leggymaru | GENJI BANZAI

[weeks ago, he'd almost found himself apologizing to his brother for cutting him down. perhaps it's a bit surreal now to face the request of holding his blade against him in this new form, despite cutting down his original one. still, higekiri will follow the movement, melting over hizamaru to follow after his mouth to give him one more kiss, reassuring and certain]

... well, you could always tell me no if it gets to be too much.

[and he seems to mean that sincerely, even if he knows that it's unlikely for hiza to deny him anything. he makes a note to pay extra attention to his body language this time, just to be sure.

his mouth wanders then, pressing open kisses along his jaw, then down to his neck - following the lines of where he'd apparently been tied up before his lips find the base of his neck -

and then he bites, possessive, at the same time that his hand finds his blade, thumb pressing against the guard to unsheathe it with a clink]

[The gasp isn’t so much of a gasp as a sigh, pleased and relieved. He threads his fingers up through the back of Higekiri’s hair without making a mess, scratching gently with his nails at the scalp to encourage the trail of the mouth. It’s tender and good, and makes him warm with fondness.

And then the bite fills him with a different kind of warmth, something hot and feisty. He moans more readily than normal, already made pliant from earlier. The sound of the sheathe should feel him with dread.

And maybe it does a little. A sickening drop in his stomach that just feels more like the drop right before release.

His fingers loosen so Higekiri can pull away if wanted, and his own hands drop down by the sides of his head. The look is dark and golden, and strangely unafraid this time.]

[he doesn't pull away immediately, instead ensuring that the mark he leaves on hizamaru now is the darkest of all his bites. others are free to pull away his brother's attention for a time, take him as they need, but higekiri rather thinks that it's his privilege and right to possess him more deeply than anyone else.

not that he'll actually get to saying that out loud.

the noise that he pulls from hizamaru's mouth manages to make something coil in the pit of hige's stomach, and he pulls away once hizamaru's grip tightens. he shifts then, drawing his blade entirely - a familiar weight in his hand - before he lets the tip of it fall underneath hizamaru's chin and then angles it up and up, slowly but certainly. hizamaru will have to lift his head along with it if he does not wish for the blade to draw blood.

hige's smile is gentle - though sharp at the edges as he asks a question to which there is only one right answer]

Remind me -

At whose side do you belong?

[The prick of cold steel under the top of his throat has no problem getting his head to lull back—not enough to not feel the blade’s gentle bite, but enough to keep him alive. Both hands fist into the sheets, and he arches his lower back, stretching full beneath Higekiri.

When he looks down over his cheeks beneath his lashes, there isn’t anything but Higekiri reflected within his eyes.]

Yours, elder brother. Always. Forever.

[This time, there’s no stunned terror and no hurt from betrayal. Just the churning, wanting heat in his groin that somehow matches the craving, hungry heat in the middle of his chest. It’s impossibly good. Like a spar, like a battle, the start of it.

He has a scar on his foot and an inscription behind his ear—loyalty. But neither of these things is what he desires.] Elder brother... please make me yours. [It’s begging. He’s begging.]

So I never forget.

[the words manage to pull a smile from higekiri, more sincere as he praises freely:]

Ah, I think that's a rather perfect answer.

[is it any wonder that they turned out like this when hizamaru shows higekiri in affection, and higekiri expects it to be given at every single turn? something warm burns in his chest and he's reminded again of what he was told - this very human emotion, this thing akin to love, and he wonders if it'll sear hotly enough that he could engrave it in hizamaru's skin.

he lowers his sword then, letting the tip of it fall on the skin right above hizamaru's heart - where higekiri had pierced through a training doll just earlier in the day.]

It'll disappear whenever we go to repairs... but I suppose I will admire it until then.

[it's a bit too much to ask higekiri to remember his own name kanji at the moment - but the incisions he makes against hiza's skin are light, skilled, and accurate, possessing a certain level of artistry to them since the genjis are nothing if not aesthetic.

even as higekiri is marking the outline of the minamoto crest into hiza's chest - just one symbol shy of being higekiri's own.]

[The heat climbing up his neck into his face is from a happiness he doesn't think he can verbalize. There won't ever be anything as great as hearing his brother praise him, or seeing his brother's smile, or hearing his brother's laugh.]

I don't care... I'll keep it for as long as possible.

[The blade is so sharp and smooth that the bite doesn't register until some time after the skin has been split. He gasps softly, but moans after, low and timid. Like he's afraid he'll break Higekiri's concentration. Both hands slide down, itch to touch Higekiri's skin, but only brave enough to brush his fingers along the knees and top of the thighs.

He rolls his head back, baring his neck and chest. There's no crying, not even any sting to his eyes or tears as the blood trickles out over his chest like a starburst. He accept this with a whole lot of want and no complaints.]

[wielding himself is perhaps the most natural thing in the world - and to trace the shape of the minamoto crest on hizamaru's skin feels something like coming home. he wonders briefly, if he should add the symbol that binds they two brothers so that the crest will then become distinctly higekiri's -

and just barely refrains. he hums a pleased note, satisfied with his work.]

It looks good on you.

[to have their shared history emblazoned on his chest.

it's with a turn of his wrist that higekiri will raise his own blade to his lips, and rather than flicking it clean as he normally does, he lets his tongue run along the flat side, licking hizamaru's blood off himself, slow and languid as if enjoying a treat. his eyes lock with hizamaru, looking nothing short of smug and amused. like a lion that's found his prey.

at least up until he turns so that the tip of his blade rests on hizamaru's lips - only but a drop of blood left - and gives the command:]

Open.

[It's only when Higekiri is finished that his fingers slide up Higekiri's thighs, caressing, appreciatively. It does feel as if a white-hot brand had been placed against his skin, but it's not a terrible feeling. The pain isn't bad, he thinks.

He's not afraid of it, or the scar, or the powerful sword.

His eyes stay locked onto Higekiri's own, focused and unwavering, unblinking. An excitable warmth churns below his navel at the idea of Higekiri tasting him. The essence that runs all through this body.

The fingers curl gently into Higekiri's thighs when the sword bows out for his lips, and they part just a bit willingly. He flicks his eyes up briefly and then the lashes lower demurely.

He opens his mouth and lets the end of the blade slide in, closing his lips around it, carefully but eagerly. It nicks the inside of his mouth, but he doesn't care; instead he suckles it before sliding his mouth away.]

[it's good when swords follow orders, higekiri thinks. he knows this innately - despite the fact that he belongs to the faction who move according to their will more often than not. but he supposes he can see the appeal in having someone submissive around, and that is only reassured when he watches hizamaru take the blade into his mouth. he wonders what the sensation may have been like - if he still possessed that innate connection to the blade - and just settles in a softly amused, endeared laugh before he draws the sword back.]

Mm, you obey well.

[a trait that higekiri will never have - but it's fine. hizamaru will have all the traits he does not possess, for they are one soul that has been divided into two.]

So well that perhaps I shouldn't allow any other to have you.

[he presses the blade so very briefly against hizamaru's neck, as if intending to test the sharpness of it there—]

[before he smiles - bright and friendly - and draws it back before it rested there for any longer than a second]

... just kidding.

[he reaches for his sheath with his free hand, neatly covering his sword again before letting it fall against the bedsheets, leaning down to press his own lips against hizamaru's mouth - a reward for what he'd endured.]

I love you as you are.

[There it is, the laugh. It stirs him up warm in the chest under the sting of the marked skin. He doesn't even care that the amusement is at his expensive. If he can get Higekiri to laugh, that's all that matters to him. Being silly, being endearing, being obedient.

A shy, half-mischievous smile manages to touch the edge of his lips, and then it all but vanishes when the sword brushes up by his neck.

The jump in his pulse should be fear, but it isn't. It's excitement. A thrill. He keeps his neck brandished, as if he would be more than willing for Higekiri to slit his throat open, more than willing to let Higekiri cut his neck clean across the middle.

A breath he didn't realize he was holding escapes him. He reaches up to take Higekiri by the head as the lips come down. He consumes them hungrily, his mouth coppery. One leg weasels out from between Higekiri's legs, followed by the other. He drapes both up over Higekiri's waist, squeezing the knees at the bottom of the ribs.]

[when he was only a sword, there was no need for the concept of trust. whoever wielded you was the one to wield you - and there was the end of that. there was no choice, no feeling to the matter, it simply was. it's in this moment, where hizamaru so willingly bares his neck to higekiri and yet still melts into the kiss after that even his old soul starts to truly know what it means to trust entirely.

it makes him sigh against hizamaru's lips even as he eases himself on top of him, fingers on one hand curling around his hip, the other tangling into his hair as he just barely holds himself above him before the blood drawn on his chest manages to get on him too.

he pulls back eventually - but just so that he can clean up his mess, letting his tongue lave over the fresh lines that he'd carved over his heart. for a sword, it's a familiar enough taste. when he speaks, it's just a murmur against hizamaru's skin]

Shall I have you now?

[A strained hiss bubbles out of his throat when the tongue brings pain back to the carving. His fingers curl, his toes curl. It is familiar--like battle. Like battle wounds and blood. It's a scar he isn't ashamed of having. This one was asked for while they were both equal.]

You always have me, elder brother.

[It's whispered so earnestly. He tangles his fingers gently up through the back of Higekiri's hair, petting the slim dancer's neck.] Join with me. [For a little while, they can be one again like they had been many, many years ago. No matter how strange and unnatural the others here find it.

They don't understand, he thinks. How he can belong so irrevocably to Higekiri. Soulmates because they were split practically from the same spirit.]

GENJI BANZAI

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