Crossed Paths

*part 2

By Sakata Ri Houjun

~***~

When I wrote this story, I had originally decided that it was to be a one-shot fic, simply because I had a lemon scene written between Tasuki and Chichiri, but no story to put it in. So, going with the scene where Tasuki explains the origin of his talisman, how they came from a mage, and both their respective Gaiden novels, which should be animated desperately, I created ‘Crossed Paths’.

However, due to the overwhelming response from fellow fans, it seems that I have little choice but to create a sequel of sorts, maybe even turn it into a serial. Who says those who review with positive feedback don’t have the power?

Warning: Starts off with some lime moments here and there, but will end with a reuniting lemon.

~***~

It was dusk and the already the stars were gleaming in the darkening sky. Through the open canopy of the trees, golden eyes searched among the celestial wonders, trying to locate the one formation that defined who he was, not that he really believed in any of that nonsense about protecting some unknown girl from another world. Destiny or not, he wasn’t following a chick.

But easily, he located Tasuki, the crater, his namesake. “What a load of fucking bull,” he scoffed ruefully as he closed his eyes.

Upon opening them again, he noticed how majestic everything seemed, so quiet and peaceful. The redhead had been traveling all day and was tired. But gods, he hated having to walk everywhere, how much easier things would be if only he could do something cool like teleport. But he supposed that Suzaku had a twisted sense of humor, granting him only speed.

Even if he was forced to protect this girl, he certainly had a weak power. Not that he was weak at all.

But even his speed could not get him nearly fast enough to the next town, so here he was, camping out under the stars. Not that he didn’t mind it at all. Out here, all alone, lying back on the cool grass staring up at the stars gave him time to think, room to himself.

And that’s when his mind would wander.

‘You know,’ he thought to himself. ‘The sky looks the same as it did when I first met him...’

Him. Houjun. The beautiful scarred monk who he met by chance one fateful night. A night just like this one. A meeting that changed his life, bestowed him something that Genrou never thought he’d ever receive. Love.

An all-too-brief tryst that was imbedded vividly into the young bandit’s mind. Every caress and whisper. Every moan and shared kiss.

Even now, repeating that exquisite memory inside his mind played havoc with his senses. He swore he could almost feel the older man against him, his slender, pale hands moving along his body, teasing him with loving touches. He would whisper promises into his ear, warm breath tickling along the delicate ridges just moments before a moist tongue would thrust inside.

Then Houjun would start to nibble at his throat, his hands tangling in the younger man’s fiery locks. Genrou would moan, heartbeat racing wanting more as he moved his arms to pull his love against him. But always, the bandit would clutch nothing but empty air before opening his eyes, his heart aching.

Gods, how he missed his koi. Why should he feel this connected to someone he barely knew? Would he feel this way if they had never made love that night? Would he still yearn to be with the mysterious mage, feeling as though his soul were half complete?

Slowly, Genrou’s fingers moved down to the small leather pouch tied at his waist. Houjun’s parting gift. He still carried the note as well, his reminder that the monk did in fact love him although he never did say the words, that what they shared ran deeper than just physical fulfillment.

A month had passed since that night, give or take a few days. And even though the young bandit had desperately tried to return to his quest, he found himself seriously distracted by thoughts of the cerulean-haired man who haunted even his waking moments. So, Genrou had no choice but to return to Mount Leikaku, resigning himself to defeat.

He had been gone a year already from his home, and he figured that it was high time he should check in, if nothing else but to reassure his fellow brigands that he was still alive and kicking. Besides, it would be good to catch up with Kouji, who had been like his brother, and Hakurou, who like the father that never existed for Genrou.

And just another day and he’d be near Souun, which was at the very base of his home. If he pushed his speed, he could be back at the base by tomorrow night. Just one more day of traveling and then he’d be drinking with his buddies, laughing it up with Kouji, and spending time with his idol. That made the young redhead smile.

But it didn’t help the emptiness in his heart, the part that Houjun had taken with him when he left.

“Oyasumi nasai, Houjun. I wish ya were here with me right now, koi...” he murmured softly as he closed his eyes with a tired sigh, falling asleep beneath the stars.

*~~~*

Chichiri sighed rather bored-like as he rested his head back against the plush satin pillows of Hotohori‘s bed. When he had agreed to take the emperor’s place, he had no idea of how uneventful this job could be. Had he known, he probably would have stayed with Miaka and Nuriko in searching out the remaining seishi two weeks ago.

Hell, he would have preferred Miaka biting his hands again over this perpetual insipidness. And who knew, traveling with his fellow seishi might have him running into Genrou, should Suzaku be so willing and gracious.

Genrou. Just the thought of the fiery youth’s name brought an unbidden sigh to the monk’s lips as they turned upwards into a smile.

Chichiri had been raised with strict principles, taught that not only homosexuality was morally demeaning but that giving oneself without the proper bonds of marriage was dishonorable. But if that was the case, then why did it feel so right to offer his virginity to the younger man?

He never felt this happy before in his life, not even before the flood when it seemed that his fate was bound to his childhood sweetheart. Those stolen and forbidden moments of pleasure had eased the burden of loneliness off of his heart, granting the magically gifted seishi the ability to grow wigs and fly free of any earthy bindings, or so it seemed.

He nearly laughed as he wondered what Genrou would have thought about him being a Suzaku seishi. Certainly the bandit would be surprised, shocked even. Not that he couldn’t blame him, he had been just as stunned the day he found out about his preordained destiny as one of Suazku’s chosen, being told as a small child about the future that lay before him.

At the time, he thought it was the single greatest thing to have happened to him. Everyone in his village suddenly revered him, as though he were a deity of sorts. But once the novelty wore off for Chichiri back then, did he notice how ostracized he became among his friends.

That’s when he realized he wasn’t normal, and could never lead a normal life, no matter how hard he tried. Only Kouran and Hikou remained steadfast in their friendship to him, that is until the flood. And of course his family; he was very close to his older brother and younger sister. But growing up as a teen with that type of knowledge on his head made him rather introverted and quiet, a trait that still stuck with him to this very day, making him hide behind his mask instead of being open.

But Genrou had changed that part of himself, opening up his heart to such an intense emotion that it still scared him at times, overwhelming his mind with how much he yearned to be with the younger man. And in the silence of the spacious bedchambers, the monk could close his eye and recall that one shinning moment where he fell in love with the fiery youth, that instant where Genrou had released him from the bonds of his loneliness.

The bandit’s warmth was imprinted on his skin, branding him with such a searing heat that sent his heart racing to new speeds. He could hear his love whispering into his ear, teasing him with words just as easily was he had with his hands and lips, promising an eternity of love.

Chichiri sighed again, tears prickling the back of his lone eye as ardently wished that he could go back to that one night, choosing instead to stay by Genrou’s side, forsaking his vow to help Nyan Nyan, his destiny as a Suzaku seishi, everything, just so he could remain forever with the one he loved.

His heart sent out a silent prayer as tears trickled down his ivory cheeks, begging Suzaku to bring Genrou back into his life, if even for a moment, just so he could say the words he never said aloud that night.

*~~~*

‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’ Tasuki wondered to himself for perhaps the umpteenth time that afternoon.

He couldn’t understand it himself, why he had actually opted to leave his coveted post as the leader of the Leikaku bandits to follow a girl of all things. He believed that whole legend to be utter nonsense until the night he met Miaka, an upstart of a girl who not only managed to help retrieve Hakurou’s stolen tessen but smacked him, wasted Houjun's’ precious gift, and nearly ate the stronghold's supply of food all in one night.

But Tasuki had made his decision long ago to never follow the Suzaku no Miko. He had vowed to Hakurou that he would remain faithful only to the bandits and the holy mountain they protected. Never mind that he also promised Reirei as she died that he would fulfill his destiny.

So he told one tiny fib, thinking they wouldn’t need him. However, after having a heart to heart with his old pal, Kouji, he realized he had no choice in the matter, especially when the dark-haired bandit revealed that Hakurou's‘ last wish was that Genrou was that he would go out and follow his destiny as Tasuki. It had long been deemed that he must go. Besides, what bigger honor was there than in helping to protect his country, his home?

And other than that, they were traveling as well, so if Suzaku really did care at all, the flaming chicken might actually reunite him with his beloved Houjun.

But so far, all they did was just wander aimless about, led by a glowing sphere that would conjure a kanji whenever they got close to another Suzaku seishi. And now they were entering the outskirts of Konan-koku, reuniting with the his brethren warriors.

But after spending several weeks on the road, listening to Miaka gush about her Tamahome, the prissy Hotohori mooning over Miaka, the okama Nuriko pouting over Hotohori’s inattentiveness, Mitsukake’s unbearable and stoic silence, and Chiriko’s irritating flute, the bandit was about to call it quits and hightail it back to his mountain.

Just down the road they were heading, Hotohori leading the way on the only horse, Miaka astride the mount as well, Tasuki cold see what he assumed to be the imperial palace looming up ahead, awe-inspiring and imposing all at once. He had never traveled this far from Leikaku before, even when searching for a cure for Hakurou’s sickness.

At first, he was certain that they weren’t heading to the palace, that their destination was just past it or something. However, Hotohori continued to lead their mismatched party straight to the main gates, the sentry moving aside and bowing respectfully without even a question to their identities. Tasuki blinked in confusion at the irony of the situation, a bandit being welcomed into the imperial palace. Would wonders never cease?

Once they were in the outer courtyard, Hotohori assisted Miaka off of the gelding. “My companions, go on ahead, I will see this fine animal to the stables,” the brunette said before reigning the horse around a corner, away from their view.

At that point, Miaka and Nuriko excitedly led the three newest seishi into the main courtyard. Even Tasuki could feel their anticipation, actually it was rather contagious. The bandit's heart raced quickly as he took in he splendor of the ornate gardens, the intricate carvings. He’d been a bandit all his young adult life, robbed quite a few dignitaries, but never before had he laid eyes on such grandeur.

Then suddenly, his keen senses could hear the rapid pattering of feet running on marble floors, growing louder as whomever it was nearing their party. Quickly, Tasuki looked up just in time to see an explosion of smoke from which a blue missile launched itself at Miaka, latching on tightly.

“Welcome back, no da!” a high-pitched voice cried out joyfully.

Tasuki jumped back in surprise, startled out of his wits by this unexpected entrance by this unusual...creature. Miaka’s obango hairstyle effectively blocked his view of whomever it was that the Miko was greeting.

Pointing in accusation, the bandit blurted out, “What the fuck is that?”

Behind his mask, Chichiri felt his face flush unnaturally at the sound of that scared voice. ‘Masaka, it couldn't’ be, no da,’ he thought as he peered around Miaka, only to see a pair of wild golden eyes framed by sooty lashes and crowned by a wreath of flaming hair, like the setting sun. A living flame that warmed the monk straight to his heart.

Nuriko laughed at Tasuki‘s reaction. “Only Chichiri, one of the Suzaku Shichiseishi like us.”

But Tasuki didn’t hear what the violet-haired cross dresser was saying, his eyes were riveted on the perpetual smile of the monk, the shock of blue hair spearing up to the sky, matching the serene colors exactly. His heart sped up, not quite believing what he was seeing; the whole scenario seemed too unreal.

Without a word, Chichiri extracted himself from Miaka’s embrace and walked over to the bandit, his blood boiling with so many uncontrollable emotions as he neared the younger man. Summoning all his discipline that his training had provided, he managed to hold out one hand steadily, offering a formal and casual greeting towards the redhead while his heart was urging him to tackle him to the ground instead and lavishing his love with passionate kisses.

“Ore wa Chichiri, no da,” he introduced himself, his voice no louder than a choked whisper that only Tasuki could hear.

With a trembling hand, the bandit returned the greeting, fingers firmly grasping the monk’s. “Tasuki,” he returned, his voice wavering ever so slightly with pent up emotion.

The Miko and the other seishi’s questioning stares disappeared into nothingness as they continued to hold onto each other’s hands, not saying a word, but eyes locked and speaking volumes.

The spell was broken by Hotohori’s entrance, the shock of finding out that the priss was in fact the emperor overriding Tasuki’s overwhelming happiness at finding Houjun again. At least for the moment.

*~~~*

Chichiri made his way back to his room, utterly exhausted from maintaining that spell so that his Miko could communicate with Tamahome. Well, at least the plans were finalized and ready for tomorrow night’s venture into enemy territory.

Now, the only thing on his mind was Genrou. No, not Genrou. He was Tasuki.

He had hoped to Suzaku that he would be reunited with his love, but like this? Certainly the possibility was there, in fact it might even explain why he had been so attracted to the younger man in the first place, the instant connection that allowed him to fall so hard for the redhead.

He wanted to so desperately talk with his beloved, to ask why he never told him. But unfortunately, Hotohori had ordered a grand feast prepared and then he had to plan Tamahome’s rescue with Miaka after that. It was one thing after another.

Chichiri opened the door to his chambers and was immediately pulled into a warm embrace, a familiar scent wrapping around him. The monk immediate melted into Tasuki’s arms, hands gripping at the bandit’s shirt as his lips eagerly sought out his love’s.

The kiss was filled with an urgency, as though both men had been lost in a desert without sustenance and now they had found an eternal spring to quench their thirst. Greedily they drank, submerging within the other, unintelligible noises pouring from them as their embrace tightened.

Finally the need for air prompted the pair of lovers to pull away, but not too far, Chichiri not wanting to let go for fear that it was another dream. But it was no dream, it was reality. Suzaku had brought his fiery bandit back to him, the one person in this or any other world who made him feel complete, who filled him to overflowing with happiness.

Tasuki smoothed his hands through the monk’s short hair, golden eyes filling with tears. “Houjun... You have no idea what’s it’s been like with you, koi...”

Chichiri pressed his fingers against Tasuki’s lips, silencing him with just the gentlest of touches. “I’ve been praying to Suzaku that we’d meet again, no da. But I had no idea that you were a seishi as well...”

Tasuki kissed those fingers lovingly, lavishing such attention on them that it made the monk blush, even through the mask. “I don’t ever want you to leave me again. It’s been fucking torture, knowing that you left without even saying goodbye.”

The monk quickly pulled his hand away, but only to tug his mask off, flinging the paper object away so Tasuki could see hi expression, the truth. “You are all that I have, Genrou. All I have ever had. All that I will ever want on this earth.”

Before the bandit could think or reply, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the younger man’s. He slid closer, pressing their chests together, twining fingers in his untamed hair and stroking his lips with his tongue. Chichiri’s mouth moved against Tasuki’s with a skill that made the bandit’s body harden and strain for release.

Then suddenly they were on the monk’s bed, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, hip to hip. The older seishi rained kisses across his face, and the bandit reveled in the gentle urgency of his touch. He had not realized how very much he had craved the monk’s touch, how much he wanted this beautiful man who loved him until this moment, feeling it all the way to his wildly beating heart.

He tried very hard to be gentle, to go slow. But the passion they had survived on in each other’s absence soared out of control. Having already given his innocence to Tasuki before, Chichiri possessed no shyness in touching him now. His knuckles brushed the hardness beneath his pants and the bandit tensed. Then with a smile, the monk curled his fingers about him and pressed his palm to his fullness, flexing and cupping in a rhythm.

Tasuki gritted his teeth and grasped the monk’s wrist, but he made a sound of denial and struggled to touch his lover again, pressing his mouth against the redhead’s and using his tongue to drive him to distraction.

All Tasuki’s good intentions fled, and he tore at Chichiri’s clothes in his desire to feel his firm, soft flesh in his hands. The cerulean-haired man sighed deep in his throat when his calloused palms rubbed along the planes of his chest, thumbs stroking his nipples. Tasuki pulled his mouth from his lover’s only to see the older seishi’s expression reflecting pleasure, lips swollen, mouthing his name, and when he lowered his mouth to taste at his skin his gasp of delight and the firm stroke of his fingers along his shaft showed how much the monk needed this as well.

The bandit relearned the taste of Chichiri. He memorized the softness of his skin with he tips of his fingers. He made them both mad with desire, and when the monk begged him to love him, his own clothing joined Chichiri’s on the floor as he lifted himself above him.

They were both damp with sweat and breathless with the wonder of each other. Tasuki gently probed at his love’s tight entrance with moist fingers, hesitant to hurt him, but the monk’s eye opened, dazed, glazed, and he rose to meet the bandit, impaling himself on Tasuki’s shaft, then pulling him all the way into his body.

The redhead heard not a whisper of pain form his love’s mouth, only his name and endearments met his ears before he lost all sense of anything but the two of them, like it had been when he held Chichiri’s hand in the courtyard. He slid in and out of the older man’s body in the rhythm as old as eternity.

Chichiri had never felt so complete in all his life. He at last knew what it was like to posses for an instant all that was important in the world.

Tasuki held back his release while the monk’s muscles clamped down around him. Chichiri's breath caught in surprise and wonder as the bandit sank himself into his welcoming warmth one last time and they rode the waves of pleasure together, fully joined as they should be.

When they both lay spent and exhausted, Chichiri cupped Tasuki’s head with his slender hands and lifted his face so he could stare into his golden eyes. He smiled a new smile, one that erased the ever-present sadness in his remaining mahogany orb.

How wonderful their joining felt. So right. So complete. But different than the last time, and that difference Chichiri had to voice. “Genrou, aishiteru...” he whispered, his breath brushing Tasuki’s cheek. “I should have said it that first time but I was afraid that we wouldn’t be able to stay together.”

The bandit’s eyes stared into Chichiri’s, searching. Then he lowered his forehead to the older seishi’s, and his hair slid against the monk’s temples, causing a shiver of awareness to chill the his bare flesh. Chichiri kissed Tasuki then with his whole heart and soul. He clung to the younger man as he’d just scant moments before, proving, if his words had not already, that he did love him.

“Y-ya won’t leave me again?” Tasuki questioned once he pulled away.

Chichiri shook his head. “I will never leave you. Always I will be right here.” He put his palm against the left side of the bandit’s tan chest, memorizing the strength and the warmth of his Tasuki. “Even when you cannot see me or touch me.”

The bandit placed his hand over Chichiri’s, holding him to his heart. “I never want to spend another day apart from you.”

The corners of Chichiri’s lips turned upward in a smile full of promise. “What about the nights, no da?”

The redhead laughed as he settled firmly into the warm embrace of his lover. “It doesn’t matter when it is, I will go where you go, because I love you with all my heart.”

The monk settled back against the pillows, eye closing with a sigh born from pure happiness, arms tightening around his fiery lover. And before he slipped away into peaceful dreams, he whispered, “Arigatou, Suzaku-sama...”