Takes place after The Adaption of Fear, and ... all I'm saying is, you guys were this close to having me pretentiously quote poetry for everything. D: (I, I suspect I may have failed with this, but -- after a week of rewriting and hacking AFTER finishing, I. I give up! [WHITE FLAG])

+++++

I.

The first time Guren slept with Masahiro had been more an accident than anything else: he'd been dozing under a tree, his back to the trunk, and woken some hours later with a tiny infant curled determinedly in his lap and Kouchin laughing at him. He'd stayed still as possible to keep from disturbing the child until his mother came for him, and Masahiro had woken when moved and begun to fuss, reaching back out and struggling until Tsuyuki, apologetic, had given him back.

The second time they'd slept together came after that, with Masahiro clinging with determination to the black ridges of his collar and Guren dozing more than anything else, keeping an ear open in case the boy started to fuss again.

Afterwards it was easier: Masahiro was a good kid, and could easily entertain himself with whatever small friends he found in the garden -- though he'd also been at an age where half of what he discovered went into his mouth, and there were occasionally times where Guren thought that it would be easier to fight off an army's worth of youkai rather than deal with a fussy two-year-old. (He tried complaining to Seimei and only got laughed at: "It's good that you two have bonded so well, Guren! Don't frown so much, you'll scare Masahiro with that face.")

But eventually had come the day when Seimei had sealed Masahiro's abilities -- for his own good, certainly, but it had been strange, watching Masahiro grow older and forget, sleeping comfortably on his own like he'd never once kicked his legs and cried for someone's hand to hold. He hadn't missed all of it, certainly, like Masahiro's crying or grabbing fingers, and he hadn't missed how the infant would announce he was done sleeping by drumming his fists on the nearest part of Guren that he could reach -- an arm, a leg, his stomach, and even his forehead, on one memorable occasion.

What he missed (when he could admit it) was Masahiro's trust, and fearless eyes following him with adoration.

During the following years, when the others still turned their faces away and didn't quite meet his eyes, he'd still had those memories at least. When he'd finally grown tired of waiting, he'd tailored his ayakashi form specifically to be the sort of innocuous furry shape that a young child (or even an adult) wouldn't think twice about sharing a bed with. It was a reverse of how they'd once been, with Mokkun sprawled across Masahiro's stomach instead of the other way around, but to date, Masahiro had yet to complain.

And now: Masahiro was four years an adult, growing out of his awkward coltish state and into a lean-bodied rangy grace reminiscent of Seimei in his prime. That in itself carried regrets -- every day was a little further from the child Masahiro had been, and a little closer to the old man he would one day become.

But humans rarely thought so far ahead; most of Masahiro's peers looked at him now and only saw the fine young man he currently was, whose powers continued to develop by the day. Newer students referred to him less as the honored grandson of the famous Abe no Seimei and more as Abe no Masahiro, a powerful and respected onmyouji in his own right. They saw him still in the early flush of youth, strong and hardworking and determined, and if the gossip from the zakki were correct, there was no small number of younger nobles who dried their eyes on their ridiculously long sleeves and wrote poetry that never made it to Masahiro himself. Unrequited love was in fashion this season once more, and so princesses of the court would put their heads together and sigh how tragic, that Abe no Masahiro-dono could be so in love with the princess entrusted to his family's protection, so utterly devoted to her, but ah! Even the grandson of Abe no Seimei could not ever hope to win a Fujiwara princess for his bride, and so like Orihime and Kengyuu, there would always be an uncrossable rift between them.

"You could say something, you know," he pointed out once, perched on the edge of Masahiro's writing desk as Mokkun. "They'd listen to you at least for a while."

"But there's not much point of it, is there?" Masahiro asked. "They'll believe what they want to, whether I say anything or not. And besides ..." For a moment his brush hesitated and he looked down. "It's not their concern, about me and Akiko. We could tell them the whole truth, and they'd still only hear enough to support what they think."

"Heeh," Mokkun said. "Wait, the truth? About her being Fujiwara no Akiko? Or the curse thing, where she needs an onmyouji's care?"

"That too," Masahiro answered, and had said nothing more, no matter how much Mokkun pressed. Eventually he'd let it drop and curled up against Masahiro's hip to doze, half-listening as others walked by and exchanged polite greetings and occasional gossip with Masahiro, court life filtered through the eyes and ears of the fluffy-headed idiots who only appreciated Masahiro for his looks and his family, and less for the boy himself. Paying too much attention usually gave him a headache, especially when gossiping turned to painfully transparent attempts at flirting -- which Masahiro always took in stride, responding to as if he couldn't sense the innuendo at all.

That in itself was a bit of a concern: Masahiro was already seventeen -- an age where both of his brothers had already been married -- and still seemed oblivious to the advances and suggestions flying at him. Akiko was the only one who could make him stutter and blush with something as innocent as a question about breakfast, though after four years the furthest their relationship seemed to have progressed was to hand-holding. Mokkun had deliberately made himself scarce several times, only to return to find them both sitting where he'd left them, talking about safe topics -- the weather, Masahiro's duties as an onmyouji, more gossip that Akiko received from her family, and every now and then politics (the longer Akiko spent away from the sheltered inner court the better for her; when given the opportunity to learn, even in the guise of doing chores, she picked things up quickly).

But he never heard them discussing poetry (usually a clear sign of romance, in his experience) or even about themselves. They never broke apart blushing when he returned, no matter how many times he tried to catch them.

("Maybe he's broken," Suzaku suggested, lounging with his head in Tenitsu's lap. "I mean, his brothers did okay, but he took longer than normal to come of age, maybe there's something off in his head. You know, not working."

"Masahiro is NOT BROKEN," Mokkun snapped, eyes snapping and fur bristling, and that had been the last any of the others tried to make suggestions about the stalled relationship.)

Bringing it up to Seimei did no good either; the old fox just laughed and hid his face behind a fan, like any delicate lady of the court, and said some variation on You're just worrying too much, Guren. Masahiro will go at his own pace, and it does no good to force him any faster.

... Which was sort of ironic, at any rate, given Seimei's love of meddling, but Mokkun had elected not to point this out.

But even if the old man wasn't worried, Mokkun was, and Masahiro's parents as well -- he'd heard them murmuring to each other when they thought they were alone, soft concerned words about Masahiro's disinterest in women -- or even the handful of men that dropped sly suggestions here and there. Young men were supposed to be desperate for that sort of thing, and even in the royal court there were ways of obtaining it discreetly, but Mokkun went nearly everywhere with Masahiro, and he'd seen no sign of anything clandestine. It was like that world didn't even exist for him.

So Mokkun said nothing, as Seimei suggested, and kept watch as he always did.

+++

"Mokkun, there you are!"

Through sheer force of will Mokkun kept himself from jumping. He opened one eye, casual, peering up at Masahiro, who stood over him with his hands on his hips. "Oh, Masahiro," he drawled, and yawned. "You're looking energetic, just had a talk with your grandfather?"

"You've been avoiding me," Masahiro accused. "It's been a week! What's wrong with you?"

Mokkun stretched up to a seated position, scratching under one ear. "Ho, has it been that long?" he asked. "I've been where I always have, Masahiro. It's not my fault if you're not paying attention."

Masahiro nudged him with one foot until he almost tipped over. "That's not true," he said. "You usually nap on the railing outside of my room -- or Akiko's when the sun moves. And if you're not there, you're with Grandfather, and if you're not there, then Kouchin usually knows where you've gone. But you've been avoiding her, too. What's wrong?"

In midscratch, Mokkun paused. "You're pretty good at keeping tabs on me, aren't you?"

"Of course!" Masahiro crouched down, hands on his knees. "You're my friend, Mokkun, I'm used to having you around."

"Well, maybe that sort of dependence isn't good," Mokkun said, and turned his head, nose up in the air. "After all, you're growing into your own as an onmyouji, right? You've even managed a few shikigami that Seimei doesn't have. You don't always need to be relying on me, Seimei's grands--"

Masahiro grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him so that they were now eye-to-eye. "Don't even say horrible things like that," he said; the half-finished "grandson" didn't even seem to register. His frown was almost threatening. "I wouldn't be able to do half of what I can if I didn't have Mokkun around."

"Masahiro ..." Mokkun was only able to meet his eyes a moment before he looked away again. "You know, you don't really need--"

"If you finish that, I'm going to be really angry," Masahiro interrupted. "Why can't you tell me what's wrong?"

Mokkun began to squirm, twisting until Masahiro was forced to drop him. "I'm your guardian," he said quietly. "Maybe I let it go a little too far when you were younger, but you're already an adult now. For years, even. So ..."

"Mokkun!"

"I'm not going away," he added quickly. "I just think it might be good if you tried doing things on your own more often! Instead of relying on me all the time -- if you get too dependent on me, you'll be crippled. You're already close to matching Seimei's level as you are, but if you're going to surpass him, you need to not have me hanging around all the time. It'll be good for you -- I'll still be around, just--"

He'd been sidling slowly away as he spoke, but before he could make it far enough to bolt, Masahiro caught him around the waist this time. His hands were now large enough that they could almost span Mokkun's entire girth. It was a strange turnabout when he could acutely remember when Masahiro could barely grip a single finger. Mokkun thought that if he blinked fast enough, he could see the same infant he'd always known, holding out both arms in anticipation of a hug.

Then he blinked again and found himself back in the present. Up close, Masahiro didn't look any less appeased, holding them so that his forehead was pressed to Mokkun's own. "If you have a problem with me, you should say so clearly. If it's something I've done--"

"No!" Mokkun burst out, then winced at Masahiro's surprised look. "No, it was more ... I was just thinking ..."

"Then you think too much," Masahiro said. He smiled abruptly. "I'm glad, though. That it's not me."

Mokkun bowed his head, not quite defeated. "Masahiro ..."

"We're a team, aren't we?" Masahiro continued to smile. "That means that we stick together."

"We--"

"So if something is bothering you, it bothers me, too." Masahiro gave him a brief shake. "You might as well come out and tell me. I'm not letting you go until you do."

Mokkun swallowed. His tail swished uneasily. "Masahiro," he said quietly. "I've just been thinking about this, that's all. You've already come such a long way in a few years, and that's impressive. I've been watching you, and I know you could go further still. I don't want to be what holds you back."

Masahiro's expression remained skeptical. "Even Grandfather had someone by his side all the time," he pointed out. "If not you, then Kouchin, or Seiryuu and Rikugou. Sometimes an onmyouji needs someone who'll watch his back when he has to do complicated spells, and who else am I supposed to trust with that sort of thing? If it's not you, I don't want anyone else."

Mokkun's tail swished briefly. "That's ... not entirely good either," he said. "The others are finally acknowledging you, you can't always be relying on me."

"I haven't been," Masahiro said. "I know to summon the others if I need to! But Guren's the one I like best."

Mokkun froze. "--What?"

"Guren is the one I like best," Masahiro repeated patiently. "I--"

"Masahiro?" Akiko rounded the corner and paused, lifting a sleeve to her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"

"Ahh, Akiko!" Masahiro turned to her immediately, beaming. "No, I was just telling Mokkun something. Did you need me?"

The princess put her hands together, smiling. "I was hoping we could go down to the market," she said politely. "Lady Tsuyuki mentioned one of your honored brothers is coming to visit, so I thought that perhaps something for your youngest niece ..."

"Ah, that's right," Masahiro agreed. "My brother wanted to have Grandfather tell her fortune tonight, so-- ah, Mokkun!"

Mokkun, having wriggled free, backed up a little. "You go ahead with Akiko," he said. "I'll be here."

Masahiro frowned. "You promise?" he asked sternly. "Mokkun, we're not done yet."

For a heartbeat he was tempted to lie -- Masahiro wouldn't know until much later, and by then, Mokkun could easily make himself scarce. He even drew the breath for the pretense and met Masahiro's eyes before he let it out in a sigh. "... I'll be here," he repeated. "I promise."

To his surprise, Masahiro reached out, petting his head, long fingers scritching behind his ears. "Good," he said, and got to his feet, turning to Akiko. "Shall we?"

She smiled with genuine pleasure, matching Masahiro's expression completely. "Please," she said, and they walked off, two dark heads bowed together in low conversation. Mokkun sat hard, watching them leave. Masahiro's petting had left the fur of his head standing on end.

"Jealousy doesn't become you, Touda." The voice preceded the shimmer in the air beside him, and then Kouchin was there, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed under her breasts. "Especially when the boy's already that fond of you."

"Kou, I ..." Mokkun lifted his head and gave her the most oblique expression he could manage. "... have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." She smirked at him. "You've always been a poor liar, Touda. Seimei could see through you in a heartbeat. Masahiro probably can, too."

"There's nothing to see through," he insisted. "You're imagining things, Kou."

"Of course I am," she drawled, her tone knowing. "That's why you're blushing under all that fur. Bright red."

He choked. "What--! I'm not -- Kou!" He reared up onto his hind legs, flailing for a moment. "How can you say such things, I wouldn't, I'd never! I'm not, I--"

"You talk a lot," Kouchin sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Your problem, Touda, is that you don't stop and listen."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Mokkun staggered before regaining his balance, scowling at her. "I listen perfectly well, I--"

"Just some friendly advice," she said, though her smile was hardly the same. "Think about it."

Before he could protest again, she vanished.

+++

"You're all conspiring against me, aren't you," Mokkun asked.

Seimei gave him a mild-eyed look, a cup of tea cradled in his hands. "Now, Guren," he said. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I'm used to you being cryptic!" Mokkun said. "That's your favorite hobby, but then! Then you got Kou involved -- Kou! Seimei, how could you!"

"Ho, so Kouchin's said something too? That's not like her." Seimei sipped his tea, his eyes slitting shut in pleasure. "Perhaps rather than blaming me for this, you should consider how obvious you must be. Kouchin knows you well, after all."

Mokkun bristled, tail lashing back and forth. "Seimei--"

"Is my grandson not good enough for you?" Seimei turned his head, hiding his face with a sleeve. "Ahh, how very sad, how sad! You used to treat him so cutely when he was younger, but now that he's outgrown that--"

"Seimei! That's not the point!" Mokkun sputtered. "As for Masahiro, he's in love with Akiko! Akiko! That princess who lives here! I'm his guardian, I -- what are you even doing, encouraging this sort of thing?!"

"Ahhh," Seimei sighed, dabbing at the tears in his eyes. "Grandfather will just have to comfort poor Masahiro, when he realizes that Guren doesn't love him at all ..."

The next sound that emerged from Mokkun's throat was less a name and more a strangled noise of rage. He reared back on his haunches, foreclaws twitching weakly. Seimei continued to sniffle into his sleeve, occasionally sighing and shaking his head in regret. Someone looking in might have actually believed the old man was unhappy.

Eventually, though, Mokkun settled, staring hard at his former master. "... he is in love with Akiko," he said quietly. "He has been since he was thirteen."

And like that, Seimei straightened, his face dry. He looked at Mokkun directly, his smile cryptic. "Of course he is."

Mokkun stared. "You know that," he said slowly. "Then why--"

"I think," Seimei said, "Masahiro might surprise even you, if you gave him the chance."

+++

By the time Masahiro and Akiko returned from the market, the preparations for dinner had already begun; in the crush of family greeting family and polite deferences to Akiko's family, Mokkun slipped from the room. He dozed in the doorway, away from the giggling toddler who was the star of the evening, though close enough that, if he opened an eye, he could see Masahiro quite easily.

Family brought good things out in him -- his nephews had flocked to him immediately after arriving, demanding stories, his elder brother had broken propriety long enough to ruffle his hair, and the toddler had kicked her legs until she'd been given a kiss from her uncle. And Masahiro himself smiled the whole time, juggling a clinging girl on one arm and still making it across the room with two preteens circling underfoot.

To Mokkun's surprise, Akiko came and sat beside him, arranging her robes carefully so that they didn't pool over him. He lifted his head to look at her, watching as she watched Masahiro reenact some recent adventure.

"He looks very happy, doesn't he?" she asked suddenly.

He cocked his head and looked at Masahiro. "He does."

She turned to look at him. The years had been as kind to her as to Masahiro: she'd grown from a pretty little girl to a stunning young woman, slender and doe-eyed and graceful even in the multiple heavy layers of juu-ni hitoe. It wasn't the same sort of ethereal beauty as Tenitsu, or even Kouchin -- it was a fleeting, heartbreaking sort of thing, one that would vanish as quickly as Masahiro's youth and strength. Mokkun held her gaze the entire time.

To his surprise, she reached out and laid a soft hand against his side.

"Mokkun," she said quietly. "... Guren. Do you dislike me that much?"

Mokkun stared. "What? Of course I don't dislike you, you're Masahiro's--"

She ran a hand down his side, her fingers sliding easily through his coarse fur. "No, I mean other than that," she said. "You and Masahiro have suffered because of me. Do you resent that?"

"That was long ago," he said. "You've repaid any debt by making him happy."

For just a moment her brows knitted together, a break in her porcelain-smooth expression. It faded as soon as it had come, and she continued to pet his fur gently. "And that's enough for you?"

He hesitated, then turned, so that his chin rested on her fingers. "You're a good person," he said. "Seimei wouldn't have approved of you otherwise. None of us would have let you get close to Masahiro otherwise."

She started for a moment, then carefully slid her hand away so she could place her fingers behind one ear, scritching. "And?" she asked. "Am I good enough to get close to you?"

Mokkun jerked in surprise. Akiko's fingers followed, still scritching the tender spot behind his ears. "Akiko--"

"Akiko!" Masahiro bounded across the room, then paused at the sight of the two of them. "Mokkun, too! Come on, they're starting dinner -- you two should both come!"

"Masahiro," Mokkun squawked. "This isn't, it's not what it looks like--"

"Looks like?" He blinked, and held out a hand to Akiko. "They'll start without us if you don't hurry, and I won't save anything for you."

Akiko laughed behind her other sleeve as she accepted Masahiro's offer of help. Mokkun continued to stare helplessly, and wondered about how cold his side felt now that she'd moved.

"Mokkun!" Masahiro pushed at him with one foot. "Come on! Kohime wants to see you too. She likes you, you know!"

He didn't have to fake his shudder. "No thank you," he said shortly. "Kids aren't my thing."

"She's not a baby any more, she won't cry!" Masahiro nudged him again. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"Please," Akiko added abruptly, smiling at him.

Defeated, Mokkun got to his feet, tail lashing back and forth. "I do this under protest," he said. "And I'm not sitting anywhere near that brat. I'm not interested in having her yank my ears or anything. I'm not a rabbit, you know, I don't know why she keeps calling me that--"

"That's fine, just hurry up!"

+++

The rest of the meal passed thankfully without incident -- Kohime only managed to grab hold of Mokkun once the whole time, and had been dislodged by her father before she could start yanking. Mokkun had spent the rest of the meal balancing on Masahiro's shoulder instead, with his tail tucked up under him and his entire body hunched in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. The one time he slipped, Masahiro's hand came automatically up to brace against his side, pushing him back into place.

His hand was very warm.

II.

"Hey, heyyy, Seimei's grandson!" Pink-and-round waddled in a circle on top of Masahiro's head, waving its tiny stubby arms. "Did you hear? Did you hear? You've heard, haven't you?"

"Don't call me 'grandson!'" Masahiro pushed himself up from under the weight of the fallen ayakashi, spitting dirt for a moment. "... Heard what?"

"There's something lurking around in the shadows of the commoner's quarters," said the lizard, scratching its chin. "People don't see it, so they walk right into it, and--" It lifted its stubbly arms over its head, rocking back. "Whoosh! Suddenly, the people aren't there any more."

"Spiriting away?" Masahiro straightened, hands on his knees. "Even if it's happening in the commoner's district, gossip like that should have reached us by now ..."

"See, see," said pink-and-round, "the other part! The other part is that these humans do come back, but they're different." It spread its arms wide, and the other two nodded seriously.

"Changed? What do you mean by 'changed'?"

"They don't really look like humans any more," said the oni. "Ah, to regular humans who can't sense anything, they look the same as always! But to us, it's obvious! Someone with kenki like Seimei's grandson should be able to notice it as well!"

"I said don't call me 'grandson,'" Masahiro snapped, then leaned back and crossed his arms. "How do they look, then? If not like regular people?"

"Drained," said the lizard hesitantly. The other two nodded in agreement. "Their eyes turn all sunken and black, and you can see their bones through their skin! Humans have very ugly bone structure."

Masahiro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Drained ... huh. But no one else notices that there's anything wrong?"

All three zakki shook their heads. "We try to avoid humans during the day, after all," said the oni. "But some of our friends got swept up as well! And those haven't returned at all!"

"This sort of thing happens to you guys a lot, doesn't it," Mokkun said, under his breath. Masahiro elbowed him, keeping a concerned face for the zakki looking up at him.

"We'll check it out," Masahiro promised. "If it's something that's attacking humans and ayakashi alike, it should be stopped before it gets too powerful." He got to his feet, looking down the stretch of street towards the commoner's quarters. It was still early enough that a few lights were visible; men who'd spent the evening drinking were still occasionally trickling past on their ways home. He looked down and grinned. "Ready, Mokkun?"

Mokkun smirked back, ears up and tail high. "Lead the way," he said, and gave it a full beat of silence before adding, "Seimei's grandson."

"Don't CALL me that!"

+++

The commoner's district was completely dark by the time they arrived. Only the pale fingers of moonlight provided any light, so Masahiro walked slowly and kept half an eye on Mokkun, whose white fur glowed faintly. A faint rotting smell hung in the air, growing steadily stronger as they walked up and down the narrow rows of houses.

Abruptly Mokkun stopped, head up. Masahiro paused as well, looking around.

"... It's coming," Mokkun whispered.

"Ah," Masahiro agreed. He reached for an ofuda. The rotting smell grew stronger around them as the temperature began to drop; after a moment, he realized with a start that he could see his own breath clouding before him.

"--There!" Mokkun cried, and Masahiro whirled in time to see a black cloud, bright blue at the edges, explode upwards from the ground. Smoky tendrils sprouted out from the main body, like tiny fingers clawing through the air before they lost form and melted back into the whole. Masahiro slid a foot back to brace himself, bringing the ofuda to his lips for a binding prayer as a humanoid shape began to coalesce out of the cloud.

Cold, the ghost whispered. This time it was a young man, with the long hair and fine heavy robes of a courtier. His eyes were merely sockets in his face, but his chin looked as though it had collapsed in on itself, mostly dominated by his mouth, hanging open and full of broken sharp teeth. He reached a pleading hand to Masahiro, brows furrowing. I'm so cold, please help me ...

Masahiro flung the ofuda. The ghost immediately shrank back, covering its face with a sleeve. To Masahiro's surprise, though, once the boundaries had been drawn, the ghost continued to shuffle within the narrow confines, pressing its hands to the energy barrier and muttering under its breath. After a moment, it seemed to find Masahiro again, turning its face back to him. From within its gaping mouth, an inhumanly long pointed tongue lolled out. I'm so cold, it's been cold for so long, I'm so tired of being cold, please--

"Just a hungry ghost, huh?" Mokkun snorted. "What a joke. Masahiro, let's get this over with."

"Right," Masahiro said softly. He took a deep breath.

You're warm, the ghost said. It drew its hands back and then slammed them hard against the edges of the barrier. Energy sparked and spat, but held firm. You're warm, give me some of that warmth, it's not fair, I'm so cold ...

The wind picked up, sharp and whistling, until Masahiro had to squint to keep his eyes open. Even the ghost's sleeves were flapping sharply as it continued to ram itself bodily against the walls of its prison, gnawing when it could angle its misshapen head properly. By his side, Mokkun remained at ready, the symbol on his forehead glowing faintly.

When he released the prayer, the ghost jerked back from the edges of the barrier, clawing fiercely at the air, shriveled lower lip trembling. Deep within its socket eyes there was a bright blue spark. It stopped screaming and smiled.

"Masahiro!" There was a red flash, and Masahiro yelped as he was roughly shoved aside a moment before his protections shattered into brilliant shards of light. He managed to catch his balance, looking up as the hungry ghost shuffled its way past the ruined wards, its long clothes and hair still being whipped back and forth by the shrieking wind. Guren faced it, spear in hand, and at least the fire that wreathed his arms seemed to hold steady.

"Guren--" Masahiro started back, and stopped when Guren's arm snapped out.

"It's not a regular ghost," he said flatly. "Stay back."

He almost argued -- ghosts could run a whole gamut of things, but even one that was unusually strong was easily put down, and wasn't Guren the one just telling him he needed to do things on his own? -- then turned as a rustling noise behind him caught his attention.

Blue lights glowed in the windows of half of the houses in the district. As he watched, people began to stumble outside, and as the zakki had said, each of them was bone-white in the moonlight, nearly as gaunt-faced as the ghost itself. None of them had the same ruined faces or necks, but their mouths gaped open, like they could swallow each other whole. They moaned as though in pain, shuffling forwards. Under their pale skin, constellations of the same blue light moved restlessly.

Masahiro backed up until he bumped into Guren. This close, he could feel the faint tremor running through his companion, though when he risked a look up, Guren's face was the same determined mask as before.

"Guren," Masahiro said softly. "I think some of these people are still alive."

Guren nodded stiffly. "If they're left for too long, they'll die," he said, never taking his eyes from the first ghost, who was now grinning widely; the distortion of its mouth and face was grotesque. "Whatever it's feeding off of, too much will be fatal."

"Well." Masahiro took a deep breath, forcing a cheer he didn't quite feel into his voice. He put his hands together. "We'll just need to take care of it before it comes to that."

Guren didn't answer except to tense further, poised for a lunge. Masahiro forced himself to calm, watching as the crowd lurched closer.

Cold, so cold, the ghost crooned. But you're warm as well, fallen god, you're warm enough for all of us.

"Don't be sure about that," Guren said. "I might just burn you to ashes first."

And then he was moving, lunging for the attack, and Masahiro began ripping through sutras: one for protection, several for binding, and a high-level one for purification. Calm rippled over him, allowing him proper focus. He could see the blue mist wrenching itself from each person as they stepped within range of his spells, the mass of it gathering overhead like a stormcloud about the break. As each person was freed, they simply buckled and fell where they stood, so that their companions had to shuffle over them to keep moving.

Behind him came a frustrated shriek, and the winds abruptly died. The silence left in its wake was almost deafening.

The blue cloud shivered like a living thing, then slowly faded. The rest of the people still standing began to turn and shuffle, heading back to their homes; the people left in the middle of the street were beginning to come round, groaning and sitting up. Masahiro watched them for a moment, then turned and hurried over to Guren.

Other than a set of parallel scratches down one arm, he appeared to be unhurt, though he was scowling fiercely at the empty space before him like it was a personal insult. Masahiro reached out and put his hand in the crook of Guren's elbow, just below the injury.

"Guren," he said. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Guren bared his teeth, then glanced away. "... Sorry, Masahiro," he said. His hand closed into a fist, then relaxed again. "It escaped."

"So it escaped," Masahiro said and squeezed his elbow. "According to the zakki, it's only been attacking at night, and we've already disrupted its feeding patterns tonight. If we come back early tomorrow night, we can take care of it before anyone can be hurt. All right?" He offered an encouraging grin.

A brief smile flickered across Guren's face. "All right," he said, before gently brushing Masahiro's hand off his arm. "You'd better not mess it up this time, Masahiro."

Masahiro relaxed at the quip, punching lightly at Guren's arm, away from the scratches. "You too! Ahh, I can't believe you actually let something get away from you, that's not like you."

"Even monkeys fall from trees sometimes," Guren said. "Besides, it was your fault first, letting it escape from your trap. You can't let yourself get sloppy at this point, wasn't I just telling you that?"

"Ahhh, that's not something I'd want to hear from you -- telling me that, then shoving me out of the way so I can't do anything--"

"See, this is why I'm worried, and you expect to surpass Seimei like this ..."

Still squabbling, they headed home.

+++

"Did you speak to him?" Akiko asked, keeping her voice quiet. Curled in a ball on Masahiro's futon, Mokkun slept on. A bandage had been wrapped around his leg -- a concession he'd only agreed to when Akiko refused to back down, holding out the strips of cloth until he'd allowed her to wrap his injured limb.

Masahiro leaned his back to the wall and sighed. "I meant to," he admitted. "But then everything got away from us. I don't know."

"Sometimes," she said softly, "it's difficult for the protector to see their precious one as anything but something to be guarded." She reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers; her skin was soft and smelled faintly of jasmine and yew.

He smiled, turning his hand to lace their fingers together; his had grown long enough to nearly engulf hers. "Guren's kind of hardheaded that way," he said.

She pulled back enough to hide her mouth with a sleeve, laughing. "But so is Masahiro," she said. "If it comes down to one hard head beating the other, I think I will take his side first."

+++

The next night they left early, skipping dinner despite his mother's worried scolding. Mokkun rode on Masahiro's shoulder, his nose up to the breeze and ears lifted. When they drew in sight of the commoner's quarters, he gathered himself up and jumped down, keeping a few paces ahead. The smell of things rotting still lingered, though nowhere near as strong as the night before.

"Maybe it's moved on," Masahiro said, looking around. "The commoner's district is kind of large to begin with, if we patrol--"

In the distance the wind picked up, howling of the cold and moving towards them.

"--or maybe not," he cut himself off, and turned.

The ghost looked worse than it had the night before: great patches of its pale flesh had begun to rot, leaving gaping, sore-looking patches anywhere skin was exposed. It floated in the center of its own column of air, looking down at Masahiro with a peculiar kind of smile.

It's so cold, it hissed. Wet gurgling noises echoed in its voice. Human boy, little human boy, it's so cold--

Mokkun changed, and Guren moved to stand between Masahiro and the ghost. "You're not taking anything from him," he said firmly. "You'll go through me first."

"Guren," Masahiro protested. "Wait--"

You cannot know, the ghost whispered. It's cold, it's so cold, there's nothing left that's warm ...

Flames sparked to life down the length of Guren's arm. "Then stay still," he said. "And you'll be warm soon enough."

The light, the ghost hissed. It shied back from Guren's fire but didn't retreat, and the sharp hot light cast exaggerated and twisted the shadows on its face. The light disappeared and took the warmth with it.

Guren froze. "--What?!"

The light, the light was where it was warm, the ghost whispered. Some of the winds surrounding it began to fade, letting it slowly sink down. But the light disappeared and took all that was warm when it vanished. It stretched out both hands, with patches of bone visible in the long fingers. It's become so cold ... ahh, but you have so much here, surely you can spare a little ...

That seemed to snap Guren out of his daze; a fireball began taking shape in his cupped palm, and his eyes narrowed. "I won't let you touch Masahiro," he said. "I don't care how damn cold you are."

Masahiro glanced over his shoulder. For the moment it seemed like the ghost wasn't about to summon any of the villagers as it had before, and the reedy windy quality of its voice was weaker than the previous night. Its attention was fully focused on Guren, so in order to take advantage of its distraction, Masahiro put his hands together, beginning the prayer to calm a vengeful spirit.

A moment later, the ghost's hair flared up, the ends sharpening into wickedly sharp-looking points that then drove at Guren, who leapt out of the way, flinging a wave of fire in retaliation. This managed to clip the ghost along the side and it staggered, clutching at its burning sleeve and shrieking alongside the wind. Masahiro resisted the urge to break form as the concentrated gale blast struck Guren, slamming him into a standing wall, or when Guren peeled himself off and a spiraling torrent of fire curved around the trunk of the wind, striking and engulfing the ghost.

Even then, though, the ghost struggled forward, wailing cold, cold, it's so cold without end. Guren's flames were eating away at its face and clothes bit by bit, but it didn't seem to notice, stretching its skeletal hands out. I'm cold, I've been so cold since the light vanished ...

"--and do it now!" Masahiro finished, bringing his arm down in a hard sweep, and the ghost jerked to a halt with a shriek, spittle flying from its ruined lips. Guren stood, watching impassively as the ghost began to fade, pieces of itself flaking away to harmless ash from both fire and spell.

Then, for just a moment, the ghost paused in its mindless railings. It looked at Masahiro, then at Guren, and blue spark within its hollow eyes seemed oddly amused.

I curse you, said the ghost. I curse you for having what I lost. I curse you for your arrogance, Touda the despised: you will someday know this same pain, and on that day, you will understand how very alike we truly are.

There was something terrible in Guren's voice when he answered: "I already know."

+++

"Mokkun! Hey, Mokkun, I said! Wait up, come on!" Masahiro jogged after the small white shape just to keep pace. "What's gotten into you, tell me!"

Mokkun didn't answer. He walked with his shoulders set and his head down, like he was trying hard to ignore everything around him, including Masahiro. Before he could actually try to make a break for it, though, Masahiro put on a little extra speed, bending to scoop his companion up in both arms. Like a child's doll, Mokkun dangled limply, though he kept his head turned away.

"Honestly," said Masahiro. "You're letting a hungry ghost's words get to you? That's not like you, Mokkun."

"That's ... not exactly it," Mokkun said quietly. He hunched his shoulders a little. "Masahiro, that ghost was--"

"For one thing, he said you were despised! How can you listen to someone who tells you that?" Masahiro gave him a brief, gentle shake. "There are so many things I couldn't have done without you by my side. And Akiko! How many times have you helped protect her? Neither of us might even be here, if it wasn't for you!"

"Masahiro ..." Mokkun closed his eyes. "We're still not that unalike, that ghost and I."

"If you keep saying things like that, I'll really get angry." Masahiro scowled. "To me, Mokkun is a precious thing! Someone like that, who doesn't know anything about you, only says things to hurt. It--"

"A long time ago," Mokkun said softly, "that ghost was a man. And that man had someone that he wanted very much to protect."

"--doesn't matter what they think, it ... what?"

"Light," Mokkun said quietly. "He found his own light and failed to protect it."

Masahiro tilted his head. "Mokkun? I don't understand, what are you--"

"Just like you gave light to me," Mokkun said, "someone gave light to the man that ghost once was. But he lost it -- possibly through his own mistakes. And his regret over that, whatever jealousies or resentments he carried over the loss, turned him into that." He ducked his head further, wriggling; Masahiro shifted his grip to keep hold of him. "Resentment is a dangerous thing to let fester."

"But you're not like that," Masahiro protested. "Not as Mokkun, and not as Guren! If anything happened to me--"

There was a flash of red light between his hands, and he yelped as the body he held shifted into unexpected size and weight; when the light faded, he stood with his arms loosely around Guren's waist. The moon, half-hidden behind the clouds, provided only enough light to bleach the color from Guren's narrow eyes. Masahiro swallowed, his heart suddenly pounding hard and fast in his ears. "G-- Guren ... ?"

"I've seen what would be, if anything happened to you," Guren said quietly. He took Masahiro's chin in one clawed hand, his expression solemnly impassive. "A hungry ghost is the least damage I could do."

Masahiro opened his mouth to protest, then froze when Guren ducked down.

His lips were dry and warm, the kiss perfectly chaste. Masahiro's eyes stayed wide open the whole time, staring back at Guren.

"... there's all sorts of damage I could do," Guren said quietly. "Starting with that."

Before Masahiro could rally himself, there was another red flash, and Mokkun was stalking off again, faster than before. He licked his lips and found nothing unique in the taste. That struck him as wrong: he'd been kissed -- Guren had kissed him! -- and there was no trace of it, except his own memory.

With a deep breath, Masahiro squared his shoulders, and followed after.

III.

Once they arrived at the Abe estate, Mokkun made a beeline straight for Seimei's room. It was late enough that Masahiro couldn't risk shouting after him without waking people, especially his princess; for the moment, at least, he was safe.

He'd finally done it -- in spite of all his protests otherwise and his own role as a guardian, he'd taken the first step to damning himself. He stopped outside Seimei's closed door and looked up. The old fox could make all the insinuations he liked, to have a laugh at their expense, but surely he wouldn't actually condone anyone touching his precious grandson, and especially not Touda, feared and rejected even by his peers ...

"Ah," Kouchin said. "There's a face I haven't seen on you in a while."

Mokkun glanced alongside at her. "... Kou."

"How serious," she said. "It reminds me of the old Touda, who only smiled when he was fighting something."

"Kou," Mokkun said again, quietly. "I've done something horrible. Masahiro--"

"Is coming this way," she said. "He looks upset, Touda."

Mokkun flinched. "Kou--"

"Mokkun!" Masahiro stalked up, nodding briefly to Kouchin. "What's the idea, running away like that? If you're going to do something like that, at least see it through!"

"See it through?!" Mokkun squawked. "Masahiro, do you have any idea what you're saying?!"

The noise Masahiro made was immediate and rude. He put his hands on his hips, glaring down. "What, are you scared?" he asked. "That's not like you at all."

"It's not that I'm scared!" Mokkun protested. "You don't understand, Masahiro, this isn't something that we can just do -- your grandfather trusts me to take care of you! Doing anything like that isn't so easy, you--"

Kouchin chuckled. "As entertaining as it is," she said, "to see Touda being dressed down like this, I'll leave you two alone."

Masahiro nodded curtly. "Thank you, Kouchin."

"Kou!" Mokkun protested at the same time. "Wait, you can't--" He hissed when she vanished, then turned back to Masahiro, hackles raised. "Masahiro, think about this rationally! If you feel anything, it's infatuation -- you're at that age! It's normal! Besides, you and Akiko--"

"MOKKUN!" Masahiro's voice had a snap to it, loud in the stillness. He crossed his arms, and the expression on his face was unreadable. "Change."

"M--Masahiro ... ?"

"Change, I said!" Masahiro's eyes narrowed. "I want to see your real face."

He almost protested again; instead, he bowed his head and did as he was told. Masahiro stared at him the entire time, only lifting his chin a little so he could meet Guren's eyes when the change finished. He seemed less outright upset than Guren had feared, though surely the opposite would also be a problem: if Masahiro had gotten it into his head that he owed this, justifying it in his own mind until he believed he wanted it--

"You know," Masahiro said quietly, with less anger but the same intensity, "they say that Grandfather is half-fox."

Taken aback, Guren blinked at him. "That's common gossip," he said. "Ever since Seimei first started rising to power, no one wanted to believe an ordinary human could be so powerful ..."

"If that's true," Masahiro went on, speaking over him, "it means I'm part fox too, doesn't it?"

"Masahiro--"

"Would that make this easier?" He tilted his head, and for a moment he looked very young and lost. "If you could pretend that I'm not all human? I might live just as long as Grandfather -- longer, maybe. You could pretend, at least, that I won't--"

Guren stared. "Masahiro ..."

"Or is it just me?" Masahiro lifted his chin further. "Is it just a problem with me? If it is, you can tell me directly, I'd rather know. I'd rather have you by my side as a friend than nothing at all, this isn't--"

"That's not it," Guren said. "I'm responsible for you. The others might acknowledge you now, but they still serve Seimei first, and that won't change until after he dies. Until then, and after, I swore--"

"Guren." Masahiro took a step forward, and then another, until they were almost close enough to touch. Up close, he still looked young and untested, only just beginning the upward climb into his power -- but, to Guren's vague surprise, he could no longer see the trusting infant from long ago. Despite himself, he started to reach out and started when Masahiro caught his wrist, fingers strong and eyes steady. "I'm not a kid any more. I know what I'm asking."

Guren blinked back. "Do you?" he asked. "You and Akiko--"

"Akiko isn't the sort of person who'd hold a grudge," Masahiro said. "Not about this. She's fond of you too, you know."

"She is--?"

Masahiro reached out with his free hand, placing the palm flat over Guren's heartbeat. He smiled hesitantly, and then with more confidence when he wasn't immediately pushed off. "She is," he said. "And you know, Guren, you're the one who said I needed to start doing things on my own more often, right?"

Bemused, Guren let Masahiro push him back a little, until his back hit the railings. "This wasn't entirely what I meant."

"Too bad," Masahiro said, and stretched up the rest of the way, and this time he kissed Guren with clumsy enthusiasm, fingers tightening on Guren's shoulders for balance.

He didn't move. The pit of his belly twisted anxiously, and when he swallowed the back of his throat tasted of blood. Masahiro's kiss hurt in some obscure way, like it could peel off parts of himself and leave something raw and ugly exposed underneath, and Guren settled his hands on Masahiro's shoulders with the half-formed thought to push him off and escape--

Instead, he found his fingers curling over the youth's shoulders, holding him in place. In response, Masahiro pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Guren's neck and making a soft hopeful noise low in his throat. When the kiss ended he didn't pull back, leaning his cheek against Guren's shoulder, breathing hard.

Guren took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. "Masahiro ..."

Masahiro swallowed loudly and grabbed hold of Guren's collar. "I told you," he said, so quickly that the words tripped over themselves. "To me you're important, you're one of the most important people I have, it's one thing if you don't want it, but if you do and you're just trying to say no because you think it's 'right' -- Guren, I --" His voice trailed into silence and he just looked up, fingers going white-knuckled in their grip. "Guren ..."

He settled his claws lightly on the rise of Masahiro's cheekbone, high and cut clean of babyfat. The boy didn't flinch, his eyes wide and dark and full of strange hope, never wavering from Guren's own face. Traces of the child he'd been lingered faintly in his wide eyes and pursed mouth, but they seemed more like echoes rather than the immediate reality.

"You," he said quietly, stroking his claws carefully across the curve of Masahiro's cheek. "I don't know how you always do this to me."

"--Guren?"

He smiled wryly, and it felt like something immensely heavy was draining away. It hurt less than he thought it would, to meet Abe no Masahiro's clear eyes and acknowledge the adult (the equal) as strongly as he had the child years ago. "Seimei isn't going to let me hear the end of this," he said, and moved his hand so that Masahiro's cheek was cupped against his palm. "Something about defiling his cute grandson, I'm sure."

"Probably." Masahiro grinned abruptly, and there was nothing tentative about him now. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"Like you could," Guren snorted, and started to lean down.

Seimei's door opened.

The old man looked out, his expression mild. "Oh, Masahiro," he said. "Guren, too. Sorry, Grandfather is an old man and needs his sleep, could you please move elsewhere?"

"G--Grandfather!" Masahiro sputtered, scowling. "This is PRIVATE--"

"Hoh?" Semei peered at him, like he couldn't see perfectly well in the near-dark. "You shouldn't be carrying on such a fuss in front of Grandfather's rooms, then. He might be an old man, but his hearing's still good as ever!" He sighed, dabbing at his eyes with a sleeve. "Ah, my cute little Masahiro has grown up now, Grandfather's so pleased."

"If you're so happy, why are you crying?!"

"Because," Seimei sniffed, turning his head aside, "that cute little Masahiro is now gone forever, the one who used to be so docile and listen to everything Grandfather told him ... ahh, Guren, please take good care of my grandson--"

"Seimei," Guren began, bemused. "This isn't--"

"Ahh, he's a good boy and a hard worker, my little Masahiro is, but he needs someone who'll keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't get up to much mischief when Grandfather's not around to help him--"

"Fine!" Masahiro snapped, pulling back and grabbing Guren's wrist. "We get it! We get it! We're going, please excuse us!"

Seimei met Guren's eyes briefly as Masahiro began to drag him off and smiled faintly. He inclined his head once, then deliberately turned his back, retreating back into his room.

It felt like another weight had fallen from his shoulders. Guren smiled as well, and let Masahiro lead him away.

+++

The first time Guren slept with Masahiro had been an accident and innocent.

Tonight everything felt very deliberate: Masahiro's stride didn't falter when they reached his room (their room at this point, their room for a long time now) and closed the door. He turned back, blushing furiously but steady as he went back to Guren, stretching up for another kiss. The hands that settled on Guren's shoulders remained steady, and it wasn't so strange after all to bend the short distance between their heights and settle his hands on Masahiro's hips in turn -- and it wasn't so strange to sink down, pulling Masahiro with him; it wasn't so strange to press his face into Masahiro's throat and breathe deep, where he smelled of sweat and incense and lingering old magic. Masahiro's hands settled in his hair, combing gently through over and over, and when Guren bit at the steady-fast pulse under his lips, it earned him a brief startled noise.

"Oi, oi," he muttered, grinning a little. "Not so hard, Masahiro. If you tried pulling on the princess' hair like this, that'd be considered bad manners."

Masahiro blinked, then snorted, pushing at Guren's shoulders until he folded, lying back. "I'll worry about it then," he said, shifting so that he straddled Guren's hips. "You're strong enough to take it, aren't you?"

"You'd have to pull a lot harder before it mattered," Guren agreed. He watched as Masahiro faltered for a moment, then folded his own arms under his head, smirking a little. "Go ahead, you won't hurt me."

Masahiro made a face. "I wasn't worried about that," he protested and unfastened his wrist guards, discarding them before he reached down, pressing his palms flat to Guren's chest, one over the heartbeat. His brow furrowed in concentration as he moved down, fingers spread wide; Guren slitted his eyes half-shut and held still. This wasn't the sort of touch he was accustomed to from Masahiro, but still not entirely strange.

Hesitant fingers skipped over a nipple, and Guren tilted his head back, making a low noise in his throat. Masahiro paused.

"It's all right, isn't it? I'm not good at this yet--"

Guren reached up, slowly, and caught one of Masahiro's wrists. "Don't give up," he said. "Keep fighting, trainee."

Masahiro scowled. "It's not like I've had much opportunity to practice," he said. "I mean, all those people keep asking me, but--"

"You knew about them?" Guren raised an eyebrow, sliding his fingers between Masahiro's own, palm-to-palm. "Really."

"... A little," Masahiro admitted. He ducked his head, blushing again. "It's flattering, but I'm not ..."

Guren kissed Masahiro's knuckles; in response, they tightened around his own fingers. "I'll show you, then," he said decisively. "It wouldn't do for you to learn bad habits from anyone else."

+++

He made short work of the clothes Masahiro wore, stripping off kariginu and hito-e with calm efficiency, alternately helped and hindered by Masahiro's wriggling. They ended up tangled more than once, with Masahiro laughing a little and Guren shaking his head before he tipped the young man back over his arm. An inquisitive hand came up to grasp Guren's collar, tugging.

"This should go too," Masahiro said.

"In time," Guren said, and licked his own palm before he reached down, wrapping his fingers around Masahiro's cock, mindful of his claws.

"Ah--!" Masahiro's eyes snapped open wide before he pressed closer against Guren, shivering. "G-- Guren, nn, that's --"

"Shh," Guren murmured, stroking hard and fast and bowing his head to kiss Masahiro as he did, swallowing the brief abortive noises rising up from the other's throat. Masahiro's fingers curled hard at his collar, trembling a little, and after a stunned moment his hips began to move as well, jerking sharply. Guren curled his other arm tighter around Masahiro's waist, closing his eyes as Masahiro stiffened and bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing blood. And as Masahiro shivered against him, panting into his shoulder, Guren let go of him and began to lick his fingers clean.

"Gu ... ren," Masahiro managed finally, his voice weak. "I ..."

"Not yet," Guren said. He laid a finger against Masahiro's lips for silence, and was vaguely surprised when they parted, closing around the digit up to the first knuckle. He watched in silence as Masahiro met his eyes, and those blunt human teeth were still sharp enough to scrape against the rougher dark skin. At the press of a tongue against the tip of the claw he drew in a sharp breath, straightening a little. "Masahiro--"

A hand caught his wrist, holding it steady as Masahiro leaned back, letting the finger slip from his mouth. He looked pleased with himself. "Guren," he said, as though in agreement, and leaned up.

Guren kissed him hard, turning his hand until he could lace his fingers with Masahiro's again, letting the press of the other's body push him until he was on his back against the futon and Masahiro was sprawled atop of him, lazy and heavily content as a cat. He reached up a free hand, using the edge of a claw to slice through the ribbon securing Masahiro's hair before finger-combing it out to lie loose across the boy's shoulders. Masahiro arched a little into the petting, making a soft pleased noise in his throat.

After a moment there came a tug at his collar, and Guren rose to his elbows, taking Masahiro's hands to guide them to the fastenings; it took a moment of fumbling and then they were undone, so he could slide the heavy crest aside. Immediately Masahiro reached for him, tracing out the lines where the skin had been depressed. Guren saw a moment of hesitation flicker through Masahiro's eyes before he bent, tracing the line that ran from shoulder to shoulder with his tongue, ending with a kiss to the point of his shoulder. He paused again, spreading the fingers of his free hand wide on Guren's chest.

"Guren," he said softly, looking up through his own hair. "Should I--"

"Like this," he said, and pulled Masahiro's hand down, pressing it to the flat of his belly before letting go. "You said you know what you're doing, right? So show me."

Masahiro looked up at that, staring for a full moment before blushing. "Ah -- er, that is -- I thought we were--"

Guren raised an eyebrow. "Are you backing out now? Pull yourself together--"

"If you call me 'grandson' right now," Masahiro warned, "I will really make you regret it."

The fierceness of his expression startled a laugh out of Guren, and he leaned forward to kiss Masahiro in apology. "Not 'grandson,'" he agreed softly. "But this isn't going to be a one-time thing, is it, Abe no Masahiro-san?"

Masahiro's eyes widened. He leaned back. "Ah--"

"In that case, it can wait." Guren leaned their foreheads together. "It's been longer for me than since you've been alive."

"Longer than ..." Masahiro looked blank for a moment before recognition dawned and he blushed again, this time hard enough that it spread to his neck. "Oh--"

Guren laughed again, sliding his arms around Masahiro's waist and drawing him in closer. "So," he said. "Let's not worry about that part yet."

Still blushing furiously, Masahiro sat up a little straighter. "But we will," he said fiercely. "We will, so you'd better not try to get out of it." And before Guren could answer, the hand on his belly slid down, smoothing awkwardly over the jut of his hip, then between his legs and over him. He drew in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening around Masahiro's other hand -- too hard, he realized distantly, so that his claws were digging in -- and Masahiro pressed a kiss under his ear, just holding his cock without moving.

"Guren," he rasped, his breath hot against Guren's ear. "Guren, Guren ..."

It took effort to let go of Masahiro's hand. He smelled blood faintly when he did, and had to pause for a moment to clean that from his claws -- to a god, human blood always tasted bittersweet, carrying the taint of emotions; some learned to like it, and so demanded sacrifices. Masahiro's blood at that moment tasted almost sour, heavy with anticipation and embarrassed hopes and a joy strong enough to humble. When he was done, he reached down and covered Masahiro's hand with his own, smiling at the startled look.

"This way," he rasped. "Like this."

Masahiro swallowed audibly and nodded, pressing his cheek to Guren's shoulder, breathing quick and eyes fascinated as Guren moved their joined hands, and he'd never looked quite so excited for his lessons. Guren almost laughed, but swallowed it back in favor of low, rough noises of encouragement as Masahiro grew bolder, moving faster and with more confidence. Masahiro's other arm came up to curl around Guren's waist as support for them both, holding remarkably steady as Guren started to move.

He leaned his head back into Masahiro's shoulder, aware of how it bared his throat, watching through slitted eyes. Almost immediately Masahiro looked down, and the expression in his eyes softened. The arm around Guren's waist tightened, but the hand on his cock did not falter, moving slickly and steadily. Lips feathered across his temple.

"Guren," he murmured.

Guren smirked at him, all teeth and relief, and let himself go.

+++

Sometime later -- the sky through the screens was beginning to pale, though it would be a while yet till sunrise -- the door slid open. Guren felt Masahiro stir briefly, lifting his head.

"Masahiro?" It was the princess' voice, soft and diffident.

"Akiko." Masahiro sat up partway, though he kept one hand resting over Guren's heartbeat. Guren kept his breathing even and his face slack, listening: Masahiro had been almost deliberately vague about what his princess would think, and no matter how strange her behavior had been, it didn't necessarily mean--

"Ah," Akiko said. "Ah, you worked things out."

"... Yes," said Masahiro, and Guren could picture the lopsided half-grin clearly, embarrassed and a little wry, but too pleased to really mind. "It worked out."

"Oh, good," she said, and there was the sound of rustling silk. Guren risked cracking an eye open long enough to see Akiko kneel down beside Masahiro.

It did not entirely surprise him when they kissed -- briefly, almost chaste, but with definite familiarity. He had been paying attention -- but Masahiro was still Seimei's grandson; he could be sly and hide things without even being aware he was doing so -- and hidden or not, Fujiwara no Akiko was still the first princess of her house. Winning the permission for a wedding might never come to pass, and Masahiro was the sort of practical romantic that believed less in flashy displays for others and more for the prizes he earned himself.

Guren thought that even he could be allowed to let things slip past him, now and then.

Akiko was smiling when she pulled back. "So then--?"

Masahiro lifted his free hand to touch her face, his thumb sweeping across the line of her cheekbone. "We'll let him get used to this first," he said. His smile was still clear in his voice. "It took me long enough to get him this far."

Akiko laughed softly, covering her mouth with the corner of a sleeve. "But he's here," she said. "And you're here too."

"I'll get you here," Masahiro said, with the same intensity he gave all his promises. "Just wait for us, all right?"

Akiko leaned to kiss him again, then rose. "I'll wait as long as I need to," she murmured. "Good night, Masahiro."

"Good night, Akiko." Masahiro remained sitting upright until the door closed behind her, then lay back down, his head pillowed on Guren's shoulder and his arm moving to loop around Guren's waist. He stretched his head, and into Guren's ear, whispered, "I told you she liked you."

Guren snorted and brought a hand up to rest, heavily, on the back of Masahiro's head. He slid his fingers into the loose dark hair and curled them lightly, holding on. It felt good.

"Go to sleep," he said.