Yami no Matsuei, Souryuu/Touda, irresponsible
Soryuu keeps his hair down, lets the glimmering blue waves of it trail through the wind and tangle in his robes. Strands of it stick to Touda's skin, trail through the sweat and make the serpent itch as he braces against Tenku's rough stone and lets the Voice of the Emperor vent his latest frustrations.
Soryuu smells of jasmine and lotus and the incense smoke of the Court halls. To the Black Flame Serpent he reeks of flowers and fear. All the noble mice in the heavenly court sweating in heavy silks, their hate and fear tainting the very wind.
Under the Voice, Touda can taste the dragon Soryuu once was. Ocean salt, pond murk, the iron of new blood mixing with the musk of mating things slid over his tongue. He doesn't need to see the lines around blue eyes to know Soryuu is getting old. Tired. Bottled and boxed in by the very Emperor he swears loyalty to and the world that bows to him.
Touda can feel it in every rolling thrust, every deep stroke into his core that feels less like a claim and more like a plea. Once, Soryuu had beaten him into these walls, tore his pleasure from Touda's flesh and roared his satisfaction to the uncaring heavens. Once, Touda had been his equal.
Now the dragon humps into him like a machine desperately seeking the peace of oblivion for a while and Touda merely takes it. It is terribly irresponsible for the Voice of the Emperor to seek solace in the flesh of a criminal, but was it any worse for that emperor to take a free, selfless soul and bind it to service that would destroy it?
If the Blue Dragon wanted to let his hair down, Touda wouldn't say anything.