Firm and Strong

Summary: Slow and long, on and on…Rikuo seeks comfort from himself. RikuoxYokai Rikuo. PWP.

In the Nurarihyon main compound, there is a great sakura tree. There are thick roots of it embedded into the ground that looked to be settled there for hundreds of years. The rich, brown trunk is profuse with age. It is tall, with many branches; branches that are firm and strong enough for tens of people to leisure away atop of.

The tree's leaves are a vibrant yet soft shade of pink that becomes a beacon of light at nightfall. People blocks away use it as a guide home from their day's travels. Each petal that falls may look fairly simple to the naked eye, but is, in fact, quite complex. It takes supernatural control to be able to create something so subtle yet amazingly eye-catching.

This sakura tree opts for a method that is slow and long: many years of mother nature's love accompanied by the extra watering and tilling and trimming of man (maybe a bit of tweaking here and there from a yokai, but no one really knows), and lots of luck. The end result is a beautiful image: something bright and heavenly, that will bring comfort and amazement to all those who lay their eyes upon it.

And it is ageless, like the grandmother everybody loves and will never die. The tree has seen countless beings-human and otherwise- pass by. Many have come and gone and she's been there at all their highs and lows(even a death that saddened an entire clan) with wholehearted feelings of support.

One might think she wishes to do more than show off her matured grace, but it is not very certain. What is certain is that the sakura tree in the Nurarihyon main compound is timeless. It will live on and on…for many years to come.

Rikuo stirred from his sleep by the feeling of coldness running down his skin: groups of them, five points each. The pace at which they drew trails along his body was a crawl. They were pressing steadily and drawing him out of his slumber while leisurely mapping out his side. They were familiar, however; the boy could have sworn he had felt this kind of pressure before.

Out of curiosity, Rikuo struggled to pull himself out of his slumber to see what it was. It was difficult, the young master learned, as his progress was as long-winded as the strangely familiar pressures massaging his body. He was still half-dazed when he finally opened his eyes. All his senses were dulled save for the touch. It was like that was the source of his unclear state. It was stealing enough of his attention that it drew him from sleep, but not so much that he is fully conscious. So with his eyes half-lidded he continued to feel the sensations running along his body.

They ran down from the very tip of the sixteen-year-old's shoulder to the start to his hip in slow soothing strokes. It was peaceful, he thought, a great comfort from his daily life as the King of spirits. Did these touches know what struggles he goes through every day? Perhaps they were aware of his constant battles and knew that this was just the thing that could iron them away.

They were fingertips, he deduced when his mind was brought back to the present. Just when he was about to pin Tsurara as the culprit he realized those fingers couldn't possibly belong to her. They were too wide, too calloused from them to be hers.

Slowly, Rikuo turn over onto his back. The touches stopped immediately. Though saddened by the lack of friction, he felt it was more pressing to see who it was. Groggily, he sat up, sharpened his eyes to the dark and saw-

He gasped.

-himself.

The boy didn't know if he should attack or not. It could have been a shape shifting yokai that snuck into his home posed to look like him, but the theory seemed unlikely. This was the real thing, he knew. Rikuo was staring back at his night form.

And passed the initial shock, he thinking if this was what others saw whenever he drew his sword at night: a tall and slender man with silver-black hair and sharp predatory eyes. It was, to say the very least, intimidating. Did Rikuo learn to make such a face, he wonders, or is this the product of the constant use of "fear"?

The boy even flinched when his other tried to move towards him again. His yokai counterpart just laughed (oh, but it was a deep, rich laugh. So soft, almost nonexistent but so sure of himself…) and said, "Well, that's alright."

The human's breath hitched. His voice was just right. It was so right that it was almost painful. The sound reverberated across the room making it seem like he rose his voice even when it was barely above a whisper. It was right in that every aspect of his tone had some denser trait to it. It was rich like fresh cinnamon, native and wise, the accent of nature itself. Despite the sharp look, Rikuo's tension sprung loose under that tone. In the midst of this, the boy had an epiphany. Why was he so mesmerized?

Collecting himself, he asked, "Who are you?" It was a futile attempt. All his efforts crumpled away when that laugh came around again. His shoulders slumped and he released a breath that he didn't even know he'd been holding. When the yokai was done, he did not reply. Rather he stared at the other. Eyes raked over his face. The action made his human form quiver under the gaze, "What?"

And his equivalent then drew closer, so close that there was not even a hair between them. His whole body was pressed flush against the other and the stronger of the two used his arms to hold that position in place. There hadn't even been a sound and if it weren't for the hard body pressed against him, Rikuo would have sworn that his eyes were playing tricks on him.

They were not, he learned. As he felt a body that was a carbon copy of his own practically welded onto his. It was so surreal to be himself like this. His body felt like a familiar stranger to him. Rikuo could feel every contour of muscle above and remembered how much training it took to get that way. He could see all the scars splayed out on the other chest and knew the battles he went threw to earn them. This out-of-body experience he was having was so exhilarating, real, and alluring, that he found himself wanting more out of this.

His yokai form spoke again, "You've tried your best for a lowly human. It's time you get your reward." Rikuo melted under that voice. It was making the boy drunk, he was sure. He tried moving out from under him again but the other was already straddling him through the sheets of his futon. Rikuo was trapped.

Slowly his other self leaned forward, their faces inches apart, and Rikuo could not help but savor the anticipation coursing through his veins. The fear mixed with expectation made him deathly excited. What was his twin thinking? What was he going to do? And then after? Rikuo held his breath.

The aftermath might have been what he was looking for. It could have been the complete opposite. When the other pressed his lips against the boy's, Rikuo was not too sure. He grew even more exhilarated when he was kissed again.

It was a firm press, like all the confidence he exuded was put into it. The lips pulled hard and unconsciously, Rikuo parted his own, unknowingly playing right into his hand. A tongue slowly dove in dancing along with his own. Then those cold sensuous hands joined the fray, caressing and eliciting strange noises from him. It felt good to be touched like that.

Rikuo wanted more.

He moaned, embarrassed as lips became better acquainted with his neck. Even when the demon's touch was cold, it made Rikuo burn all over. Just a small tug would send him reeling.

"A-ah," everything was growing too cramped and stuffy. It was too hot for him, too congested. By the time the other had loosened his yukata, exposing his chest, the boy was already panting badly. The heat of his body clashing with the coldness of his counterpart was something he could get addicted to. This person- thing, whatever- just needed to go a little faster, a little harder.

When that same person abruptly pulls back, Rikuo whimpers. All the good sensations- gone in an instant. That wasn't fair, he thought. Starting and stopping just wasn't fair in his eyes, but he waited without complaint for something to happen.

The sharper, more mature version of him was watching him intently. He was eyeing what must have been light red blotches that were starting to mar his skin. Dark orbs raked over his body from top to bottom slowly. It was like he was being mentally undressed, way past his skin. The look made him wheeze. It was almost as good as being touched. And yet, Rikuo was still craving contact.

The yokai slowly brought his face close to the boy's neck. His long soft hair tickled Rikuo's skin and the other nuzzled against him. As if he were being pulled, his demon self dragged himself down to the smaller one's chest. A hot, hot mouth enveloped a pert nipple and sucked. The hot cavern surrounded by cold lips stopped all his thoughts. Rikuo jerked wildly, thrashed even. The boy held on to the sheets of his futon as the beats of pleasure increased. A tongue swirled around the now hard nub, and the human side saw stars.

A a pair of hands glided over his flat chest, exploring the length of the expanse. Then he reached lower, followed his happy trail, and cupped his arousal- a firm, strong grip. The smaller one gasped, then exhaled a shaky breath. It was all he could do not to buck into that hand. And he didn't want to. He grasped very quickly how better it was to let his doppelganger have dominance over him. Not knowing or being able to control what comes next brought him to more pleasurable heights than when it was just him; quick and predictable. This man above him was anything but. Every movement had an air of confidence in him (said by the lack of hesitance at the touching of another's groin) unlike him, who can't even masturbate without shaking.

And this person on top of him took a moment to fully shed Rikuo's yukata, leaving him bare. Slowly, ever so slowly, the hand stroked him. Rikuo thought his would die at that moment. He couldn't even breathe properly. "No, no more," he thought. He wouldn't last long if it was kept up this way. It was like his twin was the invention of pleasure. The hand grasping him needed no lubricant; it was dry and calloused from holding his blade and perfect, as rough patches on certain areas on his palm where the best form of friction he's ever felt. Long strokes are what brought him to full hardness. The were well measured and calculated.

He brought his face to the human's manhood, eyed it carefully as signs of climax gathered at his tip. His breaths were so close to that sensitive organ that it drove Rikuo nuts. The other hand lazily played with his pubic hair; a tickling temptation to see him try and relieve himself the way he himself wanted to (which was fast and rough and would not last more than a minute), a dare to bat the phantom's hand away in a show of assertiveness. Rikuo did nothing, however, and as a reward, those beautiful rosy lips enclosed around the head of excitement and, like a sweet, sweet candy, licked precum off the silt over and over. On and on again.

And Rikuo promptly lost his mind.

Hips rose whether they wanted to or not. It was just too good for him. Rikuo had to push, push, push deeper into that deep crevasse sucking him off. He needed it. He needed it so bad. But before he was even able to advance an inch, a firm hand (the same one that was twirling his hair about as if to pass time) kept him from all movement. For half a second, the boy downright loathed the larger man, but then saw where the other was taking it.

Rikuo felt that mouth take him in further, albeit slowly. His mind was running a mile a minute, and the boy imagined what it must look like: a clone of himself, hollow mouthed, bobbing his head and tasting his essence. At the mere thought of that, the boy spurted some into his other's mouth. He propped himself on his elbows and watched a greedy yokai push down inch by excruciating inch. He gulped.

He was fully sheathed into his mouth. "Ngh, h-hah…", his moans were unabashed now. He couldn't care to hold them in now. Those rosy pink lips, exactly like his, were puckered around his manhood. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He knew that mouth. He knew every part of it, and yet it felt like a whole different thing when used so intimately. So weird, he thought. It was such a disgusting fetish he had, having someone who looked like him put in this situation. Between his legs, the yokai hummed.

Rikuo came.

While white spots danced over his eyes, the human was able to see the demon smirking and wiping his mouth in between.

That night Rikuo dreamt of a cold breeze brushing against him and the inviting scent of cherry blossoms right under his nose.

When Rikuo awoke the next morning, he felt renewed and refreshed. In all honesty he hadn't been sleeping well the past few weeks. His mother fell ill after Grandfather died and work has started to pile up suddenly. Under the pressure of trying to keep an entire clan in one piece, he collapsed yesterday from exhaustion.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as the memory came back to him. Yes, he was asleep, and he was sleeping so well, but then- something woke him up…something, someone…

Rikuo swiftly shot up from his bed and checked his surroundings for signs of intrusion. His eyed darted past every nook and cranny. Someone woke him up last night, and he was sure it was himself. Or a phantom. Or a shape shifter. In any case, it looked just like he did at night and he had… the boy blushed.

No one could have gotten into his room. He would have sensed them a mile away. He just- had a weird dream. Maybe all that was just a way (and a weird one at that) to relieve his stress. Now that he thought about it. His sheets were sparkling clean. If…that really happened, then there'd definitely be a mess.

So. It was just a dream. Very, very realistic dream.

He decided to keep the matter to himself. He had a dream where he gave pleasure to himself. Not even about a crush or a harem of pretty girls he saw on television. That was kind of sad and he'd rather not let others catch wind of it. Yeah, there was no need to tell others of the debacle.

So he went out his room to wash up and get ready to tackle another hectic day. As he got up and stretched like he did most mornings, Rikuo noticed his muscles were less stiff. He reached up above his head then bent down to touch his toes, and found they were looser- much looser than they've probably ever been. This put him in a good mood. Now when he tells Tsurara that he's feeling better, he will actually mean it.

Silvery white hair sways with the wind as its owner smokes a pipe on the second floor windowsill of the Nura house. He slowly pulls it out from between rosy pink lips and lifts his chin up to release a stream of hot air.

Next to him, a sakura tree spreads it dainty cherry blossom leaves to go and dance with the wind. Sharp eyes narrow at the sight though knowing it would not deter the twirling petals. The man sighs in defeat, more content with relaxing and basking in the moonlight. Inside, the weaker version of himself sleeps soundly. He was more at peace than the days before.

A pleased smile graces his lips at this. His vessel is healthier now. Weeks before, he was worried that the human might die with the way he was going. As his body grew weaker, so did his yokai blood. It didn't boil like it used to. It was dying down and smoothing out. The yokai didn't like that at all. Then, when all seemed bleak, he heard a voice.

"Sooth your boy."

The next thing he knew, he was in front of the boy. And it was like his body just moved on his own. He just…

"I only released your inner desire."

"The hell…what's that supposed to mean?"

"Desire; a crave, longing, a strong wish."

"I know what it means. Stop messing around." he said gruffly, readjusting himself on his perch.

A smooth feminine chuckle hangs in the air, "I have the power to grant wishes every now and again."

"Oh really? Any wish? What if I wanted hordes of women at my every beck and call?"

"If that was the strongest desire in your heart, and I wished it to be so, then I would grant it. But it is not."

"And how'd you know my strongest desire?"

"Boy, I'm over 400 years old and have magical power that rivals the gods. Knowing one's thoughts is child's play."

"That's a bit disturbing."

"Very well then. Let's call it intuition."

"Appreciate it..." he deadpanned.

So he wanted his vessel. Physically. The yokai…didn't really know what to think of it. Maybe he did feel genuine worry for his container. But he wasn't aware of how those feelings could possibly matter. He was just a spirit that takes over the body when sun falls. The two will never get to see each other, but then, even though the demon was content with that fact, he became physical while the other Rikuo present. He could touch him, taste him. And he took full advantage of that when he saw the centre of his affections so wound up. That one chance is something he'll keep for the rest of his life.

"...And thanks."

In the Nurarihyon main compound, there is a great sakura tree. It's roots are firm, strong, and thick with age. It's leaves, a soft shade of pink, are the work of slow, long cultivation and maybe just a bit of divine magic. Sometimes, when she feels the cry of hearts both young and old, she'll grant their desires, if only for a night. She does more than show of her poise and grace through her soft petals that dance in the wind. Every so often, she's a meddler in other's affairs. Like the grandmother everybody loves, but will never die, she is timeless. She will live on and on… for many years to come.

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