A/N: Porn. It’s just porn. There is nothing redeeming in any of this. Normally I at least try to attach it to a full storyline. Not here. Muroi just gets fucked by everyone. That’s all there is to it. I at least tried to make it plausible, but, well, the guy’s at least gonna sleep with Tatsumi, Ozaki, Tohru, and Chizuru. Maybe Megumi. We’ll see. She may just kick the crap out of him.
I blame the Muroi-is-the-town-bicycle meme. That I started. Yeah, I really have no one to blame for this but myself.
The Bicycle Paths of Sotoba
He proffered his wrist to Tatsumi; after all, he’d asked politely, which was more than he could’ve reasonably expected. And if he’d refused, wouldn’t Tatsumi just have bitten him anyway? So the only difference it would make is in terms of his own comfort – offer it and be bitten gently, refuse and have his neck torn at. It was the lesser of two evils.
He resisted the urge to squirm as he felt the fangs sink into his flesh, just a little below his scar. It was painful, although he couldn’t help but feel a weird little wriggle of pleasure at it as the fangs slipped deeper and the blood began to flow. He had felt light-headed that time he’d almost bled to death, and he could feel a small edge of that now. But he also felt an unsettling desire to press his arm closer to those sharp, sharp teeth of Tatsumi’s.
It didn’t last very long, but he felt woozy afterward as Tatsumi stood up fully and gazed down at him. He gripped his wrist tightly, trying to stop the blood-flow. He just didn’t have very much to spare. He wanted to make sure Sunako had something to eat, too.
Tatsumi watched the priest as he curled his arm toward his chest in a protective gesture. He seemed so delicate, really. All humans did to an extent, but this man in particular gave off an air of fragility, something heightened by his rapidly deteriorating health. He didn’t eat anything Sunako offered to him, and he kept allowing the girl to feed on him. And, now, Tatsumi, too.
He reached down to seize the limb, and pulled it easily away from Muroi’s chest. The other man was looking at him with a dazed sort of confusion, but there was no resistant strength despite his obvious bafflement. Tatsumi smirked and tapped a finger against the twin holes in his wrist, “You let everyone have a bit of you now, don’t you? You’re awfully generous.”
Muroi looked away. The circles under his eyes were stark. It was amazing that he was still alive, especially considering how little regard he seemed to have for himself. And yet he was still alive, and still offering himself so easily as a meal. Sunako was one thing – the poor man clearly felt a deep sympathy for her, a sense of a shared experience. But Tatsumi himself?
He smirked. He was a monster, didn’t this man recognize that? He would go forth with the power he gained from Muroi’s blood and slaughter his fellow villagers. Did this not bother him at all?
“So selfless. Or selfish. Maybe you’re just trying to destroy the village? It’s hard to say exactly. You come off so weak, after all, it’s hard to see you seeking to destroy anything at all. It doesn’t seem as if you could ever have the conviction to do so.” He paused, yanking him suddenly by the arm, almost wrenching it out of the socket as his own powers flared back to life, “Of course, it just means you’d have to find someone else to do the dirty work, wouldn’t you?”
There was pain in Muroi’s facial expression now, even if he didn’t try to wrest control of himself away from the werewolf. He refused to meet his eyes, “I wouldn’t…”
“Oh, you wouldn’t?” He lifted the priest higher, a giggle threatening to escape his throat, “Just so content to sit there and let it all happen, aren’t you? Even in coming to us you are giving up because you can’t decide which side is right. I’ve got some news – neither is. Sunako may state her beliefs about killing to survive as not being sinful or anything, but even she doesn’t believe that. But humans? They would kill us if we did not kill them first. The only difference between us is that it’ll take longer for someone like me to fall into hell!”
There was no response, although now Muroi was beginning to fidget, the pain from being held up by only his arm beginning to overwhelm his inherent passivity. Tatsumi regarded him with some amusement, twisting in vain. He had barely any strength, and the struggle soon subsided, leaving him to hang there limply, a miserable yet resigned look on his face.
“So, you come to us and you let us decide for you. Because you feel for Sunako, yes, but also because you cannot manage to make any decisions yourself. You told yourself that all you were going to do was talk to Sunako. That’s all. And then you let us entrap you and prevent you from leaving. You aren’t so innocent as to think something like that wouldn’t happen. You let it happen!”
He sneered and dropped the man on the floor, satisfied with the thud he made against the rug. When he didn’t move, Tatsumi jabbed him with his foot, “So, this is just how it goes. You’ll just lie there like that and wait for me to leave, hmm?” He crouched down, looking at him more closely, “You let me feed from you. You let me harm you. And you just let it happen. Are you always so easy?”
Muroi turned his face away, more toward the floor, looking a bit ashamed, “I…” But even now the words died away, unable to come up with a response. He felt so tired. And he didn’t know what it was Tatsumi wanted from him exactly, either – he was so good at being both charming and then horrifying by rapid turns. Surely he could wait out this frame of mood he appeared to be in.
“So… that’s it. You’ll just let anyone do anything to you, you’ll lie there and let me abuse you. What a pathetic man. If Sunako didn’t like you so much I’d just as soon destroy you.”
It was when the shadow began to pass over Muroi’s face that he truly began to wonder what he had gotten himself into. He looked up, his glasses slightly skewed, to see Tatsumi looming over him, a predatory look upon his face. He shuddered inwardly. But he made no effort to move from beneath him. It was just…
Tatsumi’s fangs showed prominently now, glinting in the weak light, his eyes aglow, “Of course, it doesn’t mean I can’t chip away at you a little. Because you won’t say anything to her anyway, will you? You’re already so worried about her, you don’t wish for her to worry about you. Such a sad sentiment coming from a man who is truly seventy years her junior.”
Muroi took a sharp intake of air as he felt the cold hands snaking inside his robes. He could feel himself growing shaky, although whether it was at the loss of blood or these hands he could not say for sure. He closed his eyes, tried to breathe more easily. If the hands had been warmer, would it have been less difficult?
“So you are easy in this way, too. The local Buddhist priest is a whore! This place just gets funnier all the time, doesn’t it?”
Tatsumi enjoyed the way this man was quivering beneath him, yet failing to make an escape. He must’ve known it was futile. But that he wasn’t even fighting? On some level it made him angry. But this subservience was also terribly enticing, and he intended to make full use of it.
He pulled at the obi, tugging the neat knot apart before pulling the length of it completely free. He let it slip from his fingers as he peeled the edges of the kimono back, disrobing Muroi. He smiled cruelly at the erection this revealed, even as Muroi continued to look elsewhere. He forcefully pulled his arms free from the sleeves, and then sat back to admire his work for a moment, his own penis throbbing steadily as he loosened his pants.
When he leaned down again, he bit Muroi hard, although he drew no blood for himself. The priest cried out, and Tatsumi began to bite at his collarbone, his shoulders, his upper arms, leaving marks all along the way but consuming none of the blood. Muroi moved beneath him in pain, jerking away from the bites, bracing himself for the repeated assault. Tatsumi kissed him harshly, allowing his fangs to tear at his gums and the sides of his mouth. One of his hands worked at the erection, and he felt rather than heard the moan which Muroi emitted into his mouth.
And he smirked, too, as he felt him begin to kiss him back, begin to tighten his own sharp little nails into Tatsumi’s shoulders. What a little harlot he was!
He opened his eyes and saw that Muroi had his own closed, his glasses still somehow hanging on at an awkward angle. With his free hand, he scratched hard at Muroi’s back, digging his nails in deep. He could smell the blood as it bubbled to the surface, sinking into the black fabric of the Buddhist robes. The priest arched into him, his member hard, his eyes still tightly shut.
Tatsumi jerked him up suddenly, and thrust in, eliciting a scream in response. Muroi bit hard at his own wrist, now, muffling his screaming noises. So he did not wish for Sunako to hear him, was that it? He was too ashamed to be caught in such a position.
It only made Tatsumi pump at him more roughly, enjoying the sounds he was attempting to mute. His head banged against the leg of one of the chairs, and his eyes fluttered open as he was caught off-guard. Tatsumi repeated the motion, hitting the other man’s head again, and then a third time. It filled him with a sense of glee to see this, and to see Muroi incapable of doing anything about it. He was too fully in thrall to the moment, and too powerless to demand a change in the pace of things or that they move even slightly.
He reached out to choke Muroi, and he felt him stiffen suddenly, become tighter around him. He had closed his eyes again, and his lips gave away just the barest of syllables as he bit his hand and came.
Tatsumi continued to move within him, building himself to his own climax. He continued to press his thumb against the priest’s pulse, his other thumb against his windpipe. The friction was immense, the pleasure of watching Muroi’s body continue to shudder beneath him heady. When Muroi finally began to choke, Tatsumi thrust hard once more and came.
He pulled out easily, and sat back on his haunches, pleased with what he saw on the floor now. Muroi lay there panting, and had rolled to his side and begun to curl up, his own arms wrapped across his torso. His glasses had finally fallen free, his hair was tangled, and the sweat stood out on his skin. He was bleeding, too.
Tatsumi wiped himself off casually with one of the napkins from the table. He re-buttoned his pants, and smoothed his hair slightly, still looking at the man on the floor. He re-approached him and leaned low to whisper in his ear.
“You’ll open your legs to anyone, won’t you? Especially since you’ll just pretend it’s that doctor every time.”
The breath in his ear was frigid, but Muroi felt his face heat suddenly. Tatsumi laughed, and stood upright once again, “It’s nice to have dreams, isn’t it, young priest? So nice to have dreams…”