InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Anhanguera ❯ Dusk ( Chapter 16 )

Sitting on the floor, his back against the cool marble wall in the empty room—probably a supply closet at one point or another—Caipora blinked into the darkness, wondering vaguely what time it was, just how long he’d already been confined.  Time held no sway here.  The pitch black removed the ability to gauge something like that.

Funny thing, really.  He hadn’t much cared when a couple of the enforcers had found him, standing there with his hand, buried in Domajin’s chest.  He didn’t know how long he’d stood there.  Domajin’s body had gone cold long before they’d barged in, breaking through the locks that Caipora had turned to keep everyone out until he’d accomplished his task.

They’d stood there, horrified, staring at him like he was some kind of god—or devil.  In the end, they’d shackled him, albeit carefully, as though they were afraid that he was going to come unhinged on them all, and had tossed him into this room or closet or whatever it was . . .

He could feel the youki of someone on the other side of the door who was apparently set to guard him, which was fairly stupid, given that he couldn’t actually move with his hands shackled together.  Either way, he had to wonder just how long they’d try to keep him in here—or how long they already had . . .

The thing was, he wasn’t sorry, not in the least.  Even as he thought that he really ought to be disturbed by the things he’d done, he wasn’t.  Dangerously close to ruining everything he’d fought to accomplish over these last nine years, wasn’t he?  So, why was it that he really didn’t care, at all?  Maybe it was simpler to justify his actions, to rationalize them, given the monster that Domajin had become, and all for what?  Misplaced jealousy that didn’t mix with the God-complex that he carried so well . . . It was one abhorrence too many—one step beyond what Caipora could accept.  Domajin had gone too far to let it go just one more time, hadn’t he?  And maybe . . . Maybe Caipora should have done something about it long before now . . .

He was still pondering the whole thing when the door opened with a snap, as he blinked and squinted at the inundation of light that burned his eyes.  The brush of an aura that was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it since the stabbing light was wreaking havoc on his system . . .

“Get him out of there,” a voice said—a voice that was entirely too familiar.  It was a voice that he heard in the still of the night in his dreams . . .

“An . . . Anhanguera . . .” he rasped out.

Hands closed around his arms, hauled him to his feet, but let go of him a moment too soon, and he couldn’t help it as he swayed slightly, as he frowned and blinked and tried to shake off the upset to his equilibrium brought on by the overwhelming darkness.  The shackles were unlocked, and he rubbed his sore wrists, blinking and shaking his head as he struggled to open his eyes without feeling like they were being stabbed by a thousand tiny daggers.

“Leave us.”

He heard the shuffle as the feet moved away, and he jerked slightly when Anhanguera’s hand grasped his arm.  He persisted, though, grasping his arm once more and leading him through the maze of hallways in the bowels of the mansion where he’d been kept.

It was a gradual process as his eyes adjusted.  They’d already climbed two flights of stairs when he trusted his eyes not to hurt him if he opened them again.  It was still daylight outside, and the upstairs was quiet.  Caipora frowned as they breezed past his chambers and down the hallway that led to Domajin’s rooms, instead.

“Why—?”

“I apologize that it took me so long to come,” Anhanguera said, pushing the door to the antechamber open, and he gestured Caipora inside.  “To tell the truth, I meant to come sooner, but everything seemed to happen so fast . . . Come.”

Following the boss through the darkened room—every curtain, every blind, had been pulled—Anhanguera led him into the bathing area where a bath had already been drawn.  Caipora didn’t get in right away, stepping around the tub for the moment in lieu of taking a shower to scrub away the layers of filth that he’d been forced to live with while in lockdown.  “How . . .? How long was I in there?” he asked, his voice still rasping, harsh.

“A week,” Anhanguera replied.  “Again, I apologize . . . Tell me, my Caipora . . .”

Shaking his head, still a little slow, he rubbed his face, stepping under the brisk flow of water in the open-air shower.  “Tell you what?” he countered, reaching for the soap.

Anhanguera sighed.   “Tell me, in your own words, what happened.”

Caipora frowned.  Tell Anhanguera?  But . . . But it wasn’t a sudden thing, a rash decision . . . It wasn’t one thing that had caused him to snap.  Just what did he want to hear, anyway . . .? “He lost his mind,” Caipora finally said.  He supposed that it was about the most accurate thing he could come up with.

The silence was thoughtful, stretching out into minutes.  By the time he spoke again, Caipora was shutting off the shower tap before slipping into the tub for a good, hot soak.

“Lost his mind?” Anhanguera repeated.  “Obsession will do that to a man . . . I gather that you were the object of his obsession.”

Caipora grimaced.  “He got pissed off because I participated in one of the Saturday night games, so he strapped me to The Rack . . .”

Holding up a hand, Anhanguera shook his head.  “I’ve seen that unfortunate footage,” he admitted.  “No lasting damage, I assume?”

“Just my pride,” Caipora grumbled.  “So, he punished a couple slaves—at least, that’s what I thought he was going to do, but he . . . He killed them . . . I assume you know about that, too.”

Anhanguera nodded slowly, settling himself on a polished bench near the darkened windows.  “A lot of money, he cost me,” he ventured.  “For that alone, I was going to have you remove him.  But . . . That wasn’t the reason you turned on him, was it?  Even after all that, you still didn’t turn on him, which means . . .”

He had the distinct feeling that Anhanguera already knew the rest of it.  Still, he seemed to want to hear Caipora’s side of it, just the same.  “Almost a year ago, a young novice came here,” he said, measuring his words carefully.  “The other slaves . . . I don’t know if they were jealous of her or felt threatened by her in some weird way . . . She wasn’t born into slavery, but I think you know that.  So, Domajin placed her in my direct care.  Somehow, he got the impression that there was something going on . . . He had her up on The Rack.  He meant to ruin her.  He forced her to perform oral sex on him . . .”

“And that’s why you took matters into your own hands.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

He nodded slowly.  “She is your toy in the same way that you were Domajin’s toy.”

“Uh, no, I—”

Anhanguera chuckled.  “Be easy, my Caipora.  We all have pets . . . toys . . .” Standing up, he nodded again, as though something made complete sense to him.  “Very well.  You may keep your pet if it pleases you to do so.  You alone can decide what she will or will not learn, when she will learn those things . . . Call it a test, if you will . . . There will be no more trouble for you, in any case.  You are my new overmaster.”

“What?”

Anhanguera leaned down, let his fingertips trail up his cheek.  “You please me, my Caipora,” he said.  “I love to indulge those who do.”

Unable to control the involuntary shiver that raced through him at the intimate contact, Caipora swallowed hard.  “Anhanguera . . .”

Locking eyes with Caipora, the enigmatic youkai stared at him as he slipped off his smoked glasses.  “You broke him, my Caipora . . . The once-proud jaguar no longer roams the jungle . . .”

“I didn’t . . .”

Crouching down beside the tub, Anhanguera chuckled.  Reaching out, rubbing his shoulders, Anhanguera slowly worked the stiffened muscles, sensitive hands, gentle, but strong.

Uttering a low groan as he slowly relaxed, he let his head roll back against the edge of the sunken tub, staring up at Anhanguera in a slow, hazy kind of way.  As if he were caught up in a dream—maybe a fantasy—his breath caught in his throat as Anhanguera leaned down, suckling softly on his bottom lip as Caipora lifted a hand out of the water, slipped it into the man’s thick black hair, holding onto him, his tongue flicking out against the boss’ lips, as reason gave way to lust . . .

Anhanguera’s hands move up, up over his wet skin, slipping so easily over his flesh as another riot of gooseflesh broke out all over his body.  Cupping his cheeks, running his thumbs over the angles, the shadows of his face, he moaned softly against his lips, his tongue flicking over Caipora’s in a slow dance of absolute desire . . .

Caipora sat up, turned around, rising up out of the water that only rose to his hips as the kiss deepened, shifted, as a headiness grew.  Anhanguera’s hands dragged over the expanse of exposed skin, setting of a trail of tremors, delicious, violent tremors—before plunging his hand into the water to wrap around Caipora’s cock.  He swelled at the contact, balls growing tight and aching.  Anhanguera slipped his hand up the shaft, pushed back the foreskin, rolled the pad of his thumb over the swollen head . . .

Letting his head fall back, Caipora struggled to breathe as every last fiber of his body seemed to reach out to Anhanguera in a shocking and complete need.  The vile heat that invaded him, that begged for some kind of release . . . Rasping out a quiet entreaty, he was rewarded by the steady pump of his cock.  As the pleasure-pain rose higher, thicker, he grunted, groaned, savored the feel of Anhanguera’s mouth on his throat, his hand on his dick . . .

Thicker, harder, the sound of his pulse, throbbing in his ears, he wrapped his hand around Anhanguera’s, squeezing, releasing, gasping as his orgasm spilled into the water, as he pitched forward, catching himself on the side of the tub as he struggled to breathe, struggled to think.

“Ah, what you do to me, my Caipora,” he whispered, lifting Caipora’s chin, pressing his lips against him, nudging him slightly as he uttered a melancholy sigh.  “If I had all the time in the world . . .”

Caipora wasn’t sure he could speak as he fought back the unwelcome sense of disappointment.

The dragon-fish-youkai smiled ruefully.  “I must go.  I have an auction tonight that I dare not miss.  The Virgin House is yours, my Caipora.  Do not let me down.”

He watched with a scowl as the boss walked away, unable to wrap his brain around what had just happened.  The kiss, the talk, everything . . . None of it made any sense at all . . .

“We all have pets . . . toys . . . You may keep your pet if it pleases you to do so.  You alone can decide what she will or will not learn, when she will learn those things . . . Call it a test, if you will . . .”

‘A test . . .?’

There were no answers as he soaked in the tub, as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened . . .

Caipora glanced up from the work logs as Five scooted into the room with his dinner tray.  A deep frown of concentration on her face made him raise an eyebrow as he set aside the logs, crossing his arms over his chest, making no bones about watching her.

“Five . . .”

She jumped slightly, shot him a quick glance before ducking her chin once more.  She’d been quiet and skittish ever since she was returned to him. He knew why, of course.  That didn’t mean that he liked it . . .

“Yes, Master?”

He sighed.  “How were your lessons?”

She shrugged.  “They were okay,” she replied quietly, removing the cloches that covered the dishes before retreating to a kneeling position near the doorway.

“All right.  Come here,” he ordered.

She didn’t look like she wanted to comply, but slowly, almost painfully slowly, she stood up, shuffled over to stand beside him, twisting her hands in her slip.  “Are you scared of me?” he asked.

She quickly shook her head.  “No, Master.”

“Do you . . . want me to assign you to someone else’s care?” he asked, bracing himself for her answer, just in case she said she wanted that.

The quick shake of her head came faster this time.  “No, Master!”

“Then tell me what’s the matter.  You can tell me, Five.  I won’t be angry with you.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, she dared a peek at him, her eyes darkened, clouded with the things that were running amok in her mind.  “They . . . They said you killed Overmaster,” she said quietly.  “They said it was . . . really bad . . .”

He sighed again.  In a way, it didn’t surprise him.  “He was really bad,” Caipora told her.  “He hurt you, didn’t he?  And that wasn’t okay.”

She considered that, still tangling her hands in her slip.  “Because he made me suck on him?”

He grimaced inwardly at the matter-of-fact way she’d stated it.  “Uh, yeah . . . and because he whipped you.”

“He said that was punishment because I broke a vase,” she said, cheeks pinking, chin ducking lower.

“No, Five.  There should never be that many lashes for breaking something.  He . . . He was wrong . . . I . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.”

She still looked confused, but she finally knelt down beside the table—her normal spot.  “But . . . But you liked Overmaster,” she finally said.  “You . . . You kissed him and . . . and you . . . you did . . . stuff . . .”

Letting out a deep breath, Caipora reached over, grasped Five’s hands in one of his, tugging her over into his lap.  “I only did that so that I could get you off that rack, Five,” he told her gently.  “Domajin was a bad man.  If he . . . If he thought that I . . . That I cared about you at all, he . . . He would have hurt you—a lot more than he did.  I . . . I was pretending.”

She didn’t look like she understood that.  She probably didn’t.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again.  “It was . . . mine . . . and I’m sorry.”

She shot him a wide-eyed look, her little mouth, rounding in an, ‘o’.  “Master!  You . . . You can’t apologize to me!  You’re—”

“I’m not perfect, Five.  Even masters . . . Even masters make mistakes,” he told her gently.  “You should never be punished if there’s not a good reason . . . Domajin didn’t have one.  He found a reason.  That’s all.”

She turned, stared at him for a long moment, as though she were trying to figure something out in her mind.  Maybe she was.  “I . . . I was scared,” she whispered, her lips suddenly twitching as a little shiver ran down her spine.  “I wasn’t scared when you came—well, not as scared . . .”

He smiled, tousled her hair.  She cocked her head to the side for a moment.

And then, she leaned up and kissed him.

It was just an innocent little peck—a child’s kiss of affection.  The feelings that it invoked, however, shocked him, shot straight through him, dredging up a million memories, as fleeting as the breeze—memories that he’d forgotten—that he’d tried to forget . . . So many things, painful things—painful in the bittersweet sense . . . Before he could rightfully react, she hopped off his lap, skittered over to find her coloring book and crayons, humming a happy little song under her breath.

He watched her for a long, long time, as she studiously and carefully selected her colors, as she took her time, outlining the picture before meticulously coloring inside the lines . . . Somewhere along the line, she glanced up at him, only to do a double take.  “Master?  Would you . . .? Would you color with me?” she asked, sounding as though she expected him to say no.

He smiled.  “Let me eat my dinner, then I’ll color with you,” he said.

She blinked, smiled at him, unleashing those dimples to full effect as he slowly shook his head, reaching for an arepa that he handed to her before grabbing another for himself.