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“If I had a penny for every time I was asked this and my answer was ‘I don’t know’, I’d be rich. I don’t know, Bokuto-san.”
“You know you can just say it, right?” The snake demon leans back, legs crossed, eyebrow raised as he eyes the now slightly sweaty spirit before him. There’s a smile on his lips that’s amiable enough, but definitely not as friendly as it makes it out to be. “What you guys talked about. It’s not like he’s going to know you told me.”
“Beom, this building does belong to him, doesn’t it?”
“So what? No one’s listening.” Beom casts a cursory glance around the room, spotting a few people and flashing them a dangerous smile. For a moment, Bokuto swears he sees fangs, eyes flashing bright, bright. Then the snake demon looks over to meet golden eyes, head tilted to the side, fangs flashing again so the spirit knows he did, in fact, see them. “Not anymore, at least.”
The spirit hesitates briefly, contemplating, wondering what he should say(because he has a feeling Beom is every bit as stubborn as he seems to be and maybe even more). Might as well tell him something he already knows, then, right? It wouldn’t hurt to. “He told me how power distribution works. In Heaven, I mean.”
The snake raises an eyebrow, unconvinced that that was all that was discussed, but leans forward in his seat. “Is that so? Tell me, then.” Because there’s always more to learn about something even if he might have heard it all. Information is funny that way; you think you know everything until you don’t. The snake demon clasps his fingers together, gaze expectant, head tilted to the side as he gestures in a way not unlike him asking for Bokuto to ‘go on.’
So he does. “Uhh… just about how the gods in the Higher Plane aren’t limited to just our gods, and that all of them share power with the people in the Upper and Lower Realms. And stuff like how they gain power through prayers, and some gods have blessings from those Higher Plane dwellers and others don’t.”
“Oh,” Beom responds, blowing a lock of hair away from his face. “Is that it? That’s so disappointing. And the fact that the old fox forgot to tell you something else, too… Well. I can’t blame him. He’s old.”
I can’t tell if he hates him or if it’s something else.
“There’s more?”
“Not really. Think of it like some… I don’t know, fucking flow chart? Pyramid?” Beom rolls his eyes, tapping the table twice with his fingers. “The people at the top of the Higher Plane—seven of them, if memory serves—are at the very top. Everyone else on the High Plane serves them, so there’s that. They don’t have to share power with each other, obviously, and they were the first mortals to walk the land. At least, that’s how the story goes.” His hand slides down on the table a few centimetres, then stops. “Then the deities below the Big Seven are next. And then—” fingers slide down the table again “—you have the Upper and Lower Realm deities, who serve those of the Higher Plane. High Deities share their power with the Realm dwellers, but there’s more to it than that.” Beom raps the table with his knuckles.
“Take Iwaizumi for example. He’s a high ranking Upper Realm dweller, and his subordinates—a majority of them, because the fuckers in the Upper Realm are usually the dwellers or former princes and shit—are in the Lower Realm, which is basically the place for people who accompany you into ascension. If they work hard enough, they can make it up to the Upper Realm, but that’s not important. Upper Realm leaders share their power with their subordinates, so…” Beom pauses. “Basically, Upper Realm people share power with their subordinates in the Lower Realm. It doesn’t affect them, especially if they’re powerful, and since everyone’s always gaining more power, it doesn’t affect their power levels.”
“Does Akaashi have—”
“No.” Beom raises an eyebrow. “Which can be a good thing, too. All his power is his own and he doesn’t have to share it. And, like all deities, he’s always getting stronger.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Beom scowls. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Well. Yeah.” There’s a pause, here. Then the spirit speaks again. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
The demon raises an eyebrow. “Depends. You can ask, but I might not answer.” The demon taps his fingers on the table, reminding Bokuto of Junya for but a split second when he hears the tapping. “You should be thanking me for not asking for payment.”
Bokuto doesn’t even bother. “Why do people react the way they do when they see me with Akaashi? Or Akaashi with me. Same difference.”
Beom laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, this. This question is fucking loaded, my guy. And I’m all for breaking Heavenly Declarations, but this isn’t one of the ones I want to. Tempting, though. Really tempting.” He waves his hand dismissively. “But I want my body parts intact, so I’ll have to pass on this one. I can’t tell you.”
Fair enough. Bokuto isn’t surprised; he’d only thought he might as well give it a try. It’s nothing out of his expectations, anyway, but he still can’t help feeling somewhat disappointed that not even Beom could give him an answer. Not even a vague one. So he asks something else instead. “Fine. Then who was I?”
The snake demon pauses. Then a smile breaks out—one that makes it look like they’re sharing a secret as he leans forward—and says, “Wow. You catch on fast, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You can’t stop me.”
And he’s got nothing to say to that, because he’s right. Unfortunately.
“So I was alive before, then. In the past? Is that how everyone knows me?”
Beom’s expression changes a little here. Unsure, then pissed because he’s unsure. He huffs, leaning back in his seat. “I guess. I wasn’t alive when you were—I’m a few centuries late—but I’ve definitely heard things. You were a general. A very esteemed, famous general who was, apparently, terrifying on the battlefield.” A twist of his nose; Beom’s fingers tap against the table, not unlike a certain kitsune’s gesture. “How times change.”
Bokuto isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean, but he’s fairly certain that was an insult. “Are you saying I’m weak now or something?”
“Of course you are. You’re not the same Bokuto Koutarou who decimated enemies and wreaked havoc on the battlefield. You’re the reincarnated version of him who decimated and hoarded points on the volleyball court.” Beom raises an eyebrow. “There’s still a parallel going on here. You’re weak in your original purpose, but every bit as strong as you are in your new one as you were in the past. That’s how it works, sweetheart. Some people are just destined to be stars.” And then he scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Destiny isn’t worth fucking shit.”
Tell me something feels illegal, Bokuto thinks. Without telling me it feels illegal. That feels like something he shouldn’t be saying. “Are you sure you should be saying things like that without giving a shit?”
“Probably not. But I stopped giving a shit a long time ago.” Beom winks, then leans back, arms and legs crossed. “I can’t say I know everything about past you, but I can note that a lot of the things you made are still being used today without much modification.”
Bokuto blinks. “Uh… What? The things I made?”
“Maybe the IQ dwindled away after your reincarnating.” Beom raises an eyebrow. Bokuto resists the urge to punch him in his pretty fucking face. “Easy, big guy. Punching me isn’t going to do either of us any good, and all doing that’s going to do is give you a smaller chance of wheedling the info out of my pretty mouth.” A smile.
“I dunno,” Bokuto ventures. “It feels like punching you would be a lot more satisfying.”
“Aw. You say it like you’d risk the punch all for a pinch of satisfaction.” Beom leans forward, baring his cheek. “Do it. I dare you.”
“... Fuck you.”
“Pussy.”
“Bitch.”
“Weak.”
“Asshole.”
Beom grins. “What else is new?”
Bokuto doesn’t realise he’s smiling either. He huffs, leaning back in his seat. “Are you going to tell me or what? Just going to leave me hanging?”
“Oh, so you do want to know.” Beom laughs, rapping his knuckles on the table. “Relax, I’m not going to keep poking the bear. Do you remember the powder you used to fight the ghouls back in Miyagi? The huge array you used to go back and forth between there and here?” He pokes Bokuto in the chest. “Those were all your inventions during times of war. You took part in helping their making, but the idea was all yours. Or, well. You started the discussion, which escalated into an actual project. Lo and behold, all your inventions are still in high demand, good condition, and frequent use.” The snake demon barks out a laugh. “Close your mouth before I stick my fingers in.”
He does. “Was I… Was I really that good?”
“From what I heard? Yeah. You were practically a living, breathing legend. Everyone was so sure you’d ascend before you even achieved immortality.” Beom tilts his head to the side. “I heard that some of them even thought to build you a temple. In which case you would have ascended into the Higher Plane. A lot of the people from Past You’s era went up to the Higher Plane.”
“You get to the Higher Plane by having temples built in your name?”
“Yes.” The snake demon scrutinises the spirit, an eyebrow raised. “Which begs the question: why didn’t you ascend?”
Go back. Turn back. Take it back. “I wish I knew.”
“Hm. Well, that’s fine, I guess. You’re already remembering things from the past.” He tilts his head to the side, not unlike a scientist examining a very, very interesting test subject. “You’ll know eventually.”
“Then what about Akaashi?” The question falls from his lips before he can stop it, surprising them both, though Bokuto more so than Beom. Nonetheless, he doesn’t take it back. “What was he like?”
“... He was an assassin. You probably already know that.” There’s a hesitance in the snake demon’s voice that’s awfully uncharacteristic, but the spirit doesn’t say it. “A very renowned one. He was trained to kill when he was a child. And he was picked up from your country and raised in the enemy one. Then he betrayed them and ran back to the country he was born in, which is yours. So… He was pretty loyal.” A scowl. “All he did was make it harder for himself. By the time he offered his services to your emperor, he was already too well-known. He was an outcast to his people and those that raised him.” And then he hesitantly meets Bokuto’s gaze. “Apart from you. I heard you treated him kindly.”
“But he doesn’t remember me.”
“He doesn’t.” Beom’s expression hardens here, like he’s clamming up. “And I’ve already said too much. Just because I can talk shit about the Heavens doesn’t mean I don’t know the rules. I want my limbs intact, thanks.”
“Why?” He snaps, frustrated. “Why can’t you talk about Akaashi and I’s relationship in the past?” Why can’t anyone?
The snake demon remains unmoved. “We’re all forced to take upon an oath. I’m not breaking mine.”
“Oh, so you’re scared.”
“I never claimed to be brave and noble like you.” Beom grins; an acrid baring of teeth. “If I was, I’d already be fucking dead.”
“What’s going on here?”
Both immortals snap their heads in the direction of the voice. Akaashi Keiji is walking towards them at an uncharacteristically rushed, urgent pace; it’s as though he wants to run but can’t bring himself to. He’s flushed, panting a little, even. And flinching, occasionally, placing his thumb and index finger to rub against a spot on his forehead. “I think I heard my name.”
Bokuto opens his mouth to refute, to brush it off, but Beom beats him to it. “You heard right.” Arms crossed, he leans back in his seat, mismatched eyes casting a cursory scan over the other’s form. “What did he do to you? You look like your mind was just tossed into a blender or something. You look fucking out of it, man.”
And he’s right. An old anger boils in his chest again and Bokuto rises, offering Akaashi his seat despite his numerous rejections. “Sit down,” he finally says. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi refutes, though he doesn’t fight back when the other pushes him into his seat. “I’m just a little… tired.”
“Yeah, so sit.” And with a final push of his hands on the other’s shoulders, Akaashi’s ass is promptly pushed onto the seat. He sits down with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re making a big thing out of a small thing.”
Beom raises an eyebrow. “Well, to be fair, you look like you’re about to pass out any second.” He splays his hands on the table, leaning forward to scrutinise the deity’s condition with narrowed eyes. “What the fuck happened? He didn’t fuck you, from the looks of it. He’d never do that to you.”
“I don’t know what he did,” Akaashi snaps through gritted teeth, flinching like he’s in pain again. “He just said he could have done it sooner.”
Beom’s expression falters, bewildered. Then it shifts to one of thoughtful contemplation, eyes fixed on Akaashi. And then realisation, though it’s more like he’s entertaining a possibility than arriving at a conclusion. “Did he touch you anywhere?”
“Forehead. Tapped here. Why?”
The snake demon’s gaze snaps to Bokuto’s immediately and then back. “Oh, that sneaky bastard.” But he’s smiling. “Clever son of a bitch.”
“Am I supposed to understand what’s going on here? Because I don’t,” Bokuto huffs, miffed. Beom laughs, pulling a chair from someone else’s table just as the person’s about to sit down. They fall flat on their butt, but when they turn around and meet the snake demon’s provocative gaze, they flinch and look elsewhere. It’s nothing that important, but it’s something the spirit notes. Beom hands him the chair. Bokuto sits on it.
“Seeing as Junya didn’t bother to tell Akaashi what he did,” the snake demon ventures. “I won’t either.” And there’s a finality to it, as though he won’t be swayed no matter how many times he’s asked. Bokuto can’t decide if that’s of his own volition or if it’s some unspoken trust he has in the kitsune that the spirit can’t even begin to fathom.
“He told me to look for you if I had any questions,” Akaashi finally says, voice slightly strained though he doesn’t seem to be in that much pain anymore, save for a few grimaces here and there. “That you’d always be able to find him.”
Is it the trick of the light, or is Beom actually—
He looks away, barking out a bitter laugh. “Of course he did.”
“One more thing.” The deity rises from his seat; he’s a little wobbly, so Bokuto automatically extends a hand. He half expects it to be waved away, but, to his surprise, Akaashi takes it. And leans against him for extra measure, shooting an arrow right into his heart. He tries not to blush. “He wants to see you.”
The snake demon pauses, standing still. “Too fucking bad. I don’t want to see him.”
“He said he’d tell you what we talked about,” Akaashi continues. Then he tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Why are you so reluctant anyway? You don’t seem scared of him. What’s going on with—”
“Nothing,” Beom interrupts, scowling. “Nothing is going on.” And maybe he’s imagining it, but Bokuto swears there’s an acrid bitterness to his tone that suggests there’s a lot going on that he simply isn’t voicing. “Fucking bastard.”
“You’re not being very convincing,” Bokuto finds himself musing, head tilted to the side as he shifts slightly behind Akaashi so the latter can lean on him better. Tentatively placing a hand on his waist, the actions slow. Akaashi shoots him a slightly panicked look, tenses. The spirit pauses his movements, giving him a way out if the deity decides he wants to push the former off of him. But he doesn’t. Not even when his hands settle on his waist to hold him upright. Not even when Bokuto gives him a look asking if it’s okay. Instead, he just leans on him a little more.
Okay, me, he thinks. Whatever you do, don’t fucking explode.
Beom catches it, of course he does. Observant little snake that he is. It only serves to deepen his scowl as he glances away in disgust. “Fuck off.”
“Beom,” Akaashi starts. “I don’t think he’ll let you leave with us even if you tried.”
“Oh, gee,” comes the sarcastic retort, accompanied with rolled eyes. “You think I don’t know that?” He exhales through his nose, eyes dark as he steps away from the table. “Deities, whatever. You guys head on back.” Mismatched eyes focus on the busy lifts filled with people shuffling in and out. With a sigh and a hand running through his hair, Beom shakes his head. “You guys are planning to check out the temple later, right? At like midnight?”
“If my condition allows,” Akaashi ventures. “Though I suppose I’d go either way to stay on schedule. It’s what I planned.”
“Fine. Then don’t wait for me.” He’s already walking to the lift. “I’ll be back late.” The lift closes behind him. And then he’s gone.
“Let’s go back,” Akaashi says tiredly. “I think… I think I need to lie down for a bit…” His hand clutches his forehead. “I’m having a headache.”
“What the hell did he do to you?”
A laugh. “If I had a penny for every time I was asked this and my answer was ‘I don’t know’, I’d be rich. I don’t know, Bokuto-san.” He’s still leaning against him even as they’re shuffling out. “And I’ve long lost the will to fear or care.”
And then his eyes close and he’s out like a light.
Oh fuck. I hope I remember the way back.
And yes. He princess-carries him all the way home.
—————
The silence is almost unnerving; everyone in the lift is completely still. It’s the only indication that not everyone in this place is a mortal, much less human. Beom’s fairly certain there’s a good amount of both in here, but for this lift, not one of them are ‘regular people’. And him, most of all; he wonders what the staff see in him. Wonders if they look at him the way they might a feared informant and assassin, or if they look at him like he’s the manwhore of their boss. Their boss, who rules over them with no mercy and demands both respect and fear from his underlings; a good combination. Junya is, after all, someone who values loyalty and the truth above all else.
Sakurai Kohaku knows nothing and everything about the man he’s going down to meet for the second time that day.
He knows the the smoothness of his skin, the softness of his hair. Knows the tattoo of a nine-tailed fox scrawled across the expanse of his muscular back like the back of his hand, the timbre of his smooth, honeyed, deep voice. The feel of hot skin against skin and how well he fills him up. He knows all of this. Even the shifts in Junya’s expression when he’s angry, though minute. His favourite food, colour, pastime. His self-proclaimed birthday(he’s too old to care for such things, he’s said).
And he knows nothing at all.
Junya is the first person Beom can’t ever get a read on. Junya is the first person to make him feel more like Sakurai Kohaku than Beom.
And he hates it. He hates him.
There’s no one else in the lift when it goes down, down, down. Into the lair of the beast, the dragon’s open maw. Beom shifts his weight. There’s a soft ding, and then the doors slide open. Once more, the snake is hit with the familiar scent of smoke and Junya. Too late he realises that there was no elevator music. Too late he realises this was a mistake. Too late he realises Junya already knows how to read him like an open book. Here, he is not Beom. He is no assassin, no informant. No dangerous being. Here he is Sakurai Kohaku, a boy forced to adapt.
He steps in. The lift slides shut. He knew this was a trap and he took Junya’s bait; his fall will ultimately be his thirst for information that which he should not possess. But perhaps… perhaps he was willing to step into the trap because he already knew the only thing that would be in danger was his heart.
Whatever that fucking meant.
“You kept me waiting.” His voice is a dangerous, deep purr. Gone is the suit, replaced by naught but a kimono that reveals a toned chest. The kitsune isn’t smoking anymore, but he’s leaning against his desk, head tilted to the side, snow-coloured hair falling before his shoulders, his eyes. There’s a smirk on his lips; it tells Beom—no, Kohaku—that he knew this would happen. Well, he did, too. He bristles beneath his gaze, brows furrowed, fists clenched.
“Serves you right.” Good. His voice comes out as steely as he intends for it to. “You are the one that asked for me.”
A languid, slow chuckle. Junya pushes himself off the desk. Kohaku can see his fox ears, his tails lashing behind him. It’s a wonder how they don’t take up the entire room. “You’re right.” And then a single finger hooks beneath his chin, tilting his head up to meet golden eyes aglow with power and mischief and something else the snake demon doesn’t want to linger too long on. “And yet you came anyway.”
“Don’t get any ideas, old man.” He pushes him away as though he’s been burned. He feels like he has. “I’m just here to get the information I want.”
Junya only hums, wrapping his arm around the other’s waist and pulling him close. Sakurai Kohaku’s pressed against the kitsune’s form and he gets a noseful of his scent. Of cinnabar and smoke and something else like cinnamon? It takes all of him not to let his fucking guard down. The kitsune leans down, head tilted to the side and eyes curved into crescents as he brings his face close. “What if I told you…” His hands trail up the curve of his spine. Kohaku’s breath hitches, his body betraying his will as it moulds into the form of the fox holding him. “... That you’ll have a price to pay this time?”
That snaps him out quick. “I always have a price to pay.”
“A different one,” Junya amends. “Information in exchange for information.”
He scoffs. “What’s the point?” He pushes Junya away. “You already know everything I do. There’s no benefit for you.”
The fox tilts his head to the side. “You’d be surprised, Kohaku,” he starts. A lithe finger tucks a lock of the snake demon’s hair behind his ear. “There are things you know that I don’t. It’s not much, I promise you.”
“How much worth is your word?” Beom scoffs.
A laugh. “I do not take promises lightly. They are worth more than enough.”
He crosses his arms, looking away. Once again stepping away from the fox’s touch, though not entirely out of his reach. “Fine. You ask first.”
“Jingyin.” Junya tilts his head to the side, then grabs hold of Kohaku’s hand to bring him to his room behind the screen, closing the curtains. A low table sits in the middle and he sits down on the floor, promptly pulling Kohaku down to follow suit. “How is he doing?”
He hesitates. “So far he seems stable. He knows about Bokuto and Akaashi, and it’s setting him on edge. Says something’s bound to happen now that they’ve met.”
“Like a repeat.” Junya nods. “Yes, I thought so, too. Has he learned to control his… powers? ”
“You don’t actually think he’ll be able to overthrow—”
Kohaku pauses when he meets the fox’s gaze. “No way.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s impossible, nor is it improbable.” Junya taps his fingers on the table. “But it boils down to whether or not he’s up to the task.”
“There’s no fucking way he—”
“You underestimate his power.” His golden gaze is piercing, sharp. “He is no fledgling, nor is he like you or any other deity. He is not like me, either.” He blows out a breath. “He will not be your enemy, but you must train him well. I suspect that Miyagi was only the prelude to a well-written orchestra, and your lot will be responsible for ruining it.”
“What, not picking sides again?” A scoff. “Scared you’ll pick the wrong one?” He’s being unfair. He knows it. And yet, he doesn’t stop the words from escaping his lips.
Junya scrutinises him. “I cannot meddle in this business. We both know that.”
“Yeah,” comes the bitter response. “And the only person who knows why is you. ”
“Kohaku.”
“Fuck off. It’s my turn.”
“No. Not yet.” The fox shakes his head. “Are you guys going to check the temple tonight?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“You’re very bad at denying when the answer is yes.”
“I’m not.” It’s just harder to fucking lie to someone who knows anyway.
Kohaku has half a mind to leave, but he’s not about to walk out like some loser when he hasn’t even gotten what he came here for. “Now it’s my turn. Tell me what went down while I wasn’t here.” So he puts some distance between himself and the cursed fox, scooting away like a coward who doesn’t want to be burned by nonexistent flames(as if Junya’s touch doesn’t always leave a trail of fire in its wake). “What did you tell Bokuto and Akaashi? What did you do to Akaashi?”
The fox demon raises an eyebrow, settling his elbows on the low table and tilting his head to the side, chin on hand as he eyes the snake. “I told Bokuto of Heaven’s hierarchy and what I could of the temple.” The hand that lies flat on the table begins to tap its fingers, long nails clicking against the smooth, dark wood. Click-click-click-click. “That they should look closer at the workers and behind the painting hung up for the deity it claims to venerate. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” A simper, eyes curving into crescents. Kohaku desperately wants to slap it off his face. “And I hear you’ve gone investigating yourself. Surely you know what I mean now.”
“Fuck off,” he hisses, scowling, hands clenching. For a brief moment, his pupils are naught but slits, his expression ferocious. And then he’s back to normal. “It’s just easier to verify when I ask the person who knows literally everything. Now answer my second question so I can fucking leave.”
Junya laughs; a slow, soft sound that’s barely above a whisper. “Concerned about your friend?”
“It’s not like I have many to begin with,” he snaps back. “The people I’m sleeping with hardly count as friends.”
“Including me?”
I don’t even know what to feel about you. “Just answer my fucking question, old man. It’s not that hard.”
“Pity,” the fox sighs, lamenting. “I can’t tell you much either. All I did was undo a few effects.” A hum, Junya’s gaze seemingly lost in thought. “All I’m doing is repaying a favour. And, maybe, it’s just another way for me to get back at the Heavens.” A wink Beom’s way. “They’re not something to worry about—not for me—but they’ve been rather annoying ever since Bokuto died.”
A chill settles on the back of his neck. “They know he’s dead?”
“Of course they do. They always know.” The snow-blond man raises his eyebrows. “They’re not nearly as inefficient as they seem to be, darling. I thought you were past underestimation.”
“Or,” he quips back, voice acrid. “I just don’t want to think they’re good at anything.”
“A foolish act,” comes the response. “Though I’m sure you already know that.”
“Why haven’t they done anything?”
“Well…” He moves, arms placed on the floor slightly behind him, leaning his weight on his hands just so. He’s got that faraway gaze again, his lips pursed. “I suppose it’s because nothing’s happened yet. And I know General Iwaizumi knows of their meeting. It’s possible he’s trying to keep it under wraps. But information cannot be stalled.” His golden gaze is sharp and almost glows in the dim light. “It’s only a matter of time before word spreads.”
Silence. Their gazes are locked on each other’s, but their minds are far away. One, thinking of the things he wants to do, and the other, worrying for what little company he has. There’s something in the air that’s palpable yet untouchable; some might even be burned for reaching out to touch it. Junya cuts the silence, his smooth, honeyed deep voice like the slow waves of the sea rolling onto shore. “What are you going to do with the information? Will you accompany Bokuto and Akaashi to take a look at the temple again tonight?”
“Why do you care?” Kohaku already gets ready to leave, rising from his position on the floor. “It’s not like you’re going to help.” He scoffs, rolls his mismatched eyes, making his way to part the curtains.
Junya doesn’t budge. Dammit, give me more of a reaction, won’t you? “You’re angry with me.”
“Oh, gee, I wonder where you got that idea.” The curtains part in one brusque motion, the sound of its hangers hitting the edge of their bars all the more audible in the suffocatingly quiet room. “I’m taking my leave.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
And then he’s in front of him, towering over him, cornering him back into the room as the curtains silently, gently slide shut behind them even though the fox doesn’t even lift a finger to move them. Junya’s expression is thoughtful. “It was just a suggestion, love. A threesome would have been—”
“No. No it wouldn’t. Not with you.” The old anger rises in him again; the type that Kohaku sorely wishes he could stamp out the same way a child does with an accidental fire. “Fuck off.”
But instead, Junya laughs. A slow, deep, languid chuckle that shows his stupidly, perfectly aligned teeth and sharp canines, like he got exactly what he wanted. And then he leans ever closer. Kohaku’s against the wall now, back pressed to it as the kitsune’s hand finds its place above him. “Why not? It’s not like you’ve never had them.”
He doesn’t refute; he’s right. “If you want a threesome, go find the fucking girl you played with to get information, then.” Damn it, damn it, damn it. It wasn’t supposed to turn out so bitter. So acrid, so hateful, so damned—
“Oh,” Junya breathes, eyes alight. Eyes hooded as he leans down so they’re eye to eye, his other hand now on the wall, caging Kohaku in. “So you were je—”
And he explodes. Makes to push away the arms caging him in. “No, no, fuck you, fuck you, I’m leaving, I’m fucking leaving.” But, fuck, Junya’s too strong. Stronger than him, obviously. Just how strong is he? Kohaku doesn’t know anything about him. He’s still trying to decide if that’s good or bad and whether he wants to learn more or unlearn fucking everything. “Let me go.”
“But Kohaku,” Junya purrs, arms falling to wrap around his waist. Against his own will, the snake demon relaxes into it, a well-groomed reaction. “The fun’s just starting.”
You’re falling for it again, the snake thinks, frantic. Stop looking at him, stop thinking about him, just ignore that he’s touching you, deities, just stop.
He breaks free, somehow, storming out of the room. But he doesn’t even make it to the elevator before Junya’s in front of him again, lips at his neck. “I’ll make it up to you.”
You can’t. You don’t know what I feel. You don’t fucking know anything, you all-knowing bastard.
But he does. He knows Junya knows what he’s feeling.
Kohaku can’t even tell if the kitsune is lying or telling the truth. “No.” But his voice is soft, soft.
“Kohaku,” Junya meets his gaze, tucks a lock of brown hair behind his ear. “I’d never lie to you.”
“How do I know that’s not a lie?”
Junya leans forward, flicking his hair from his now painfully clear, sharp, golden eyes. “I’m not.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. I—” I hate you I hate you I hate you I—
“How vulgar,” Junya responds, though there’s no acid to his words. His lips latch onto the snake demon’s neck, kissing a trail, pushing him back, back until his butt hits the desk and the fox is leaning over him, hands trailing up his shirt. They’ve done this so many times. Too many times. Kohaku reaches for the papers stacked on the desk, but his wrist is caught. Junya kisses it, eyes dark, dark. “Not this time, love.”
“Bitch. Old man. Pervert.” I’m not going to cry in front of this bitch.
“You’re more creative than that.” Why is he talking like that? Why is his voice so soft? Why is his touch so gentle? Why is he kissing him like this, so slowly, so deeply?
“Fuck you.”
A dark chuckle. “No, darling.” And then he tugs him close. Kohaku gasps; he’s seated on the desk and Junya’s between his legs and they’re flush against each other.
“I will be the one fucking you.”
——————
“What did you guys find out?” Hwanjae sinks into the couch, hands clasped, back straight, elegant as ever. Akaashi’s faring better now. Shun takes his seat next to his cousin. “You were gone for quite awhile.”
Akaashi wrings his fingers, brows furrowed. “We think the new temple wasn’t built for the goddess; it was built to worship their leader.”
Silence. Shun breaks it, voice harsh. “You mean the person behind all these ghoul attacks built a temple for himself, and disguised it as Ebisu-sama’s so he could be worshipped? Or she. Or they. That’s not important.”
“I still don’t get it.” Bokuto tilts his head to the side, bringing a hand to his chin. “Like, aren’t we—uh, the mortals—still praying to Ebisu-sama in the end? How does the power go to the person behind all of… this?” He spreads his hands as a way to emphasise his point.
“Temples are places of power. They’re where people gather to pray.” Hwanjae’s brows are delicately creased in concern, lips pulled down into a frown. “It’s genius, actually. Ebisu-sama hears the prayers, but even She doesn’t keep track of her temples. In the end part of their beliefs are given to the statues or paintings they’re looking at because it’s their medium, in a way. Their mind’s focus? They’re praying to the paintings and statues as much as they’re praying to her. Offerings, too.”
“... Oh.” His voice comes out a lot smaller than he intends it to.
“I called a few people to help us out,” Shun says, cutting through the silence. “Two, actually. Not the twins in Kyoto, but they’re siblings. Susuiros.”
Hwanjae drops the spoon he’s holding, then fumbles for it, ears reddening. “Sorry, sorry. Just… oh gods.”
Shun gives him a knowing smile. “Beom’s going to flip when he finds out. In a good way.”
“Shun!” Soft, golden eyes look as though they’ve been bullied. “You can’t just drop that on me! When are they arriving?”
“Few days.” Shun laughs. “Relax, won’t you? You’ll be fine.”
“Can someone tell me who the Susuiros are?” Bokuto raises a hand like a child asking his teacher a question he isn’t sure he should be asking.
“Siblings. They’re a few centuries younger than me.” Akaashi speaks up. “The older one—Danro—was an esteemed general before he ascended. And his little brother Kai was his deputy. They took part in the civil wars that broke out after the divine one.” And then his gaze shifts to Hwanjae. “I wasn’t aware of the fact that you two were acquainted, though.”
“Oh, they’re acquainted alright,” Shun reponds, snorting. Hwanjae smacks his arm, blushing a bright, bright red. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.”
“Wait, why was there a civil war?”
Akaashi waves a hand. “The result of the divine war was a major discourse between the mortals and the demons. Back then, the demons didn’t have to be as discreet about their existence; some even fell in love with humans and vice versa. That escalated into them wanting to eliminate all of us—ah, demons, I mean—and the people who fell in love with them or thought them as human as they defended them. And then it sort of spread, distorted, and it became more than a civil war.” Akaashi sighs. “People borrowed resources from other people and other countries started butting in and it stopped being just a civil war.”
“Well, that’s what we remember,” Shun supplies, shrugging. “But we can’t say for sure that that’s the entire story. It was a long time ago. History never stays the same the longer time stretches. We immortals lost the ability to keep track of time a long, long time ago.”
Which, fair enough. Bokuto can’t even remember what he had for breakfast. Did he even eat? Oh, deities.
“So you called reinforcements… and those two were generals in that war?”
“One of them was a general. His little brother was his lieutenant.” Shun nods his head. “You’ll meet them soon enough, Bokuto-san.”
“Anyway, we’re going to investigate the temple later tonight,” Akaashi cuts in, pulling at his fingers. “We need a plan. How we’re going in, how we’re getting out, and what to do if things go wrong.”
“But Beom ain’t here,” Bokuto whines. “We need him in on it, don’t we? He’s coming with us, right?”
“Did he say that?”
“Well, I sort of want him to be with us, considering he’s already been in there like. Once. Which is one time more than we have. And where is he, anyway? It’s been like, two hours since we left that building!”
Hwanjae purses his lips. “You guys left him there with Junya? ”
“He’s not going to be back until three a.m., I bet,” Shun laughs. “They always take forever.”
“To what?”
Akaashi purses his lips. “Bokuto-san, maybe it’s best you don’t know.”
“Oi.” The door opens and closes in a flurry. Beom makes his grand entrance, dressed in clothes he clearly hadn’t been wearing earlier and looking like he just showered, brows furrowed and a scowl painting his features. “Why are you going off and talking about me behind my back?”
“You’re back early,” Shun muses, eyebrows raised.
“My ass I am. It’s been hours, right?”
“What were you doing?” Bokuto blurts, unable to keep a cap over his curiosity. There’s a beat of silence, then the snake demon rolls his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter. Update me on what I missed.”
So they do. They tell him of the reinforcements, which causes the man to snort with a pointed look Hwanjae’s way(the latter adamantly refuses to look his cousin in the eye). And then they get to discussing details of their plan and how they’re going to get in and get out unnoticed. Doubtless the temple would be crawling with demons at night to guard and prevent any deities from interfering.
“Oh, right. You guys are gods.” Beom laughs. “Sucks to be you, then. No, they’d be able to sniff you out if you got too close. There aren’t any guards in the temple; worshipping a demon or not, there’re still paintings and statues made for Ebisu-sama, and none of them like that. At most, they’d be at the entrance, but you know how demons are. Lazy fuckers, most of them. Infiltrating should be easy, so leave that to me. Just follow.”
“Will there be a guarantee that you won’t get caught?” Hwanjae chimes in, leaning back against the couch. Beom hangs a coat that clearly isn’t his on the coat rack next to the door before plopping on the couch next to Bokuto, legs crossed.
“No. That’s why I’m not making any promises.” Beom leans his back against the couch, eyes closed. “Fuck, that old man’s a monster, jesus.”
“Did he hurt you?” Bokuto can’t get it, not really. He doesn’t see any visible wounds on the snake demon, after all.
The brunette snorts. “Oh, I wonder.”
“Are you just incapable of giving a straight answer?”
“Maybe?”
“Anyway,” Shun cuts in before they can start bickering again. “What’re you going to do on the off-chance that you are caught?”
“What else?” Beom grins, head tilted to the side, eyes flashing.
“Bloodshed.”