This is the third time I try my hand at writing a fanfic. The first time was eleven years ago, and it took me four years after that failed attempt to try to write a second one. It's been seven years since then, so... I'm telling you this so you know what you're getting into. Please leave a comment if you read this, even if you didn't get past the first paragraph, and tell me what you liked or disliked and why. Chapter two is already done, but I would like to find someone who can help me as a beta-reader before publishing it. I don't know how long will the story be, by the way, but you can expect violence and sexual content later on, as well as foul language. It's just a rather silly idea I had after browsing Yukimura's tag on pixiv.
The Hunting Game
Run, he tells himself. Run as fast as you can, or you won't be able to claim his body again.
On second thought, he considers, the lustful promise he had meant to treat himself with had come out sounding more like a threat than anything. Well, whatever keeps him running is fine, even if it's a threatening promise. Even if it's a lie. He silently hopes it's not. Wishing he could wipe off the sweat that's beginning to make his single gray eye sting, he charges through the omnious, silent jungle. He can't see them, but the man can feel the creatures of the jungle observing him, their intense gaze heavy on his shoulders. He knows they know what he's hiding, and why he's running away. If looks could kill... The running man smirks. Fuck them, he thinks, for eagerly expecting his death, but he knows it's fair. After all, he plans on taking something precious away from them. He only wishes they would side with him this once, instead of being the silent observers of the repercusions of his latest mess-up. The inhabitants of this place refuse to act as anything but wild animals towards him. Suddenly, he wonders how could he let such a stupid thought cross his mind.
"Of course they act that way, you moron, they are fucking animals."
His musing is interrupted abruptly. A low branch hits the running man hard on the forehead, breaking at the impact, and he curses loudly at the sudden pain, tightening the grip on the large shape he holds in his arms. It is that of an unconscious child that has been clumsily covered with a sheet, not even letting a single hair show from under it. Even as he swiftly avoids any more branches and twisted roots from slowing his escape, the man —now forced to deal with a progressively more painful headache— allows himself to smirk, taking note of just how thin the sheet covering the very naked boy in his arms is, enough to let him feel the scars on the younger male's body through the fabric. He shakes his head when a part of him starts wondering what else could he be able to feel through that cloth. This is definitively not the right time for such questions.
"I thought I told you to at least put on the pants Kojuurou gave you, you goddamn savage," he spits out. The reality he finds himself in will not let his mind drift away to better times.
Gunfire brings him back to his senses. He can hear it, but only the lack of that particular smell he'd learned to hate in the last months tells him of the distance between them and the battle. The strong scent of the jungle life is the only one that surrounds him, and though he worries for his servant and long-time friend, he can't help but feel relieved. Their attackers won't be able to keep up with his pace, or even find them. Whether or not the creatures living in it approve of him, the jungle is his ally this time, it will protect them both. None of their attackers had spent enough time in that place to know the hidden surprises waiting for them to make the wrong choice. They don't know which path to avoid, which tree not to hit. Well, except for that guy. He hopes Kojuurou is able to keep that person from following them, at least while he finds the proper hide-out.
Any signs of daylight are gone by the time he gets to the hole. His body is aching badly, but he ignores it. It's not that he's not in shape, but he wasn't in top conditions before all of this started. After all, he was supposed to be recovering from that injury, not carrying scantily-clad boys through the jungle. His legs suddenly start shaking, the adrenaline rush that kept him going now starting to wear out. Reminding himself there won't be any time to rest during the night, he lets out a low growl as the only complaint and, after a small pause to steady his breath, gets back to work.
The young man eyes the hole carefully, making sure it's the right place. It's hardly wide enough to let him in, and it looks abandoned. Whichever animal made it (he's probably supposed to know the answer to that, but it must have been one of those days he had found observing the younger boy's movements far more interesting than listening to whatever he had to say) won't bother them while they're in there. He curses, quietly this time, and ties up the unusual load he's been carrying all day, shoving the still covered boy rather roughly down the hole, using the rope to stop the free-fall. He can hear the boy's head bump a few times during the rather careless drop, wincing at ever hit.
"Sorry, boy," he says, finally feeling the other hit the ground. He lets himself into the hole, pushing his back against the walls to slow his descent. "You won't remember what hit you anyway."
Expertly landing next to his sleeping partner, he smirks again. The hands they had printed on to the rocky surface of the cave were there, on the nearest wall. Of course it's the right hole, he shouldn't ever doubt his sense of direction. He briefly lets himself enjoy the small victory, taking one of the large knives he carries on his belt to cut the ropes bounding the still figure on the floor. He can't destroy the sheet, knowing they will need it later on to hide the boy from suspecting eyes. After a frustrating battle with the fabric, he manages to uncover the boy's face, the wild chestnut-coloured mane breaking free from its cover and spilling all over the man's arms. He studies the boy's face closely. Though he's been asleep for almost an entire day now, the boy's face is not peaceful. He is frowning, eyebrows twitching every now and then. His lips are tightly shut and are not as pink and lustful as he remembers them. The bags under his eyes look terrifyingly out of place in a face the man is used to seeing filled with energy and joy. He seems in a lot of pain, the older one notes gravely, and suddenly feels guilty for making the trip so rough. Craddling him in his arms, he caresses the other's cheek almost lovingly, hardly pressing his thumb against it in fear it will disturb his already restless sleep.
Despite his carefulness, the boy wakes up, an automatic response to the familiar touch, barely opening his eyes. There's none of that overwhelming, animalistic anger he remembers seeing in that youthful boy's face the first time he met him. The boy won't even bite his hand as a good morning greeting anymore... The man doesn't smile to the boy right away, analyzing all those frustrating details. Just when did that remarkable survival instinct started allowing a stranger like him into his personal space so easily? For the first time since they met, he begins to think the boy was a creature he shouldn't have meddled with, a creature best left untamed. He bites his lower lip to stop himself from making a curse the first thing the younger one hears after so many hours of being unconscious.
"Masamune." The voice is tiny, weak, but there's no trembling in his tone. Masamune finally smiles at the stubborn child, the savage who refuses to admit defeat to anyone or anything. Not even to the poison slowly killing him at that very moment.
"Masamune," he repeats.
"I can hear you, boy."
"Very hurt." Masamune pinches the boy's cheek softly at this statement, caressing it with his thumb right after. He frowns at the thought of a certain auburn-headed individual. That annoying guy hadn't been a very good language teacher after all. Nevertheless, he had to admit the boy's broken Japanese was somewhat charming. The boy closes his eyes at the playful aggression, moving his hand upwards to touch the eye-patch covering the older man's right eye. The one-eyed man sighs.
"I know, Yukimura." They can get out of this. Possibly, no, most definitively not unharmed, but at least alive.
Yukimura looks up at the mention of his name. He slowly moves his hand down Masamune's face, tracing his jawline with his fingertips. The boy follows the path with his eyes, and the older one can see he's in deep thought, the usual passionate flame dimly burning in his tired brown eyes. He wonders what sort of things a boy like Yukimura must be thinking, in the arms of someone he should be treating as an enemy and the reason he has to bear with the pain of the poison slowly killing him. From the start, that boy has been able to see right through him, but Masamune still hasn't figured out how to open the box full of secrets that is called Yukimura. He can only get a glimpse of its contents because the boy will let him. Used to getting what he wants, when he wants, it both amazes and angers him.
He gets up, still carrying the boy in his arms, and starts walking towards the deepest part of the cave. Though he's been there a few times already, he had not been allowed to wander very far into the cave, so he's careful not to make any noise, avoiding the various-sized bones of animals adorning the path ahead. Yukimura scratches his neck lightly, playfully, and finally nests his hand over Masamune's heart, snuggling against his chest. He gets that embarrasing, fluttery feeling in his stomach, and instinctively looks away. He's probably blushing right now, though the darkness surrounding him makes it unnecessary to try to hide it. So unmanly.
Something prowls behind him. It purposefully steps on a skull to call Masamune's attention, crushing it under its weight. The man tenses, turning back as slowly as possible, as to not offend the demon standing behind him. A pair of piercing golden eyes stare directly to his single gray one. Those eyes that can make even the bravest of men waver in fear.
If Masamune is afraid, he does not show it.