Slipping The Leash

Disclaimer: I do not own Enzai, nor do I claim rights to any of the affiliated characters.

Warnings/Notes: A little insight as to the thoughts and feelings surrounding Muyca calling out to Guys. Rated hesitantly, as I feel M is a bit strong and T is a bit lenient.

Days began and ended, wearing down his only defense into small mews of protest as his lover's hands roamed harshly beneath the sheets. Some days the taller, broader form would pull him into the warmth of a midnight embrace, enticed, no doubt, by the lingering sweetness of strawberry wine. Most others, however, the body towered over him, splitting him into jagged pieces of torture and self-pity.

In the daytime, devoid the presence of self-loathing that came at every surrender to the taller man's touch, there was a dwindling but urgent desire to be free.

At the closing of the door he would pace the room - his fists clenching and unclenching. Often he thought to run, but the visions came to him in blood stained hazes - a near escape ending in quick capture. Because Guildias would always be bigger, would always be stronger.

Even as days in captivity turned to months, thoughts of freedom weighed relentlessly on his mind. The child in him, laced with timidity and a willingness to please, failed to act on them. They built just the same.

And one day, sunshine teasing him through the window, he met his captor's eyes and agreed to be taken outside. In that moment he was able to choke back the instinct to run, smothering it beneath the purring voice a monster. (You are my Myuca - my Myuca...always.) He walked briskly in an attempt to quell his disgust. but the lust for freedom became dangerously strong.

Suddenly the embarrassment of being seen in women's attire was all too much; the nakedness of his skin against the fabric unbearable. And holding the inspector's hand, being sucked to him like a frightened little girl clinging to her father...he hated it. His fingers flicked and fidgeted in Guildias's hold, but he merely rubbed them against his own, squeezing them tighter. Periodically the elder would deliver a quick swat to his bottom and he was forced to bite back a cry, hanging his head in shame as passersby commended the man for his way with children. It was a warning, Muyca had always known that, but the urges to do something, to fight this, clouded his judgement.

As his eyes traveled to the ground in well-feigned shame, he caught sight of a familiar pair of eyes, and without thinking, cried out to them. At the last instant he stopped himself from throwing off his wig with a free hand as Guildias clawed him tighter to his side.

In his final moments, it is one of many regrets.

When the life is leaving him, even as he is pleading - because somewhere inside he wants to live, even if it is like this - the feeling remains. Memories don't flash before his eyes, his head thumps violently and his muscles spasm in a fight for the air he'll never breathe again.

As his world fades there is a brief hysteria followed by a slow, creeping sense of peace. One last note from both sides of him, one fighting for life, and the other recognizing, rejoicing in death.

Because now, even if it means his captor has won in the end, Myuca has the only thing that ever really mattered.


Author's Note: I realize that starting about five paragraphs from the bottom I switch from past to present tense, I liked the flow of the story that way regardless so I hope it didn't detract much from the reading experience.