Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Prettier 'n a picture.

When you find yourself in the desolate wasteland of a foreign country, surrounded by the enemy, it is paramount that you not lose your grip on sanity. Never let them see your spirit crumble. I was blessed with a wonderful poker face, and an iron will. A good trick is to think about something else. Ponder a proverb, chew on the cud of whatever information you already have, puzzle out a way out of your present predicament. I was not taught to pray for salvation, to beg the ancestors for reprieve.

The ancestors before me were ruthless. They would expect me to get out of my own problems.

But today, I pondered a queer phrase one of their youth had uttered -- youth! As if he wasn't my age. As if his eyes weren't as cold and dark as my own, the gun at his side a weapon he was trained to use, the swagger and confidence in his stride as much earned confidence as peacock strutting. He'd whispered it under his breath, an exclamation of delighted surprise, and when I had looked up at him, it was all I could do to disguise my alarm in realizing he meant me.

Prettier 'n a picture.

What did it mean? Prettier in a picture? I was something that ought to be framed and admired? Such a poetic turn of phrase for an American outlaw. But then, 'prettier' implied one thing was 'more pretty than' another. So maybe it was 'prettier than a picture'. It made even less sense, literally, and yet it was the kind of exaggerated nicety that was suited to this absurd country. As pretty as a picture was, framed and admired on the wall, this was even better.

Either way, it was certainly meant as a compliment. I let myself blush, knowing none of them could know what I was thinking and would blame it on the heat.

Prettier than a picture. I had been called a lot of things over the years. Disgrace. Honor. Pride and shame. Strong, weak. Destined for greatness. Even sentimental and arrogant, pushy, bossy, cold and ruthless. Handsome, on occasion. But no one had ever called me 'pretty' before.

And certainly not 'prettier than a picture'. I didn't know what to do with the warmth in my gut from such absent-minded praise. And yet, from day one, any time that particular outlaw stepped into my gaze, I couldn't help but admire him. He wasn't unhandsome either. Strong jaw, hair like chocolate, painted with gold in the sun, black hat tucked over clever eyes and a big mouth that stretched into a sardonic grin. He had a biting sense of humor, teasing with a quick wit but simple words. And yet when his eyes met mine, there was an innocent curiosity there.

I glared at him, and he avoided me. I wondered if the ancestors could torment me a little less and bless me a little more.

In their usual backhanded way, they obliged me. While most of the gang left to collect whatever ransom they had posted for my return, this one was left to guard me. There were two others, but they didn't find me interesting enough to bother with, choosing to drink in the shade of the porch. But he came to me, sniffing around me, curious. He had a smoke, hand-rolled, alternating from his lips to his fingers as he circled me. I felt exposed, on display... My dragons writhed uncomfortably under my skin, my half-open kimono disgraced by prying hands as they sought the tattoo to verify my identity. For once, it felt less like a badge of honor and more like a brand of shame.

"You, ah... You speak English?"

He asked me this as he came back around, over my right shoulder. I turned my head towards him, showing I was paying attention. His voice was... smooth. Young. But had the edge of smoke and drink to it. At such a young age, I reflected. My own father reprimanded me for drinking too much, warning against such things. I wondered where his father was, that he hadn't been told the same. He came into vision, and from where I sat on my knees, he looked remarkably grand and tall. Lanky, half-starved and wild. But his eyes were nothing but curious. They were brown, I realized. Like dirt, or mud. They seemed impossibly warm in his red skin, contrasted with the dusted black of his crew. Cow leather gloves wrapped around his fingers, that white roll of tobacco held daintily between them. His other hand hugged his belt, thumb hooked against the curve of his hip, and I realized he wore a gun on each side. My eyes watched him take that cigarette to his lips, watched them purse, the red burning at the end as he inhaled, and then blew out a small stream of smoke.

How many times had I watched a geisha smoke a pipe and never found it as entrancing as this?

He moved with heavy steps, as if there was more weight to him than I could see, or maybe his feet were just so big as to complicate matters. His hands, too, were broad and long, dusting of hair on his arms. His spurs sang, pistols adding a verse, the steady sway of his hips moving to an unheard melody. He stopped in front of me, trying to figure me out. A coyote sniffing at something under the rocks, not sure if it was rabbit or snake.

"[Good morning,]" he added, a toothy grin. In Mandarin.

I fought a snort, though my lips twitched. I was pretty sure we were late in the afternoon already. The phrase was hardly appropriate.

"[Hello,]" he tried instead, this time in Cantonese. "[How are you?]"

Also, his accent was atrocious.

"Habla espanol?" he asked.

I think that was Spanish. I tried for a patronizing smile, just a hint of it to my lips. The fact that he was trying to communicate with me was... strange. And endearing.

"I could try French, but I ain't very good," he added with a drawl, a smile dancing on his lips. And god, I saw a tease of tongue as he took the cigarette to his mouth again, and felt something in me flip, not unpleasantly, and a twitch in a place that I had thought would stay silent forever.

I imagine he was here to amuse himself. If I spoke, it was bonus. He'd be content to throw suggestions and phrases at me to see what stuck for his own edification. I toyed with the idea of giving him nothing, to see if he came back with more outlandish attempts...

...But it was hard to think with him standing over me like that. Alone, the two of us, my mind went to strange places. Wondering what other things I was prettier than in his eyes. What he saw when he looked at me. Wanted to know why it affected me the way it did... And what else he could do to me.

I wanted to see him take off those gloves, to see if there was hair on his knuckles. His shirt, too. The thought was wicked and wrong, and I looked away from him, hoping I could fool him into thinking it was shame to be tied up like this and not the sinful thoughts in my head.

"Prettier than a damn picture," he murmured again, a low and hungry growl. I looked up to him in surprise, and this time, when he touched that cigarette to his lips, his tongue teasing at the edges of his mouth, I felt for sure he was doing it with thoughts as black as mine. I could see the want in his eyes, and it thrilled me, terrified me, fascinated me. A reedy inhale, and then a low exhale. A sigh. I watched his chest move with it, and he dropped the butt of it to the ground. I watched his hand mirror the other, grasping his belt -- I could see the way his shirt hugged his hips, loose and then taught, fabric tucked into his trousers -- and his toe twisted over the butt, putting it out.

I wondered if he could dance, the way his feet moved. Black was dusted with gold, spurs gleaming and silver, polished and well-loved. I imagined red hands tenderly polishing those boots, murmuring all kinds of strange, sweet nothings to them, and I swallowed hard.

"Cass!" a voice called. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothin'," he answered, his head whipping back. Even that word came out like a song. "Why? What happened?" His boots shifted, and he turned away from me.

"You bein' awful quiet. Makes me suspicious."

I watched broad shoulders shake as he laughed, a hearty, belly-full thing. "Why you always assume I'm up to somethin'?" He spoke with teasing kindness, as my eyes regarded the easy way his arms lingered at his sides, shirt tucked in, a dampness at the small of his back, shirt clinging to his skin in a way that made me want to reach out and touch and... and taste, of all things. I licked my lips, admiring his ass in the pants, wrapped around his thighs, strong calfs disappearing into those boots.

"Cos you are up to somethin'. Always." I wondered what those spurs felt like. A childish notion to reach out and spin them with a finger possessed me, and if I hadn't been tied to a post like a common whore, I think I might have.

"Now that's just unkind," he protested, and he moved back towards them. I admired his cadence, the sway of his hips, trying to listen to that wordless song, and I sighed...

Unclean thoughts. I would be whipped for such things back home. I hung my head in shame. I listened to the outlaws' chatter in the next room, and I was left alone with them.

"What's yer name?"

"H-Hanzo," I answered. I swallowed. "Hanzo Shimada."

"Hanzo Shimada..." It sounded like a siren song on his lips. "Well, that's awful perdy."

"You think I'm pretty?"

"Prettier than a picture," he growled. And maybe he would card his fingers through my hair and tilt my chin up. "Pretty little mouth, too."

"How dare you," I would answer, trying to be defiant. Failing miserably.

"You talk a lot of shit," he would chide, his other hand working at his belt. "Maybe I ought to shut you up..."

I looked up in alarm at the sound of boots on the floor again, and he was back. My heart raced, that perpetual fear that someone, somewhere, could read my wicked thoughts and would call me out on them. But as he knelt before me, all groaning leather and laughing eyes, he had in his hand not a cigarette, but a canteen of water.

"Thirsty?"

I swallowed, and my throat was indeed dry. I nodded, looking down in submission. I hate this.

He twisted the top and offered it to me. I moved towards it, mouth parting...

"Yeah, this oughta shut you up nice..."

As if. He was gentle, meeting my lips, and tilting just enough. I was grateful he cannot know what I am thinking. He was being nothing but kind and considerate, and I was making him out to be a debaucherous bastard. Not my fault he dressed like one, but I got the impression he was only a child... Caught up in the wrong crowd.

And yet, grown enough to be a man.

I closed my mouth, a signal he heeded, and he capped it. I looked to his eyes, and there it was. Sniff sniff. What are you?

"Xie xie?" he offered. 'Thank you' in Chinese.

I worked my jaw. He couldn't know. He was trying to be kind. I opened my mouth to speak and looked up into his eyes.

They were so... innocent. It broke me.

"I am Japanese," I whispered.

He about fell over, and let out a breathy chuckle as he did so on purpose, dropping to his ass. A small cloud of dust settled around him, like fairy dust. "Well, I'll be," he mused, every word a melody. Could he not speak without music? It was like spiced wine, warm and edgy and wonderful. "You do speak English."

I twisted my lips in the barest smirk, but his grin widened when he saw it.

"Cassidy, bring that back when yer done."

"Yah, sure!" he hollered back, glancing over his shoulder. His neck was long and graceful, his mane of brown messy and wild, the bob of his Adam's apple a giant bulb in his throat. I watched it dance as he spoke, and he turned back to me. From this close, I could see his evening shadow coming in, the lashes on his cheeks. The pinkness of his lips.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Prettier than a picture.

I watched him stroke his chin, the scraping of scuff on leather. "Japanese, huh?" he said. "I ain't never been out of America. Where is that?"

My heart squeezed. I ain't never been. He was so lowborn he couldn't even speak his own language properly. How could he know international geography? "It is not far from China. But it is not the same." I wanted to steal him away with me. Teach him to read -- god, he probably couldn't even read -- and teach him Japanese and Chinese and Korean and French and Italian and--

"So yer out West from us, yeah?"

I nodded. "Depending on how far South you are... You will hit Japan before you hit China."

"Yeah, but China's hella big, right?"

I nodded. "Yes." Hella big. What an odd phrase.

He nodded, and I could hear the whine of his skin as he bit his lip. I let out a thin sigh through my nose. I wanted to touch...

But he just grunted, as if deciding something. Rabbit or snake? And he propped himself on one hand as he hopped to his feet with the formless grace of youth, and marched back to the others. I took a deep, steadying breath, and it shook as I exhaled.

"It's hella big, innit?" he teased.

"Hai," I gasped.

I could add his biting lip to the charade... Oh, he would torment me for weeks after all this was said and done. I squeezed my eyes shut.

It would be punctuated by his untimely demise.

I listened to their chatter, and his boots came towards me again.

"Ah, leave 'im alone," one of them said. "Can't speak any English anyway."

"Yeah, but he's perty," I heard him say, and my heart raced.

"Hear that, Earl? Ain't just the chicanas. He just likes perty."

"Pretty and foreign, is what it is..."

"Leave a man to his simple pleasures," he answered back, and I could hear him grinning.

"Cassidy's gonna get us all killed."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know."

They all laughed. When Cassidy -- was that his name? -- came back, there was still a low chuckle in his throat. Pretty and foreign, is what it is, the man had said. And chicanas. He liked women, too...

I regarded him, baffled by this. I had known men who wanted men and pretended to want women, and I'd known men who were married and teased men, but I'd never actually met someone who fancied both. He sat down in front of me, this time he had a flask in his hand.

"Ya like to drink?" he offered, an edge of suggestion to it.

I told myself I wasn't imagining it. "Hai." I blinked. "I mean, yes. That means 'yes' in Japanese."

He nodded, a humming sound. "Hai. Kinda like sayin' 'hello'," he said, waving a hand. "We say 'hi'. I can see how that'd be confusin'."

I shrugged. "It could be." He popped the top and offered it to me. As before, he was gentle. My thoughts were not. I closed my eyes so I did not watch him as I did this -- the drink was watered down and awful, but the burn felt good to my throat. I pulled away, and so did he. I cleared my throat and opened my eyes again.

He was watching me. And his eyes were dark as he took a swig as well.

I waited for him to finish before I spoke. "You think I'm pretty, hmm?"

I think he blushed -- it was hard to say, he was so red already. "Eheh... You heard that, huh?"

"You've said it a few times," I answered. There is a smugness in my voice, a smirk on my lips.

His eyes widened. "Shit, you can hear that?"

I chuckled. "Your men are not quiet." My eyes gesture towards them. "They do not know I understand, so they do not bother to be discreet."

His eyes regarded me, elbow propped up on a knee while his fingers idled with the flask cap. "You're a pretty clever fella."

"I'm also a very good shot," I purred, pointedly looking at his gun. His eyes followed, and then glanced back up. "And, I'm wearing three knives."

He paled. He believed me. "Shit."

I rolled my eyes, shrugging. "This is not the first time this has happened to me." I looked down at my lap. "Won't be the last, either."

I heard him swallow. "Well, hell. I'm awful sorry."

I looked up at him. I believed him. "I could be out of here if I wanted."

He gave me a lopsided smile. "I don't doubt you."

"And yet..." My eyes trail over his shoulder. "I imagine right now, my people are taking the bait, following your men back here... Once they know for sure I am here and alive, they will kill all of you."

His fingers fidget, and his eyes look down, his lips twitching. Snake, for sure. He untwists the cap and takes a swig... And then another long pull. He gives a small cough and takes a deep breath. "Hell," he sighs, and when he bites his lip, it's worry now, his eyes darting.

"For your kindness... I could spare you," I offered.

His eyes look up at me, begging. "Yeah?"

"Please, Matsura," he begs me, those eyes full of want and fear. I touch his head in benediction, his cheek on my thigh.

"Only because you asked nicely," I purr, and he groans over me.

I bite my lip, and I nod. "I could."

He seems to tighten, and he shifts, looking over his shoulder a moment, then back at me. "What do you need me to do?"

I rolled my eyes. "Untying me would be the first."

He let out a grunt of a laugh. "Yeah, sure." His head tilted to one side. How stupid do I look? "And what else?"

He is clever, if not learned. "We continue talking. If they come in first, we pretend nothing has happened. If mine come in first, I hold you at knifepoint, to let them know I have the situation well in hand. I will drop you, and they will think you dead, and you will be left alive."

His lips twitch in something like disgust, and he takes another swig. "That involves you holdin' me at knifepoint."

"I could steal your gun and do it at gunpoint if you prefer," I offered. His eyes roll, and he leans forward, the back of his wrist to his lips.

"I think that's worse," he said, voice hoarse and weak.

"You also lose a shot, and I would be obliged to take it with me. I know a piece is hard to get around here, yet it is not something we would need. I was offering you to keep your own weapon."

His eyes look up at me, hurt and worried sick. But he seems to realize this is a twisted kind of gift. And he nods, looking away.

"I suppose that sounds fair." He looks over his shoulder at them. I look, too.

He turns back to me. "If my folks show up first. How do you tell your people not to hurt me?"

"Because if your people arrive first, they will untie me and present me. In which case, you would do well to hide and pretend you do not exist."

He let out a laugh. "Hide. Like a coward." Another swig and he bit back a groan. "That don't sound so great, either."

"Which is more important to you?" I purred. "Your dignity or your life?"

He guffawed. "That's rich," he growled, a biting smirk on his lips. "Comin' from a guy who's tied up to a pole like a hog."

"I have had better bindings," I answered him. "My country's shibari techniques are legendary, and I'm well-versed in them. Also..." I moved with a quiet moan, as if stretching, a blade coming to my hand. I smiled. "I'm armed now. I could cut these bindings and be out of here on my own time."

He jumped to his feet, and moved around me, behind me. I licked my lips, enjoying the scent of his fear in the air, and I languidly moved my wrist so that the blade could glint in the pale light.

"Son of a bitch," I heard him curse behind me. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..." He came back to me, his lips hung open in shock. "Yer fuckin' serious."

"Why would I lie to you?" I asked him. Was I drunk? I thought back... I hadn't eaten much of anything in the three days they'd held me. Maybe some water... His kindness had been the first since I'd been captured. Horrible as it was, his drink had a kick to it. It was possible.

His eyes flashed with something dark, his breathing thin, and he licked his lips. I swallowed, too.

There. That's the look, I told myself. Pretty.

And dangerous.

"Hot fuckin' damn," he whispered, a reverent thing. I twirled the blade in my fingers, debating if I should just untie myself now and be done with the charade...

"I could undo myself now," I offered. "But if I rescue myself, there's no deal."

He twisted his lips. "What kinda people are you?" he asked. From anyone else, it would have been insulting. But I'd seen the coyote sniffing, Are you rabbit or snake?  What he found was something wholly different, and he couldn't categorize it. It scared him, intrigued him, and he didn't know what to do with it.

Do I eat it? Does it eat me? Do I help him, or does he kill me?

I could see his mind racing through a limited list of options and possibilities, and then he let out a shuddering breath, and took another swig.

And then a second gulp and a third. He only let down the flask to gasp for air and capped it. His boots moved behind me, and I flipped the blade where he could see, tucking it away in my sleeve.

"Fuckin' hell," he whispered, and I felt the warmth of him behind me. I leaned my head against the post, listening to his thin and ragged breathing...

"Fuckin' hell," he cursed, bound below me. "Oh, Jesus..."

"Your gods have no power here," I told him, taking my pleasure from him...

His fingers tugged and pulled, and my hands were loosened faster than a blade could manage. I wondered if there was a trick to the knot they'd used that he knew, and I wanted to ask him.

But instead, I turned on him, pinning him to the ground with a yelp. I slapped a hand over his mouth, the blade still in my hand, glistening above him.

"Cassidy? You alright?"

I warned him with my eyes, and moved my fingers away from his lips. He had this moment to decide if I would kill him or spare him.

He swallowed hard, his breathing thin and ragged, his eyes wide and fearful as he regarded me. "Y-yeah! Fine. Jus... tripped on my boot," he answered. I slapped my hand over his lip again, and he let out the smallest whimper in his throat.

I closed my eyes, knowing that sound would haunt me.

"Fuckin' klutz." His partner chuckled.

"He gets stupid around pretty girls. And boys, apparently."

"Somethin' wrong with that boy..."

I smirked down at him, my eyes flashing open. "Your lie is a clever one," I commended him. "They do not suspect."

His eyes still regard me with fear, his hands held to either side of his face in a display of surrender, the dog showing his belly. Even his hat is off to one side.

Those same eyes, wide and wanting, gagged beneath me, hands bound to a bedpost, the way his quiet whimpers delight and distract me as I torment him with unspoken pleasures...

"I have a secret for you," I whispered, leaning over him.

The fear turns to confusion, bafflement.

"If it were not for your reckless kindness... You'd all be dead right now."

His eyes search mine, brow furrowing, but something clicks. He goes still, even, his breathing softening. I lean back, removing my hand, and the blade flips away back into my sleeve.

"K-kindness?" he asked.

I rise over him and offer him a hand. He takes it, and it is big and broad and warm, and when he pulls on me, I do not give. It surprises him, as he gets on his feet, an eye on me always as he stoops for his hat. He puts it back on, tucking it behind.

I reach for the flask, uncapping it, and I, too, take a swig. It is awful, but the burn is good... I take my fill, and it drips dry. I shake it, tongue out for the last taste of it, and hum, smacking my lips. I screw it shut, and offer it to him.

There is that want in his eyes. I file it away for later, and I smirk.

"The hell are you?" he asked again, with awe shaking his voice.

"I am dragon," I answered, undoing the gi, and properly tucking my kimono. He watched me, and I let him. His fingers tapped idly on the flask, his eyes wandering, but I pretended not to notice as wrapped myself again, tied the gi, slid it behind me.

"...Dragon," he echoed. "That's what your tattoo is."

"I am of the Shimada clan," I added. "It is our spirit animal. My ancestors have worn and controlled the dragons for generations."

His face shifted in a way I can't describe. "Controlled?"

"Mm. My dragons could devour all of you... But you are not worth troubling them." I pulled out two blades, spinning them in the air. "I am capable enough on my own."

He looked down at his flask with all the quiet panic of a man facing the firing squad. "Yeah. No kidding." I saw him regretting its emptiness, and he looked to the doorway to the other room.

I looked, too.

He took a breath, long and ragged. Fearful. "I'm gonna die today."

"Not necessarily."

Both of us were surprised at my tenderness, and I hid my blades. I stepped toward him, and he braced, and tensed. I touched his shirt, feeling the texture of it, worn wool, hot and hardened by the sun, and how solid he felt beneath it. I squeezed at the fist wrapped around the flask, fingers wandering over the smooth leather of his glove, finding where it's aged and worn at the edges where it bent... the coarseness of his hair, the salty dampness of his skin. I looked into his eyes, and he was... startled. Surprised. He didn't know what to do. The hand on his shirt moved to his shoulder, squeezing the muscle there, tense and rigid. I moved along his collarbone, ghosting over the edge of his shirt, touching the soft skin of his neck. He gasped, and I leaned closer, and for a scarce moment, perhaps both of us thought I might kiss him.

I brushed a thumb over the edge of his jaw, and I could hear the thin, short gasps of his breath. I slipped my fingers into the damp hair, slick with sweat, his eyes dark and wanting, but also touched by fear and doubt. The other hand moved to his hip, thumb tracing where his shirt met his belt, and he bit back a groan. My fingers worked over the leather, feeling the worn braid of it, belt loops with rough, handsewn edges. The hard curve of his holster, warm steel unrelenting and smooth as I caressed it, my fingers raking a gentle claw under his jaw.

I felt him swallow, and his eyes closed. I had him at my mercy. He could fight me, shoot me, and I could easily steal his gun or knife him here... And yet, what I really wanted, I couldn't bring myself to do.

The southerly hand moved over the holster, finding his thigh. He whimpered, a tiny, almost-not-there sound that I wouldn't have heard were I not sharing the air he breathed... It was intoxicating, these little sounds he made. No way to disguise his want, as my claws dragged over his thigh and his legs parted for me on instinct. My hand cupped him and he gasped, lips parting in a pant, and his head tilted back. I wanted to mark him, bite him, taste him, make him my own, feeling the hardness I had instilled in him.

I have done this, I told myself, thrilling at the notion. I had never encountered someone who desired me in this way. Or I had, I suppose, but it had never been mutual. Anyone I desired was not this way. The ones who desired me were undeserving. It was never meant to be. But this...

I scraped against his chin, taking in my own breath, thin and ragged. I stroked him, and he moved ever so slightly with me.

How far will this go?  I wondered.

He swallowed hard. "Don't torment me," he begged me, quiet and low. "Please. I'm just a foolish boy. I didn't mean to offend."

I froze. He did not realize how selfish I was being, tracing all of these moments for my own later use... He did not realize I was returning his favors. I had made no notion of such...

In his eyes, I was mocking him, teasing him, tormenting him for his indiscretion. I inwardly recoiled at the thought, that anyone could be so heartless and cruel to another person, and yet I took a moment to assess the situation from his perspective.

Manipulative. Catty. Omission. Poisonous deals offered from behind prison bars when the inmate already had the keys in their possession. He had no reason to trust any of this.

I hissed in his ear. "Why should I?" I let myself taste, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Perhaps I like to watch you squirm... As you did me."

He whimpered, and god what that sound did to me. "I'm sorry," he breathed, panting still. "I'm only 16, please. I don' wanna die."

Sixteen. He was younger than I was. It was true -- his hands and feet were so big, and he had yet to truly grow into the broad back he wore. I snarled, squeezing, and he bit back a yelp.

"With the company you keep, you will not live very long," I warned him. "It would do you well to find better friends."

He nodded, quickly, my fingers moving to his neck as he did so. I think he shuddered. "Th-that's fair enough." And then I turned that squeeze into a stroke, and he seemed to melt, a soft groan. "Ah, hell..."

"You curse a lot," I added.

"I been told," he whispered. This whole time, his hands had been hovering around me... And now they carefully moved closer. As I stroked, he found the bravery to touch my arms, and he leaned back against a wall, closing his eyes and bowing his head. He let out a low, gravelly sound that might have been a murmur.

"You should not call other men 'pretty'," I added, but my voice was gentle.

His lips twitched. "Some of 'em like it."

"A lot of them don't," I answered. I nuzzled my nose to him, and his lips parted, expecting, and yet I could not bring myself to do it, pulling away, teasing. He groaned, wanting, and he moved against my hand. His arms pulled me closer, and I let him, my fingers twisting in his hair.

"You seem to like it," he whispered in my ear, and I gasped as well.

"I didn't say that," I answered, a whisper of my own.

"You didn't have to." His hands moved over me, then paused at my back, the tug and pull of his gloves coming off. My pace on him quickened, and then his hands were on me again, sliding over my kimono, fingertips dipping into the curve of my spine through the silks. I arched into his touch, my mouth at the crook of his neck, and I tasted again, the salty skin, hot like the desert, and I nipped. His hips bucked into my hand, and I pressed close.

I wanted this. Had wanted something like this for so long... Something I could never have. It was forbidden, and wanton, and here I was, buried in the arms of a complete stranger, a handsome outlaw, a poor-born peasant who didn't even know where Japan was on a map, and yet he had me doing things I had only dreamed of...

"Imagine if I hadn't," he added, and his lips were on my skin, and I felt my composure crumbling around me. "You'd have knifed me in my sleep without a second thought."

"I still might," I warned him.

And he chuckled, a low and breathy thing that made my knees buckle. And he sighed. "Maybe you could use somethin' else..."

His hands gripped my ass, and I gasped at his audacity, and at the utter surprise of how much I liked it. I squeezed at him, and he groaned.

"You keep doin' that, I'm gonna make a mess," he confessed, voice ragged, and oh, how I wanted to hear him say that again...

"Are you?" I asked.

"Yeah..." He made it a sigh, and then his lips were on my skin again, biting hard, and it was my turn to swallow a yelp, as my fingers twisted in his hair, holding on for dear life, stroking desperately.

I am going to suffer for this, I told myself. I will suffer for this for a long, long time...

I wanted him below me, sighing that 'yeah' for the rest of my days. I wanted to be using my mouth instead of my hand, and see what different noises and curses he would make then. I wanted him to cover my skin with bites and kisses and--

"Cassidy? Yer bein' quiet again."

And he let out a bark of a laugh that shocked me, and my hands caught, a quiet whimper in my throat as my eyes flashed open. I had forgotten there was an audience. Cold ice crashed down my spine at the realization that at any moment, one of them could have walked in on us, found us like this, and shot and killed us both for our indecency and shamelessness.

"I'm in the middle of a starin' contest," he said, a smooth lie. I leaned back my head to look him in the face, my eyes wide and wondering. His thumb found my jaw, and slid to the end of it, tugging at my chin. "I almost won, ye bastard."

A snort from the other room. "Good luck with that."

This time, I was the one caught. I tugged on his hair, and he leaned back, a smirk on his lips.

"You don't have to stop now," he purred, low and hungry. Obedient, I moved my hand again and watched those dark eyes slide shut. He hummed, hand moving over my neck. It slid down into my shirt, and his nails scraped at my skin... I shuddered, pressing my hips against his.

"You could have given us away," I whispered, my fingers gentle in his hair now.

"Why would I do that?" he asked. He squeezed my ass again and I pressed closer.

I whimpered softly. "Because I am being cruel to you."

And he chuckled. "If this you bein' cruel, I'd hate to see you bein' kind," he purred. But there was a sweetness there. His thumb toyed at my ear, and his eyes opened to me. His lips parted in a sigh. "I am very close," he added, in a whisper.

I quirked my lips. "Should I stop?"

"I might kill ya if you do," he growled, gritting his teeth.

I chuckled this time, and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. I hummed, making my strokes slow and deliberate this time.

The beginnings of another curse slid from his lips. "I don't even know your name, angel."

"It is better that way," I answered him. I have never been called an angel before. Demon, sure... But never an angel.

He swallowed hard. "Gotta call you somethin'."

"No, you don't." And his eyes flashed as I moved in his arms, lowering myself to my knees.

His breath caught. "You don't hafta--"

"I do not want you to make a mess," I offered, a shy smile on my lips. His face contorted, but his eyes were black. His hands were fists at his side.

"Hell," he hissed.

"I am sure that's where we're going," I agreed. I nuzzled my mouth to him, and he clapped a hand over his own mouth to bite back a groan. My fingers tested the fabric, and I undid the little buttons there. I reached in, and he hissed as I touched him, hips moving with me as I pulled out--

Hella big, innit?

Oh my.

It glistened, and I touched it with a hand, so much like my own, and yet not. I moved my thumb over the tip, teasing the wetness of him around, and his boots slipped until he found a better position. When I touched my tongue to it, I looked up at him squeezing his eyes shut, face red, and he let out a small, strangled noise.

I licked, he whimpered. I looked up, and those eyes were boring into mine. I wrapped my lips around him, and he moaned.

I worked him, mouth and hand, artless, not really knowing what I was doing, but if he made a sound, I did it again. I found teasing my tongue underneath would make him gasp, so I kept doing that. I sucked, noisy and messy, and it felt ridiculous, but for the noises he was making, I would squeal like a pig, and it made me red to think of it. I could feel myself hard and pulsing, wanting, and I knew now more than ever that yes, this was something I wanted -- no, needed in my life -- and when I got back to Japan I was going to have to find a way--

"Baby, please--" he hissed, and his hands were on me, my shoulder, my neck, my hair. I listened, and his hands held me, and he bucked into me. It felt so wild, so wicked, so desperate and selfish, and yet, I clung to him, wanting him to do it again. It was a reckless abandon, and I let him use me, use me as I'd never been used before in my life, and I relished every moment of it... He whimpered, he mewled, and if it weren't for the two compatriots not so far away, I wondered what kind of mad noises he would have made for me...

"God damn it!" he bit out, loud and angry, and it startled me, but for the laughter from the others.

"Don't let him kick your ass!" Earl called back.

"Damned kid..."

I looked up at him, and he watched me with a face crumpled in an expression... I had never seen before.

"Fuck..." he breathed, and a whimpering moan, as he bucked into me.

My own breathing was thin and messy, uneven and ragged, nose snuffles that were full of him, salt and sweat and musk and something else I couldn't name, earthy and wonderful, and then he bit out another curse as I felt him clench in my mouth, the spat of something at the back of my throat, and I whimpered. The sound made him gasp, as his whole body twitched, and I licked my tongue along him, tasting this sweet, salty something that I had never tasted before...

Oh god, I thought. I am ruined.

Gasping and trembling above me, his vice grip lessened. He looked down at me, awed and slack-jawed, and I gasped as he let me go.

"Jesus..." he whispered.

I smiled, my tongue taking all of that wonderful, strange new taste and I swallowed it. He groaned in the back of his throat, fingers tracing my neck, and I opened my lips with a sigh.

"Fuck are you?" he asked again in an awed whisper. He gasped when I touched my mouth to him again, licking every bit of him, a whimper when I sucked on the tip, taking the last of that sweet nectar from him.

I swallowed, and licked my lips. "I am dragon," I said, and hummed.

"All dragons as wonderful as you?" he asked, carding his fingers through my hair. Who had ever called me wonderful?

I closed my eyes, leaning into his tender touch. "I do not think so."

He let out a soft chuckle, his fingers now caressing my face. I looked up at him...

Adoration? Was that what that was? I had never had anyone look at me like that before.

"Yer gon' get me killed," he whispered, that fear flashing in his eyes. A regret.

"Not if I can help it," I answered. I clutched him, jealous and possessive. Mine. I would protect him. Keep him safe.

He sighed. "God, I hope yer right." He was gentle, a wish in his eyes that didn't reach his lips. I turned my head to kiss his wrist, and he gave me the smallest, most tender, fragile smile I'd ever seen.

I would keep him safe. I would take him away from here. Away from Earl and whoever, all these fools who toyed with powers greater than they could comprehend. I wanted to take him with me, to Japan. Or if not there, at least to California. Or Mexico. Or Canada...

And I realized I did. I wanted to take him away. I wanted to run away. With him.

And abandon my family?

Genji, my mother, my father, the elders, the clan. All the people who depended on me, entire galas full of people, looking to me as their prince, ready to take the throne someday very soon. And yet, when he was holding me like this, fingers slipping through my hair like I was made of diamonds, looking at me with those eyes, calling me 'angel' in that voice...

I wanted very much to do nothing more than be with him, Shimadas be damned.

"Alright, I'mma give you one last chance," he announced, loud enough for them to hear.

I smirked, rising, letting my claws climb up the length of him, lanky and broad, a massive framework he had yet to fill out. I wondered if he would be lean or burly when it was all said and done. What he would look like as an old man, graying and wrinkled. I wondered what his face would look like when he returned the favor...

He sighed. "You are trouble," he murmured. "With a capital T."

This time, when he reached for the kiss, I gave it to him. I sighed into it, pressing against him, and his arms wrapped around me, sweeping over me, a hand reaching for my ass again. I chuckled at the squeeze, and we parted with smiles.

"You shouldn't grab another man's ass like that," I teased.

He did it again anyway. "Some people like it."

I growled in protest, and his grin got bigger.

"You are a fuckin' wonder," he said, eyes wandering over me. "You could kill me dead, and instead..." He shook his head. "What the hell."

I lowered my gaze to his shirt... My fingers teased at his skin. "...No one has ever called me pretty before."

He snorted. "I know that's a damned lie."

I shrugged. "If they did..." I looked up at him. "I never heard it with such sincerity."

His hands lingered at the small of my back. He made me feel small, but not in a diminishing way. Rather, he felt big, bigger than me, big enough to wrap me in his arms and hide me from the terrors of the world. Like I could curl into him and disappear.

"Well you are," he whispered. "Gorgeous even. Yer eyes... are like storm clouds. Monsoon comin' up over the mountains."

My head tilted to one side. Monsoon. I did not know this word.

His lips twitched. "You don't say a whole lot."

I shook my head, smiling. He chuckled. He touched my chin again, and I eagerly gave him the kiss, my fingers teasing at his collar.

This will be my first love, I thought to myself, pouring as much gratitude and heartbreak as I could into our joining. He does not know what he will mean to me.

As if he could taste it, he pulled away, his eyes searching mine.

...And then, a glimmer of recognition. "Holy shit."

My eyes narrowed. "You curse too much."

And then a laugh... And another. And then a rolling one, loud and merry. "Holy shit..."

"Did you get 'im?" the fool answered. I snarled.

"I did," he answered, smug. His eyes shined, merry with mischief as he looked down at me. Quieter, just for me: "First time for everythin', ah?"

I went scarlet, eyes going wide, and I looked down.

He laughed again, holding me close, and I buried my shame in him -- yes, he was hairy in the chest, too. My fingers clutched like claws.

How could he know?

He squeezed me with a soft hum. "Darlin', yer jes the mos' precious thing I ever saw," he said, warm and happy against my hair. Panic... sheer, bloody panic struck me, and while I would think his voice could undo it, instead it was like warm, spiced honey layering over a hard wall of cold steel. He sighed. "I'm touched. Honored, really."

I pulled away from him, lip curling in rage as I glared up at him... But his eyes were kind, laughing. Not in mockery at all. My scowl softened, but my glare stayed.

"You don't trust a soul, do you?" he whispered.

Something in me broke, and I looked down again, fingers fists in his shirt. His hands moved over my back, and he pressed a kiss to my temple.

It caught me so off guard, that I looked up at him, confused.

He just shook his head. "Straaange creature." And he hugged me tight again, making a warm sound that I felt deep in my bones... Offense or not, I relished how big he was around me, enveloping me, drowning me in him.

I could happily drown in him forever.

But he stepped away from me, one last squeeze on my arm, and I immediately felt cold from his absence. His hands put himself back in his pants with a sigh, buttoning up. "Strange..." he muttered again, bending for his hat, wobbling a little on his feet with a giggle, then dusted off his hat and put it back on.

"You'll want to get back in position," he added, pointing to the place where I'd been tied.

I knew he was right... But I really wanted to follow him, wrap my arms around him, stay with him forever. I moved back to the place, sitting again.

"We'll do best 3 out of 5," he added, speaking up. He moved behind me, those hands on mine, gentle. He wound the rope and tied it. "See here?" he whispered. "Pull on this."

I did as he instructed, and it fell apart easily. I felt something tight in my chest loosen, and he repeated the knot. My fingers clung to that twist, and I even smiled.

"Arigatou," I whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Arigatou," I said, a little louder. "It means 'thank you'."

"Mmm."

And then I gasped as I felt his hand on my neck, pulling my hair aside. He pressed a kiss there, and I whimpered softly. There were boots, and I watched the two fellows come back in.

"Hey, Cassidy--" The one who was not Earl chuckled, hands on his hips. "Well well. Staring contest?"

"I won for once," he growled from behind me, and I shivered.

"You back here tormentin' this poor boy?" he asked. "You more twisted than I thought."

"Ye ain't got no idea," he purred in my ear. A hand went over my throat, and I swallowed against his fingers as they stroked my skin. His lips tugged at my ear, and I felt exposed again.

"Well, I hate to break up your fun times," he said, Earl making disgusted noises as he went back to the other room, "But the crew is on their way back. I'm afraid you gotta give the princess back."

"Aww, c'mon. Gimme 10 minutes." His teeth tugged at my ear and I hissed.

He chuckled. "You're sick." But he was grinning. He tipped his hat at me. "Ma'am."

"Ho ho ho!" McCree chortled in my ear. "You hear that? He called you 'ma'am'. How disrespectful."

I seethed, watching him go, and then I turned to glare at him sideways. "Speaks of disrespectful."

"Have to sell it, darlin'," he purred. He sighed in my ear and I shivered. "That erection of yours don't hide too well in your position."

I bit my lip, face aflame. "I will kill you."

"I thought we agreed otherwise," he teased, finger still stroking my neck. Part of me thrilled at this... The part that didn't hate the other man for calling me 'princess' and 'ma'am', or the other for his disgusted noises. They made me feel like a fiend, a monster, something inhuman and unclean... And he jested with them.

He was different, and yet, he lied to them. How could I know he was not lying to me? Maybe he was the same. Just... twisted.

"Besides. I distinctly remember you jumpin' me, sweetheart. Not the other way around."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Remembering how I had indulged myself in the sensations... Wanting more to remember him by...

His fingers crept lower, under my shirt, and I gasped.

"Oh... You ain't never been touched like this, have you?" he whispered.

I realized it was not a gasp but a sob in my throat this time. I shook my head. "Never..."

He sighed. "Poor baby..." He tweaked at a nipple, and I whimpered. "If I had the time... Oh, I'd love you right."

I believed him.

"Aishiteru," I whispered.

His lips kissed my cheek. "I'm sorry for what's gon' happen. I want you to remember this... As a good thing. Pretend that after this... I untied you, took you away somewhere nice. We had wine or whiskey... Whichever you like better." He sighed, another kiss on my neck, and I felt tears burning in my eyes as his arm wrapped around me. "We talked. Shared stories. I got you somethin' real nice for your birthday." Another kiss and his words wavered. "And when we made love, we both cried."

I nodded. I sniffed, blinking furiously. I could hear the horses and carts and chatter outside. They're here.

"My name is Cole," he whispered. "What's yours?"

I sobbed. "Hanzo," I said, voice a warbling song. "Hanzo... Shimada." I gasped. "I am heir to the Shimada Clan." I sniffed. "I am a Prince in Japan." I shook my head as a tear slipped down one cheek. "You cannot come find me. They will kill you."

He sighed, his hand sliding over my skin. "I'm already a dead man."

He squeezed my shoulder and I wrenched my eyes shut, my heart breaking. Cole, I thought to myself. Cole Cassidy. The outlaw who stole my heart.

I can't forget him.

I hear the clicking of a hammer, and I gasp, blinking furiously. I feel the muzzle of his gun at the back of my head, and bile comes to my throat.

He is a very good liar, I thought to myself. I hoped this scene went as well as we could hope.

The man who is not Earl steps in with one of my father's lieutenants. His eyes flash with fury as he takes in the scene. To see his prince tied up is a disgrace. To see me choking back tears means they have broken me, which is a great deal worse. He grits his teeth, his eyes looking to Cole -- my Cole -- and then to the other man.

"Untie him," he hissed.

"Hold on, now," the outlaw crooned. "We got more to arrange, son." He swaggered out. "Still a matter of payment..."

The lieutenant looked to me. "[We will get you out of this,]" he promised, glaring daggers at Cole behind me. "[They will all pay.]"

"[Vengeance will be done,]" I assured him. He nodded, a tight and subtle smirk on his face, and then he directed an eye of loathing to my Cole. He turned with a huff.

The gun clicked behind me and he let out a breath. "I'm gon' die," he groaned. "Well... At least I got somethin' nice out of it."

Breathing thin, I tugged at my ropes, and they came free. As if I had doubted him, as if he would change the knots on me. If he had a chance to fuck with me, that would have been the time.

And he didn't.

I stood, pulling out my blades, and I turned to him, grabbing him by his shirt, fingers still wrapped around my blades. My kiss was wet with tears, and I whimpered into it. His right hand wrapped around me, tugging me close, a paw at my hip, the other holding his gun to the side.

He sighed, resting his head against me. "I'm sorry we had to meet like this," he whispered.

I shook my head, my fingers stroking his beautiful face, my eyes memorizing it for my dreams. "I am happy we met at all." Another frantic kiss and he looked in pain.

"I wish I coulda done better for ya," he croaked.

"You did fine," I hissed. And I struck out at him, slashing him across the throat.

He cried out. "Son of a bitch!"  It was genuine surprise, his eyes widening in betrayal.

Heart breaking, I put a hand to his mouth, shoving him against a wall. "Go down, anata," I whispered, tears in my eyes. "Go down, play dead..." He crumpled to his feet, his eyes watching me as I sobbed. "Live."

He swallowed and nodded. I let go of him, and he let out a pained sob of his own and slumped in place. I took a fist full of his hair and kissed his head.

"Sayonara," I whispered. "I will never forget you."

I swear I saw a tear slip down his own cheek, as I stood with a sob in my throat.

Why are the ancestors so cruel?

I wiped away my tears on my sleeve, letting my fear and panic and anguish fuel me as I came into the next room. Everyone was outside, and there was a clatter of blades and gunpowder. I summoned my pain and fed it to the beasts, crying out the spell that would summon my dragons. There were screams of terror, pain, anguish. And victory. The dragons feasted, jealous, possessed. Our enemies were devoured, and they would learn to never combat the Shimadas again.

I stepped out, blood on my blade, and my dragons writhing in the air. My father's lieutenant did not ask -- he knew I took vengeance on the man who was tormenting me. He did not know that he was tormenting me still, or that he was alive and in mourning behind me. They took my tired smile for my tribulations, and if I was quiet, it was nothing out of the ordinary. They had a carriage for me, and I stared out the window, watching the desolate landscape spool out around us.

At night, we camped. My father's men told me that it was not hard to find me, and that the Deadlock Gang was very loud and boastful. Other bands of clansmen were hunting them down now, easily finding them, killing them, and wreaking vengeance on my behalf. I was grateful and said so.

As we drank our tea, a mournful cry broke out in the stillness of the night. It chilled my bones and I looked about, seeking out the source.

"[What was that?]" I asked.

"Koyote?" one offered.

"Kai-yo-ta," another said.

"Kaiyoti," said a third.

They playfully bickered with the pronunciation, but I listened again as one called out, and then another.

Coyote. I had seen them, heard of them... But not heard them. Their cry was... pained. Agonized. Longing. Desperate. A beg. Come back. Come find me. Please... Don't leave me out here all alone.

It twisted at my heart, and I pulled my blanket closer around my shoulders. I blinked away the beginnings of tears and sipped my tea. One of my father's men -- when would I get used to calling them my men? -- offered me a sympathetic smile and a jug of sake. I thanked him with a smile and took a long swig.

It was good sake. Strong and fragrant, and nothing like the watered-down hooch that the coyote had given me. And yet... I wished I could pass it to him.

"Here."

He smirked. "What's this?"

"Sake." I smiled. "Try it."

He eyed me, wary. "Alright..." He took a swig and made a face. Looking down at it. "Woah."

I giggled, a silly noise in my nose. "You make the cutest faces."

He smiled, a lazy, fond thing. "Says you, angel." He took another swig, not taking those adoring eyes away from me.

I took a long drink... a second, a third. I stopped only to breathe, and then I drank again. I clutched it to my chest, jealous, and the man went for a new one. I bit my lip as I thought of him, lips on my neck, hand in my kimono...

"If I had the time... I'd love you right."

I took another long swig, and then took my tea, finishing it, and leaving it by the fire. I was pleased to see the man come back with two jugs, and he handed me one with understanding kindness. I thanked him, and then went back to my own tent.

I broke into tears there, kneeling on my knees, burying my face in my hands.

"[Why?]" I mewled to no one. "[Why do you hate me so much? Why must I suffer so?]"

Even the dragons wormed under my skin, wanting to hold me, to comfort me, but they were within and not without. I grabbed the jug, nearly empty, and I tilted it upside down, pouring the last of it down my throat. When it was gone, I coughed, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Aishiteru," I whispered to him, fingers stroking my cheek.

This time, he understood what it meant, and his face crumpled. "Baby, I love you, too."

We crushed into a kiss, his arms wrapped around me, and mine around his neck, and he held me until my tears were gone.

In the cold, I had nothing to hold but this jug of sake, and I wept as I listened to the mournful cry of the coyote, lost and alone in the wild.