Aftermath -
A Farewell to Roses
He could never remember, afterwards, quite how he'd piloted the shuttle back to the Saionji Medical Institute. Like the vehicle, his mind seemed to be operating on autopilot. All he could see was her face, surrounded by the petals of the roses she had loved so much.
"So, did you kill the fuckin' bastard?"
It was Gogul - wisely standing beside (rather than in front of) the furiously glaring Sengoku. It was mildly amusing, thought Benten, nodding, that at that moment it was impossible to say which of them Sengoku hated more - himself or the hacker. He would have smiled, but a tide of weakness ebbed through him and he found himself falling...
Gogul caught him, hefting him like a child, Benten's soft white hair drifting against his broad chest, the albino's ruby eyes half-closed. The big man stared down at him, expression half disgust, half pity, then glanced at Sengoku.
"Better get pretty boy tanked up. Hasegawa won't be happy if blood loss gets him first."
"You think I care?" snarled Sengoku.
"No. But you'd better tell the bastard the mission's completed before he blows our heads off..."
Sengoku's eyes widened in alarm as his hand went swiftly to his collar - seconds later Hasegawa had (reluctantly, they were prepared to swear) cancelled the detonations. Gogul smiled grimly.
"There's gotta be a way to steal that fuckin' lighter."
"Nah. Knowing him, he'll have a spare. Or five."
"Yeah." Gogul grunted and hoisted the limp pale body higher. "Come on. You wanna drive?"
"You wanna die?"
Gogul dumped Benten into Sengoku's arms, ignoring his protests.
"You drop him, you get to tell Hasegawa you broke him."
Swearing volubly but - for once - quietly, Sengoku slung the unconscious, bleeding Benten over one shoulder and followed the big man to the floater...
Twenty-four hours later...
The top-floor apartment was small, in an area that had been fashionable ten years ago and still possessed some class, although it was looking a little ragged around the edges. But its main advantage, as far as Benten was concerned, were the huge windows that looked out across open space, and upwards, towards the stars. It was decorated in subtle shades of darkest purple, rich deep blues, and black: he moved between the rooms like a shimmering ghost in the darkness. The contrast pleased him, when he bothered to think about it.
He gripped the bedroom doorjamb as a wave of nauseating faintness hit him, leaning against it, hand clutching his side where Saionji's sword had pierced him. They'd patched him up, and forced blood back into his body, but he was nowhere near recovered. He should, strictly speaking, still be at the police medical facility - but he hated hospitals, hated the facility, and had insisted on discharging himself, and no-one was prepared to argue with an insistent Benten.
The faintness eased, and he pulled himself upright. Bathe first, then sleep. A long sleep, in his own bed. And - with luck - no dreams...
It hurt to move. He forced himself to strip slowly, wrinkling his nose at the bloody ruin of his clothes, grimacing ruefully. Well, if he would wear white - what did he expect? Cyber cops weren't exactly renowned for their tranquil, innocuous lives.
He showered quickly, then slid into the hot tub with a sigh, leaning his head back, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift.
... the coffin, floating rose petals...
He jerked awake. No. He didn't want to think about it. Think of something else. Anything else.
Tired. So very tired. His eyes started to close again...
Long ago... He'd been Merill, then, Merill Yanagawa. Superintendent Yanagawa's idea of a joke. Merill - "sea-bright" - because, he'd said, of the way the light had sparkled on his froth of white hair. Unwanted, dumped in the orphanage doorway at a few days old. Tormented because he was different. Skinny, so pale, those big red eyes. How the other kids had bullied the little albino! He'd had to learn to fight, to defend himself, simply in order to survive. And as he grew, and it became clear he was going to be a beauty, he'd had to learn a different sort of defence. He usually ended up battered and hurting, but at least he was untouched.
For a while anyway.
Eleven years old, whipped until he fainted, and locked in a cupboard for three days with no food or water, to weaken him so he'd not struggle... Wincing as the lamplight hurt sensitive eyes that had grown used to blackness, squinting up at the 'carer', a big thug who stank of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. Dragged by one thin arm to the sagging bed, shoved face down, fighting not to scream as one hand gripped the back of his cheap, rough tunic, reopening partly-healed weals, as the other yanked his pants down narrow hips, thin legs. He didn't know where the strength had come from, but seconds later the 'carer' was on the floor, his neck broken, and the terrified child was climbing out of the window. He'd slipped on the way down, twisting an ankle as he'd landed, falling into the muddy dust the downpour had churned up. Pulling himself upright, he'd stood for a moment, barefoot, shivering, bruised, long hair plastered down his back in the freezing rain. Then, moving blindly, he limped away from the building, not knowing where he was or where he was going, just knowing he had to get away...
The artificial dawn had found him curled up in a doorway, stiff, aching, and desperately cold. He'd gone past hunger, but knew he'd have to eat if he was to make good his escape. There were discarded boxes behind him in the alley - perhaps...
The scraps had barely been edible, passed over even by the scavengers, but then, he'd never had any really decent food in his short life. They'd served to keep him going.
A little later he'd tried to take stock. His chances weren't good. He'd known nothing but the orphanage; he had little education and no training; he possessed nothing except the meagre clothing on his body, and even that wasn't actually his. But at least he owned his own body...
He knew how it was done - he'd first seen it when he was eight. There had been another boy at the orphanage, a couple of years older than himself, not as pretty. Five of the older boys had taken him to one of the dormitories and raped him, one after the other: hearing the screams, Merill had crept from his hiding place and watched, horrified, unnoticed, unable to tear his eyes away. After they'd finished, leaving the boy semi-conscious and bleeding on the floor, Merill had crawled to him, looked him over, touched his arm lightly: the boy had whimpered and pulled away from him, shaking and curling into himself in pain and desperate fear.
Later he'd heard that the boys guilty of the act had been whipped. It was, after all, the staff's prerogative to 'break in' the kids...
But what if you let it happen... If you didn't fight... If you made people pay for it.... Surely that wouldn't be so hard...?
He caught his breath, unconsciously sinking crimson nails into the flesh of his thighs under the water. No. No. Not those memories. Others. There must be others.
Kaito-sama. Think of Kaito-sama...
By the age of fifteen he was stunningly beautiful, a deceptively delicate, androgynous figure with a tumbling mane of silver-white hair, large ruby-coloured eyes made larger and redder with subtle makeup, long slender fingers tipped by long, sharp, crimson nails. He wore supple blood-red leather, jacket and shorts and thigh-length spike-heeled boots on long slim legs, and a white silk shirt, slashed artistically at the front to let glimpses of skin the gold-tinged hue of old ivory and palest honey-coloured nipples tantalise passers-by as he moved through the city, prowling with all the grace of a hunting cat. Sleek and infinitely desirable, dangerous - and hard as diamond under that seductive half-smile. Inaccessible to most, a source of endless pleasure and variety to those few - male and female both - who could afford his services. And now wealthy enough to be able to pay to have those few remaining pimps who thought they could own him quietly and permanently made aware of their error.
And then he met the old man.
He'd been leaving one of the higher class restaurants in the company of his escort for the evening, an extremely wealthy visiting businessman who was entirely in awe of the beautiful creature who'd already bewitched him. Merill had been very aware of the man's aroused state all evening - had in fact indulged in a little discreet provocation: such staid and proper types were so easy to tease! - and was at the moment undecided as to whether to allow the man to stay the night or to send him on his way after the first fuck. Well, he could decide later. Let's see how good he was before making a choice...
Standing outside the restaurant was an old man in a monk's robes, looking a little lost. Merill would have simply walked past, but his companion stopped, bowed, and asked if he could perhaps offer assistance? Merill stared in distaste at the wrinkled parchment skin of the kindly old face, the bowed shoulders and brown-spotted aged hands. Then the old man looked straight at him with eyes of the most astonishingly vibrant sky-blue.
Merill shivered, refusing to lower his gaze, although meeting the other's became more difficult by the second. Those eyes seemed to scour him inside.
The old man smiled, very slightly, ignoring the businessman.
"I am Kaito."
Merill glowered. "I have no problem."
"I think otherwise. Come with me."
He turned his back and began to walk. Merill stared after him, bewildered, feeling an overwhelming compulsion to follow. A short distance away the old man stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.
"Come with me."
Switching his gaze back and forth between the two older men, Merill tried to resist the urge, tried to make himself think about how much he'd lose if he forsook his companion...
He bowed his head, accepting the inevitable, and, ignoring the bewildered, outraged splutterings of the businessman, moved to walk at the old man's shoulder.
"Again."
Merill dragged himself upright, wiped at the blood trickling from his split lip, ignored the pain from aching muscles, skinned knuckles, and held himself ready for the next attack.
Kaito had proved to be anything other than what he had first seemed. For one thing, the old man had the strength, speed and agility of a streetfighter in the prime of life. For another, he most certainly wasn't a monk - well, not as Merill understood the term...
The hotel he'd taken Merill to was comfortable without being opulent. As the old man had opened the door and ushered him in, Merill had entered without a second thought, only becoming alarmed when Kaito had locked the door with a handprint rather than the usual lock and bolt combination. As the old man turned to him he'd dropped his outermost robe, revealing a much closer-fitting inner one - and the unmistakable outline of a very impressive erection.
Merill had gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain impassive. Under no circumstances did he intend letting that ancient artifact into his sweet young body, no matter how magnificent it appeared to be. But Kaito seemed to know what he was thinking.
"Ah, child. It's a pity you feel that way: there is much I could teach you. Maybe later... But for now, I simply want you inside me."
...what...? Merill stared, aghast. "You want... me... to... fuck you?"
Kaito scowled. "That is what I intimated, yes. Take off your clothes."
For a moment Merill simply gaped, then reluctantly stripped the silk and leather from his body, staring at the old man staring at him, somehow unable to resist. Finally, naked, he simply stood in front of Kaito, who ran appraising, appreciative eyes up and down the slender form before him and licked his lips, hands clutching at his groin.
"Beautiful child.... I know you don't like this, but your reward will be power, and wealth, and full control of your life. It's not much to ask for such a prize, is it?"
Merill swallowed hard and closed his eyes, shaking his head. He flinched as Kaito stroked his cheek.
"Ah, I see you really don't like the idea." A wiry, calloused hand cupped over his groin, the thumb stroking the soft silvery curls, the fingertips caressing the head of the limp shaft. "We'll have to do something about that."
Seconds later thin, strong hands cupped his buttocks as his length was enveloped by hot wetness. He gasped, looking down to see Kaito kneeling before him, lips closed around his shaft. Then the old man began to play with him...
Merill's head rolled backwards as he buried his hands in Kaito's hair, gripping tightly to try and stay upright as the strength left his legs. He'd been sucked before, of course, although he was most often the one giving the pleasure. But this... He'd never known a tongue, a mouth, so skilful. He moaned as the old man nipped lightly up and down his rigid, velvet shaft, knowing hands sliding down to hold the backs of his thighs, fingertips brushing very lightly against the tight puckered entrance to his body. He shivered and began to thrust...
And Kaito released him, sucking hard as he pulled back and away, hastily shrugging out of his inner robe and turning so his back was towards Merill, his thighs spread.
"Now, child."
His head swimming, aware only that he needed release, Merill dropped onto the old man's back and rammed into him, hard, ignoring Kaito's bitten-off cry of pain as he pulled back and slammed in again and again, his nails gouging bloody trails across the broad back below him. As he came he bit into Kaito's shoulder, tasting blood as the old man trembled and whimpered under him.
He pulled out sharply, sprawled panting on the floor as Kaito grabbed for his own aching erection and pumped hard and fast, abruptly halting, every muscle quivering, as he came in spurts against his own belly. Merill's semen made silvery trails down the inside of his thighs, and as he slumped forwards Kaito reached back between his legs and scooped some onto a finger, bringing it to his mouth and licking and sucking with his eyes closed as though it was a delicacy he wished to savour...
Kaito took him home.
Home was on the outskirts of Oedo, and underground, but bright and airy despite that. Kaito had decorated it to resemble the inside of a temple in shades of red, white and black. The single sleeping chamber had a small pool with a bubbling waterfall cascading down one wall: there was another pool with a tiny fountain in Kaito's small private chamber. To start with Merill had been frightened: he was, effectively, a captive, as Kaito had secured the entrance and he had no way to leave. He was also bewildered and distinctly uneasy, especially when it became obvious that Kaito expected him the share the solitary futon, and for several nights he slept in the main chamber, dozing fitfully and uncomfortably on the wooden floor. But to his surprise the old man had treated him with gentle courtesy and respect, and he eventually gave in and slid into bed one night while Kaito was in the bathroom. He'd watched the old man warily from half-closed eyes, but Kaito simply wished him a pleasant sleep, turned his back, and was soon snoring quietly.
Surprised (and a little affronted at being ignored - a new experience for him), Merill had finally fallen deeply asleep himself, exhausted, and wasn't aware of the old man gently peeling back the covers and watching him sleep, bright blue eyes devouring every inch of the lithe young body beside him. But never touching...
The following day Merill awoke refreshed to find a cup of steaming jasmine tea on the floor beside him - and no Kaito. Frowning pensively to himself, he sat up, drank the tea, then slid into the red silk robe folded neatly at the bottom of the bed and went to find his mentor.
Kaito was in the main chamber, naked, intently focussed, performing a series of katas. Merill knelt at the side of the room, watching wide-eyed and envious as the old man moved as though dancing with superb fluidity and control. Half an hour later he finished, bowed to the little statue he kept in the corner of the room, and reached for a towel to wipe the sweat from his body.
"Could I learn that?"
Kaito paused and regarded him soberly. "Of course, child. Would you like me to teach you?"
Merill inclined his head, frowning. "What will it cost me?"
"A little pleasure for an old man."
He scowled, not quite able to believe it. "That's all?"
"That's sufficient."
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then nodded. "When can we start?"
Kaito smiled. "Tomorrow. For today, I believe we should spend a little time deciding on your schedule. Do you know how to meditate?"
Merill couldn't see what that had to do with anything. He shook his head, and Kaito nodded. "Then we will start with the basics of meditation..."
Kaito taught him how to meditate. He taught him Tai Chi, broad and long sword forms. And he taught him the subtle art of forgery. How to age forged currency so that it appeared well-used, unlikely to be questioned. How to provide clients with new identities. How to alter electronic data to do what he wanted it to - from gaining access to high security installations to siphoning funds discreetly from wealthy private accounts. In his own way, the old man was an artist of the highest calibre.
He was also a sensual masochist, indulging in the most exquisite forms of self-torture - living with and sleeping beside one for whom he had the greatest desire, a fiery passion, while not allowing himself anything more than the occasional gentle touch without Merill's permission. It was so unlike anything Merill had experienced before it was almost beyond his understanding. But he came to have real feeling for the old man, and although he never actually enjoyed sex with his mentor, it was never unpleasant, never distasteful. Kaito gave him so much in return...
For Merill learned other things as well. Kaito insisted he needed to be able to look after himself, and started training him in the more aggressive arts of physical self-defence. And slowly but surely the albino learned - how to turn an opponent's strength against him, how to evade attack, how to incapacitate - or kill - without effort. It hurt, to start with: for weeks his pale skin was purple and blue where the master's fists or feet, elbows, knees, shoulders or head had impacted. But Kaito cared for him, washing his aching body gently and massaging a soothing oil into his skin - before sucking him to ecstasy and a deep, dreamless sleep...
But it was the time that Merill entered the old man's chambers, unexpected, to ask him a question that had surprised him the most.
The old man was naked, as usual. (Well, that was OK - Merill had got used to the surprisingly muscular, smooth skinned old body by then.) He had incense burning, as usual. But he was sitting by his little sparkling pool engrossed in a small book, one hand tapping notes into a portable computer on the small table beside him. Merill frowned and coughed, politely, waiting for Kaito to acknowledge him. The old man beckoned with the other hand, not lifting his eyes from the book, and Merill quietly approached, dropping gracefully to kneel beside the pool while he waited for his master's attention. After a couple of minutes Kaito nodded in satisfaction, closed the little book, and gazed at his student.
"And of course you want to know what I was doing."
Merill nodded. Kaito handed over the small book, and the albino opened it carefully. It was filled with arcane symbols and thousands of numbers in tables and graphs. He frowned, and looked up at his smiling master.
"It's an ephemeris. It tells you the positions of the planets so that you can cast horoscopes and fortunes."
Merill stared at him blankly. "You believe in such things, sensei?"
"I have proved that they work."
Merill frowned, chewing at his lip as he stared at the ephemeris. Knowing how cynical Kaito was, he was intrigued. If his master believed in something like this, it must be genuine.
"Could I learn to read it, sensei?"
"Of course."
In fact, he did more than just learn to read the ephemeris. Once he'd learned where the planets were positioned against the larger backdrop of the stars, how fast they moved and in which orbits, he suddenly found he could accurately envisage their positions - both in respect to each other and against the constellations of the Zodiac - for any given time or date. As though he carried a computerised ephemeris inside his head. Kaito was delighted.
"Ah, child! It is a blessing. A true blessing! You will always know the fortunes that attend upon your life, and that of those around you."
And in his delight the old man had pushed him down onto the soft moss at the borders of the pool and ravished his sweet body with kisses until Merill's vision had whitened with rapture as Kaito drew his student's quivering erection deep into his hot wet throat, sucking hard as his student climaxed long and powerfully, his back arched against the cool greenness below him, nails sinking into his master's shoulders...
It couldn't last, of course.
At eighteen, Merill tired of the isolated life he'd been leading. He'd been respectful and a little regretful, but determined to return to city life. Kaito had expected it, and was resigned to having his best and favourite student leave him, knowing his time was drawing to a close and Merill would be his last. He had one final request, however.
"You have been as a son to me. I am proud of you."
Merill had smiled, knowing his master well by now. "And you would like to make love to me."
Kaito had bowed. "Hai. Is it too much to ask?"
The albino shook his head. "No." And indeed, for all that he had learned over the last three years, it was nothing at all...
It still hurt, though.
Afterwards, Kaito had bathed him, kissed his forehead and held him close, blue eyes brimming with tears. "I shall miss you, child."
"And I you."
"I have one last gift for you."
Kaito left him to dress, returning minutes later with the statue from the main room. Merill took it, examining it curiously. It was of the palest milky jade, a beautiful eight armed woman riding on a dragon. He frowned at his master, who smiled.
"It is Benten, child. The sea-goddess of love, wisdom, poetry and good fortune. The patroness of the wealthy and of the arts. Take her, and keep her safe. Pay her your respects and she will grant you luck."
"But sensei..." Merill was very aware of the reverence in which Kaito held the deity. The old man shook his head.
"She has granted me more luck than I have deserved. Now it is your turn."
And indeed, the little goddess had become his personal icon. He'd even taken her name, once he'd begun to make his mark on the outside world...
He sighed and forced his eyes open. The water was cooling - he really should get out and try to get the sleep he so desperately needed. This voyage down the path of memories could wait until later. There was something he wanted to do, first, though.
Remi. Remi Masuda. Poor little vampire. What was it about her that had attracted him? That apparent helplessness, underscored by quiet determination? Her insistence on fighting her fate? There were echoes of his younger self in the girl.
In real time, she was centuries older than he was. In inner time, she was the child he had never been. It wasn't love, quite - more a desperate kind of sadness, a desire to atone for all the things he had done, and had done to him, through another. A desire that had not been realised. Now she was at peace, as he would never be - unless he deliberately failed in a mission and let Hasegawa blow the collar. Although that would mean condemning others to death as well, and no matter how much he despised them - some of them, anyway - he did not want to take that guilt into death with him. Stupid really. None of the others would feel the same way.
The water had gone cold. He stood - droplets running down ivory-cream skin, sparkling in the hair at his groin, dripping from elegant fingers - and reached for a robe, drowning himself in midnight blue softness and allowing the velvety material to soak up the dampness from his body before dropping it over a rail to dry. He stood for a moment before the full length mirror in his bedroom, frowning slightly. He'd have to get those scars seen to - the fiery inflammation over his hip, front and back, where the samurai sword had penetrated his body; the darkly purple laser burn across his thigh, courtesy of the cyberbeast in the cryogenic facility; the deep sword cut on his upper arm, red and ridged where the medics had forced the torn muscle and severed nerves to reattach themselves correctly without worrying too much about the skin above; and worst of all that bullet graze across his cheek - they spoiled the cool perfection of his body.
He sighed. Ah well. He still had a substantial part of his old fortune hidden away, although he was forced to use it judiciously; it wouldn't do to make Hasegawa suspicious. He could book himself into a private medical facility tomorrow. For tonight - he needed to sleep. He needed his bed.
But first...
He dressed, then carefully pulled the petals from the roses he'd had delivered earlier, gathering them between his hands and leaving the apartment.
There, under the light where he'd first seen her, he let the wind take the petals, scattering them where it would. It was a fitting, fleeting farewell to a brave small soul.
He watched until the last of them had disappeared, then made his way back to his home and his bed.
His cold, lonely bed...
For Vanessa, who draws the most gorgeous Benten...
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