Yami no Matsuei, Souryuu/Touda, dirty little secret
Tsuzuki doesn't know. Granted, he doesn't know much even after all these years and no one else knows either. Not sharp eyed Rikugo, curious Byakko or Tenku himself. If they knew, Touda wouldn't be allowed to live on the palace shiki's grounds.
Soryu meets him high in the mountains, in a place hostile to them both. The air is thin, the cave dry, and the only way to get in is to fly and squeeze, scales scraping along the rock until it's safe to change. He always comes here first and waits, sometimes for hours, sometimes for a day or more. Soryu always follows. Unhappy, unwilling, guilt creasing the furrows of his brow even deeper as he stalks inside and sheds his robes.
Touda waits, and when Soryu falls on him like a a hungry tsunami, trying to drown him with deep sucking kisses and enveloping arms, wandering hands, waterfall hair shrouding them in waves of azure, he submits.
Touda is fire. He burns and writhes and consumes without mercy, but Soryu smothers him. Pins him down and chains him to the floor with the cuffs he's never taken off since the Emperor cast him aside. Soryu ties him down and strips him bare, impatient. Uncaring.
The first thrust always draws blood. Shikigami heal almost as fast as the shinigami who seek to control them, but it's not about pain here. It's thoughtlessness. Soryu doesn't care if he finds pleasure or ends up crippled in the end. Dragon of the East needs a body, and Touda...
Touda doesn't care either. He's spent so long in the dark, with his hate, that without these painful encounters he gets lost in the shade behind his visor. It feels the same, the long days of mindless waiting. Only this, and Tsuzuki.
Fangs sink into his chest, Soryu's shaft thrusting in hard and Touda can smell his own blood. The iron mixes with musk. Legs held up and spread on the dragon's shoulders, there's nothing Touda can do but accept the invasion. He tilts his head back and focuses on the liquid feeling in his limbs, the motion of Soryu's hips a violent tide pounding into him. Eventually the bruising grip on his hips tightens and Soryu floods him.
They don't talk. The guardian of the east pants and shudders through his release, then backs away as soon as his legs will hold him. Drags on his robes, pulls on the polite disdain and releases the chains without a word.
Touda watches him go from his sprawl on the cave floor. It's strange he thinks, sweat cooling on his skin. Strange that he feels... disappointed.