Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Pomegranate ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Pomegranate [Part one of three]

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; the author does not in any way own the characters and the myth this story is loosely based on.

Author's notes: I will finish Desire. Fret not. This is a thought in passing and should be heeded. This is not, aside from the obvious usage of characters, connected to the aforementioned fan fiction.

Dramatis Personae:

Pluto: Himura Kenshin    Proserpine: Kamiya Kaoru

Jupiter: Hiko             ;      Ceres: Tae       

Venus: Megumi           &nb sp;  Mercury: Soujiro

Neptune: Saitoh           &nb sp;  [Gaea - Mother Nature]

Mars: Sanosuke            Apollo: Aoshi

Bacchus: Okita           &nbs p; Minerva: Shura

Orpheus: Yahiko           Eurydice: Tsubame

Thalia - muse of comedy  Diana: Misao

A [gratuitous] primer which you could skip (yes, you, mythology freak) but would contain some explanations to ease your mind:

Q: Kenshin as Hades?! WTF?

A: Well, this is a fanfiction, after all. Also I believe that Death comes swiftly at your door and who do we know has god (pun intended) -like speed?

Q: And is that why Soujiro is Mercury, because he's fast?

A: Yes, there's a correlation between speed and time in this case.

Q: Does this all happen in Japan?

A: No. The places are the Underworld, Aboveworld and Valley of the gods.

Q: Do I have to know my mythology to understand this?

A: I would like to say yes, because I read mine when I wrote this. However, this is a work of fiction and a fanfiction at that, so the right answer would be no. 

Q: Is the timeline of Orpheus and Eurydice and Hades and Persephone the same?

A: No, I'm not sure though. I just incorporated that into the story. Persephone has to find a motivation to love Hades. I used the story of Orpheus and Eurydice for that purpose. 

Q: Why is the rating such?

A: You be the judge of that. 

Q: When are the next parts coming out?

A: After I have settled things with my own Scylla and Charybdis (i.e., my on-going writing apprenticeship and Desire).

-- questions prepared by a reader; answers by author

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"IT IS not good for you to starve yourself, blossom," he said. His voice was concrete bass, smooth and foreign. There was a lingering accent in his language, a hybrid of many easts and wests that she has no familiarity with. Nevertheless, his was more cultured than the voice of her revered father; wiser than her sage tutor; and, gods forgive her for such thoughts, deeper than Neptune's ocean.

A modest feast on a golden plate was presented to her, and she, in all her humble glory, softly pushed it away. Her porcelain hands were neatly folded together on her lap and her head was placed on a low angle. She has been here for two new moons and she has successfully carried out her fast. Minerva taught her all about the regions of the gods and all their secrets; for her to partake of the food and wine of the dead would be her own sentence. She stood by her training and reminisced distantly about the time when Venus suggested that she fast, or nibble only on romaine leaves, to develop an enticing figure. But now, she reflected, it would have been best if she did not entice anyone at all.

"The food is not to your taste?" he queried, his eyes more golden than her plate.

"My refusal is not at all an indication of my distaste for it, my lord. It is simply a demonstration of my sensibilities," she replied. A hand displaced the tight connection on her lap and brushed an ebony lock off her azure eyes.

He placed a hand under his chiseled chin. "Explain these sensibilities."

"It should be apparent to you, your Grace, that to consume anything from these depths would equate to permanent imprisonment," she replied, her free hand formed in a fist.

He smirked. "It seems that it has become my foremost duty to correct your education, blossom. Death is not a form of imprisonment. If anything else, it is a liberation of the soul, freedom from all earthly trappings. Look at the people residing at the Elysian Fields and judge if they are at all bound. And see if all the evil-doers in the mortal plane have escaped their deserving punishments. Would you, as a goddess, give an aging man the gift of immortality? That is more of an imprisonment, wouldn't you agree?"

She winced at his words, remembering one of Venus' dalliances. She closed her eyes and sighed. "And keeping me away from my mother and the sky that I love is considered liberation? You said that you wanted to bask in my beauty; if you keep a butterfly captive inside a jar, it would wither away. Set me free and I will flourish."

Each day she had been in his dark territory she had asked for her freedom. In habituation she grew more and more impatient for him to break down his resolve and let her go. And each day her hopes of that ever happening, of her embracing the warm light of day slowly became an impossibility.

"Would you forsake a minute of your day away from your Apollo's sun to peek inside Tartarus to ask how I am? Would your mother be as generous? Come now, are those sensible choices or empty promises?"

Her pale cheek flushed. No, she would certainly not be able to keep up with those decisions. Meeting Death had been the very last on her list; Gaea kept all her attention. She said nothing in reply.

He rose from his chair and held his hand out to her. "Perhaps it is best if you retire for the evening."

She placed her hand on his forearm, accepting his gallantry but refusing his offer of intimacy. He said nothing about her action as they proceeded to her chambers. It was a long silent journey, calmer than the air around them. An insignificant gesture opened the doors and he ushered her inside. He was about to bid her good night when she turned to him and said, "Maybe I could offer my hand in friendship."

She extended her arm for a handshake and smiled, pink carnations in bloom. She released a breath of relief when he took her offering and she sucked in another gulp when he brushed his lips against her knuckles. In a whirl of fabric, he had her pressed against his length, their breaths intermingled.

"As it turns out, I want your hand for other things."

-----------------

SHE TOSSED about in her bed, the sheets too stifling for comfort. Surely there is no sun nor star in this region but the perspiration seeping from her pores is a contradiction of that fact. The first night she was here she fought against the urge to weep, channeling her grief into anger. Not a word emanated from her the first three days. She nodded or shook her head to answer queries and remained still for the rest. During this treatment she avoided his eyes, partly scared that she might see lava emerging from those depths since she was full of the knowledge that this kind of persuasion would command the receiver to yield. She saw Venus do it to Mars. Venus, with her pouting lips,  molded hips and secret mounds could get any man into submission however with this technique, things go by swifter.

But when she foolishly peered into his amber orbs one night during a meal together, she saw no semblance of disappointment or irritation. To her chagrin and amazement, she saw laughing flames dance in his eyes. He was amused with her! It was as if Thalia herself had been in the very hall and entertained them with her gaiety. Tapered fingers lightly supported the small platinum trident but the food was still neatly piled in his plate. He was watching her, sipping his wine, asking questions he knew she'd never reply to, all the while baiting her.

With an undignified huff and maroon patches on her cheeks, she raised the goblet to her lips. On her peripheral vision she saw him straighten from his otherwise relaxed position. She stared at her reflection on the clear wine. Dimly, she wondered how Bacchus and his parties are.

"You can put it down now," he said, moments after.

She did and primly added, "Did it ever occur to you that your irritation would at least ease my grief?"

He took his time in answering her, preferring the raspberries that were suspended from the tip of the fork. Once chewed, they became red dollops on one side of his mouth until his tongue claimed them to return.

"It never occurred to me that you were grieving, blossom. I only had the inkling that you are furious."

She was taken aback with his words. It was the first time he had used an endearment to her. When he lured her to his carriage he had used her title, Daughter of earth, to refer to her. On the rare occasions that he had to use her name, to introduce her to her ladies-in-waiting and the staff, he referred to her as Proserpine. But now with the tease and lightness in his words along with the failure of her tactic, she became lost on how to respond to his enigma and his sense of totality.

She must have played with her thoughts longer than she should because he had to tap the tabletop to regain her attention. "I'm sorry, did you ask a question?" she said, this time pink blooms in her cheeks.

He did not laugh, as she had expected, and repeated his words to her, "Is it so bad to be with me?"

Her mouth agape, she struggled with her words. Her fingers idly combed through her hair as she tried to settle something to say. Abducted her he did, but her stay has actually been pleasant and accommodating. She found herself saying so, elaborating on the treasures and beautiful things in the castle, the hospitality of the people and the like. An appraisal of the master of the realm, however, she could not do. She let the answer dangle, begging with her eyes that he let it slide.

At that time, he was eyeing the raspberries in his plate but his words were directed at her. "Everything you see is pleasant, and yet you make it appear otherwise -"

"That is not it!"

"Oh? Then what is it, pray tell."

She fumbled with the linen square on her lap. "Please, what you are asking is not within my reach. I cannot say that I dislike this place as I cannot lie about my attachment to the aboveworld. I am between Scylla and Charybdis because of your words. Talking to you affects me as your eyes rob me of decent thoughts. I--"

A raised brow prompted, "Yes?"

A furious blush grew below her eyes. "I believe I have said enough to compensate for my silence these past days." She turned her head away as a finality.

He rose from his ebony wood chair. "Then I have no choice but to inform the staff to leave you alone for good. If silence is what you wish, then it is what you'll get."

Her gaze sliced at the air. He didn't waver as he turned to open the dining chamber hall. They were always alone when they dine. The harpsichord and lute notes have long faded. Proserpine wanted them back, just so she wouldn't feel this sinking sensation, trapping her into the looming thought that she had sealed her fate as a childish, skittish colt.

She tried calling his name, but her mouth had sealed itself shut. He was almost out the door when she did the only thing her limbs commanded her. A well-aimed pomegranate sliver hit his left shoulder and jaw, effectively stopping his escape. All movements ceased for a while. She, with disbelieving eyes, stared at her hand with pulps guiltily smoothed down her fingers and palm. She scrambled to his side, and with her linen square dabbed at the juice that stained the dark satin of his shirt.

"I don't know what it is that came over me. I am truly, fervently sorry. Please forgive my impudence," she said, and continued to wipe away the mess. She was about to murmur the last of her apologies as she reached his cheek when she saw his lips twitch with restrained mirth. Realization washed over her like a wave and she threw the cloth at him in indignation.

"You!" she accused. Her eyes softening that he was not furious to the extent she had expected. But to soothe her person, she copied his exit. She was almost out when she felt a wet thump.

"Of all the--" and another fruit slice hit her shoulder.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," he said then slipped a finger inside his mouth, his tongue slid across the drenched digit. He watched her lips smooth over each other. "And sweet," he finished when his mouth was no longer full.

A giggle burst from her. She used the edge of her sleeve to wipe the pulps from her cheek and neck. But then a snowy linen cloth aided in cleaning her. She saw his smiling face, streaks of red paler than his hair colored his collarbone. She laughed at his appearance, and when he prodded her, at herself.

Proserpine closed her eyes to sleep at last. And before she drifted deeper into her dreams of sunlight and clouds, she can't help but think that besides Mercury, Pluto was the only man to ever make her laugh.

------------------

She joined him in the drawing room after their afternoon meal. For sixteen sunsets she had not eaten anything, and though her immortal body showed no effects of her fast, the continuous repression gained on her resolve. Each ball of grape, each rack of lamb, each drop of cider appeared like a tantalizing tease. The smoke from the roasted suckling pig seemed to her a cloud that will bring rain and a whiff sent a prickle of excitement through her. Days of hunting with Diana rushed through her psyche and wanderlust fluttered through her; her blood rushed through every pore and each fiber.

"Remembered something pleasant?" he speared through her thoughts. A crystal decanter in his hands, he poured a light mahogany liquid into his goblet. He had asked her to accompany him in the drawing room while he partook of his daily port as he studied letters and statistics. She usually whiled away the time in the library, plowed through many history scrolls and conversed with the resident librarian there (who looked like a boy no older than a blooming dandelion). She hesitated to accept his invitation initially but when he mentioned his collection of ancient maps of all realms, she was lost.

So she found herself in the same room with him, rolls and rolls of papyrus and parchment spread around her. Despite Ceres' aversion to her careless searches for adventure, she had expressed a profound attraction to the wild. She longed to travel the world on foot and often ran away with Diana and even Minerva during their trips abroad. But when night curtained over the sun, she came back, unwilling to cut herself from her mother. She was afraid of the dark and the uncertainty it brought her.

"I just recalled the time when Diana and I chased down a boar down the eastern mountains. It was my first time to handle a spear so every time Diana cornered the boar enough for it to be speared, it would only hit the torso but not pierce through the skin," she related with a smile on her pacific face.

"Handling a weapon is an instinct not everyone has acquired. I take it Diana was upset; if I remember distinctly, she loathes to let a target go," he replied then sipped his port.

"Oh yes. But not as irritated as mother. Yes, she was filled to the brim with fury. I think even the boar passed out in fear with all her screeching," she laughed and stood from the circle of parchment and perused the opposite shelf.

He mildly chuckled. "Ceres is known for her over-protectiveness when it comes to you. But you are a grown woman, not to be barred from her heart's desire," he announced.

"Tell that to mother. She often worries about me, wants to shield me from the harshness of the world. I know she means well," she replied, eyes misted over.

"However--?" he continued for her.

"No, no. There're no buts. She wants me safe even from--"

"Yourself?"

"Especially from myself. I don't know much about the ways of the world, about myself, about what other people think. She's my pillar," she disclosed.

He stood and placed his empty crystal cup on top of the desk. She watched him round the center table towards her. It was all she could do to muster her courage and not shrink away from his molten gaze. Those topaz irises have always intrigued her; ever since she started her lessons with the sage Minerva, and met all the principal gods (some through illustrations), the god of the underworld held some mystique to her. He had always been the one to enter her father's conference in some deathly majesty. And when he did or when he is present, her mother would be careful to shoo her away before she could decide to take a closer look.

And now, as it is always is with Fate, she was caught off guard. He crouched to her level and into her face. They had been this close before but because of what had transpired the evening before, she felt a degree of closeness to him now. His marble cheeks were lightly flushed with the heat from the alcohol he drank and his breath laced with fire. However, his bright eyes held no murky cloud. At that moment, he was terrifyingly gorgeous.

"Do you loathe me for freeing you, then?" he finally said.

"No," she quickly added. Unable to look him straight in the eye after that confession, she rose and moved towards the opposite shelf. She deliberately turned her back to him and took extra time in reading the titles of the scrolls and bound papyri. She had already made a decision but wasn't about to act on it; she heard a servant came in and asked for his master's audience. Her cultured host asked if he may be excused for a moment. Nodding, she murmured her acquiescence.

Heaving a sigh of comfort, she pulled her selection out of its tight placement. Perhaps she had hastily done so because a brown bound edition fell on her toes. She winced from the sharpness of the impact and bent to retrieve it and relieve her pounding metatarsals. As soon as her eyes fell on the open page, she could not pry her eyes away from the enticing illustration. Blood erupted from her veins and colored her cheeks as she saw the image of a man and a woman in amazing acrobatic position, pure orgasmic bliss clear on their faces.

She gasped, cleared her throat and gingerly turned a page. Her eyes grew in large fractions when she beheld a man's slender digits safely snug inside a curvy woman's raspberry cleft. The fictional woman's mouth was filled with pink petals, seemingly moist with fluid. The man was clothed with ruby red overcoat, trimmed with cobalt swirls and tourmaline dots. And between their bodies was his erect flesh, as red as Proserpine's cheeks. It stood like a majestic tower and looked formidable in its diameter. Proserpine gulped at the thought of that - that thing - ever fitting inside a woman's womb. She edged the book closer to her face to ascertain that it really was the man's organ, not a trick of her glazed eyes. She looked to see that no one's around to witness her shameful surrender to curiosity. When she saw that no one was there, she resumed her perusal.

A swift turn of a page revealed another surprise. It was the same couple, although this time, the woman's upper body was not in the page. Her thighs were spread wide, her sex an exotic orchid. The man's face was poised front of it, his tongue curved like a serpent around her pleasure pearl. His jaw line was smeared with white cream and Proserpine felt the dampness there as if she were in the page. She shifted a bit and arranged the tight folds of her skirt. She turned another page, unable to restrain herself.

"Oh my," she breathed as she stared at the new illustration.

"Oh my indeed," Pluto whispered behind her. Before she could spring away, his hands smoothly wound themselves around her waist, halted her escape. She was too astounded to flee, anyway. Her bowed head did not hide an inch of her blush.

"I was - it fell and I -" she fumbled.

A tapered digit nested over her lips and silenced her. "There should be no shame in education; if anything, it should be a natural pleasure to anyone," he said then lifted his finger. He reached for the book at her knees, his face inched closer to her cheek, his chin brushed the side of her neck.

"Let's see, you have seen the preliminaries of the art of lovemaking, not the act itself. It was just as well that I did not have to show it to you. I am afraid I would not have the patience," he exhaled at her lobe, "let's see if we could accelerate your education." He turned several pages over and opened the section she has not seen yet. Proserpine, feeling that her pride should be salvaged somewhat and an exit is in order, turned to get out of the room. But as soon as she saw the caramel smoke in his eyes, she decided to choose the lesser evil of the moment. Although he never instructed her to look at the page, her eyes were drawn towards it.

It was amazing to behold. It was almost impossible to believe that the passion evident within the page did not cause the fibers of the papyrus to combust and consume itself. The woman was in evident ecstasy, her legs apart to accommodate her lover. The man's aroused flesh was partly inside her sex that was inundated with moisture. The man's mouth was capped securely over one plump breast, its twin being pleasured by the man's hand.

"This is one of the possibilities in acquiring paramount pleasure. Look at her, take a look at her eyes. She is in rapture." He swiftly lifted her and placed her on his thigh, his arms never sliding off her. He turned another page.

This time, the man was on his back, with the woman straddling him. His sex was perfectly straight, poised to enter her swollen core. She was cradling her breasts in her small palms and caused her heated flesh to overflow between her fingers.

Proserpine breathed, her tongue traced the outline of her parched lips. Somehow, she knew what the woman in the illustration would do next, like a primal lecture taught to her by the first woman, the first lover.

She rocked her pelvis, slowly, in small degrees and motions, testing the waters. Her eyes locked with the woman's on the page like she was asking for her approval. She bit back a groan when a particular tilt of her hips parted the lips of her core. She sat down hard on the nub that had been exposed, feeling instead of seeing.

"Yes, that's it. Pleasure yourself," he breathed. His eyes did all the moving his body could not. Proserpine's thighs softly kneaded his muscles under his taut skin. Through the layer of his trouser leg, he could feel the watery fire from her loins as it threatened to spread into his. Her breathing was heathen and a hand was now cupping her lower abdomen. She worked on the unknown flesh that she had freed, felt that certain explosion she has to endure to feel alive. Like a fluttering note of Apollo's lyre, she swayed to an inner strumming.

Sensing that it was the time to intervene, with his patience wearing thin, he ground his palm nearer to her core. Proserpine gasped from the contact but urged on. The book lay forgotten on the floor as sounds of their pleasure drowned thoughts of the outside world. Light blurring her image, Proserpine laid her head on the crook of his neck as she focused on the pressure points of her pleasure.

"Almost there, blossom," he crooned, while his fingers parted the folds of her skirt. His lips slid smoothly over her hairline, his tongue flickered to feast on her sweat. She ground on his thigh even harder, reflecting her unbridled fire as she did when she rode one of Poseidon's horses bareback one afternoon. She felt the pads of his fingers glide along the inside of her thighs, a smooth interjection to her abandonment.

She mustered all her coherent strength to disengage from this lustful web. She almost collapsed when her rustling skirts announced that she was to depart. With a whispered apology, she rushed out of the room, her passion misspent. In a whirl of ebony locks and golden gaze, Pluto was alone, a heavy ridge tenting his front. The yellow glow of his eyes rivaled the sun in intensity and heat.

He looked down on the wet spot on his pants. With the finger he'd used earlier to silence her, he tasted her passion. He grinned. Sweeter than ambrosia, his wife is ready for his taking.

~to be continued~