"Going to such places is sacred, and I never make the journey with the unworthy. And I never demean those whom I place in such esteem by projecting my transgressions or any slight of cowardice upon them. I am the god to whom you pray, the devil to whom you turn to delight in wickedness, the high priest who shall absolve you, but I am never the mere mortal drudge plagued by doubt who would taunt you astray."
"Your Grace," Soubi said between rattling sucks of air. Sweat poured, Soubi's hair sticking to his neck and feet sliding in his socks, toes curling. The day, the fear, the hope, the race, and now the words and the touches and what Soubi thought might be invitation or explanation were more than overwhelming: they were life altering.
Nagato chuckled. "I am, yes. And unlike your first mentor, I do not keep my claims hidden. I do not abide guilt born from needs. Those I choose for my affections will find comfort in the choices I make in their stead."
"Yes," Soubi answered and agreed and granted. Some spark of sense stopped him from sounding like a true neophyte and saying he would do anything for Nagato. It was true, yes, but it had been true before, and Soubi didn't want to give any indicator that Nagato was similar to any other person Soubi had ever encountered or wanted.
"What a gift you are," Nagato said, and Soubi melted into intractable mush. Footsteps rapped sharply on the tile, and Nagato's lips pressed a faint kiss to Soubi's cheekbone.
"My lords, may I bid you good evening," said a man with a faintly British accent. Soubi roused himself to note a slender, nondescript man in a dark gray tux. He held aloft a silver tray with one gloved hand, and inclined a bow to Nagato and Soubi.
"Merek," Nagato said, seemingly pleased and resuming the slow strokes that scorched thought out of Soubi's mind. "It has been too long."
"I heartily agree, Your Excellency." Soubi vaguely remembered that Merek was Itachi's driver and manservant of sorts. He sounded perpetually amused but respectful.
"I was most happy at the chance for a quick audience with you and your new acquisition. Might I have your permission to approach and make my humble offerings?"
"Yes," Nagato granted.
"My thanks, Your Excellency." Merek drew closer and set down the tray on a nearby round table. Soubi squinted and saw a bowl of water, folded cloths, a bottle of what had to be lube, a small vial, the distinct square packets of condoms, an unmarked bubble pack containing a white pill, and two goblets. "As you missed refreshments earlier, I thought perhaps a bit of wine? You prefer the crisper reds, if my memory serves?"
"It never fails," Nagato confirmed. He uncrossed his arm from Soubi's throat, gesturing, and Merek handed Nagato a glass. Nagato drank, sighed, and Merek took the drink away again. "My vintage."
"We keep it in stock, as always." Merek bristled, eying the tray as though it were a bomb. "My apologies that I could not offer more accoutrements to aid your efforts, though I'm sure My Lord would grant me access to any number of trunks should Your Excellency wish to wait on provisions?"
Nagato began to undo Soubi's shirt, and Soubi stared at his hands, still expecting, in some part, to wake up screaming for the nightmare to continue. "My patience will not tolerate more time than my plans already require, Merek, thank you."
"Understood," Merek bowed again. "Though if I might take it upon myself to offer a suggestion, shall I turn on the pond lights? They're a lovely aquamarine and may prove to be both decorative and functional."
"May it be done," Nagato muttered, withdrawing from Soubi's pants to rub both palms over Soubi's torso. Soubi had never known his skin to be this damned sensitive, and his head rolled forward, hair falling in a stringy curtain.
"I'll see to it. Delightful to see you. Enjoy." Merek pivoted and vanished in an instant. Soubi thought he should say something, comment on Merek's efficiency, on being labeled like property and liking it, or ask for clarity on what Nagato had in mind for no other reason than it'd be intensely arousing to hear it in Nagato's voice, but Nagato gripped Soubi's nipples in a pinch that tried to remove the flesh, kissed Soubi's neck, and Soubi had to override the craven urge to come. Blue and green light roared to life around them, and Soubi cried out in frustration and surprise.
"Tell me, little one," Nagato crooned after protracted torment that left Soubi's throat marked and chest on fire. "Who was the last man to seek nirvana inside you?"
"I-Itachi," Soubi eventually stuttered. He shoved backward into Nagato and felt the swell of Nagato's cock. Sheer want of Nagato buried in his ass or mouth or both engulfed Soubi like a rough woolen blanket, scratched and abraded. And he would have been embarrassed at the raspy syllables of greed that poured out of him were he not convinced they somehow pleased or placated His Grace.
"Mm, it suits me to share you with my Martyr." Nagato peeled away Soubi's clothing and exposed Soubi's dick, framing the base of it with his hands so it stood solidly out from Soubi's body, untouched and throbbing. "A shame that Merek is so sublime in duty." Nagato's husk grew breathy. "I would make my claim on you this night, before we sit at my Martyr's table, and had I nothing to ease the passage, I would bleed you for slick to mix with spit and part the way."
"Oh, Christ yes," Soubi gushed, visions of lacerations and cuts and blades flickering through his mind. He couldn't feel his fingers, couldn't remember which way was up, and he fumbled to turn until he could bury his nose in the juncture of Nagato's jaw and neck. Nagato's pulse was fast, like a bird's, and Soubi licked to taste salt and the faint flavor of amber. Nagato's exhale morphed into a curse so guttural that Soubi couldn't decipher it, and Soubi nodded on a fast repeat, begging by any means he could muster.
"Get up and go to the windows," Nagato growled.
"Yes, Your Grace," Soubi said, only hearing the words a second after he said them. He wondered at that, just as he stood aside and watched himself stumble upright and stagger to the glass. Reality was a whirlwind, and there was no eye to the storm.
"Spread your legs," came the order, and Soubi obeyed. "Palms flat by your head." Soubi slapped the window, lost in the rhythm of directive and compliance. "Cheek on the pane." The surface was shockingly cold, and Soubi's breath fogged like a dragon's belch next to his mouth. If anyone came through the atrium, they would see. If anyone stood nearby, they would hear. Soubi's balls tightened and his cock twitched, the head touching the window and smearing it with pre-come that stretched in a liquid link.
There was a sound like a whisper, leather on cotton, and the muscles in Soubi's legs spasmed in strain. Nagato slammed against him and covered Soubi's hands with his own. "Tell me, my little one, did your first tutor in the arts of the flesh ever punish you?"
Soubi didn't know he was groaning with every breath until he had to stop and answer in a threadbare whisper: "No."
"Oh?" Nagato clucked his tongue. "No strap to your adolescent backside, no bending you over a knee for being bad?"
"Nnnngh..." Soubi swallowed on a dry throat and shook his head.
Nagato hummed and a thrill arced along Soubi's spine and bowed it. "And did you wish to be bad, little one?" Soubi shut his eyes and nodded, skin squeaking against the frosty window. Nagato tugged violently on Soubi's shirt until Soubi's chest rested on the glass. Fingers hooked Soubi's pants and underwear and shoved them until they caught on his spread thighs, just above his knees.
"Then you shall be bad for me," Nagato said, gripping one of Soubi's ass cheeks and slicing nails into the skin.
"Oh God, fuck, I, shit, please--" Soubi babbled and clamped his lips shut.
Nagato didn't appear to mind the response. "And I will blacken you in reward for naughtiness until you cannot feel the pain fall." Soubi whimpered, waves of molten lava bathing his guts.
"And you will call thanks to Mr. Minami in respect to what he started and what I shall finish."
"Oooooooh..." Soubi rutted against the glass, cock going cold and hurting from too many stimuli to name.
A snap of leather, a shift of stance, and Nagato braced one hand against Soubi's neck. "Endure and be sweet in your suffering for me, little one," Nagato warned, and when the first strike landed, Soubi knew it was Nagato's belt that marked him. Soubi jerked, held his breath, and the next hits followed in a succession that whited out Soubi's brain in a blinding flash of agony. He must have tried to escape, because Nagato wrestled him into position. He knew he writhed, but Nagato just compensated by striking different portions of the target created by Soubi's ass and legs. And Soubi understood that he was inarticulately yelling, because Nagato paused to hiss a command that took a moment to sink into the red fog.
"Thank your teacher, Soubi."
Flailing for purchase and not finding it, Soubi struggled. He stopped when his scalp lit up in a wave of new torment, and Nagato wrapped Soubi's hair around a fist that shoved between Soubi's shoulders and hammered him into the window with a single blow.
"Thank you, Mr. Minami," Soubi said, almost inaudible with angles and lack of oxygen. Time stopped, gravity pitched, and--
Soubi was eleven, again, with the smell of chalkboard in his nostrils and the sound of Mr. Minami's heaving grunts in his ears. Soubi faced away from his teacher, blind to what he wished he could watch. He was hard, half-naked, and dying for some kind -- any kind -- of relief. He wanted to sit on Minami's lap and be held. He wanted to suck Minami's cock, like that one time, even if it meant Minami would cry again when it was over.
"Can't fuck you... can't... can't... won't..."
Mr. Minami always chanted like that, sort of like praying. It reminded Soubi of funerals.
"Please?" Soubi begged. Maybe it would work this time. Maybe he'd get to feel it. Deep inside.
Minami's horrified groan became Soubi's as his prize was another set of hits that shoved a screech from his lungs.
"Again," Nagato roared. "Thank your teacher for what he gave but didn't claim."
Soubi tried, Nagato struck, and Soubi's face ground against a wall of ice. "Let me hear you scream it, little one."
Nagato made it easy to follow the order, the belt impacting flesh that was quickly falling numb in sensory overload. Soubi hurt and hated and didn't think he could take it, amazing himself when he did it anyway, and scaring himself when he thirsted for more.
"Did you love him?" Nagato bellowed.
"Yes!"
"Did he give you what you wanted?"
Soubi's foot slipped, he scrambled, and the glass squeaked wetly. Soubi didn't know he was inconsolably crying until a tear darted into his mouth. He hitched a breath. "Nah... Nn...Y-yes?"
Two sharp hits, left then right. "Everything?"
"No!" More blows, more torture, and Soubi wailed when Nagato stopped, in relief or remorse, Soubi had no fucking idea.
"He was a coward." The belt hit marble, Soubi sobbed and chased after sanity's shadow, and when Nagato pushed Soubi's jacket and shirt upward, Soubi moved as directed until he was bare from the waist up. Warmth encircled him, slickness touched his asshole, and Nagato spread lube while sprinkling kisses along the rim of Soubi's ear. "He sacrificed you to weakness." A wide, slippery, protected dick nudged against Soubi. "There is no such fear of man or thing in me, little one."
The press-and-fill of Nagato's cock consumed all else. Nagato went slowly, and it was still too much, too soon, too full, and finally the stretch-frisson faded into too right. He was confined in a narrow room without walls where there was only dull blue-green light, the bite of winter, and the burn of another man moving steadily within Soubi.
"There, little one," Nagato sighed when he was molded around Soubi. "What we need... what we want..."
In, out, advance, withdraw, and Nagato could only do so much before Soubi lost the ability to stay half-bent but vertical. The tumble to the floor was messy, but Nagato soothed the hurts with licks and whispers. When Soubi was prone and pinned between Nagato's weight and marble that whirled in aquarium shimmers, Nagato leaned, twisted, and their mouths met in a kiss that went from tender to exploratory to ravishing in time to the thrusts that Nagato put to Soubi's insides. The angle, depth, and width reduced Soubi to weak groans and chaotic need. Relief seemed an impossible feat, something that would be denied, dispelled, disallowed. He'd grown soft against the window only to grow hard as diamonds against the stone, and the friction was painful in what it gave and in what it didn't.
Nagato didn't break the kiss until they rolled to the side, Nagato behind Soubi. One of Soubi's knees got caught, lifted, and rested over Nagato's, and Nagato pitched into Soubi's body while bracing on Soubi's shoulder. "Time to come for me." The words were muddled, but the intent was clear, and Soubi's head flew back when Nagato's fist found his cock and pumped. Soubi clutched Nagato's arm and hip, striving in reverse to meet Nagato's plunges, and he rasped pitched cries that escalated in a frenetic rush.
"Oh... nnnoooh..." Orgasm screamed, whipped, burst at the base of Soubi's spine. "Oooh... oh shit!" Pleasure shot from his balls and along his cock in white-hot strings that numbed his lips, cockhead, and thighs. Milky threads soaked Soubi's stomach and Nagato's hand, patted in pools on the ground. Buzzing tried to make his eardrums explode, and Nagato continually slam-shoved Soubi into peaks and valleys until Soubi was begging for it to stop.
No sooner was the release done with Soubi than Nagato withdrew, leaving Soubi empty and hating it. Lips crushed to Soubi's a fractured heartbeat later, and Nagato snarled and manhandled them into another roll. Nagato stripped off latex, guided Soubi down as he scrambled upward, and Soubi swallowed Nagato's cock with a grateful moan. Nagato's calls were uninhibited, and he pistoned into Soubi's mouth and throat with abandon. Soubi gagged, recovered, took it, and gasped in sheer surprise when Nagato pulled out. With one palm hitting the floor, body leveraging upward, and hips jerking into his fist, Nagato gritted an ending cry and came on Soubi's lips and face. Soubi lay immobile, eyes closing, and shivered with each splash, tongue swiping to get a taste.
"Mmph..." Nagato grunted, falling over Soubi and ducking down for another kiss and languid lash of tongues. They breathed into and out of one another in the aftermath, and Soubi was sure there was no Earth to which he should return.
After an unknown amount of time, Nagato sat up, cursing in two languages, but he returned a moment later with a cool, damp cloth. He lay down next to Soubi and cleaned away the mess.
"On your stomach, little one," Nagato instructed, and Soubi fought another wave of ridiculous tears at the affection in Nagato's inflection. Soubi did as he was asked, and Nagato took a moment to right tuxedo and vestments before snatching the vial off Merek's tray. Nagato poured the contents over Soubi's ass and legs, and a pleasant, herbal smell rose in the air.
Nagato rubbed the liquid into the skin without adding pressure to the bruising, and he dropped a kiss to the small of Soubi's back. "Clothing, now. You'll be too cold like this."
Nodding sleepily, Soubi helped Nagato get his shirt and jacket back into place. Soubi yanked up his pants, and Nagato took care of the zipper and button mechanics. Soubi winced and made noises of complaint when the sensation began to return to his lower half.
"I know," Nagato murmured, picking up the bubble pack off the silver platter. "Take this." Soubi popped the pill into his mouth without hesitation and gulped it down with a swallow of wine.
"Good." Nagato set aside the glass and drew Soubi into a fierce embrace. He stroked Soubi's hair, kissed and hugged and rocked, and Soubi didn't think it was possible to feel more connected to another human being. It was terrifying. It was comforting.
"My Wanderer," Nagato said, swaying Soubi where they both knelt. "My Gentle Wayfarer, who meandered into my life." Nagato drew back to look at Soubi in the eye. "A name for you, little one, to seal some piece of you as mine forever."
The sentiment was a spell, the title an invocation, and Nagato branded Soubi by magic and not by iron. Soubi tried again and again to speak, and Nagato waited with endless patience. Nothing could hold a candle to how right and good and peaceful Soubi felt, so instead Soubi dared to touch Nagato's hair, trace His Excellency's face, watch Pein Incarnate's eyelashes flutter while Soubi touched every piece of Nagato he could reach: shoulders, arms, chest, waist, hips, buttocks, and everything again in reverse. Nagato allowed it, rested their foreheads together, and stretched to meet Soubi for a kiss, the feel of lip on lip still startlingly fresh.
"Thank you," Soubi finally said, hoarse and crying again but not caring for possibly the first time ever because if the tears streaking Nagato's face didn't bother His Grace and made Soubi's heart try to burst, then Soubi could find no right in being ashamed. "Your Benevolence, thank you."
"My Wanderer, I cannot have you too far from me." Nagato brought Soubi against a chest covered in silk and softness and tucked Soubi beneath Nagato's chin. "Here we stay, until we are called away, but to a clutch as such we will return to tonight, when you journey home with me."
Soubi rested on Nagato's shoulder, eyes closed and smile on his lips. Gone was the panic that started this day, and in the wake of the destruction left by Soubi's newfound Master, there was only simple solace. Being so calm was not insane, being so sure was not dangerous, for the man holding Soubi was Nagato, a force of nature and a mythology unto His Excellency's own. So if this was a dream, then Soubi would strive to slumber forever. And if this was happiness, then he would offer his trust and his prayers to Nagato that it continue for as long as either of them could stand it.
"Yes, Your Grace," Soubi answered. "As you wish."
~*~
...TBC...
NOTES!
1. Nagato and Soubi are attending the Uchiha Gala. While I normally don't say that reading other stories in order to make sense of the one I'm posting is necessary, in this case it might be should you want the full effect.
2. Soubi is a very capable, strong-willed human being. In this story, he's unraveled because of his interaction with Uchiha Itachi and with dear Nagato. You can read all about it in other stories (see reading lists below, if interested).
3. In my world, Soubi is an art history student at Monoshizukanohi University. He's about, oh... 26 or so, as he's putting himself through school. The scar on his throat is self-inflicted, says "Unloved" in my universe, and he did it with a razor after his high school lover, (who was NOT a nice guy), Seimei died. You can read that history in "Ghosts."
Nagato is 45, Russian, was until very recently the owner of the worst BDSM club in Monoshizukanohi, and used to be Itachi's Master. Nagato is a crazy... CRAZY... man who does not play by the safe, sane, and consensual rules of Scene. He is NOT a role model, people. He's delightfully and *happily* insane.
4. There is audio for this story. I read it, I recommend it, I hope you enjoy it.
Download it for free by clicking HERE.
4a. For ALL the audio I have for download, CLICK HERE.
5. For references on Nagato's appearance, Soubi's appearance, and the outfits they're wearing to the Gala, CLICK HERE.
6. Your reading lists:
History of Nagato & Soubi in Chronological Order:
Knight of Swords.
Chapter 2 of R&B.
The Tower.
Ghosts.
The Gala.
History of Itachi
Broken Interlude.
Deprivation & Side Stories.
7. Monoshizukanohi Points of Interest (places, who owns what and why) can be found BY CLICKING HERE.
8. Yes, this series will be continued. I'll probably organize all this into ONE journal entry for ease of use. *laughs*
9. I own Merek, the bartender kid (whose name, by the way, is Asher Collins), the plot, the world, and all other original material. I do NOT own the rights to the Naruto or Loveless or any other fandom characters. I make no money off this. I do it 'cause I love it.
C'mon... you LIKE me complicated.
Much love.
♥Dee
Series: Monoshizukanohi: Naruto & Loveless Crossover
Author: Darkprism
Genre: Kink/Romance
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Nagato from Naruto & Soubi from Loveless, with hints of others in the Monoshizukanohi world.
Word Count: ~7,200
Warnings/Notes: Language, side story, BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, role play, underage activities in flashback, KINK, impact play, hand job, anal, other things.
Spoilers: None whatsoever for the actual manga(s).
Summary: Nagato introduces Soubi into life under His Grace's care...
A/N: This story takes place between chapters two and three of The Gala. That link takes you to that story's main reference page, where you can check out extras, references, that story (which crosses six fandoms with 22 characters in my Monoshizukanohi world), and other notes. I'm including a small ton of notes at the bottom of THIS story as well. Forgive me, loves, but well... Nagato got involved. Life just got complicated. Much love and thank you for your patience.
Also, you can thank your people over on my Y!Gallery page for voting for this story to get posted sooner rather than later.
The hallways of the Uchiha manor were endless, and Soubi's sense of direction failed him after the fourth turn. He concentrated on putting one dress shoe in front of the other, else he lose what was left of his willpower and crumple to the lush carpet. He was sweating, he couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't get himself together enough to think, and he clung to the hand of the man who led them past empty rooms. Watching the walls fly by made him dizzier, so he stared instead at the pale, slender fingers wrapped securely around his own. He squeezed, Nagato squeezed back, but the proof of reality only served to make it more surreal.
Soubi had started this day with an alarm, a shower, and a shivering crying jag that had left him feeling pathetic and weak. He'd eaten a cold breakfast, watched bad TV on one of the three channels that came in almost clear on his tiny, ancient television, and he'd checked his temperature to make sure he wasn't running a fever. He willed himself ill, he longed to be brave enough to cancel his reservation at the Uchiha Gala, but in the end, he'd put on his rented tux, draped his neck in his best scarf, and caught a cab that drove him into the countryside. He got car sick for the first time in his life, and the nausea followed him like a tainted spirit to the front door of the gothic monstrosity that Itachi called home. Soubi barely remembered the man who took his coat and gloves. He didn't want to recall the dead man's walk to the library where a steward had announced Soubi's arrival, his name bellowed so loudly it made Soubi want to crawl under one of the Persian rugs and let people trample him. He had almost left right then and there: turned and said to hell with it and ran for the door.
But a pixie man with a headful of waterfall curls had smiled at Soubi and had taken his hands. The petite fairy with the pointy teeth had spoken kindly and sweetly, and Soubi was directed into Uchiha Itachi's arms. Reunited at last after years of silence, Soubi had floundered and faltered, making a fool of himself in front of the entire room. Itachi, of course, hadn't seemed to notice. Had, in fact, done everything to soothe Soubi, which made things better and so much worse. The first touch woke up the thousand memories Soubi had of Itachi's care, Itachi's strength, Itachi's charm. In an embrace, Soubi had fought the undertow, struggled against the hurricane of hope that wanted to lift Soubi up and throw him into the deepest oceans where the sharks pooled, waiting to feed.
Soubi knew Itachi couldn't be his. He understood that Itachi was sorry they'd parted ways so abruptly and wanted to make amends. Itachi offered friendship and counsel in lieu of other services, and Soubi wanted to die of shame for the way his entire being had leapt at the table scraps of affection. It just felt so goddamned good to be held, it had been so fucking long, and Soubi's better sense got submerged beneath the mayhem of old wounds, founded fears, unrequited need, and the slim chance that maybe, just maybe, Soubi could get an ounce or two of actual happiness in this forsaken life. Itachi could become a sliver of the bastion of solace Itachi once had been for Soubi. It wasn't perfect, not even close, but it was something.
So Soubi had surrendered, given up and given in, and then events melted into runnels of oozing paint. He tried and failed to recreate the transitions that had landed him in the care of His Excellency, of Pein Incarnate... of Nagato. Soubi had harbored fantasies of Itachi's former sadistic Master since first laying eyes on the owner of Haze. In the middle of many a night, Soubi had awoken covered in sweat with raging arousal pumping through his veins, and the fading visions were a kaleidoscope of Nagato's whips and Itachi's caresses; of Nagato's words and Itachi's screams.
Any sane person would understand, then, how utterly ludicrous it was to hear Nagato's thick, husky voice erupt in Soubi's eardrums and call to each and every dark corner of Soubi's soul outside of the confines of dreams. Crazy that those thin, pink lips had shaped poetic syllables meant for him--
"A pretty one... to whom the alms are due... take my arm, little one... take my arm..."
--because fortune did not befall Soubi. Luck did not know his name. Blessings were not his to be had, and Soubi's prayers were not answered. Until tonight, Soubi had been quite sure that God had disowned him long ago, and rightfully so.
Nevertheless, one moment Soubi was surrounded by Itachi in the library and the next he was facing the embodiment of every succulent cruelty Soubi could imagine. Itachi had presented Soubi to Nagato, as though Soubi were a prize, a gift, or a trade, and Soubi had never known a desire greater nor a relief more heartfelt than what he experienced when Nagato looked Soubi up and down and pronounced him acceptable.
More words had been exchanged, a deal had been made, and now there was Nagato's hand and cane and tux and hat. Nagato's gait was labored but not slow, and Soubi noted Nagato didn't so much limp as tiredly favor each leg in turn. Nagato's gray-streaked auburn hair brushed the silky nap of his tuxedo, which was so deeply royal purple it gleamed. The attire, much like everything Soubi had ever seen Nagato wear, belonged to another century; one in which men wore brocade and pocket watches and gloves. It suited him, made him timeless and mysteriously distinguished instead of older than his years, though Nagato had to be nearly twice Soubi's age. Nagato didn't seem slowed by his decades, however. He never glanced at Soubi, never slackened when Soubi stumbled, and his palm was dry and warm. They were about the same height, Nagato slightly taller in his dress heels, and the rich scent of amber and myrrh floated to fill Soubi's nose and assault his senses into further discord.
Nagato sped down a hallway lined with oil portraits, and Soubi imagined a picture of himself from high above: instead of racing through a mansion, he was curled on his side in the fetal position, freezing to death beneath falling snow. For surely, he was dying, and for certain, this was hell, as at any second the illusion would shatter, and Soubi would be nothing more than an art student with a tragic past who had gone to a party he had no business attending.
With a satisfied grunt, Nagato slowed, and Soubi kept his pace two steps behind. They entered a large, round atrium full of humid flora: small trees, leafy ferns, thorny vines. It was dark, the only light coming through a bank of curved windows along the far wall, the view beyond lit by the full moon and its reflection off fields covered in crystalline snow. Fountains burbled and fed a man-made brook, the floors were white glittering marble, and there were heavy, ornate chairs, benches, and tables interspersed among the plant life.
Together, Nagato and Soubi wound their way through urns and shored groves. The clack of Nagato's cane echoed off the vaulted ceiling that was decorated in a crumbling mosaic of branches and sky. Soubi gulped for air, and when Nagato tugged on his hand and gestured to a bench, Soubi dutifully, and gratefully, sat. Nagato had to let go to sweep around to join him, and when Nagato eased onto the chilly seat, their legs brushed and Nagato's scent was heady, stronger, consuming. Soubi was leaning closer without a thought as to how the action would be perceived or taken, and silently, Nagato turned more toward Soubi. The weight of Nagato's gaze was like anvils on Soubi's shoulders, but the touch against the scarf around Soubi's neck when Nagato pushed back Soubi's long, pale, loose hair was feather light.
"Agatsuma Soubi," Nagato murmured, and Soubi shuddered from the crown of his head to the balls of his feet.
"Your Grace." Soubi hoped he sounded respectful instead of terrified, and he prayed that the title was appropriate. He'd heard people use it on the floor of Haze, knew that Nagato often played in black robes or nothing at all but a priest's collar and laced boots. And God, but Soubi wished he hadn't thought of that image.
"Tell me what you know of me, little one." Nagato kept playing with Soubi's hair, barely raking fingers through it and inspiring wave upon wave of goosebumps.
"I... you..." Soubi ground his teeth. He would not sound like a stammering idiot in front of this man. He stared at Nagato's free hand curled around the top of the lion's-head cane. "You own Haze--"
"I did," Nagato interrupted.
"Oh?" Soubi glanced at Nagato's mouth, which turned at one corner into the tiniest smile Soubi had ever seen another person make.
"No longer," Nagato said. "Do continue."
Evidently that was all the explanation Soubi would get as to why the infamous owner of the most dangerous BDSM club in Monoshizukanohi no longer associated himself with the business. Panic fluttered in Soubi's breast at the thought of Nagato getting out of the Lifestyle altogether, and then Soubi had to stifle an inappropriate laugh. Nagato could no more quit Scene than a tiger could turn vegetarian. "You were Itachi's..." Soubi paused, considering. "Itachi's everything, for a long time."
"Mm, yes," Nagato hummed. "My Beloved Martyr. He spoke of you."
"He did?" Soubi made the mistake of meeting Nagato's gaze and got entirely transfixed on the way Nagato's pupils didn't stay still. They roved involuntarily in quick-ticking circles, around and around, and though Soubi knew it was an affliction that probably made Nagato's life difficult, it was beautifully hypnotic.
"Yes," Nagato said simply, caressing Soubi's cheek with gentle knuckles. Soubi forgot to breathe, had to draw a sharp inhale to fill his lungs, and Nagato's brow furrowed and mouth pursed. The movement was absolutely fascinating. Nagato was so pale as to be nearly translucent, and Soubi couldn't find a scrap of sense to say a damned thing.
"Agatsuma Soubi, you are starving."
"I'm sorry?" Soubi asked, seeking clarity and dying to hear Nagato say his name again in that Eastern European lilt.
Nagato cupped Soubi's chin. "How long has it been, little one, since you satisfied the basic needs of the flesh with another?"
"Many months, Your Grace," Soubi answered, any embarrassment getting lost in the mimicry of Nagato's language pattern.
"Mm." Nagato didn't seem impressed, and a fresh hit of adrenaline poured into Soubi's bloodstream. "Months that number toward years."
"How did you know that?" Soubi whispered, thinking of himself waiting for the subway with a sign pinned to his sweater that read, This lame asshole masochist can only get off if self-hate, agony, or love are involved.
Leaning closer, Nagato breathed in deeply and blew out the exhale slowly. Soubi couldn't stop shivering. "The need in you is a grave plague," Nagato droned. "When did you last feed the beast that dines on the sting of blade and the lash of torture?"
Soubi wished he could write some of what Nagato said down so it could become his new favorite bedtime story. "Not since your Martyr took pity upon me, Your Grace."
"It was not sorrow that drove him to make you sing, little one," Nagato corrected. "My Martyr loves with conviction when so inspired." Nagato's hand slid to rub Soubi's nape, the sensation overwhelming in its rarity and newness. "And you returned his fervor."
"I did."
Nagato's fingers danced and dug until Soubi's eyelids drooped. Nagato's pleased sound was so soft that Soubi nearly missed it. "And what of the man before my Martyr, little one?"
Soubi shook his head, petting the scarf around his throat. He didn’t want to sully this first meeting or this perfect conversation with that man's name, but he nearly cried when Nagato retreated. Nagato's regard grew frosty and stern, and Soubi tried desperately to think of what to say.
"Take it off," Nagato said, pure command infusing the inflection, and he folded both hands on top of his cane.
The room wouldn't stop spinning. "Take it...?"
"The veil between us, the cloth that represents your shame." Nagato gestured with a single finger, pointing in Soubi's direction. "Take it off."
For a moment, everything was yellow in Soubi's mind: jaundiced and sickly. He envisioned himself walking away, and pure misery tried to choke him. If this was a test, then he wanted to pass. If this was a crossroads, then he wanted to pick the path lined with opportunity, not the one shrouded in safety.
"Yes, Your Grace," Soubi whispered, head bowed and fingers unwinding the knots of his scarf. Nagato didn't say a thing, but a knee touched Soubi's, and the contact didn't escape Soubi's heightened awareness.
The whine of silk sounded like an infant's complaint, and Soubi's hands dropped to his lap when his scar was revealed. It was a hideous thing, the kind of mark that made children run to their mothers' skirts if Soubi showed it in public. But if Nagato wanted to see it, then fine. Soubi would let the man get an eyeful. Soubi brazenly bared his throat and tried not to glare outright in open challenge.
For an eternal second, Nagato didn't move or speak or respond, and Soubi marveled at how suffocation was entirely possible in pure, open air. When Nagato dropped his cane, Soubi jumped at the clatter. The focus in Nagato's gaze grew frightening, but when Soubi started to curl inward, Nagato's hand shot out to squeeze Soubi's wrist. "Indulge me in a moment of patience, little one," Nagato said.
Soubi nodded, and Nagato returned the favor. He removed his hat and dropped it next to the bench without ceremony. Frowning in what was clearly pain, Nagato bent to grip the cuff of one pants leg. He shifted, lifting his leg up and over the bench to straddle it. He slid closer, torso colliding with the length of Soubi's arm, and Soubi gasped when Nagato wrapped both hands around Soubi's neck without pressure.
Soubi clasped Nagato's bicep on instinct, and Nagato rumbled a low sound that was equal parts warning and comfort. "I will always speak of what will hurt before I ask you to endure it. Be still for me."
The impatience in Nagato's tone didn't translate to the careful thumbs outlining the word Soubi had carved into himself, and Soubi concentrated on breathing. When the sweeping exploration continued well past the point that Soubi could pretend to be immune, he caught the edge of Nagato's jacket and hung on. When he tried to drop his chin by a fraction, Nagato stopped him, and Soubi's quiet cry didn't inspire mercy, it sent questing palms over taut tendons, along jaw, into hair, and back again. Soubi moaned, unable to help it.
"You wear the marks with dignity," Nagato said, and Soubi rolled his neck to stare in wonder at the moisture in Nagato's eyes.
"Th-thank you," Soubi managed.
Nagato inclined his head in a brief nod, and a tear slid down his cheek. He ignored it, acted like weeping over Soubi's hurt was the most natural thing in the world for a hardened sadist to do, and his voice never wavered a note off balance. "It is a tribute, this word, 'Unloved' that you cut to honor the dead, yes?"
Soubi swallowed. "More a... reminder, Your Grace."
A feral, untempered fury darkened Nagato's features, and unreasonable lust boiled over from Soubi's balls to spread through groin and up along spine. Nagato cocked his head. "Reminder? Of what he made you believe to be true?"
Another vision in Soubi's mind: himself suspended over a pit of red-hot coals. "Yes," Soubi whispered.
Nagato stared, eyes strafing and unblinking, and at long last, he flashed imperfect teeth in a smile that would give the king of hell pause. "Pity this creature's physical form is beyond my reach. I am left to beg favor of those gone before me who yet serve me to exact my toll, but I will take temporary comfort in the fool's demise."
Soubi's pulse roared in his ears, and he was falling and landing on Nagato's shoulder before he comprehended what was happening. Deceptively strong arms embraced him, a rich voice crooned in a foreign tongue, and Soubi collapsed beneath the final attack on any last semblance of self-control. He drifted outside himself in sheer disbelief, and he allowed Nagato to remove his glasses and tuck them into Nagato's vest pocket. His breath stuttered when Nagato undid the buttons on his jacket, and he hugged Nagato tighter with one arm when Nagato's hand slid along Soubi's flank over his shirt.
"Has anyone else belittled and disgraced you as did the one for whom you took the scars, little one?"
"No," Soubi replied, lazily.
Nagato sighed and massaged Soubi's lower back. "Has there been a third love in your life?"
Soubi muffled his mouth against Nagato's lapels, and scrunched his eyes shut hard enough that red bloomed behind his lids.
"I will have your answer," Nagato said, the directive seeping into Soubi through every pore. Soubi helplessly nodded while guilt cut him to ribbons and Nagato's meandering hand tied them back together. "And I will have this man's name," Nagato prompted.
"Mr. Minami," Soubi muttered, and he knew the title would speak the volumes of details that Soubi could not.
"Who was he to you?" Nagato squeezed Soubi's thigh, and the proximity and the memories of the illicit, incriminating affair that continued to be the relationship by which all others in Soubi's life were compared stirred Soubi's cock further into life.
"My teacher," Soubi said. "He was my teacher."
Nagato's chest rose and fell in a lingering, hitching, single breath. "And were you his most favorite pupil?"
"Yes," Soubi whispered.
Nagato's fingers strayed from leg to hip to waist. "And from your elder lover did you learn pleasure, little one?" Soubi could only nod, and he was rewarded with another shaky sigh and inflammatory caress. "Did he keep you behind when the other little ones went off on their ways?" Yet another nod, and Soubi spread his legs wider, squirming to try and relieve some of the pressure behind his fly. "Mm, he made you his special assistant, but kept what you and he did hidden. Bid you do the same?" Soubi tried to stifle a whimper and didn't quite make it, because God it was as though Nagato had been in that classroom during recess and library time and after hours.
"A game you enjoyed, but--" Nagato broke off, though his petting didn't stop. He tensed, and Soubi reflected the reaction with a flinch. Nagato suddenly chuckled, the hair on the back of Soubi's neck stood on end, and Nagato grabbed Soubi's chin, wrested it to one side, and spoke with lips dragging against the grain of Soubi's stubble: "Face away, sit on your hands, and rest against me."
Getting muscles and limbs to comply was like swimming through molasses, but Soubi did his best. Nagato assisted and wrapped one arm across Soubi's neck. "You there!" Nagato called, and the squeak of a shoe was the first indication Soubi had that someone else was in the room with them. "Come here, little spy, or I'll sic the dogs upon you."
A figure emerged from the far side of a slender indoor tree, and Soubi squinted, vision blurry without his glasses. Nagato's arm tightened, and Soubi's ass rolled painfully over the joints of his fingers. "Closer, interloper, closer," Nagato beckoned.
"I was just passing--"
"I said come here." Nagato's hissing, infuriated bark got the man's feet moving, and when Soubi's nearsightedness allowed for focus, Soubi recognized the guy as the servant who had been pouring drinks in the library. The bartender was a young, slender, brunet with gauged plugs in his ears and hesitation in his gait.
"Better," Nagato mused, unwinding against Soubi. "Enjoying yourself?"
The kid held up hands in protest. "I was trying to find the head, man. Not here to break up the party or any--"
"The nearest restroom is back the way you came and that path does not require you to dally here."
The bartender retreated a step but stopped cold when Nagato covered Soubi's erection through his slacks. Tension twisted through Soubi in an unforgiving coil, and Nagato began to stroke while Soubi panted and the third man gaped. "But I will make use of you, as I can. Tell me, are you familiar with the art of love between two men?"
The bartender licked his lips, and though his upper body turned like it wanted to leave, the rest of him stayed rooted to the spot, fixated on the motion of Nagato's palm urging the steely line beneath it to dampen the inside of Soubi's clothing. "Uh... familiar... with... what?"
"Your avidity is answer enough." Nagato undid Soubi's fly and plunged a hand between the teeth of the zipper. Soubi called out when Nagato fisted his cock through his underwear, cotton and skin moving with friction that rocked a shudder through Soubi's body. He wanted to die of humiliation, but in the ruins of that downward, collapsing spiral, the burn of being trapped and watched unsnapped the fetters on fantasies Soubi didn't even realize he had. Fever sparked, hot and cold, and Soubi dug nails into the stone bench.
"Uhm..." The bartender pointed a finger at the door. "I should... I mean, you look... busy."
Nagato rested his cheek against Soubi's. "Your observations are not without merit. I require the tools to take this man."
Soubi garbled noises of pure shock, absolutely certain he didn't hear that correctly and simultaneously arching into Nagato's touch in the off chance he had. Nagato nosed Soubi's temple. "I will make him my appetizer before we feast on slaughtered lambs and calves. You will bring me what I request."
"But, see, I don't really work, ah, here? I'm just a temp at the catering--"
"I will hear nothing but your consent," Nagato interrupted, voice projecting into the rafters. "And if I cannot have it, interloper, then find a superior who will do as I ask."
"You want me to--"
"Get out." Nagato drawled the second word, and it slung irritation like a dog shaking water from its coat. The bartender spun and bolted from the room, and as the footsteps retreated, Nagato bit the shell of Soubi's ear. Soubi whined, too far gone to care about the level of desperation thrumming from his core.
"My Martyr is occupied by his pirated treasures, but I, unlike him, am not so distracted." Nagato stopped stroking and started rhythmically squeezing Soubi's shaft, almost a rolling massage, and Soubi bit a lip. "I love to make things bleed for me, weep and beg and believe for single moments that existence is only pain without end. For there is nothing sweeter to me, little Soubi, than being both destroyer and savior. I live for eyes that look unto me as a god of a world we have discovered and will plunder for darkness to throw into the maws of our intertwined demons."
Soubi tried to nod, tried to say that he would do that, did do some of it, already, and would die trying to live up to the rest, but the sentiments got tangled around his tongue when Nagato focused efforts on the covered head of Soubi's dick. He grunted in time to the attention, bucking to and fro in Nagato's hold.
"Going to such places is sacred, and I never make the journey with the unworthy. And I never demean those whom I place in such esteem by projecting my transgressions or any slight of cowardice upon them. I am the god to whom you pray, the devil to whom you turn to delight in wickedness, the high priest who shall absolve you, but I am never the mere mortal drudge plagued by doubt who would taunt you astray."
"Your Grace," Soubi said between rattling sucks of air. Sweat poured, Soubi's hair sticking to his neck and feet sliding in his socks, toes curling. The day, the fear, the hope, the race, and now the words and the touches and what Soubi thought might be invitation or explanation were more than overwhelming: they were life altering.
Nagato chuckled. "I am, yes. And unlike your first mentor, I do not keep my claims hidden. I do not abide guilt born from needs. Those I choose for my affections will find comfort in the choices I make in their stead."
"Yes," Soubi answered and agreed and granted. Some spark of sense stopped him from sounding like a true neophyte and saying he would do anything for Nagato. It was true, yes, but it had been true before, and Soubi didn't want to give any indicator that Nagato was similar to any other person Soubi had ever encountered or wanted.
"What a gift you are," Nagato said, and Soubi melted into intractable mush. Footsteps rapped sharply on the tile, and Nagato's lips pressed a faint kiss to Soubi's cheekbone.
"My lords, may I bid you good evening," said a man with a faintly British accent. Soubi roused himself to note a slender, nondescript man in a dark gray tux. He held aloft a silver tray with one gloved hand, and inclined a bow to Nagato and Soubi.
"Merek," Nagato said, seemingly pleased and resuming the slow strokes that scorched thought out of Soubi's mind. "It has been too long."
"I heartily agree, Your Excellency." Soubi vaguely remembered that Merek was Itachi's driver and manservant of sorts. He sounded perpetually amused but respectful.
"I was most happy at the chance for a quick audience with you and your new acquisition. Might I have your permission to approach and make my humble offerings?"
"Yes," Nagato granted.
"My thanks, Your Excellency." Merek drew closer and set down the tray on a nearby round table. Soubi squinted and saw a bowl of water, folded cloths, a bottle of what had to be lube, a small vial, the distinct square packets of condoms, an unmarked bubble pack containing a white pill, and two goblets. "As you missed refreshments earlier, I thought perhaps a bit of wine? You prefer the crisper reds, if my memory serves?"
"It never fails," Nagato confirmed. He uncrossed his arm from Soubi's throat, gesturing, and Merek handed Nagato a glass. Nagato drank, sighed, and Merek took the drink away again. "My vintage."
"We keep it in stock, as always." Merek bristled, eying the tray as though it were a bomb. "My apologies that I could not offer more accoutrements to aid your efforts, though I'm sure My Lord would grant me access to any number of trunks should Your Excellency wish to wait on provisions?"
Nagato began to undo Soubi's shirt, and Soubi stared at his hands, still expecting, in some part, to wake up screaming for the nightmare to continue. "My patience will not tolerate more time than my plans already require, Merek, thank you."
"Understood," Merek bowed again. "Though if I might take it upon myself to offer a suggestion, shall I turn on the pond lights? They're a lovely aquamarine and may prove to be both decorative and functional."
"May it be done," Nagato muttered, withdrawing from Soubi's pants to rub both palms over Soubi's torso. Soubi had never known his skin to be this damned sensitive, and his head rolled forward, hair falling in a stringy curtain.
"I'll see to it. Delightful to see you. Enjoy." Merek pivoted and vanished in an instant. Soubi thought he should say something, comment on Merek's efficiency, on being labeled like property and liking it, or ask for clarity on what Nagato had in mind for no other reason than it'd be intensely arousing to hear it in Nagato's voice, but Nagato gripped Soubi's nipples in a pinch that tried to remove the flesh, kissed Soubi's neck, and Soubi had to override the craven urge to come. Blue and green light roared to life around them, and Soubi cried out in frustration and surprise.
"Tell me, little one," Nagato crooned after protracted torment that left Soubi's throat marked and chest on fire. "Who was the last man to seek nirvana inside you?"
"I-Itachi," Soubi eventually stuttered. He shoved backward into Nagato and felt the swell of Nagato's cock. Sheer want of Nagato buried in his ass or mouth or both engulfed Soubi like a rough woolen blanket, scratched and abraded. And he would have been embarrassed at the raspy syllables of greed that poured out of him were he not convinced they somehow pleased or placated His Grace.
"Mm, it suits me to share you with my Martyr." Nagato peeled away Soubi's clothing and exposed Soubi's dick, framing the base of it with his hands so it stood solidly out from Soubi's body, untouched and throbbing. "A shame that Merek is so sublime in duty." Nagato's husk grew breathy. "I would make my claim on you this night, before we sit at my Martyr's table, and had I nothing to ease the passage, I would bleed you for slick to mix with spit and part the way."
"Oh, Christ yes," Soubi gushed, visions of lacerations and cuts and blades flickering through his mind. He couldn't feel his fingers, couldn't remember which way was up, and he fumbled to turn until he could bury his nose in the juncture of Nagato's jaw and neck. Nagato's pulse was fast, like a bird's, and Soubi licked to taste salt and the faint flavor of amber. Nagato's exhale morphed into a curse so guttural that Soubi couldn't decipher it, and Soubi nodded on a fast repeat, begging by any means he could muster.
"Get up and go to the windows," Nagato growled.
"Yes, Your Grace," Soubi said, only hearing the words a second after he said them. He wondered at that, just as he stood aside and watched himself stumble upright and stagger to the glass. Reality was a whirlwind, and there was no eye to the storm.
"Spread your legs," came the order, and Soubi obeyed. "Palms flat by your head." Soubi slapped the window, lost in the rhythm of directive and compliance. "Cheek on the pane." The surface was shockingly cold, and Soubi's breath fogged like a dragon's belch next to his mouth. If anyone came through the atrium, they would see. If anyone stood nearby, they would hear. Soubi's balls tightened and his cock twitched, the head touching the window and smearing it with pre-come that stretched in a liquid link.
There was a sound like a whisper, leather on cotton, and the muscles in Soubi's legs spasmed in strain. Nagato slammed against him and covered Soubi's hands with his own. "Tell me, my little one, did your first tutor in the arts of the flesh ever punish you?"
Soubi didn't know he was groaning with every breath until he had to stop and answer in a threadbare whisper: "No."
"Oh?" Nagato clucked his tongue. "No strap to your adolescent backside, no bending you over a knee for being bad?"
"Nnnngh..." Soubi swallowed on a dry throat and shook his head.
Nagato hummed and a thrill arced along Soubi's spine and bowed it. "And did you wish to be bad, little one?" Soubi shut his eyes and nodded, skin squeaking against the frosty window. Nagato tugged violently on Soubi's shirt until Soubi's chest rested on the glass. Fingers hooked Soubi's pants and underwear and shoved them until they caught on his spread thighs, just above his knees.
"Then you shall be bad for me," Nagato said, gripping one of Soubi's ass cheeks and slicing nails into the skin.
"Oh God, fuck, I, shit, please--" Soubi babbled and clamped his lips shut.
Nagato didn't appear to mind the response. "And I will blacken you in reward for naughtiness until you cannot feel the pain fall." Soubi whimpered, waves of molten lava bathing his guts.
"And you will call thanks to Mr. Minami in respect to what he started and what I shall finish."
"Oooooooh..." Soubi rutted against the glass, cock going cold and hurting from too many stimuli to name.
A snap of leather, a shift of stance, and Nagato braced one hand against Soubi's neck. "Endure and be sweet in your suffering for me, little one," Nagato warned, and when the first strike landed, Soubi knew it was Nagato's belt that marked him. Soubi jerked, held his breath, and the next hits followed in a succession that whited out Soubi's brain in a blinding flash of agony. He must have tried to escape, because Nagato wrestled him into position. He knew he writhed, but Nagato just compensated by striking different portions of the target created by Soubi's ass and legs. And Soubi understood that he was inarticulately yelling, because Nagato paused to hiss a command that took a moment to sink into the red fog.
"Thank your teacher, Soubi."
Flailing for purchase and not finding it, Soubi struggled. He stopped when his scalp lit up in a wave of new torment, and Nagato wrapped Soubi's hair around a fist that shoved between Soubi's shoulders and hammered him into the window with a single blow.
"Thank you, Mr. Minami," Soubi said, almost inaudible with angles and lack of oxygen. Time stopped, gravity pitched, and--
Soubi was eleven, again, with the smell of chalkboard in his nostrils and the sound of Mr. Minami's heaving grunts in his ears. Soubi faced away from his teacher, blind to what he wished he could watch. He was hard, half-naked, and dying for some kind -- any kind -- of relief. He wanted to sit on Minami's lap and be held. He wanted to suck Minami's cock, like that one time, even if it meant Minami would cry again when it was over.
"Can't fuck you... can't... can't... won't..."
Mr. Minami always chanted like that, sort of like praying. It reminded Soubi of funerals.
"Please?" Soubi begged. Maybe it would work this time. Maybe he'd get to feel it. Deep inside.
Minami's horrified groan became Soubi's as his prize was another set of hits that shoved a screech from his lungs.
"Again," Nagato roared. "Thank your teacher for what he gave but didn't claim."
Soubi tried, Nagato struck, and Soubi's face ground against a wall of ice. "Let me hear you scream it, little one."
Nagato made it easy to follow the order, the belt impacting flesh that was quickly falling numb in sensory overload. Soubi hurt and hated and didn't think he could take it, amazing himself when he did it anyway, and scaring himself when he thirsted for more.
"Did you love him?" Nagato bellowed.
"Yes!"
"Did he give you what you wanted?"
Soubi's foot slipped, he scrambled, and the glass squeaked wetly. Soubi didn't know he was inconsolably crying until a tear darted into his mouth. He hitched a breath. "Nah... Nn...Y-yes?"
Two sharp hits, left then right. "Everything?"
"No!" More blows, more torture, and Soubi wailed when Nagato stopped, in relief or remorse, Soubi had no fucking idea.
"He was a coward." The belt hit marble, Soubi sobbed and chased after sanity's shadow, and when Nagato pushed Soubi's jacket and shirt upward, Soubi moved as directed until he was bare from the waist up. Warmth encircled him, slickness touched his asshole, and Nagato spread lube while sprinkling kisses along the rim of Soubi's ear. "He sacrificed you to weakness." A wide, slippery, protected dick nudged against Soubi. "There is no such fear of man or thing in me, little one."
The press-and-fill of Nagato's cock consumed all else. Nagato went slowly, and it was still too much, too soon, too full, and finally the stretch-frisson faded into too right. He was confined in a narrow room without walls where there was only dull blue-green light, the bite of winter, and the burn of another man moving steadily within Soubi.
"There, little one," Nagato sighed when he was molded around Soubi. "What we need... what we want..."
In, out, advance, withdraw, and Nagato could only do so much before Soubi lost the ability to stay half-bent but vertical. The tumble to the floor was messy, but Nagato soothed the hurts with licks and whispers. When Soubi was prone and pinned between Nagato's weight and marble that whirled in aquarium shimmers, Nagato leaned, twisted, and their mouths met in a kiss that went from tender to exploratory to ravishing in time to the thrusts that Nagato put to Soubi's insides. The angle, depth, and width reduced Soubi to weak groans and chaotic need. Relief seemed an impossible feat, something that would be denied, dispelled, disallowed. He'd grown soft against the window only to grow hard as diamonds against the stone, and the friction was painful in what it gave and in what it didn't.
Nagato didn't break the kiss until they rolled to the side, Nagato behind Soubi. One of Soubi's knees got caught, lifted, and rested over Nagato's, and Nagato pitched into Soubi's body while bracing on Soubi's shoulder. "Time to come for me." The words were muddled, but the intent was clear, and Soubi's head flew back when Nagato's fist found his cock and pumped. Soubi clutched Nagato's arm and hip, striving in reverse to meet Nagato's plunges, and he rasped pitched cries that escalated in a frenetic rush.
"Oh... nnnoooh..." Orgasm screamed, whipped, burst at the base of Soubi's spine. "Oooh... oh shit!" Pleasure shot from his balls and along his cock in white-hot strings that numbed his lips, cockhead, and thighs. Milky threads soaked Soubi's stomach and Nagato's hand, patted in pools on the ground. Buzzing tried to make his eardrums explode, and Nagato continually slam-shoved Soubi into peaks and valleys until Soubi was begging for it to stop.
No sooner was the release done with Soubi than Nagato withdrew, leaving Soubi empty and hating it. Lips crushed to Soubi's a fractured heartbeat later, and Nagato snarled and manhandled them into another roll. Nagato stripped off latex, guided Soubi down as he scrambled upward, and Soubi swallowed Nagato's cock with a grateful moan. Nagato's calls were uninhibited, and he pistoned into Soubi's mouth and throat with abandon. Soubi gagged, recovered, took it, and gasped in sheer surprise when Nagato pulled out. With one palm hitting the floor, body leveraging upward, and hips jerking into his fist, Nagato gritted an ending cry and came on Soubi's lips and face. Soubi lay immobile, eyes closing, and shivered with each splash, tongue swiping to get a taste.
"Mmph..." Nagato grunted, falling over Soubi and ducking down for another kiss and languid lash of tongues. They breathed into and out of one another in the aftermath, and Soubi was sure there was no Earth to which he should return.
After an unknown amount of time, Nagato sat up, cursing in two languages, but he returned a moment later with a cool, damp cloth. He lay down next to Soubi and cleaned away the mess.
"On your stomach, little one," Nagato instructed, and Soubi fought another wave of ridiculous tears at the affection in Nagato's inflection. Soubi did as he was asked, and Nagato took a moment to right tuxedo and vestments before snatching the vial off Merek's tray. Nagato poured the contents over Soubi's ass and legs, and a pleasant, herbal smell rose in the air.
Nagato rubbed the liquid into the skin without adding pressure to the bruising, and he dropped a kiss to the small of Soubi's back. "Clothing, now. You'll be too cold like this."
Nodding sleepily, Soubi helped Nagato get his shirt and jacket back into place. Soubi yanked up his pants, and Nagato took care of the zipper and button mechanics. Soubi winced and made noises of complaint when the sensation began to return to his lower half.
"I know," Nagato murmured, picking up the bubble pack off the silver platter. "Take this." Soubi popped the pill into his mouth without hesitation and gulped it down with a swallow of wine.
"Good." Nagato set aside the glass and drew Soubi into a fierce embrace. He stroked Soubi's hair, kissed and hugged and rocked, and Soubi didn't think it was possible to feel more connected to another human being. It was terrifying. It was comforting.
"My Wanderer," Nagato said, swaying Soubi where they both knelt. "My Gentle Wayfarer, who meandered into my life." Nagato drew back to look at Soubi in the eye. "A name for you, little one, to seal some piece of you as mine forever."
The sentiment was a spell, the title an invocation, and Nagato branded Soubi by magic and not by iron. Soubi tried again and again to speak, and Nagato waited with endless patience. Nothing could hold a candle to how right and good and peaceful Soubi felt, so instead Soubi dared to touch Nagato's hair, trace His Excellency's face, watch Pein Incarnate's eyelashes flutter while Soubi touched every piece of Nagato he could reach: shoulders, arms, chest, waist, hips, buttocks, and everything again in reverse. Nagato allowed it, rested their foreheads together, and stretched to meet Soubi for a kiss, the feel of lip on lip still startlingly fresh.
"Thank you," Soubi finally said, hoarse and crying again but not caring for possibly the first time ever because if the tears streaking Nagato's face didn't bother His Grace and made Soubi's heart try to burst, then Soubi could find no right in being ashamed. "Your Benevolence, thank you."
"My Wanderer, I cannot have you too far from me." Nagato brought Soubi against a chest covered in silk and softness and tucked Soubi beneath Nagato's chin. "Here we stay, until we are called away, but to a clutch as such we will return to tonight, when you journey home with me."
Soubi rested on Nagato's shoulder, eyes closed and smile on his lips. Gone was the panic that started this day, and in the wake of the destruction left by Soubi's newfound Master, there was only simple solace. Being so calm was not insane, being so sure was not dangerous, for the man holding Soubi was Nagato, a force of nature and a mythology unto His Excellency's own. So if this was a dream, then Soubi would strive to slumber forever. And if this was happiness, then he would offer his trust and his prayers to Nagato that it continue for as long as either of them could stand it.
"Yes, Your Grace," Soubi answered. "As you wish."
~*~
...TBC...
NOTES!
1. Nagato and Soubi are attending the Uchiha Gala. While I normally don't say that reading other stories in order to make sense of the one I'm posting is necessary, in this case it might be should you want the full effect.
2. Soubi is a very capable, strong-willed human being. In this story, he's unraveled because of his interaction with Uchiha Itachi and with dear Nagato. You can read all about it in other stories (see reading lists below, if interested).
3. In my world, Soubi is an art history student at Monoshizukanohi University. He's about, oh... 26 or so, as he's putting himself through school. The scar on his throat is self-inflicted, says "Unloved" in my universe, and he did it with a razor after his high school lover, (who was NOT a nice guy), Seimei died. You can read that history in "Ghosts."
Nagato is 45, Russian, was until very recently the owner of the worst BDSM club in Monoshizukanohi, and used to be Itachi's Master. Nagato is a crazy... CRAZY... man who does not play by the safe, sane, and consensual rules of Scene. He is NOT a role model, people. He's delightfully and *happily* insane.
4. There is audio for this story. I read it, I recommend it, I hope you enjoy it.
Download it for free by clicking HERE.
4a. For ALL the audio I have for download, CLICK HERE.
5. For references on Nagato's appearance, Soubi's appearance, and the outfits they're wearing to the Gala, CLICK HERE.
6. Your reading lists:
History of Nagato & Soubi in Chronological Order:
Knight of Swords.
Chapter 2 of R&B.
The Tower.
Ghosts.
The Gala.
History of Itachi
Broken Interlude.
Deprivation & Side Stories.
7. Monoshizukanohi Points of Interest (places, who owns what and why) can be found BY CLICKING HERE.
8. Yes, this series will be continued. I'll probably organize all this into ONE journal entry for ease of use. *laughs*
9. I own Merek, the bartender kid (whose name, by the way, is Asher Collins), the plot, the world, and all other original material. I do NOT own the rights to the Naruto or Loveless or any other fandom characters. I make no money off this. I do it 'cause I love it.
C'mon... you LIKE me complicated.
Much love.
♥Dee