Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ryusui kneels. Not by choice. He tugs at the chain that connects his neck to the ring secured in the parade ground. Just in case that this time it will give and let him stand. He'd long ago made his peace with dying young, but he'd always expected to meet death standing. Or drowning. Or with a rope around his neck and a short drop. Or, since that day three years ago that he'd accepted Senku's invitation to step through the portal to another hemisphere, bleeding out on a ship's deck. Not kneeling. For some reason he'd never expected himself to die while kneeling.

Of course, he'd never expected to be there when Ibara had completed the ritual and the ancient Greek god Phorcys had come back to this world in his dreadful might. Nor had he expected Ibara's ritual to fail in that Phorcys, rather than being bound to Ibara's will, had instead taken over immediately, possessing one of his, well, ‘handmaidens’ was the term Ibara used. Amaryllis, if Ryusui had identified the right woman in the midst of the storm of magic.

Ryusui suspected Amaryllis of having sabotaged the ritual in some way. Which in general, he approved of, Ibara was scum, but in the Caribbean, gods were seldom good news. Phorcys, ancient sea-god of the hidden dangers of the deep, was terrible and dangerous even by those standards, at least by the few mentions Ruri had found in her mother's library and reported to the Persus when they'd realised Ibara's goal.

Phorcys’ power had whipped round the former handmaiden's body, then risen in a tornado above her, tendrils of dark magic whipping out to the temple's ancient boundaries. All Ryusui had had time to do was to throw Suika behind him and tell her to run and hide, before darkness engulfed him. He'd floated in a void for some unknown time, unable to move or speak, unable to tell if he was breathing or even if his heart was beating. All he could do was hope Suika had managed to escape and find Senku.

At some point, he'd been woken out of the void and back in his body, only to find himself tied to a chair in a warehouse. He thought one in Port Royal based on the brick work. A neatly-clad clerk had used a truth spell to interrogate him for a time, which had been simple enough, as Ryusui could honestly answer that he had no idea where Senku was or what he might be planning. Ditto on Gen and Kohaku. They'd not asked about Suika at all. Then he'd felt a presence behind him and had suddenly been thrown back into that bodiless state – only now with the hope that Senku and his friends were still out there causing chaos.

And now he was awake, again, but this time he had woken to find himself chained and kneeling, under the hot Caribbean sun, his crew nearby in the same position. Ryusui instantly recognised the parade ground at Port Royal.

Ryusui's body, as far as he could tell, was unaffected by the passage of however long he'd been away, he felt dirty, but it was the dirt of a warehouse, not of unwashed sweat. How long had it been? Ryusui can't properly feel the wind from down here, but his sailor's instincts tell him there's been a change in the air, that it's now the wet season, which would make it three months at least.

There were soldiers nearby, though Ryusui did not recognise their uniforms. When he'd tried to ask what was happening, no sound had come from his throat, but at his gestures, one soldier had laughed and made a throat-slitting gesture. Then another, presumably their commanding officer, had ordered his soldiers to silence. Execution then. If they were lucky.

Ryusui's remaining comfort was he could see no sign of Suika, nor Senku, Kohaku, Gen or anyone else who wasn't there at the ritual. Unlike Chrome and Kinrou and Ginrou and all too many others. Ginrou was crying openly, though silently.

Ryusui pulls at his chain again. He'd really like to die standing.

Suddenly he's aware of that presence again. Phorcys must have entered. The way the soldiers all snap to attention merely confirms it. Ryusui refuses to crane his neck round to look, but from the way the soldiers’ eyes move, Phorcys is moving to the front and soon he comes within Ryusui’s field of vision.

Phorcys is still possessing a woman's body. Was the god confined to the original body he had possessed? Or was this a choice of his? From the stories Ruri had told of the Greek gods, they'd happily change species, let alone sexes.

The woman’s body had changed though, since Ryusui had last seen her at the ritual, changed into something unearthly. Her features were the same as Amaryllis's but her skin was now white, whiter than a geisha's, and yet there was darkness below it, as if the white was white paint smeared over black paper. Strands of gold run through her skin, like kintsugi pottery, but the individual strands were perpetually moving. Her hair is still black but now it floats around her head in liquid tendrils, as if they are drifting underwater. She is wearing a soft flowing sea-green dress in a style that reminded Ryusui of the Greek statues he had seen in Ruri's house in Havana. The dress was made from silk, by the way it moved around her. Beautiful, but human-looking. Does that mean Phorcys, however he can change his vessel's body, can't actually create unearthly substances?

Phorcys has an entourage around her, of people who looked simply human, and Ryusui wonders briefly what brought them here. Had she promised them riches, or glory or had she offered them a choice between serving her and the death of their loved ones? Or had they straightforwardly fallen for her dark power?

He thinks he recognises some of them from receptions at the governor’s home. There's no sign of the former governor or his family though. Ryusui hoped they had managed to flee. And flee to their home country. His uncle had spoken many times of the Europeans as “barbarian scum” but Ryusui figures that however unrefined, uneducated and ignorant of propriety these Europeans may be, their ability to conquer these foreign lands indicated they must have access to deep magics, maybe not as powerful as those of Japan's, but surely sufficient to deal with a Phorcys.

But even if the Europeans did, they were hardly likely to show up in time and force to change the outcome today. So execution. How are they going to die? His mind goes to Ibara, screaming as he was wrapped in Phorcys' black power and reduced to a lifeless husk. Ryusui had no love for the man, but that death – no, he's not thinking about that now. Maybe if he wrenches his chain to the left there might be a bit of slack and he can stand before he dies. He doesn't want to die while kneeling.

The chain though is implacable as ever. Ryusui still kneels.

Phorcys turns to face her prisoners and her dark power flows over them, nothing visible happens but still it is power like the sea, pressure against his skin as relentless as a tide. Ryusui sees Ginrou's head bow, then Chrome’s, then even Kinrou’s, under her onslaught. Ryusui silently snarls in defiance, forcing himself to hold his head high, well as high as he can. Nanami Ryusui, who had been pulled by some strange magic from his native waters to the foreign seas of the Caribbean with their strange peoples, strange magics, strange ships and yet stranger sailing techniques, and who had mastered all of this and conquered these new ways and new seas and made himself a captain again, and acquired a bounty on his head from the Spanish king, one which even Minami had to admit was fairly substantial, no, Captain Nanami Ryusui would never bow his head to some ancient Greek god known merely for fathering monsters.

Phorcys’s power flow suddenly stops and she turns to one of her entourage and says something and then a moment later two of the guards are walking over to Ryusui and grab his arms then force them behind his back, Ryusui struggles but physical fighting has never been his forte so they quickly manage to cuff his hands behind his back, then release that bloody neck chain and march him up to the front before Phorcys. He feels a pressure on his throat release. So, his neck is free, he's standing, no longer facing death while kneeling, things are looking up?

Phorcys walks around him, slowly, assessingly. Ryusui's skin crawls, each hair on his body stands on end, he feels lik,e a thunderstorm is about to burst around him. There is something inhuman about how she moves, as if each of her joints can rotate a little further than merely human ones could.

She finishes her slow rotation, and then, when back in front of Ryusui, grabs his chin firmly and locks his eyes with hers. Up this close, he notices her irises are a dark and turbulent grey, as dark as the sea in a howling storm, and the gold threads flicker across her eyes, not just the irises, but also the whites and even the pupils, as eerily as they do across her skin.

Around her neck is a choker necklace, made from aquamarine stones held by black metal twisted into tentacles. Ryusui thinks he remembers it from the ritual but the necklace he'd seen then had the tentacles turned inwards, where they would prick at the wearer's skin, now they were turned outwards, as if to prick at anyone who came by.

Phorcys speaks. It is disconcerting, the words that enter Ryusui's ears are in some foreign tongue he doesn’t recognise, but they arrive at his brain in perfect Japanese, what's more in his home district’s accent and dialect. It feels like she's speaking with two voices, one delayed a fraction of a second. Powerful magic. He expects every listener hears her words in their own mother tongue.

“You were at the temple, when I came into my own,” Phorcys says.

It's not a question and Ryusui doesn't try to reply. He could run, his feet are free, if he was alone he'd risk it, but he could never abandon his crew to execution.

“What is your name?” she asks.

Ryusui doesn't try to answer that question either, there are entities in the Caribbean whom it's dangerous to have know your name. And then she hisses at him, touches the centre of her necklace and her power flows through him, through his skull, through his mind, and the world disappears for a moment, Ryusui thinks he may be screaming. When he comes back to himself he's sweating, and it's cold sweat despite the Caribbean sun beating down on them.

“Nanami Ryusui,” she says phonetically, drawing the syllables out. Then she translates, “Seven-Seas. Water Dragon. How … appropriate.”

He feels her power around his body again, this time like a still sea, supporting him. But it has the feeling of a sea with monsters swimming in the dark depths that may drag him down. And he feels her there, in his mind, still.

“You interest me, Dragon of the Seven Seas,” she says. “What would it take, to make you mine?” Some of the power she has wrapped around him focuses on his groin, making it vividly clear what she means by ‘mine’.

Ryusui seizes the unexpected opportunity. He has no idea why Phorcys is asking, not just taking, given the way she just rifled through his mind, but he's not exactly in a position to discuss the exact ins and outs of her magic.

“You let them go, safely,” he says aloud, glad his voice is working again. “Grant them safe passage, to their chosen port outside of your lands and seas. All the prisoners here, and everyone in your prisons who has ever served under my command.” There, that wording should suffice.

“That is a bold request, Nanami Ryusui. Your friends’ sacrifices, your sacrifice, would grant me … power.”

Ryusui can't let himself get angry. And he knows that tone, from numerous negotiations. It's not a ‘no’, it's a ‘convince me’. There's two reasons why someone might do something, the public and the private. Better cover both.

“You will have Captain Nanami by your side,” he promises aloud. “I already have a reputation here in the Caribbean. This will grant you political legitimacy.”

And at the same time he brings to mind his memories of that unforgettable first month he'd spent in the pleasure districts of Edo, where some of the leading ladies, and a certain young man, with eyes as soft as honey and hands as smooth as silk, had introduced him to the arts of pleasure, of how he might take apart another's body and soul and reduce them to desperate desire.

Phorcys’ pupils widen and her breath quickens.

“Your offer is of interest, Nanami Ryusui. If they swear an oath to me, to never oppose me any more. And, if you swear to me to … to stay by my side. To never seek to escape to the realm of Hades.”

Ryusui notices what that commits him to. And what it doesn't. The latter maybe scares him more. But what choice does he have? “I will so swear,” he replies.

Phorcys laughs, lightly, prettily as a maiden picnicking under cherry blossoms, darkly as the waves slapping against a ship wrecked on a reef.

“So command your people, Nanami Ryusui, Water Dragon of the Seven Seas.”

Ryusui turns to them, the people he has led, he has failed, he has, maybe, betrayed.

“Please swear,” he says to them in Spanish. “To the Lady Phorcys, of the hidden dangers of the sea. Swear to go from here in peace and to oppose her no more.” Ryusui has no idea if ‘lady’ is the proper way of addressing a Greek god possessing a once-human woman, ruler of an unknown amount of land. Phorcys at least does not object.

He repeats his request in Japanese, for Taiju and Yo's benefit. Despite their years in these new waters, their language skills are still limited.

Francois is there in the front row, forever loyal to him and they are the first to bow their head and swear. “As you request.”

Ryusui's gut clenches and he wishes he knew if he was making the right choice.

Kinrou is second, not Ginrou, to Ryusui's surprise. “And I will swear too.”

And then there's an outbreak of offers of oaths. Ryusui bows his head, knowing the irony of his refusal to do so earlier.

“To you, my lady, I swear to stay by your side. To never seek escape, not even to the lands of the dead.”

Phorcys laughs again, and the pressure of her magic around him vanishes.

“Prepare him and take him to my rooms,” she instructs.

The two guards grab him and haul him away and the last Ryusui sees is Francois bowing their head between Phorcys’ hands.

Ryusui had never thought to have to lose his people before now.

To the extent that Ryusui had ever imagined being bathed at the beginning of life as a sex slave, it had involved steaming waters, exotic scents, and nubile maidens. Not being marched to a tub in the fortress's laundry, stripped, the remains of his shirt cut from him, then unceremoniously plonked in a hip bath and rigorously scrubbed clean of at least three months worth of grime by a middle-aged Dutch woman with biceps like a blacksmith and a manner which reminds him strongly of his head nanny from when he was a child. It took seven changes of water until she was satisfied, and Ryusui would swear even the smallest hairs of his eyebrows had been scrubbed. He appreciates being clean again but the experience was about as sensual as stripping barnacles off a boat. Also he now smells astringently of laundry soap. But at least the water was steaming hot. One out of three.

When eventually the scary cleanliness freak releases Ryusui, his guards from earlier have found him some fresh trousers to step into and then they buckle them up for him. His hands are still shackled behind him and he's still barefoot but he appreciates not being marched through the hallways stark naked. They then march him up some stairs and through more hallways. Ryusui is only familiar with the formal rooms of the governor's mansion, but he thinks they're getting closer to the actual administrative rooms. One of his guards opens a door and he's thrust into a room, clearly that of an upper servant. In there is a desk, with a grey-haired, African-looking woman sitting at it, dressed in the European style. She's busy with an accounts book, though she looks up at the intrusion.

“Captain Nanami,” she addresses him in English, clearly unsurprised. Ryusui is annoyed he can't name her in return.

“Ma'am, Lady Phorcys’ latest paramour,” one of his guards says. Ryusui doesn't recognise the word ‘paramour’ but he can guess the meaning from the context – concubine.

The grey-haired woman looks at him assessingly. “You're thinner than Her Ladyship’s normal,” she comments. The emphasis she puts on Phorcys’s title reminds Ryusui of how these Europeans tend to speak of their god.

And what has been happening that Phorcys has acquired a ‘normal’ in concubines in only three months? If it was only three months of course.

“He resisted Her Ladyship’s command to bow,” the guard states.

The woman's eyes widen slightly. “And She's made you Her paramour? I wish She'd thought to make you Her secretary, anyone who can think around Her is a rarity.”

Definitely an upper servant. Either head clark or housekeeper.

“Do you plan any harm to Our Lady?” she asks directly.

“The thought has never crossed my mind,” Ryusui replies truthfully. Whatever he had thought before he swore to stand by Phorcys’ side was a different matter, if he properly understood the meaning of the English term ‘our’.

The woman nods, clearly absorbing his wording.

“Release him,” she orders his guards. One of them unshackles Ryusui's hands. The woman opens a drawer from a cabinet in the room and takes out a small stone. “Show me the back of your neck,” she orders Ryusui. Ryusui nods, turns his back to her and lifts up his hair, she reaches up and presses the stone to the nape, then says an incantation. Ryusui feels the momentary heat of magic as the stone enters into his skin.

“If you seek to leave the grounds, that will cause you unbearable pain.”

Ryusui believes her. Yet the restriction is less binding than he had expected. He'd expected being restricted to a few rooms, maybe the fortress as a whole if he was lucky. The fortress and the grounds? He can go outside, feel the sun, or see the moon. Rain on his skin again. He stops his mind from speculating further. That's enough. For now.

“You may leave now,” she tells the guards. “Tell the kitchen to send food, and tell Mr Alliard to come measure Captain Nanami. And bring with him a fresh set of clothes. Sir, will you have a seat?”

Ryusui sits across the desk from her.

“Ma'am, may I have the honour of your name?” he asks. He's been reacting long enough, time to start doing something, even if it's only finding out a name.

“Mrs Smith,” she replies, firmly. Ryusui's not exactly an expert on African languages and naming practices but from her tone he suspects it's not her original name.

“Were you here before her ladyship arrived?” Ryusui asks. “Do you know what happened to the Governor and his family?” What Ryusui truly wants to know is whether one of the European kings might be being notified, by someone with the authority to drive an intervention.

“We do not speak of The Before,” she states, the emphasis as audible as when she'd spoken of Phorcys. “You understand what Lady Phorcys expects of you? That She will use your body any way She chooses, that She likes to inflict pain, that She may decide you are not to be healed?”

“My crew were to be executed.”

Her gaze softens slightly. She turns to another drawer and takes out a different stone. “This one prevents a man from fathering a child. I recommend you use it.”

“Can Phorcys even get with child, in her current body?” Ryusui asks curiously.

“How would you like to find out?” Mrs Smith asks in return.

Ryusui goes to touch his captain's hat in acknowledgement, but his fingers touch only air, so he sighs instead and simply takes the stone and slaps it against his upper arm, muttering the incantation himself. The stone sinks rapidly into his muscle. He takes the moment to glance at the papers on Mrs Smith’s desk, and immediately spots the date on the accounts she was writing.

May 1777! Two years and three months! What had Phorcys accomplished in all that time? Where were Senku and the others? Ryusui's brain races, whatever his friends had done that had prompted his earlier interrogation, they clearly hadn't managed to stop Phorcys or rescue Ryusui from his imprisonment. So better count them out. And Ryusui had sent the rest of the Kingdom of Science away, if Phorcys kept his promise. Regardless, they weren't relevant. He's facing an evil god, one that can read his mind, and he's alone. Hah, hah, win or lose, this game will be his, and Ryusui fully intends to win!

The first thing he desires is information.

“How many … pa-ra-mours,” Ryusui sounds out the new word carefully, “has Phorcys had? I desire to know everything!”

Mrs Smith blinks a little at this change in topic. And tone.

“Six. All men. One of whom is still alive.” She looks at him challengingly. “Two died at Her Hand directly, one died of a fever, and two … killed themselves.”

That explained the focus of the promise Phorcys had drawn from Ryusui. Okay, so Ryusui wasn't going to kill himself. As for the fever death – if Ryusui's protective spells failed, then they failed. So that left the two who Phorcys had killed as situations he could do something about.

“So what can you tell me, about what happened with the two she killed?”

“Her Ladyship lost interest in them, over time, so decided to sacrifice their lives to fuel Her magic,” Mrs Smith says bluntly.

“So I had best ensure she doesn't lose interest? I think we have a common interest here, an occupied Phorcys makes life easier for you, am I right?”

Ryusui cocks his head at Mrs Smith, who looks a bit surprised. Presumably she was expecting him to be unnerved by the tally of his predecessors.

“And what about the sixth?” Ryusui continues. “The one who still lives?”

There is a knock at the door before Mrs Smith can answer, and then a man enters, bowing his head respectfully to Mrs Smith. He is followed by a teenage boy carrying an armful of clothing and tailoring supplies.

“Hah, hah, you must be Mr Alliard, the tailor. I desire your skills!” Ryusui declares happily.

There is some kerfuffle but Ryusui wins his point, eventually convincing the tailor to make him some outfits in the Japanese style, indeed, manages to persuade Mr Alliard that it will be a grand chance to show off his skills. The brocades the tailor has available are considered by the two of them, and while they are not in the Japanese styles he's used to, Ryusui reckons they will look and feel lavish, falling around his body. Or Phorcys’s body, as it may play out.

As the discussion is drawing to a close, food arrives, in the form of bread, cheese and cold meat sent up from the kitchen, and while Mr Alliard and his assistant takes Ryusui's measurements, Ryusui makes himself eat, well aware he'll need his energy.

For his immediate clothing needs, Ryusui and Mr Alliard agree on a European-style outfit but minus the coat and cravat. The tailor insists instead on carefully arranging the open neck of Ryusui's shirt with an attention to detail that reminds Ryusui of Francois.

Then an errand boy escorts him to a room Ryusui has seen before - the main guest bedroom in the governor's mansion. It is much as he remembers, grand, decorated in green and gold, windows out to the east, a four poster bed against the northern wall, a sitting area on the southern side, including a table, a small bar with bottles of various drinks and a couple of the upholstered raised seating that the Europeans called ‘sofas’.

The western side of the room however contains a novelty. A very large, and very well-muscled man, on his knees, naked but for a short braies covering his groin, gagged, and wrapped in iron chains.

“Tsukasa!” Ryusui exclaims in delight, barely noticing the boy closing the door behind him. Just the man he desires!

Chapter Text

Tsukasa! Ryusui had known him back in Japan, had first met him in childhood when Tsukasa's father had come to his uncle to borrow money, and even back then Ryusui had desired Tsukasa for his courage and intelligence. In his first year of his independence, he'd seen Tsukasa fight in a jujitsu tournament, and had deliberately seduced him that same evening. Their relationship had been brief and tumultuous. Its painful ending was one of the few things Ryusui had regrets about – in retrospect, Ryusui recognised the hurt and humiliation Tsukasa felt from his father's dependence on the Nanami Clan – and Ryusui's desire for Tsukasa’s talents remained unfulfilled.

Ryusui had not met Tsukasa since he'd come to the Caribbean. Though Tsukasa was kneeling, Ryusui was confident he was now even taller than the sixteen year old Ryusui had seduced, and his shoulders and torso were now fully filled out by adulthood. His hair, though, still looks as soft as back when they were wakashu and now rather than being kept up in a formal bun, it hangs down in long locks around his shoulders. Ryusui desires to touch it again. Desires to have Tsukasa again. From Gen and the other longer-serving members of the Kingdom of Science, he'd heard tales of Tsukasa's war with Senku that made Ryusui even more impressed with the man's talents, and desire the man even more.

However, given their and their families’ history, Ryusui knows his feelings aren't exactly reciprocated, and the current situation between them is just going to make Tsukasa's dislike worse. If any confirmation was needed, it's there in the vicious glare aimed at him. Tsukasa can’t speak, he's gagged, but if he could, Ryusui reckons he'd be cursing.

How to charm someone who hates your guts?

Ryusui doesn't have much time to contemplate the question before he feels Phorcys’ presence outside the room. A moment later she enters in a swirl of black, white and gold, seats herself in a chair directly across from the bed, and regards Ryusui.

“Fetch me a whiskey,” she orders. Ryusui finds the right bottle, pours her a glass and hands it to her with his best rakish bow. She sips it, looking at him consideringly.

“Turn around,” she orders, and he dutifully does, slowly, feeling her appraising eyes on him.

“You’re too thin.”

Ryusui smiles. He knows that tactic. “In the Ukiyo, there are numerous men much more beautiful than me. What makes the difference is what I can do.”

He pulls some memories to the forefront of his mind, and feels her sensing them, feels her arousal, starts to feel himself aroused as well. Phorcys smiles, and knocks back the whiskey, then, without saying a word, stands and walks over to Ryusui and kisses him on the mouth. Her lips are cold, despite the warmth of the Caribbean day, and he wonders briefly if the rest of her is that cold. He feels her amusement inside his head at his thought.

Sailor's instincts tell him this is a bad thing, and it's confirmed when she places one hand on her choker and the other against his chest. Through the thin linen he suddenly feels heat, intense heat, burning his skin. He instinctively tries to pull away but she's wrapped an invisible force around his back and he's trapped. She doesn't stop until Ryusui screams and then suddenly, impossibly, her hand turns freezing cold, for a moment.

Then the force behind him disappears and he stumbles back, falls to his knees, gasping. Phorcys is saying something but he can't understand it, can't focus through the searing pain in his chest. Phorcys looks annoyed and does a twisting motion with her hand. Ryusui's awareness of the pain suddenly disappears, and he's left there on his knees, panting.

Phorcys doesn't immediately repeat whatever she had said but instead returns to her chair and seats herself calmly, legs parted. She beckons to him, physically it's just a finger, but their minds are connected enough that Ryusui senses what she wants. He doesn't attempt to stand but instead crawls the couple of feet to her, careful of his chest, fully aware that Phorcys cutting off the pain wasn't the same as actual healing.

Once between her legs Ryusui wastes no time in lifting the skirt of her dress. Phorcys wears no undergarment, so once the fabric is away he can immediately respond to the urgent desire in her mind, narrowing his focus entirely to her pleasure, kissing briefly the front of her mound, before delving his tongue into the depths of her clit. Phorcys gasps, and her hands come down to bury themselves in his hair. Through their mental connection, Ryusui feels her pleasure. The Edo courtesans had taught him a good deal about reading a lover's body, and Ryusui had often taken great delight in the pleasures he could bring to another, but this was a level of connection beyond that. Not just body but mind – he feels her feeling of emptiness in her cunt, almost before she does, pushes his tongue in, then rubs two fingers along her clit before it can even feel neglected. There! He feels her shock, even through her pleasure, that other lovers of hers have been guided by her wants, but he's the first to act before she even feels her want herself.

Ryusui continues. He feels every pulse of pleasure, the impact on her of every subtle difference in how he places his tongue, in which nerve he presses on, in how he varies his pace. As the fire builds in her, it builds in him. As her orgasm approaches he can feel his approach too, his nerves thrumming through her nerves, she tips over the edge and the glory of it runs through his nerves and he feels the orgasm through her, feels his own, urgent and intense, like a wave crashing on the beach, for a moment all roaring, tumultuous pleasure. Then the wave recedes and he's suddenly aware he's still achingly hard.

Ryusui falls back on his knees in shock. There's a constriction around his cock, as if a tight ring were around it, but he is still dressed, it can only be magic, how could Phorcys manage to make a spell at the point of orgasm? She is inhuman.

Ryusui barely thinks that thought before he shudders from it, remembering the burn, he cannot afford ... he forces himself to focus on his own burning need, his unfulfillment in contrast to her vibrating satisfaction.

Phorcys smiles at Ryusui, kneeling before her.

“There is something to be said for the courtesans of your land,” she tells him. “How far is it?” She doesn't wait for Ryusui to answer but instead pulls the knowledge from his brain, though much less painfully than she had pulled his name from him earlier. “Ah, so far,” she murmurs, “but maybe one day.” Ryusui can't help a brief tremble.

Phorcys’ mood shifts. “Strip,” she orders him. “Strip for me.”

Ryusui hesitates briefly, then slides off his boots, stands up and steps back, to let her see.

He looks down at himself to check the state of his clothes. The linen shirt now bears a scorch mark, as if from an over-hot iron, but in the shape of Phorcys’s hand. Luckily it hangs loosely from his chest, rather than the fabric sticking to the burn. He removes his shirt as carefully as possible, then undresses the rest of the way, keeping his pace slow. Phorcys looks, and Ryusui lets himself enjoy the pleasure of her desire for him, undiminished despite her orgasm. He turns slowly for her, lifting his hair from the back of his neck, before looking at her over his shoulder. From Phorcys’s mind, Ryusui picks up images, of a young man in a shadowy dark temple lit by flaming torches, of the ancient god spreading himself over the man's body, his cock straining with eagerness.

“On the bed, on your back,” Phorcys orders. Ryusui obeys, ignoring the aching need between his legs. As he lies back, he feels chains moving from out under the bed, shackles snapping themselves around his wrists and ankles. Phorcys’s magic again.

Once Ryusui's secured, he/she moves over and sits on the bed beside him, runs a hand over Ryusui's abs, down over his groin, but avoids touching his cock, instead she ends with her hand resting on his inner thigh. Ryusui lets himself moan.

“Water-Dragon,” Phorcys muses. “You submit so easily. I thought a dragon would be more prideful. Are you worthy of your name, little human?”

Ryusui half-closes his eyes so he can look at her through his lashes while giving a sultry smile. “I desire your skills,” he says, truthfully. “Here I have the chance to learn at the hands of yourself, with thousands of years of experience. Only a fool would pass on that opportunity, am I wrong?” He snaps his fingers despite their constraints.

Phorcys laughs. “As Aesop said, ‘Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true!"

She leans into Ryusui and runs her tongue up the side of his neck. It's inhuman, harsh and painful against his skin, not painful enough to make him cry out but he feels her pleasure at feeling his pain in her mind. His cock still aches. Damn it, he is in trouble.

She spends no further time on foreplay but instead immediately straddles him, rolling her skirt up, her thighs as inhumanly white as her face and arms, the gold strands moving through the skin of her legs too. She settles herself down on his cock, taking him deep into her cunt.

Through their mingled minds Ryusui feels the doubled sensation. His geisha lovers may have taught him well how to read his lovers’ bodies, but, this is different, in a way beyond even what he'd felt when he'd brought her to completion with his tongue. Ryusui's taken many lovers into his own body, but for the first time he's feeling what it is like to be entered in a cunt, directly, not just through his lover's movements but the direct feeling of their body wrapping around him, of an aching gap being filled, all layered over his own sensation of thrusting into her cunt himself. And it becomes even more different when she leans forward and starts to grind her hips, he feels her pleasure from the pressure on her clit, and he cries aloud under the mingling sensations.

Ryusui’s hands ache to lift and touch and bring her yet more pleasure upon pleasure but he's so trapped. What does he have to use to please her? Ah, his mind, and he brings to mind another memory. This one not from the pleasure districts but from a small roadside inn he'd been staying at when an unseasonable spring snowstorm had blown in and prevented all travel. That night the inn's landlady had joined Ryusui and ridden him, much like Phorcys is riding him now. Except then Ryusui's hands were free to touch and caress her body to his heart’s content, his hands slipping through the soft woollen folds of her winter kimono, rubbing her small breasts and rosy nipples, settling around her hips. And the contrast in temperatures, between the warmth of their clothing and the cold of the air in the room, between the stillness of the snowy air and the eager heat of their bodies thrusting together, something so alien to the tropical Caribbean. Ryusui feels Phorcys’s enjoyment of his memories and also her enjoyment of his frustration at being unable to touch her now.

Then, without his intending it, Ryusui's mind slips to the second night snowbound, where he had been on top this time, leaning over his beautiful landlady, and then unexpectedly her husband had decided to join them, lifting the silk of Ryusui's kimono to place his hands on Ryusui's backside, one thumb already slippery with oil.

Back here and now, Ryusui feels Phorcys’s arousal intensify. She drives her hips deeper into his groin, causing him in turn to thrust deeper within her. Those invisible tendrils of force run again across his body, touching him, moving around his hips to slide underneath him, lifting his arse from the bed slightly, teasing at his hole. Ryusui moans and parts his legs underneath her, though that part of his body is still dry. Phorcys realises the issue and lifts herself from him briefly, using her hands to take some of the ample juices from her cunt and bring them to his hole, before settling down onto his cock again. The force tendrils reappear a moment later. Ryusui is well aware the lubrication would be insufficient if he was going to take a whole cock but for these purposes, they give sufficient friction for pleasure for both of them.

Ryusui feels the tide of pleasure in his body, in her body, rise, under the triple stimulation, or was it quadruple? Or infinite – her and his pleasure reflected back and forth rebounding beyond imagination. Ryusui soon feels her arch towards her release and desperately stops his body from following her as she climaxes around him, falling forward, hands onto his shoulders.

When she catches her breath she smiles at him and then lifts herself away from his cock, settling by his side.

Ryusui gasps for control. “If only we could bottle that and sell it on the streets of Edo,” he says at random.

Phorcys laughs. “Always the merchant.” Then she sits up and, to Ryusui's surprise, takes his cock in her hand, and those invisible tendrils return to his hole. His groin is now thoroughly slick all over with her juices and she rapidly brings him to the edge, then whispers “Come for me” and Ryusui immediately comes, spilling all over his groin and lower abs.

He has little time to enjoy his release. Phorcys is there, running a finger through his seed, spreading it further around his body, down to his lower thighs.

“What a mess,” Phorcys says, shaking her head as if it saddens her, though Ryusui can feel her amusement and see the smile on her face. “I had better ensure you get all cleaned up.”

Ryusui can't help but tense at that statement, but Phorcys’s attention is already elsewhere, Ryusui's awareness of her feelings has diminished, he hopes the converse is also true.

“Tsukasa!” Phorcys calls, sweetly. “Come here, Tsukasa!”

Oh shit. Ryusui turns his head to the eastern side of the room. Tsukasa would have been watching them the whole time they had sex. Ryusui suddenly finds himself remembering Tsukasa's facial expression at the start of the fight that prompted their break up, and desperately shuts down that line of thought.

The chains that were binding Tsukasa unravel themselves, must be Phorcys’s magic again. They leave broad strands of pink on Tsukasa’s skin, where he's clearly pulled against them. When Tsukasa's free, he doesn't rise to his feet, but instead drops to his knees and crawls towards them. Ryusui wonders how long he's been held captive by Phorcys.

When Tsukasa reaches the bed, Phorcys reaches over and undoes his gag with her own hands.

“Now, my pet,” she coaxes. “Clean Captain Nanami up, with your tongue.”

Ryusui sees Tsukasa’s body recoil and instinctively responds himself.

“No, I don't….,”

“Silence,” Phorcys hisses at Ryusui, suddenly furious. Ryusui’s throat tightens and his voice is gone as thoroughly as it was at the parade ground. Then Phorcys touches his choker and the pain of Ryusui's chest suddenly returns full throttle for a brief moment. Ryusui can't scream but his whole body contorts under the shock.

Phorcys turns her face back to Tsukasa. “Why are you hesitating?” She narrows her eyes briefly, and Tsukasa flinches and turns his head to one side, Ryusui guesses that's the stoic samurai’s minimal reaction to a mind probe like the one that had made Ryusui himself scream.

“Ah, you think you're better than him,” Phorcys crows. “A disciplined warrior like yourself versus a greedy, selfish, merchant. Everything you're not. Everything you despise.”

Tsukasa's face is pale with anger.

“And yet now he's the one on top. He even gets to come. Now clean him.”

Ryusui doesn't know what passes between Phorcys and Tsukasa, but finally the man moves, licking and sucking at Ryusui's abs and thighs, his body tense. Ryusui can feel the anger and humiliation radiating from him.

“Now his cock and balls,” Phorcys says. “Remember this is your purpose now, to delight whomever I choose, in whatever way I command.”

Ryusui can't help but shake his head in denial, his every nerve writhing in protest. He'd rather Phorcys give him another burn than force Tsukasa to go down on him. But she doesn't even notice Ryusui's reaction, her attention entirely on Tsukasa. Who eventually, slowly, moves his mouth to Ryusui's balls, licking them. For the first time in his life Ryusui desperately hopes for a long refractory period, but his body betrays him, his cock growing half hard again under the contact.

Phorcys smiles dangerously, then moves over and places one of her hands onto Tsukasa’s back and the other hand touches her choker. Ryusui feels Tsukasa's body shudder against his own, though the samurai remains silent. Then Tsukasa, or was it Phorcys controlling him, moves his mouth to Ryusui's cock. Something, Ryusui realises, Tsukasa had never done during their former relationship. How many times has Tsukasa done it now? Five other paramours, from what Mrs Smith said, how many had Tsukasa known? How many other people might Phorcys handed him to?

Tsukasa licks a long strip up along Ryusui's cock, and Ryusui feels himself fully harden in response. He can see Tsukasa's eyes, when Ryusui's looks down, glaring up at him. As if Ryusui had any choice in this. But from Tsukasa's perspective, it must be that Ryusui had entered the room of his own free will, no chains or shackles, then he'd heard Ryusui declare his desire for Phorcys, despite the burn she'd given him, then declare his desire to bottle the experience and sell it. Tsukasa had heard all that, a man already primed to think the worst of him.

Ryusui pushes his head back into the bed, tries desperately to think of something else, anything else, profit-and-loss statements, forensic accounting, scraping barnacles off a hull. But then Tsukasa gives another full body shudder, opens his mouth and takes the head of Ryusui's cock inside. Oh god Ryusui's attempt at distracting himself collapses in an instant. Tsukasa's tongue swirls around the head of Ryusui's cock, and Ryusui gasps, barely recognising his voice is back. Tsukasa bends down, takes Ryusui deeper until his cock is just touching the back of Tsukasa's mouth, Ryusui determinedly forces his hips to stay still but then Phorcys's force tendrils are back around his arse forcing his hips to jut up. She must be holding Tsukasa's head in place because Ryusui's cock enters Tsukasa's throat and he gags around it.

Ryusui hears his shackles snap open. His hands are now free and they come of their own accord to rest in Tsukasa's hair. Which is still as soft as ever. From somewhere Ryusui summons the willpower to stop his fingers from digging in to Tsukasa's scalp. But then Phorcys is back in his mind, and she conveys to him the idea, and when Ryusui resists, she gives him another glimpse of the pain in his chest that she is hiding from him. With a strangled sob Ryusui gives in, digs his fingers in, forces Tsukasa’s throat deeper onto his cock, then hauls back to give the man a chance to breathe. Then Ryusui clenches down again, Phorcys, reading his intent, forces his hips up again, so Tsukasa chokes and gags, and another of Phorcys’s tendrils forces itself into Ryusui’s own hole, scraping along his prostate. All becomes sensation and need and Ryusui hopelessly chases the next cycle and the next and the next and then he's coming despite himself, gloriously, anguishedly, forcing his seed down Tsukasa's throat, his former lover coughing and spluttering under the assault.

The moment Ryusui comes, Phorcys’s tendrils disappear, at least they disappear from Ryusui’s senses. The moment he can, he forcibly unfolds his fingers from Tsukasa's hair. And the moment he does, Tsukasa moves his head away, letting Ryusui’s cock fall out, though Tsukasa himself swallows whatever of Ryusui's cum was left in his mouth.

Tsukasa's not glaring at Ryusui now, instead he's looking away, his shoulders slumped. Phorcys, who has watched all this, claps her hands with glee, then reaches over, kisses Tsukasa deep within his mouth, reaching a hand down to grasp his groin through his braies. When she pulls away, a trickle of blood runs from the corner of Tsukasa's mouth.

“Back to your chains,” Phorcys orders, and Tsukasa stumbles back to his side of the room. Ryusui wonders if this is the worst of all, to see the vibrant, determined, young man he had known be now so obedient.

When Tsukasa reaches the side of the room the chains move again, ensnaring him, though not so thoroughly as when Ryusui had first arrived, only binding Tsukasa at one wrist and one ankle.

Ryusui wonders how Phorcys might bind him. But when she's satisfied with Tsukasa’s chains and turns to him, she simply runs a hand over the burn on his chest. “No healing on this,” she instructs. “I want it to scar.”

Ryusui nods his understanding.

“Now shall I withdraw, that you may rekindle the bonds of old,” Phorcys says with a dignity that she instantly ruins by a laugh. She stands and her dress falls back into place around her. Then she sweeps from the room.

Ryusui, exhausted, lets his head fall back against the bed. He realises, bitterly, that Phorcys hadn't kept him for the sake of his two-years-expired reputation or even, fundamentally, his wide-ranging sexual experience.

She'd kept him to torment Tsukasa.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Ryusui! Whenever Tsukasa thinks life here could not be more miserable, Phorcys discovers a new torture.

It had been nine years since Tsukasa had last seen Ryusui, but clearly the undisciplined brat has still not acquired any sense of dignity or self restraint. The opposite. Now his very hair displays his ridiculous flamboyant behaviour, in its messy and unruly locks. Even his eyebrows are a shout for attention. How much money had Ryusui thrown at barbers to get that look? Tsukasa has many regrets in his life, but falling into bed with that cocky upstart was definitely one of the greatest.

In the intervening years, the merchant's obnoxious confidence has clearly not diminished in the slightest. His body, which he was all too eager to flaunt even at sixteen years old, has now filled out into maturity, Ryusui has acquired muscles that would be admirable on a warrior or peasant, evidence of genuine hard work and service. But what need does a superfluous trader have for such efforts? In Ryusui's case, they're clearly just a decadent investment in seduction. As made clear by the wanton way he'd shed his clothes for Phorcys’s pleasure.

The man has no shame. Not only had he'd not even tried to fight the monster, he'd said he wanted to learn from her.

Ryusui pushes himself to a sitting position. The spoiled prat has lost his cocky smile for once, his face looks almost lost and lonely — he's probably sulking that Phorcys hadn't stayed for a third round. He leaves the bed and goes to the dressing table, where he regards his chest in the mirror briefly. Tsukasa feels the surge of magic when Ryusui activates the cleansing spell on the pitcher, then pours some cool water from it onto his burn, catching the overrun with a towel. Even though he hisses at the pressure. Idiot.

After a moment's pause, Ryusui pushes the servants’ bell, then pulls on his undergarments and trousers. Soon after he's semi-decent, at least by the standards of the Caribbean, a serving boy opens the door and Ryusui speaks to him in confident tones, the servant bows and immediately leaves. Ryusui closes the door and turns to Tsukasa.

“Come closer and I'll kill you,” Tsukasa growls, his voice rough after the assault on his throat. Annoyingly, Ryusui doesn't look scared or even offended, he just regards Tsukasa's chains briefly and then crosses back to the bed, finds the chamber pot underneath it and uses his foot to send it sliding across the floor to within Tsukasa's reach. Ryusui then turns his back and goes to look out the windows on the other side of the room.

Tsukasa regards the chamber pot suspiciously. And with interest. He's not desperate, at least not yet. But he's been chained for hours and he has no idea how long it will be until Phorcys decides to increase his range of motion. Why did Ryusui send the pot his way? Did the corrupt parasite want to see Tsukasa degrade himself in front of him? But then why turn his back? Tsukasa decides to grab the brief moment regardless of Ryusui's motives, and relieves himself into the pot, relieved that the cock cage Phorcys currently has on him allows him at least that element of self-control.

Then, while Ryusui still has his back to him, Tsukasa rapidly lifts the pot and hurls its contents over him, the conceited huckster reeling under the shock, his pampered blond locks now dripping with the foul mess …

No, Tsukasa doesn't. But he longs to. He stops himself only because he spent a significant proportion of his childhood in his Aunt Kuma’s care and she never would have tolerated him deliberately creating such a mess that the servants would have to clean up. The extravagant narcissist certainly wouldn't do so himself.

Tsukasa's chest tenses as he thinks of how the coddled fop just casually commanded the mansion's resources, from the water pitcher to the servants, as if he belonged in this life.

Ryusui stays at the windows, apparently in a reverie. From the set of his shoulders the cocksure parvenu was slowly realising what he'd let himself in for.

Tsukasa had known from the servants that Phorcys was organising another mass human sacrifice today, another atrocity he was unable to prevent. But he hasn't felt any magical surge today, so no sacrifice. His Aunt Kuma had insisted all her nieces and nephews learn the new techniques to sense magical energies, had even paid for Tsukasa’s lessons. It had been a useful skill to have on occasion, like that time someone had attempted magical interference in a jujitsu bout. But every time Tsukasa feels Phorcys draw power from death, he wishes his aunt had saved her money.

Ryusui's unexpected arrival must be connected to the lack of death magic. Phorcys had clearly picked what she thought would be the longer lasting source of pain over a quick snack. And Ryusui had agreed.

Freely agreed, judging by the way the swell-headed pedlar had sauntered into the room, on his own feet, even his hands free. Agreed like Tsukasa had agreed two years earlier. Something he now bitterly regrets. Early on, when he had realised his suffering was feeding Phorcys’s power, he'd tried to meditate to calm his emotions, at least when he was alone. But Phorcys had soon reached into his head and somehow ripped from his mind his ability to enter that distanced mental state. Now Tsukasa suffers and suffers even more from knowing his suffering builds up his enemy.

Ryusui breaks out of his reverie when the serving boy returns. The boy is carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups, and a fresh linen shirt draped over one arm. He places the tray on the table, hands Ryusui the shirt, and takes the chamber pot away. Tsukasa's nose catches the mingled aromas of ginger, honey and lemon from the teapot.

Ryusui pulls on the shirt, leaving it open over his burn, of course the primping egotist absolutely couldn't wear a burnt shirt. He then pours two cups of tea and turns to Tsukasa.

Tsukasa’s hatred must be evident in his face because Ryusui pauses briefly when he sees it. After a moment, he picks up one cup of tea, brings it over, carefully crouches and places the cup down on the floor just at the outer edge of Tsukasa's grasp.

“For your throat,” he says, in Japanese.

Aunt Kuma's strictures alone wouldn't have stopped Tsukasa from flinging the contents of that cup in Ryusui's face, but Tsukasa is well aware that his mouth is still fouled by the lingering remnants of that brazen moneygrabber’s own cum. He takes the cup, then takes a mouthful, glad the drink has cooled sufficiently on its trip from the kitchen that he doesn't need to sip. The ginger flavour is strong, and Tsukasa swirls the drink thoroughly around his mouth to rinse it all out before swallowing. He feels his throat ease slightly.

Ryusui sits down on the floor with his own cup, a careful distance away, and takes a sip, his manner restrained, as if to mock Tsukasa for his gulp. “Shishio,” the obnoxious blackguard begins.

“Don't you dare say my name,” Tsukasa growls. A memory comes back to him of Ryusui in his arms late one night, calling out “Tsukasa”. He wants to scratch out Ryusui's skin. Or his own. He takes another gulp of tea, a larger one this time, in full rejection of Ryusui's subtle mockery.

Ryusui pauses, clearly rethinking his approach. “Phorcys,” he eventually says. “What do you know about her?”

Tsukasa scowls. “Looking for more ways to please your inamorata?” The Spanish word somehow feels appropriate.

Ryusui's eyes light up. “The trick to winning someone over is fulfilling their desires!” The insolent braggart even snaps the fingers on his free hand.

“Her desires?” Tsukasa replies in disgust. “She desires power. She desires to bring back her old form and her monstrous children and they will rule the world and feast on the flesh of humans. It will all be pain and suffering and death. Tell me, how will you fulfill those desires?”

Ryusui blanches slightly.

“Oh yes, I know how you will fulfill them,” Tsukasa continues, before the presumptuous saphead can reply. “You will feed her. Like I already do.” He can feel the bitterness thick in his own voice. “Through our suffering and pain.”

“If she desires my pain, why did she stop my feeling it?” Ryusui's hand hovers just above the burn mark on his chest.

“It's our psychological suffering she wants,”Tsukasa replies coldly. “Not merely physical pain. The anticipation of pain feeds her more than the pain itself.” Though of course that means Phorcys inflicts a fair bit of physical pain to keep the threat very real. The overconfident cur will work that out for himself. “What winning is there against that?” Tsukasa concludes.

“There's always a way,” Ryusui replies.

“Always a way? To fulfill her tyranny? You merchants, you'd deal with any devil to profit. What is your way? To be the one beside her throne as her screaming victims are brought before her altar? She'll weigh you down with gold and jewels and you'll be happy?”

His throat feels rough again and he swallows more tea.

“I desire the success of all! It is just a matter to find a way that Phorcys’s desires can be brought into a way that works with all, not against!”

Heat rises in Tsukasa's chest at the infuriating comment. “Because that works out so well at home! Under Tokugawa, rich men drape themselves in luxurious silks while children starve in the streets. Corrupt judges take bribes and honest men are branded or flogged for others’ crimes.”

“And what's the alternative? What was before Tokugawa?” Ryusui shoots back. “In the Sengoku period? Civil war and famine after famine after famine! Villages destroyed and fields left barren? Mothers crying over their sons who were taken to die in the futile battles for the transient glory of warring daimyo?”

“As if the only way to stop war was to tolerate injustice!” Tsukasa snorts.

“If it works! If we reject everything that isn't immediate perfection, we'd still be back there in endless war!”

“How did that Sengoku period end? With the Battle of Sekigahara, where your idol Tokugawa Ieyasu won! Not by compromising and fulfilling his enemies’ desires but by defeating the Toyotomi!”

“Did the Sengoku period end because the Tokugawa won that particular battle? Or was it ending anyway and that battle was simply the last one?”

“You can't believe that!” Tsukasa retorts. He knows a clan of brassy interlopers like the Nanamis couldn't have given their unruly whelp a truly refined education but he hadn't realised just how illiterate the scurvy bantling was. “The Tokugawa barely won that battle. If Hideaki hadn't betrayed the Mitsunari …”

“Then there'd have been another battle,” Ryusui interrupts. “And another, until the Mitsunari were finally exhausted.”

“You can't know that!”

Ryusui pursues his point, with energy. “The Tokugawa won because they had built up a massive power base in Japan's richest lands. If they'd lost the Sekigahara battle they would have just fallen back on their resources, and tried again. And where did those resources come from? Cooperation and alliances! They could finance cannons!”

Tsukasa feels perturbed by the unexpected response, but quickly spots the weak point in Ryusui's argument. “And how did the Tokugawa keep the peace? By holding the daimyo lords’ families hostage in the capital! So much for your ‘fulfilling of desire’ there!”

“The old daimyo were brutal exploiters of the people on their lands! Tokugawa Ieyasu's solution wasn't perfect, but under it, way more people can, and do, pursue and achieve their desires!”

“Pursue their greed for money,” Tsukasa scoffs.

“Money is how people cooperate!”

“Cooperate for what? To exploit the poor and powerless, to steal all the riches of the world for themselves?”

“That's not,...” Ryusui waves a hand.

“We need a better world, one where we work together for the common good, only the pure and good hearted.”

“I know one man like that.” Ryusui replies. “Pure and good-hearted. Motivated by the common good.”

Ryusui pauses. “And you murdered him.”

Tsukasa suddenly feels a searing pain in his palm. He looks down. He's crushed the teacup.

The door opens and Phorcys is there. Dark shadows move under her white skin, her hair is swooping in tentacles around her body, and the gold strands are flickering across her skin almost faster than Tsukasa can see. The air around her is throbbing as if just before a lightning strike and her eyes glow with power.

“Ah what a feast!”

Chapter Text

Phorcys takes Ryusui again. Excitedly. Giddily. Brutally. There is no better word for it than “taken”. Ryusui has had sex with domineering women before, hell he's had sex with Phorcys once before but this is different. Phorcys is completely focused on her own pleasure. There's no talk, no mindsharing, she doesn't even have Tsukasa clean up Ryusui at the end. And then she's simply gone in another whirl of dark energy, pausing only to order Ryusui to stay in that room until sent for. Tsukasa she leaves still shackled.

The sun is now setting and Ryusui remains lying for a while in the rapidly darkening room, unable to summon the energy even to move. Tsukasa doesn't speak, for which Ryusui is grateful. He'd been drawn into their argument, and had forgotten to handle his former lover carefully. Damn.

The next change is a brief knock at the door, then Mrs Smith enters, accompanied by two maids bearing trays of food and drink. None of the three seem surprised by Ryusui's nakedness. Mrs Smith merely tosses him a towel, then gathers up his clothes and passes them to him. That done, she turns to Tsukasa, takes one look at his hands, and sighs.

“What have you done to yourself this time?” she asks him. “No, I don't care. Just show me before you get blood all over the carpet.”

Tsukasa obediently does so and Mrs Smith sighs again at the sight, pulls some bandages from a pocket on her apron and starts tending to the cuts on his hand.

While she does so, and Ryusui cleans and dresses himself, one maid lights the room's candles while the other arranges the contents of the trays on the table on the south side of the room – a carefully composed plate of fricase de pollo, with a fruit salad and a European-style bread with butter, along with a glass of red wine. There is European-style cutlery as well. All of this is put where Tsukasa can't possibly reach. Finally, the maid takes from the tray a bowl filled with what looks like some slop that back at home the Nanami Clan would feed to their pigs and places it by Tsukasa, with no utensils. Tsukasa gravely thanks her, his voice still rough.

Once Ryusui is dressed and Tsukasa's hand cleaned and bandaged to Mrs Smith's satisfaction, she comes over and inspects the burn on Ryusui's chest.

“It's going to scar.”

“Phorcys said no healing.”

“She means no magical. I know some old recipes, from my days …, from earlier. I'll send a paste up, we can protect your skin from infection at least. She took the pain?”

Ryusui nods.

“Better pray, boy, that she never decides to bring it back.”

Less than a day and he's gone from ‘Captain Nanami’ to ‘boy’. Well Ryusui certainly doesn't feel like a captain right now.

“So you're the reason a short blond Frenchie is now badgering my kitchen staff?” Mrs Smith continues.

Ryusui for a moment feels a sense of relief, before it's replaced by anger that Francois didn't have the sense to get out and well away from Phorcys.

“Tell Francois to leave,” he says. “I can't pay any wages. Unless ‘paramour’ comes with a salary.”

Mrs Smith raises an eyebrow. “You think that's got any chance of working?”

Ryusui curses. Mrs Smith looks unsympathetic.

Ryusui gives in to the inevitable. ‘All things must be true to their nature’ his father used to say. “Francois will make your kitchens run like imperial clockwork. And take a tenth off your food bills, while serving better food.”

Normally Ryusui would back Francois on taking off a quarter but he senses Mrs Smith already runs a tight ship.

Mrs Smith nods, slowly. “I'll consider a trial. Now you need to eat, too.”

Ryusui sighs, and goes to pick up his plate, intending to go and sit on the floor near Tsukasa. Even if he can't persuade the man to eat some of Ryusui's own meal, the effort should help.

But Mrs Smith stops him by putting a hand on his collarbone, just above his burn. “I know what you're trying to do. Our Lady ordered this specifically. And She will know.”

Ryusui looks at her grimly but can't stand against her certainty. He instead seats himself at the table, flinching a little, and dutifully starts to feed himself, while Mrs Smith supervises the maids changing the bed to replace the bloodied sheets.

Ryusui knows that, while Tsukasa intellectually believes these things don't matter to him, he was still raised as a samurai, raised to look down on merchants and seeing any merchant ranked above him would gall. Let alone Ryusui in particular. Which of course is why Phorcys ordered this.

Tsukasa eats with his fingers on his undamaged hand, cleanly and gracefully. Back in the past, in Japan, Ryusui had taken on some Indian crew who would only eat with their fingers, and Tsukasa eats as elegantly as any of them did. How much practice at this style of eating has he had?

Intellectually Ryusui knows his meal is well-flavoured, if not quite up to Francois's standards, but he's had more pleasurable times dining on hardtack.

By the time both Ryusui and Tsukasa have finished with their meals, Mrs Smith has left the room, satisfied it is cleaned to her standards. She takes one of the maids with her. Before they went, she left a blanket beside Tsukasa.

Ryusui takes the opportunity to talk lightly with the remaining maid, as she cleans up Ryusui's meal and takes Tsukasa's empty bowl from him. She's shy but before she leaves the room, Ryusui's drawn a soft smile from her, the first step in building his own network here.

When they are alone he then tries once to engage Tsukasa in conversation again but Tsukasa simply gives one cold look at Ryusui, then turns his back to him, wraps the blanket around himself, and curls up on the floor, clearly having decided that pretending to go to sleep is the least worst of his options.

So Ryusui can find nothing better to occupy himself with than reading one of the books in the room. His understanding of written English is weaker than of spoken but he already lost an indeterminate amount of time staring out the window, not even thinking, so he perseveres.

After a couple of hours, another servant appears, this one is the fort’s apothecary. He's bearing Mrs Smith’s promised salve, which he applies to Ryusui's burn, then wraps bandages around Ryusui's torso, to protect it from accidental scrapes.

After the apothecary leaves, Ryusui returns to his reading, until at last the guttering candles leave him with nothing better to do than fall asleep. Phorcys doesn't wake him.

Ryusui wakes the next morning with dawn, to Tsukasa already awake and glowering at him. He continues to ignore Ryusui's attempts at conversation. Soon the maids reappear, this time sans Mrs Smith, but with a full breakfast for Ryusui and another bowl of pig-swill for Tsukasa.

Ryusui's conversational skills are more effective on the maids than on Tsukasa, amongst their various gossips he learns that Mrs Smith has called “the little Frenchie” to her room for an interview. Ryusui wonders what Francois will make of the term ‘Frenchie’, though given the animosity he's seen here in the Caribbean between the English and the French, there are far worst terms they could be using. Ah well, Francois will win them over. Ryusui doesn't ask the maids to pass a message to Francois or make any enquiry about the rest of his former crew, the less attention that he drew to them, the less risk of Phorcys remembering them.

As the breakfast dishes are being cleared, the apothecary reappears. He unwinds the bandages and re-inspects Ryusui's burn, the skin is beginning to blister. The apothecary advises Ryusui against bursting any of the blisters, carefully reapplies a thick layer of the salve, which smells of honey and various herbs, and promises to return later in the day.

Then one of the guards from yesterday appears and asks Ryusui to follow him “to the training ground.” Intrigued, Ryusui follows without argument. Tsukasa's physique is not exactly that of someone who spends all day chained up and there's also been the couple of mentions of Ryusui being thinner than Phorcys’s normal, perhaps the training grounds are the explanation.

The training grounds are outside, in one of the internal courtyards in the fort. A large sail has been erected over the courtyard to provide some shade, though the morning is still early enough it's not yet needed, and a set of equipment for exercises are placed around. A large man is there, dark-haired, brown-skinned, somewhere in his late twenties, and stripped to his waist. He's taller than Ryusui, not as tall as Tsukasa, but somehow even more bulkily built. A scar, from what Ryusui judges to have been a knife wound, runs across his face, distorting his upper lip.

The guard salutes the large man. “Mr Thalos,” he addresses him. “Captain Nanami, Phorcys’s new paramour.” The guard then promptly leaves, logically enough, it's not like Ryusui can escape anywhere.

Thalos looks Ryusui up and down.

“Nanami!” he commands, “off with the clothes. In Ancient Athens, even the ugliest wrestlers bared all for the games.”

Why the Ancient Athens reference? Ryusui's picked up that the Europeans here in the Caribbean are not as relaxed about nudity as the Japanese, so presumably the sentence is meant to put him at ease. Maybe it would have if he knew where or when Ancient Athens was, and what were “the games”. Ah well, all will become clear with time.

For now Ryusui duly strips, and bears with Thalos's scrutiny.

“Phorcys has sent you to me for your physique. I can see why. You're not entirely without potential but if you’d competed in the ancient Olympics, the judges would have mistaken you for a statue - unfinished, and in desperate need of a better sculptor.”

Ryusui grins. “Unfinished, am I? Well, even the gods left their finest works a little rough. Perfection is for statues, but greatness is for those who dare to live boldly.”

Thalos laughs appreciatively and Ryusui's chest eases slightly.

“Dare to live boldly? Can your body stand up to that boast? Let’s see if you can manage some simple exercises without collapsing like a drunken satyr.”

He puts Ryusui through a number of exercises, though Ryusui notices they all avoid any movements that may scrape his chest, and he has Ryusui do them slow, minimising any sweat. Thalos's delicate concern for Ryusui's skin doesn't extend to Ryusui's ears and he gives blistering critiques of Ryusui's form, including numerous metaphors with references to people and places Ryusui has never heard of, though he thinks Ruri would be in heaven. He might later ask Mrs Smith for some reference materials.

Eventually Thalos dismisses Ryusui, directing him to a small washing station by one of the courtyard walls. Ryusui gives himself a quick spongebath, then re-dresses himself. The station includes cups and drinking water.
Ryusui's just taken his first mouthful when Tsukasa steps through the door onto the courtyard, clearly arriving for his own training. When he sees Ryusui by the wall, his lips part in a silent sneer.

Ryusui could find his own way back to their room but instead he settles in to watch what happens next. He notes Tsukasa arrived unguarded, probably he was as magically bound to the fort as Ryusui was. From what Ryusui has heard of Tsukasa's fighting skills, a merely human guard could hardly make the man do anything he didn't want to do anyway.

Tsukasa strips, unbidden, and Ryusui's eyes widen slightly as he spots the bands of metal around the man's cock and balls. When Phorcys said Tsukasa didn't get to come, she'd meant it. How long had Tsukasa been thus bound?

However long the time was, it was enough that Thalos makes no comment on the cage, instead he greets Tsukasa with:

“Tsukasa, my sophomoric, two-eyed, Cyclops. Are you going to rely on brute strength alone today or are you for once going to use some minuscule amount of that brain power the gods endowed you with?”

This greeting actually manages to pull a slight smile from Ryusui’s former lover.

The training Thalos puts Tsukasa through is brutal, or at least it would be brutal for any normal human, and after an hour of it even Tsukasa is sweating freely. At the end, Thalos and Tsukasa spar together and while Tsukasa is clearly the superior fighter, Ryusui can see that Thalos is excellent in his own right and would be a challenge even to Kohaku. Thalos finishes by giving a run-down to Tsukasa on techniques and timing that illustrates the tactical analysis he was doing even while sparring. If, no, when, Ryusui gets his ship back, he desires Thalos to train his boarding crew.

As Thalos finishes, Ryusui feels Phorcys’s presence approach and he notices Tsukasa tense too. Thalos though appears oblivious until Phorcys physically appears at the door to the courtyard. Then it's like he goes slack, dropping to his knees. Ryusui can see what Mrs Smith said about wanting people who could actually think around Phorcys. She isn't as humming with power as she was last night but she still feels like she's much stronger than she was yesterday on the parade ground.

Her eyes study Tsukasa's naked form hungrily as she walks towards him across the ground, ignoring Thalos and Ryusui. She pulls Tsukasa's head down for a kiss, one hand caressing his caged cock. Ryusui can see the tension in Tsukasa's back.

“There is a dinner tonight,” Phorcys announces suddenly. “Tsukasa, Ryusui, you will both be there. Ryusui, you will be formally dressed. Thalos, you won't be present. You two, leave here now.”

Thalos immediately stands and walks away, stumbling slightly, as if not in full control of his limbs. Ryusui is maybe five paces behind him, leaving Tsukasa to Phorcys. Ryusui knows full well that even if he stays he can't protect Tsukasa, that Tsukasa has endured all this well before Ryusui joined him, that Tsukasa would likely prefer that Ryusui not see what happens next, just as Ryusui would have preferred Tsukasa not see last night. And yet, each time Ryusui lifts a foot to take his next step away, that foot is as heavy as lead.

As he leaves the courtyard he hears Tsukasa hiss in pain. Ryusui doesn't look back.

Thalos's mind seems to return to its normal self shortly after they are back within the walls of the fort. He clearly remembers Phorcys’s instruction as he directs Ryusui to Mr Alliard's offices.

The tailor curses at being ordered to produce a formal dress for Ryusui for that very evening, but then finds a dark red dress coat, made of madras cotton, that is roughly Ryusui's size and organises his staff into tailoring it more fittingly, along with breeches and stockings and all the other accurements. Ryusui doesn't know if the effort is worth it, he doubts he'll be wearing it long, but he knows better than to try to stop an artist. Mr Alliard insists he remains at hand for fittings, but Ryusui manages to task a passing serving boy with finding him books on Ancient Greece, a mission the boy completes readily, bringing an introductory edition of summarised tales printed “so ladies may enjoy the glories of Greek literature.” Ryusui figures that if Phorcys decides to read his mind again, that will be a safe enough topic.

The story about Odysseus and the Cyclops makes him smile.

Mr Alliard releases Ryusui long enough before the dinner that he can take the time to walk along the ramparts of the fort. He can see Thalos is back in his courtyard, and is now training some soldiers. There is no sign of Tsukasa nor Phorcys. Ryusui pauses his rampart walk at the most seaward point, away from the rest of Port Royal. The sea swells around the base of the ramparts and there is a ship that has sailed out of the harbour and is heading for the horizon, graceful as a swan in the late afternoon light. Ryusui watches it until its sails have disappeared over the horizon.

He returns to Mr Alliard's rooms to be dressed for dinner, including a re-application of the salve to his burn and then bandaging to protect it. The Frenchman has done an amazing job, almost worthy of Yuzuriha. Proud though Ryusui is of his home country's exquisite designs of kimono, he deeply appreciates the fine tailoring and fitting these Europeans can do. Unlike on his previous formal dinners at the governor's house there is no wig for him to wear - the fort's barber tells Ryusui that that's a fashion Phorcys is not an enthusiast for.

Properly attired, Ryusui enters the mansion's drawing room. Phorcys isn't yet there, but an unfamiliar young woman is, she's sprawled indecorously on a couch, looking bored, one leg stretched out with her sandal dangling precariously from the toe of her extended foot, and an empty wineglass in her left hand.

Ryusui looks at her with interest. The woman is maybe a year or so younger than himself. Her skin is a soft gold and her hair is a vibrant bouncy mass of wiry curls forming a textured halo around her heart-shaped face, Ryusui immediately wants to bury his fingers in it.

Her attention snaps to him in a moment, her boredom vanishing in another, and before the door is even closed behind him, she leaps to her feet in a greeting.

“La! Captain Nanami!” she declares, in French. “What a fine gentleman you are! I declare, I have never seen anyone so grand as you, sir! I do hope you are not shy, for I am quite determined to have a little fun tonight.”

Ryusui smiles at the greeting. The lady is clearly not a servant, she's dressed like Phorcys, in a loose flowing silk dress in the Ancient Greek style, and her neck, ears and wrists are adorned with expensive jewellery - rich gold and the flash of gemstones. The dress looks like it's on the verge of slipping off her left shoulder, an effect achieved doubtlessly on purpose.

“Hah, hah, you have a keen eye for fineness, mademoiselle …?” He takes her right hand and bows over it, before lifting his eyes to her face to enquire about her name. Clearly this was not a miss who would be a stickler about formal introductions.

“Ortiga Mercer,” she replies with a little curtsey. “Ortiga means ‘nettles’,” she continues, with a giggle. “Which is like enough, for I do enjoy a good prick…le.”

Ryusui runs his thumb lightly over her fingers. The minx would be trouble if she'd had a geisha's training.

“I fear not a little prickling, not when it comes from a beautiful flower.”

Ortiga gives him a saucy smile.

“So, mademoiselle, may I pour you a drink?” Ryusui continues. There is a tray with a couple of wine bottles and glasses on a side table by the door.

“Oh my, what a dashing offer! How could I ever say no to a drink from such a daring gentleman? Or indeed ever say no to anything you might ask at all?” Ortiga literally bats her eyelashes at Ryusui.

Ryusui smiles in return and pours them both glasses. He mixes Ortiga's wine with water, she's clearly already at least two sheets to the wind and he prefers his partners much soberer, though he doubts he'll get a choice tonight.

“Ah, thank you, such gentlemanly behaviour.” Ortiga accepts the glass then casts herself back on the couch, twirling a finger around one of her springy locks, her eyes sweeping admiringly over Ryusui. The dress stays in its apparently precariously-balanced state at the edge of her shoulder, Mr Alliard is a master at his art.

Ryusui settles himself on the couch beside Ortiga. There will be a reason Phorcys has brought the two of them together and while it doubtlessly is a dangerous one, Ryusui has never been one to delay the inevitable. Instead he desires to face the storm head on.

Thinking of storms, he feels Phorcys’s presence approaching.

“So, Captain Nanami,” Ortiga continues. “How good may you be at plumbing the depths?” Clearly she's another who chooses to sail into the storm.

Ryusui smiles and takes a sip of his wine, then sets his glass on the low table. He leans into her slowly, giving himself time to read her body language, and Ortiga responds by draping her legs across his lap. Her pupils are wide, her cheeks are showing a slight blush, and her attention is definitely fixed on him, no side glances. As far as Ryusui can tell, her invitation is fully genuine. He permits himself to lift a hand up towards that inviting hair.

But before he can actually touch, the door opens to reveal Phorcys, resplendent in shimmering silk. To her normal choker, she has added multiple golden chains draped around her neck and falling to her cleavage. Dark gems glint in her ears like drops of poison.

“Ortiga,” Phorcys says. “Are you already seducing my Water-Dragon?” Her voice is amused.

Ortiga immediately swings her legs off Ryusui's lap and stands up, slightly unsteadily. She sways as she walks to Phorcys. Ryusui lounges back, to observe their dynamic.

“What else was I to do, pray? You left me all alone and dreadfully bored for three whole days! Surely, you can’t begrudge me a little amusement of my own.” Her voice is pouty, clearly the fact she is complaining to a deadly deity who has conquered the entire island of Jamaica concerns her not at all.

“You are well aware of my rule,” Phorcys replies. “No touching another of mine unless I grant leave. And then only as far as my will extends.” She turns her attention to Ryusui, and he feels her mind run through his own, lightly, but sensing his desires. “The same decree binds you, Water-Dragon, no touching Ortiga. Remember that well.”

No touching? Ryusui thinks at her, and then conjures in his mind images of him running his hands just above Ortiga's body, mirroring the curve that flows between her hips and her waist and then the swell of her ribcage, his hands swooping up around the curve of her small breasts, almost, almost touching her nipples, his lips hovering over her neck scarcely a feather-width from an actual kiss, each exhale of his breath sending a rush of warm air against the heated golden skin of her throat …

Phorcys’s arousal spikes inside Ryusui's mind, and in the physical world she extends an arm to wrap around Ortiga's waist, pulling the tipsy woman towards her own body. Ortiga falls into Phorcys's arms, her earlier poutiness disappearing as she eagerly submits to the embrace.

Ryusui was right. He didn't get to wear that suit very long.

Ryusui's had threesomes before. Hell he's had a threesome before in this very room. Having a threesome when he's forbidden to actually touch one-third of the participants is, a new challenge. Luckily inebriation does not noticably impede Ortiga's responsiveness. He manages to manoeuvre matters so he winds up with Phorcys lying back on Ortiga's body while he thrusts into Phorcys in a way that each movement rubs her body against Ortiga's cunt, and while he's doing so he whispers into both their ears all the deliciously dirty things he'd love to do to Ortiga, if he could touch her. Ortiga actually climaxes first, with a wail, arching her body shamelessly into Phorcys’s back. Then Phorcys follows, digging her fingers deep into Ryusui’s back with her inhuman strength, reopening some of his cuts from last night and the sudden stimulation of the pain is enough to trigger Ryusui's own climax, deep within her.

Afterwards Phorcys actually heals his back with her magic, not merely taking the pain. Presumably she doesn't want him bleeding on the furniture. Ryusui briefly wonders what further damage their recent activities might have done to the blistered skin on his chest, then feels Phorcys smile slightly at his thought. He quickly turns his attention to his memory of climaxing inside her just now.

The ladies straighten their dresses and jewellery, though ‘straighten’ isn't quite the right word for Ortiga's clothing, the left shoulder remaining in its deceptively precariously-appearing state. Ryusui puts his shirt back on, but Phorcys stops him when he reaches for the rest of his clothes. Ryusui shrugs, given the temperatures, a shirt alone is definitely more comfortable than the whole suit.

“Let us dine,” Phorcys announces.

Phorcys has clearly radically different ideas about dining styles to those of the former governor of Port Royal. The formal table and chairs that previously occupied the formal dining room of the mansion have been replaced by three couches, all with low tables beside them, laden with plates of food and glasses of drink. Tsukasa is already there, kneeling beside the central couch, again half-naked, chained, though this time not gagged. As they enter he looks at them, catches Ryusui's gaze and then immediately looks away, his face tightening. He'd have heard everything.

A pair of impassive footmen stand beside the room's sideboard. There is no sign of the former governor's old butler.

Phorcys takes the middle couch of course and directs Ryusui to her right, while Ortiga makes her own way to the left, somewhat unsteadily. She manages to pour herself into a lounging position before picking up her wine glass. Ryusui can see no sign that she is surprised by or even interested in Tsukasa's situation.

Phorcys arranges herself much more gracefully into a reclining pose and Ryusui follows her example. There are no utensils, he notes, and indeed given the reclining couches, knives and forks would be impractical, but this would be an excellent place for chopsticks. Ryusui misses chopsticks.

“In my first sojourn on this mortal world,” Phorcys pronounces, “it was the custom that, at a formal dinner, after eating, there would be time for discussion of poetry, music, matters of philosophy. But I feel this evening it will be more informative to combine the two.”

She reaches a hand out and caresses Tsukasa's shoulder. “A hypothetical question for my guests. Is it better to be a poor peasant who has never known anything but hunger and self-denial, or a fallen nobleman, who will never again know the pleasures he once freely enjoyed?”

To Ryusui's surprise, Ortiga quickly replies.

“La! I declare, I should much rather be the nobleman, though fallen from his former grandeur, than a poor wretch who has never tasted the least pleasure in all his days. To have once known the delights of fine company, to have danced at assemblies, to have worn silks and fine jewels.” She touches one of her necklaces. “And to have been admired by all! Such memories must surely warm the heart, even if they are but recollections now. We should seize the pleasures of the world while they last!” She ends by gulping down the contents of her glass, and then raises the empty glass with a meaningful look at one of the footman, who duly refills it.

“But if you must see others enjoy the status, the fine things that once were yours?” Phorcys asks. “Eat, Captain Nanami! Eat and drink!” she adds. It's an order.

The plates contain a mix of small pieces of seafood, vegetables, fruits and bread. Ryusui takes a piece of buttered bread, it is fresh, made today, and the butter has melted slightly into the bread. As he swallows it, he realises how hungry he is, though that doesn't counteract his unease at Phorcys’s choice of topic.

Phorcys meanwhile picks a grape and squeezes it slightly between her fingers so a little juice runs down onto her fingertips. The grape is so fresh Ryusui can smell the crisp aroma from his place. Phorcys then holds it under Tsukasa's nose, temptingly.

Ortiga mulls over Phorcys’s question. “You'd never let such a thing happen to me,” she eventually pronounces. “Aren't I your darling girl? You get angry and upset and bored of other people, but never of me.” She takes some bread of her own and eats it unconcernedly.

Ryusui wonders how long Ortiga has survived here. And how she's survived at all.

Phorcys takes the grape away from underneath Tsukasa's nose and eats it herself.

“Try the mussels, my Sea-Dragon. They are delicious.” She plucks one from her own plate and holds it just in front of Tsukasa's mouth. Tsukasa's throat pulses as he swallows a gulp and adverts his eyes. His stomach grumbles audibly. Phorcys evidently doesn't normally starve Tsukasa, his physique is evidence of that, but this is clearly her choice of torture this evening. Ryusui wonders how long she'll draw this game out.

The worst is Ryusui can't think of a way to intervene. He could maybe seduce Phorcys again but that would simply mean Tsukasa would go longer without eating anything.

“Captain Nanami, what insight might you bring, with all your experiences in the field of desire, to the question of the evening?” Phorcys asks him. “Remember to partake of the mussels,” she adds. Ryusui submits to the inevitable and eats not just a mussel but some vegetable mouthfuls as well while he contemplates the question.

“One can find pleasure in many situations,” he eventually says. “I've dined on fine foods in luxury grand mansions and gone hungry in leaky boats on cold seas, and yet in the latter I have still taken joy in the beauty of the stars and pleasure in my ability to plot a route.”

He pauses to sip his drink. “And the life of a peasant is not without its own desires and luxuries. To come in from a day's work in the cold and rain, to a warm room and companionship beside a fire, can be as great a pleasure as the artistry and hospitality of a mansion such as this.”

“But to know you'd never experience a fine food ever again?” Phorcys persists, cruelly holding a piece of the fresh bread under Tsukasa's nose.

“Can there ever truly be a never?” Ryusui asks. “At least while life exists? We are humans, we dream of the impossible and then we make it happen. To desire is justice.”

“So both you and Mademoiselle Ortiga deny the hypothetical?” Phorcys asks, eating the bread herself.

“To us!” Ortiga intervenes, tipsily. “Dear Captain, I recognised you as a man of intelligence and perception the moment I met you!”

“And I recognised you as a lady most willing to pursue her own desires,” Ryusui returns. The lady in question raises her glass merrily, taking the compliment.

Phorcys smiles and signals the footmen for the next course. They bow and clear the plates, even though all three are still half full.

Phorcys turns her attention to Tsukasa. “And what is your opinion on the matter, cur? Will you join my guests in denying the hypothetical?”

“Life is suffering. We must endure patiently and with dignity,” Tsukasa replies. But his eyes follow the plates of half-eaten food out of the room.

“Ah Stoicism! I've seen many an adherent of stoicism fall victim to the ocean's depths. They die struggling and tormented like everyone else.”

Ryusui doesn't recognise the term ‘Stoicism’ but clearly Tsukasa does, for he smoothly replies: “It is not the pain of the event itself that Stoicism can assist with, but the fear of the anticipation of the pain, which often unmans more than the pain itself.”

The footmen re-enter, bearing platters laden with food, from which the rich scents of roasted beef and gravy arise. Ryusui feels his mouth watering and even Ortiga looks interested. The plates are set on the tables, slices of succulent-looking beef, with bread, cheese and fruits wrapped around.

“Eat!” Phorcys instructs them. “I will be most disappointed if you do not do full justice to the skills of my chefs.” Ryusui feels the power behind her words. He could summon the strength to defy her command as he did on the parade ground, but he can't think of a way that defiance would assist any of them. He eats, as does Ortiga. Despite everything, the meat is delicious. If there is one thing these Europeans cook well, it is roast meats.

“You've not truly answered the question, my pet,” Phorcys continues to Tsukasa. “And yet you're the one with the most direct experience.”

She holds a piece of meat out over him and lets its juices gravy drop onto his shoulder. “Think of all the pleasures you'll never experience again.” She eats the piece, slowly, tantalisingly. “While others, so much less worthy, enjoy their fill.” She holds her wine glass in front of his nose, and then tilts it so some of the wine falls onto Tsukasa’s folded legs. “People to whom these luxuries mean so little they'll waste them frivolously. What's your answer, pet?”

Tsukasa is breathing fast but his mouth remains determinedly closed.

Phorcys grabs Tsukasa’s hair with one hand and pulls him in for a kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

She breaks the kiss and continues. “And it's not just food you're denied, is it? Even the poorest peasant can enjoy a roll in the hay. What's your answer? Which one has it worse?”

Tsukasa looks agonised as he finally answers. “The fallen nobleman. The fallen nobleman has it worse.” He's trembling in his chains.

Phorcys laughs in triumph and then picks up a piece of cheese and uses her inhuman strength to crush it right under Tsukasa's nose, releasing its full aroma. Her magic flares through the room, both of the footmen fall to their knees under its strength.

Ryusui finally can't contain himself. “Lady Phorcys, please, let him eat, this is just cruelty. Plea…”

“Silence, you!” Phorcys declares, and Ryusui's voice is gone again. He also feels those force tendrils wrapping around his body, immobilising him.

“Cruelty?” she asks, mockingly. “Samurai, how about we show the sea-captain what true cruelty is?”

Phorcys pulls Tsukasa's head up by his hair. With her other hand she brings the candle with its naked flame slowly towards his jawline. For a little time Ryusui hopes she plans to merely use the candle to drip hot wax on Tsukasa’s skin, but the lack of any tilt to the candle makes it clear that's not her intent. Tsukasa's eyes are wide, his nostrils flared, though he still refuses to make a sound even as the flame draws closer.

Ryusui sees, from the corner of his eye, Ortiga looking at Phorcys and Tsukasa and suddenly for a moment she looks sober. She looks at her wine glass and after only a moment's hesitation, spills its contents down her front.

“Oh la!” she cries, leaping to her feet. “Oh what a waste, I'm all wet,” Phorcys’s attention turns to her. Ortiga oh so accidentally cups one hand around one of her small breasts, a finger going to her nipple, which is already standing out through the wet fabric. Phorcys abandons Tsukasa, dropping the candle carelessly, its flame luckily extinguished by its sudden plummet. She moves over to Ortiga's couch, behind the springy-haired woman and reaches a hand to the buttons on the shoulder of Ortiga's dress.

“Let me free you from this drenched garment, before the cold seeps deeper and steals your warmth.” Phorcys announces grandly. She undoes one button and the dress finally, finally, falls off Ortiga's left shoulder.

Chapter Text

Tsukasa is finally fed the next morning. A full day and night without food, as Phorcys had ordered no lunch be served to him the day before. He's gone without food for longer before, but seldom with so little to do to distract him from his stomach.

He forces himself to eat his breakfast slowly. Which gives him plenty of time to glare at Ryusui's sleeping form. In the darkest hours of the night, he'd come to the painful conclusion he owed the merchant an apology.

The dinner last night had, after another bout of debauchery on the couches, been ended by Ryusui (who had been released from Phorcys's magic at some point) persuading Phorcys and Ortiga into an evening stroll along the ramparts. Tsukasa was left there alone in the dining room, tormented by the aromas of food and drink, until well after the dining room clock had chimed ten. Finally Mrs Smith had appeared, unchained him, and directed him to the room he shares with Ryusui. Though at that time, that room was entirely free of Ryusui, to Tsukasa's relief.

Despite Ryusui's absence, Tsukasa knew better than to try to claim the bed. He instead drank some water, stretched his stiff muscles, then rolled himself up in a blanket on the floor again. Eventually, despite his achingly empty stomach, he managed to sleep. Only to be woken by Ryusui stumbling in during the night, the tail end of the night judging by the lack of sounds of piratical revelry from the town.

The merchant hadn't shown any signs of noticing Tsukasa's presence. Instead he'd headed straight to the bed and fallen into it, not that the little amount of moonlight that filtered into the room would allow him to do much else. Judging by the sound of his breathing, he fell asleep almost immediately.

Tsukasa didn't, couldn't, follow suit. After a few minutes spent trying to return to oblivion, he gave up, rolled over and contemplated his unwanted roommate. Though it galled Tsukasa to admit it, the merchant had seemed genuinely angry about Phorcys's torment of Tsukasa last night. There had been nothing calculated about that brief outburst, he can think of no way that that plea would serve any selfish plan of Ryusui's.

And that admission led him to others. Tsukasa had remembered the order of ginger and honey tea the previous day. And Ryusui's attempt to move his meal, that Mrs Smith had stopped. Oh, and the absence of death magic that day, Ryusui had almost certainly negotiated a deal with Phorcys to prevent that massacre.

Damn it.

Even this morning, as Tsukasa eats, part of his mind still twists and fights against the idea, spins down paths trying to find ways to explain away the swaggering pest's actions. But Tsukasa knows the thought pattern now. Indeed it's another source of pain. Not only is he going to have to apologise to a merchant, and not just any merchant but Ryusui in particular, he has to live with the knowledge of how unjust and warped his own head had been.

Of course, the greedy opportunist still represents everything Tsukasa despises. From his mercenary embrace of the Tokugawa regime, despite all its crimes and injustices, to his sycophantic behaviour towards the sheer evil of Phorcys. His desperate plea to the deity last night was clearly one driven by emotion, not by any principled opposition - Tsukasa had heard well enough Ryusui's eagerness to please Phorcys less than half an hour earlier. And then there was the way the decadent parasite had latched on to the boozed-up slattern Ortiga. Their mutual admiration society had made Tsukasa's stomach churn.

Tsukasa must apologise, not because he owes it to Ryusui, but because he owes it to himself.

If only the greedy brat would wake up to receive his apology. Ryusui hadn't stirred when the maids had opened the door to bring in both their breakfasts. Nor was the scent of food enough to wake him. Even when one of the maids had opened the curtains to let the dawn light in, spilling over the bed, he'd only rolled over away from the light and immediately resumed his not-quite snoring noises. The one upside was that the dawn light revealed that last night, somewhere between leaving the dining room and falling into bed, he'd acquired trousers.

Tsukasa is for once unchained, unbound, he could get up and poke the aggravating sleeper, but that would hardly be the right start to a formal apology.

So Tsukasa instead finishes his bowl and hands the empty container to the little maid, with his thanks. She curtseys, then, with a cautious glance at the room's clock, clears up not only Tsukasa's bowl, but the rest of the breakfast dishes.

“If Captain Nanami wakes before noon, tell him he can ring for a tray,” the maid informs Tsukasa.

Tsukasa rather thinks the captain will do that as naturally as snapping his fingers. But he doesn't mention this to the girl.

When she leaves, Tsukasa takes advantage of the opportunity of being unbound to wash himself as thoroughly as possible as can be done by spongebath. Ah how he misses a proper bathhouse. Let alone hot pools. Then he dresses, and departs for Thalos's training. Tsukasa recognises the irony of having a thorough wash before training but he has no way of knowing what Phorcys’s plans may be for him later and thus had decided to enjoy the comfort while he could. As Ryusui had mentioned - the luxuries of a poor peasant's life.

Thalos is unimpressed by Ryusui’s absence. A matter he pronounces on with some energy. Tsukasa wonders, not for the first time, what the trainer makes of the situation of Phorcys’s paramours, how much he is genuinely ignorant of versus how much he chooses to close his eyes to. But Tsukasa doesn't comment, Thalos's vigorous training sessions are the one thing keeping him sane. The only thing that mars his enjoyment of this day's session is the knowledge of the unpleasant task ahead of himself.

After Thalos is done, Tsukasa returns to their room. This time, the opening of the door is enough to wake Ryusui. As Tsukasa enters, the merchant lifts his tousled head from the bed and on seeing Tsukasa, gives him a sleepy smile. Then, as he sits himself up, his golden locks of hair glowing in the morning light, his expression changes to concern.

“Tsukasa! Have you eaten yet?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tsukasa replies curtly, annoyed by the interruption. He shuts the door behind him, takes a deep breath, then forces himself to kneel and bow deeply to the lowly-born merchant.

“I must humbly confess that I have erred in my judgment of your character. In accusing you of being willing to sit beside Phorcys without a concern for the horrors she commits, I misjudged you unfairly. For this I am deeply sorry. Please accept my apology.”

His cheeks burn, his ancestors would be appalled at his bowing to a mere commoner over such a slight thing, but despite them, in his inner heart he feels the deep relief at having done the right thing. He awaits Ryusui's response, anticipating the formal phrases of humility and gratitude, the returned deep bowing.

Up until the moment he hears Ryusui's fingers snap and the man actually laughs.

“Hah, hah, if you are truly sorry then you can do a favour for me.”

The insolent, impudent peacock!

Tsukasa knows Ryusui, like a number of other merchants’ sons, was heavily influenced by the sycophantic ideas of Tominaga Nakamoto of Osaka about the value of merchants. But Tsukasa had never expected that Ryusui would not have an ounce of respect for the humility and magnanimity Tsukasa was portraying in apologising to him!

“Why so shocked?” Ryusui asks, clearly having guessed Tsukasa's feelings from his facial expressions. “It's customary to bring a gift when apologising. As you've not prepared one yourself, I'm taking it upon myself to suggest an option. Of course if you're not truly sorry…”

Tsukasa flinches at the suggestion he'd be dishonest about something so hard to make himself do in the first place.

“What's the favour?” he asks, once he's consciously unclenched his jaw.

“As long as we share this room, you do me the favour of treating me like a crewmate. No matter how angry or disgusted you are with me. I don't need you to like me.” Ryusui waves a hand, loosely, his fingers long and careless. “Just, acknowledge me in the morning and when one of us enters or leaves. Have conversations at meals, even if at no other time. I don't care about how angry or disgusted you are when we talk. Insult me roundly if you like. Just don't ignore me.”

“That's your idea of a gift?”

Ryusui looks around at the luxurious prison surrounding them. The corner of his mouth twitches. “What do either of us have to give now, but ourselves?”

The self-important show-off probably could conceive of nothing worse than being ignored. But, regardless of Ryusui's faults, Tsukasa had misjudged his morals, so he did owe the making of amends. Owed to himself. Not to the merchant.

“Five days of that,” Tsukasa counteroffers. There were limits to his guilt.

“A full moon.”

“Ten days.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Deal.”

Ryusui slides off the bed and kneels on the floor across from Tsukasa, somehow managing to look graceful and elegant despite his sleep-rumpled clothes. The open neck of his shirt reveals the strong lines of his collarbones, Tsukasa finds his eye is caught by the subtle play of light and shadow along the uncovered skin.

Ryusui draws a deep breath and intones:

“Most esteemed sir, I am deeply humbled by the magnanimity of your apology. That one of your station should deign to address so trifling a matter with such honesty and integrity is an honor beyond my deserving. I shall endeavor, henceforth, to conduct myself in a manner befitting the gracious favor you have bestowed.”

He concludes by bowing formally and deeply to Tsukasa.

Tsukasa returns the bow. Deal struck. Fifteen days. Well there was always hope. Maybe Phorcys would decide to lock him in the fort's stockade for a seven-night again.

To Tsukasa's surprise, Ryusui doesn't immediately start pestering him with questions about Phorcys's desires. Instead, the merchant eases back into a kneeling position, the smooth lines of his body accentuated by the motion. His amber eyes are focused on Tsukasa, his gaze deliberate.

“Is there something you would like to ask me?” he asks.

Tsukasa considers his options.

“Do you want to know what Thalos said to me about you not being there for your training session this morning?”

The expression on Ryusui's face is even better than the training session.

Chapter Text

Ryusui doesn't get to talk to Tsukasa for the rest of the day. He comes back to their room after Thalos's training, his ears still burning, to discover it empty. After some enquiries, a servant directs him to the boxing room, where he finds Tsukasa training some soldiers in jujitsu. This surprises Ryusui a little, at first. He doubted Tsukasa would do anything voluntarily that would help Phorcys. But on consideration, wars these days are won by muskets, not unarmed combatants. And Phorcys must be immune to physical attacks, given Tsukasa doesn't even try to stand against her.

Ryusui watches the training session for a while, enjoying Tsukasa's controlled force, the long lines of his muscles flexing across his body, his soft dark locks of hair flying around…

“Captain Nanami!” a voice states by his ear. Ryusui nearly jumps. “Lady Phorcys requires your attendance in the drawing room,” the footman continues, with a bow.

Ryusui reluctantly goes. He'd been looking forward to eating the midday meal with Tsukasa. But it was not to be. At least Phorcys was requesting only his company, not Tsukasa's as well.

Ortiga is with Phorcys in the drawing room. The two of them are entangled on a couch, Phorcys lying mainly behind her female paramour. Ortiga is wearing a light muslin daydress, with loose skirts that overflow the seat of the couch. Phorcys, from what Ryusui can see, is naked.

“Captain Nanami,” Phorcys greets him, with a lazy smile. “Disrobe.”

Ryusui bows. “My lady, your every desire sets my course.” He sheds the shoes, light trousers and shirt he'd been wearing, then the braies. Both ladies watch him with interest.

“Darling, you're so horribly unkind to deny me to touch,” Ortiga sulks, her voice slightly slurred. Despite the morning hour, there's a half-empty wineglass on the low table by the couch. “Truly, he is the handsomest creature I ever did see!”

“You know well my delight lies in cruelty,” Phorcys replies. “And ponder, pet, how grand your pleasure if I one day deign to grant you your desire.” She kisses Ortiga's ear and tugs lightly at her springy curls. Ryusui's cock begins to stir.

“If?” Ortiga asks grumpily. “Surely when.” Phorcys laughs softly.

“There's oil in the top drawer in the sideboard,” Phorcys says to Ryusui. “Fetch it, then sit down and open yourself, so we can see you.” Ryusui gives her a saucy smile and finds the oil, letting his mind play over the times he has done this before. He returns to the couches, sits himself across from Ortiga and Phorcys, and rests his bare feet on the low table. Then he pours some oil onto his fingers and reaches around, first running a finger around his rim, then slipping the tip inside his hole, he lets a soft moan out. In his mind he pictures the first time he'd done this, guided by the beautiful courtesan Yoshino, who had been seated across from him, in one of her elegant kimonos, sipping tea from one of her delicate porcelain cups. Then suddenly Ryusui's mind slips into remembering Tsukasa doing this to him for the first time, his broad fingers rubbing over … oh no …

“Cease not your thoughts of Tsukasa,” Phorcys commands him, smiling at Ryusui's spike of fear. The gold strands across her skin are moving a little faster - the difference is subtle but Ryusui's had considerable experience judging motion by the eye.

He swallows. ‘Our suffering’ Tsukasa had said. Whatever Phorcys drew from Tsukasa's feelings of humiliation and anger, he was also clearly drawing from Ryusui's fear for his former lover. Phorcys's smile widens at his realisation.

But regrets belong in the ship's wake. Ryusui's task at hand was clear, ‘continue thinking of Tsukasa’. Ryusui brings to his mind this morning in the boxing room, Tsukasa's skin glistening with a slight sweat, the powerful yet fluid movements of Tsukasa’s torso, the way each muscle flexed with controlled strength and grace as he effortlessly guided his students through joint locks and throws. His hands, strong and sure, guiding the students into the right positions, Ryusui imagines those hands on Ryusui's own body, as strong and sure, one gripping his upper thigh, the other hand going to his hole, fingers gleaming with oil, oh yes Ryusui is leaning back not against the back of the sofa but against Tsukasa’s chest, one of the few men who can make Ryusui feel short, his abs rock hard against him.

Ryusui inserts another of his finger in his hole, imagining Tsukasa's large fingers there instead. He twitches around, pressing near but not on his prostate, not yet. Ryusui shifts his/Tsukasa's free hand up to his left nipple and tweaks it, then he/Tsukasa inserts a third finger, feeling his muscles give way achingly around the increased intrusion. Ryusui lets out a moan, rubbing back against the couch/Tsukasa's torso, imagining feeling Tsukasa's cock hard against the curve of his back, his own cock is full and aching even though untouched, he goes to move a hand to it but Tsukasa catches his hand in one of his own massive ones, ‘no touching’ he whispers into Ryusui’s ear. Ryusui moans helplessly, Tsukasa…

“Eyes on me,” Phorcys abruptly orders. Ryusui's eyes snap open, his fantasy broken. Phorcys moves, disentangling herself from Ortiga and then standing. She is indeed all but naked. Apart from her normal choker, she wears a harness around her hips that holds a phallus made of carved horn. Pegging was clearly on today's menu, Ryusui leans forward in anticipation. Ortiga watches them, drinking from her glass while her free hand lazily caresses her cunt through her dress.

Phorcys steps around the table to Ryusui's couch, her strap-on aggressively jutting out. “Wetten it thoroughly,” she orders. “Or you'll find the entry far less agreeable than it might be.”

Ryusui removes his fingers then drops to his knees beside the couch, taking the phallus unhesitatingly into his mouth, drooling around it. He wraps his tongue around the length, with its familiar earthy taste from the horn, and sucks it eagerly. How will Phorcys take him? On his back or on his knees? His opened hole flexes in anticipation.

Phorcys abruptly grabs Ryusui's hair and pulls him off her strap-on.

“You want this, slut?” she asks in surprise, the earlier grandeur of her speech gone. Ryusui blinks, not immediately comprehending. He feels her plunge deeper into his mind, and then she laughs at him. “My sluttish sea-dragon.”

Oh yes, of course, Tsukasa must absolutely hate Phorcys pegging him, and the deity had assumed Ryusui, his fellow countryman, would take the same attitude.

“You should not expect to be granted this delight today,” Phorcys tells Ryusui, stroking her phallus.

Ortiga sits up at this. “Oh, then may I be the one to touch him for you? I warrant I know well how to make it look utterly alluring. Just for your eyes alone,” she begs.

“I think, my sweet, our captain can do the touching himself.”

Ryusui looks at her uncertainly, still on his knees. Phorcys's mind is opaque to his at the moment.

“Second drawer in the sideboard,” Phorcys says briefly, returning to Ortiga's side.

Obeying the implicit order, Ryusui stands and goes to the drawer, where he finds a large, finely made, leather dildo. “Put it on the wall,” Phorcys tells him. Then she kisses Ortiga deeply, Ortiga moaning and abandoning herself to the kiss.

There is a bracket screwed into the wall at a point fully visible from Phorcys's couch at about the right height for hands and knees, and Ryusui obediently attaches the dildo to it, then rubs some of the oil over it, while Phorcys pushes up Ortiga's skirt, revealing her creamy thighs.

“Let's make this a challenge. If you can come before I make Lady Ortiga come, your Tsukasa can have a day of peace. Otherwise, I will,” she smiles cruelly, “tell Tsukasa …” and suddenly Phorcys is in Ryusui's mind, “...what your uncle made his father do,” she completes triumphantly.

Ryusui flinches. That was a brutally effective way of using her mindreading powers, to draw from him the thing he feared so he could be threatened with it. That overheard conversation with his uncle laughing with his cronies about how he'd made Tsukasa's father pretend to be his servant, in public! The proud samurai serving the lowly merchant who held his family's debts! Tsukasa's relationship with his father was complex but Ryusui knew that learning of his father's humiliation would be painful. And Phorcys would find a way to tell Tsukasa in a way that multiplied the pain tenfold.

“And pray, what reward is mine, should I be the first to come?” Ortiga coquettishly asks Phorcys.

“I will permit you to lay hands upon my sea-captain for one movement of the hand in this room's clock.”

Ortiga looks at Ryusui and runs her tongue around her lips. Ryusui remembers how quick she was to come the previous evening.

This is going to be a challenge. The height and angle aren't under his control, while Phorcys has not only her full movement but the advantage of being able to read Ortiga's mind.

Hah, hah, never underestimate a captain at his helm! Or at his pleasure as the case may be. Ryusui takes a deep breath, anticipating the coming pain and pleasure and then uses his hand to help him align his entrance with the tip of the dildo. Phorcys starts to push herself into Ortiga's already wet cunt.

The leather begins to stretch Ryusui, inch by inch, the initial sensation a sharp mix of discomfort and arousal. Ryusui lets out a soft moan, his eyes briefly closing as he adjusts to the invasion. Meanwhile Ortiga curves into Phorcys’s embrace eagerly.

Ryusui's body tenses as he takes in the full length of the dildo, the sensation almost overwhelming. He can feel every ridge, he imagines almost every grain of the leather, rubbing against his insides, creating a friction that is both agonizing and pleasurable. He takes a moment to breathe, allowing his body to accommodate the foreign object, the initial discomfort morphing into a deep, aching need. Phorcys rubs a hand over Ortiga’s left breast.

Ryusui begins to move, his initial pace slow and deliberate, each motion calculated to draw out the pleasure. He can feel the leather rubbing against his insides, the friction building with each thrust. His breaths grow heavier, his body tensing as the pleasure intensifies. From Phorcys’s mind he sees the sight of himself, impaled and determined, and this adds to his arousal, pushing him closer to the edge.

Ortiga's moans grow louder, her body arching as Phorcys moves her hips, plunging deeper into her, then kisses Ortiga ferociously. Phorcys's attention has shifted from Ryusui to Ortiga, and Ryusui can feel through her the thrill of Ortiga's growing ecstasy, can see/feel Ortiga's body writhing against her/his own, and it spurs him on, fueling his determination.

With a final, desperate push, Ryusui impales himself fully on the dildo, his body shuddering as the wave of pleasure crashes over him. The release is intense, a mix of relief and ecstasy, as he just manages to cross the finish line before Ortiga reaches her own climax. He's left, sweating, exhausted, his cum spilled in front of him, gazing hungrily at the two desirable women.

Phorcys shifts her attention back to him, their minds still mingled and Ryusui sees himself through her eyes. His chest is still heaving from the exertion, his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, highlighting the lines of his torso.

“It seems this time the honours are to Ryusui,” she announces. “Tsukasa is afforded a day of peace. And still no touching, my dear.” She pats Ortiga reassuringly, then turns her attention to Ryusui. “Perhaps, my water-dragon, you'll receive my cock today, after all,” she adds.

By the time Phorcys dismisses Ryusui from her presence, it is well past midday. Tsukasa is again absent from their shared room. There is however a platter with bread and cold meats, Ryusui makes himself a roll and eats it on one of the couches, trying to muster the energy to consider his next steps. Once the food is gone, he gives up and rests his head against the back of the couch. A short nap, ‘just long enough to boil water’, as his head nanny would say, and he'll be ready again.

He's woken up in the late afternoon by the apothecary knocking on the door, to refresh the dressings on his chest, and then there is a servant sent to dress Ryusui for dinner with Phorcys and Ortiga. A dinner from which Tsukasa is absent, for which Ryusui is grateful - the deity had kept his word about giving Tsukasa a day of peace.

It's late in the evening when Ryusui returns to their room. Tsukasa is back there again, seated on the carpet, reading a book. He looks up when Ryusui enters.

“Nanami.” With a flick upwards of his eyebrows.

“Tsu-Shishio,” Ryusui returns, with a bow. He crosses the room and flops down on the carpet beside the foot of the bed. Despite his afternoon nap, Ryusui feels exhausted to his bones. “I saw some of your training, with the soldiers. Your skill was …” Ryusui was going to say “desirable” but corrects to “impressive.”

Tsukasa arches an eyebrow and then his eyes narrow, focusing on Ryusui's neck. Oh yes, Ryusui remembers, at dinner Phorcys had given him a necklace made of a gold chain, with a pendant bearing a blue sapphire. Tsukasa probably thinks Ryusui coaxed the necklace out of Phorcys. Which, incidentally, would be correct. Ryusui has no immediate plans for the jewellery but it would be foolish to pass on rebuilding his capital.

Tsukasa's upper lip curls in a slight sneer, but he doesn't comment, not even to insult Ryusui, instead he just returns to his book. Their deal was indeed conversation required at meal times only.

Ryusui's chest aches, his stomach is heavy, he aches for company, for a friendly voice. Loneliness, Ryusui identifies the emotion. A rare one for him but not unknown, not unknown. Who to reach out to? Francois, his heart sings, but that is too risky his brain knows. One of the maids? They're too young for what Ryusui wishes. And too disposable. Who might Phorcys need independently of him? Mrs Smith? Mr Alliard? Or, Thalos? All three are desirable, but perhaps the third the most. And the third likely has the most spare time.

Decision made, Ryusui washes himself from the room's water pitcher. He contemplates trying to join Tsukasa on the floor, but his captain's instincts tell him that right now Tsukasa would take that as pity and resent him further. So instead he stretches himself on the bed and falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Breakfast the next morning is different. Tsukasa’s bowl looks like the same slop, but somehow its taste is much improved. Not by spices; Phorcys had banned any flavouring for him, and Tsukasa couldn't detect any hint of added spice in his bowl. Instead, it's as if someone had picked the mix of leftovers for the way their natural flavours and textures combined. Whatever the technique, it is the best meal he's tasted in two years.

Ryusui, at his own breakfast, smiles after his first bite of bread. “Francois has got the kitchen under control, I see,” he comments in Japanese.

“Francois followed you to the Caribbean?” Tsukasa asks, mindful of his promise. He had actually liked the little European, from what he'd seen in their brief acquaintance all those years ago. If he was going to have to talk to the merchant, there were worse topics.

Ryusui nods, but, unusually, passes up the opportunity to boast about his butler. Instead he turns his attention to the maids, switching to English to engage them in banter and draw out their gossip. Tsukasa listens, while he enjoys his bowl. And the peace.

Towards the end of breakfast, the maids’ conversation peeters out and Ryusui's attention turns back to Tsukasa. Good things never last.

“Have you ever wondered, why us two? Why are we chosen to suffer?” Ryusui asks Tsukasa.

What a pointless question. “When rulers and people fail to live in harmony with the Way and proper order, suffering will always arise.”

Tsukasa wonders if Confucius had had to endure a Ryusui.

“I meant my question on a much narrower scale,” Ryusui replies. “Phorcys draws power from our suffering, from your suffering definitely, and I've seen her draw from mine when you weren't there. But if so, why isn't she tormenting everyone in the fort all the time?” He calmly pours himself some coffee, as if he was discussing not the condition of their two lives but some abstract question like the price of rice in Tsumago.

“She does draw power from people's deaths,” Tsukasa reluctantly says.

“Death magics are different though. Death's a concentrated burst of energy that even human magicians can use.”

Tuskasa can't deny that. It occurs to him that Ryusui started this conversation speaking Japanese so this must be something he doesn't want the maids to overhear. Not that that would stop Phorcys from listening in, if she decided.

“You and I, even when her power is full, we can still think around her. Can anyone else do that?” Ryusui continues.

Tsukasa starts to get interested in the question. “Mrs Smith, her housekeeper. Ade Akanbi, her chancellor. Lord Bahari, the head of her fleet. That's how they got the positions. And, none of them are magicians any more than you or I are.”

“While Chrome is a magician, and even he bowed his head to Phorcys in the end. So it's not magical training.” Ryusui butters another slice of bread. “Ortiga?” he continues. “She seems unaffected by Phorcys’s power. At least, she doesn't drop to her knees.”

“I've only once seen her sober and even then she was working on remedying the situation. Working hard.” Tsukasa searches his memories. “I can't remember any time Phorcys has tormented her.”

“How did Phorcys and Ortiga meet?”

“Nearly two years ago, about two months after she brought me here, one of the former local leaders held a party and invited Phorcys. The servants say he sought to betray her when she was drunk and defenceless. She slaughtered the whole household and all the guests but for Ortiga, who she brought back here that night. I spoke with a guard who had gone into the building the following day.” Tsukasa pauses, remembering how the hardened military man's eyes had still looked wild when they had spoken. “He said it looked like everyone had had their throats torn out by her bare hands.”

The merchant swallows, and tears his piece of bread in half before dropping both pieces back on the plate. “I suppose that helps explain why Ortiga doesn't want to be sober.” He pushes the plate away, then repeats his earlier question: “So, why us two? And those three? What is in common? And what is different? Or is she tormenting them too?”

"I've never witnessed her tormenting any of those three." Tsukasa closes his eyes, recalling their faces and voices, including accents. “All three of them are from west Africa, originally. Still, I have seen countless other western Africans fall under Phorcys's spell.”

“And both Taiju and Nikki bowed their heads, too. So it's not like being Japanese and being strong-minded is protective, in and of itself.”

“All three roles require an education,” Tsukasa says. “And not just basic reading and writing. Much beyond that. A deeper knowledge.”

“But Chrome is formally educated. And so is Ukiyo, though not in magic. They both bowed their heads as well.”

“Chrome went to a school?” Tsukasa asks, surprised.

“University of Havana. It's a bit like a shijuku academy, but bigger.” Ryusui sips his coffee.

If this “university” was like the shijuku academies in Japan, then that might explain where Chrome had got some of his bizarre ideas from. Tsukasa had only attended a shijuku for six months but it had been an experience.

Time to evaluate their situation. “So we have two factors, ethnicity and education, but not simply education,” Tsukasa summarises. “What else?”

“Birthdates? You and I were both born in late autumn.” Ryusui frowns. “What would be the equivalent in West Africa? It's a lot closer to the equator.”

Of course the merchant would jump to astrology. Tsukasa suddenly has an alternative idea. “Shensoku!” he guesses. “Nanami, were you ever taught to Perceive The Spirit?”

Ryusui looks at him, his eyes widening. If nothing else the merchant recognises the term.

Shensoku was the new technique by which a non-magician could sense magical and divine energies. Aunt Kuma had paid for Tsukasa’s lessons, the Nanami Clan would have good reason to have taken advantage of it for their heirs. Tsukasa remembers Ryusui stiffening slightly before Phorcys had appeared in the training ground, about the same time he'd sensed her presence. Tsukasa's heart rate quickens, this hypothesis makes sense.

“It could be a two-way portal,” Tsukasa continues. “We can sense her, but she can also sense us. Which means she can draw from us.”

“Wouldn't the academies have tested for that vulnerability?” Ryusui asks. “Even if unintentionally? They train magicians too. If people are suddenly leaking magical energies, surely some magician would have started making use of it.”

A logical question. “They probably did test it. But they are hardly likely to have tested it on ancient Greek deities brought back by archaic rituals.”

“And the ritual went wrong,” Ryusui adds. “Heaven knows what impact that had.”

Ryusui pauses to take another sip of his drink. “You're thinking that perhaps academics in one of the West African kingdoms had developed it at a similar time?”

“Or a similar technique,” Tsukasa confirms. He sighs. “I can't see how this helps us right now.”

“If we come across another educated West African migrant, we might be able to fulfill Mrs Smith's desire for a secretary.”

“Seriously? Do you entirely think in terms of fulfilling desires?”

Ryusui's brows furrow. “What else dare I think of now?”

Tsukasa blinks at the response, but before he can say anything, a footman opens the door.

“Captain Nanami, Master Thalos requests your presence.”

Ryusui flashes a smile. “Well, it is never wise to keep waiting a man who can bodily throw me across the room,” he announces in English.

He then abandons the remains of his breakfast, stands, bows to the maids with a flourish, and then leaves the room. Tsukasa expects to feel relief but instead feels a small sense of loss, the conversation had been … stimulating.

He realises it had been more than two years since anyone had asked him a question that felt worth answering.

When Tsukasa comes down for his training, Ryusui is still there, talking with Thalos. No, not just talking, flirting. Tsukasa guesses it from Ryusui’s tone of voice before he even steps into the doorway and sees them. Ryusui is indeed standing slightly too close, smiling slightly too much, speaking slightly too loud, his gestures slightly too large, even for the extravagant captain. Tsukasa's jaw clenches. Where was the man's self-respect? Did he want to bend over for everyone in the fortress?

Thalos at least interrupts the infuriating prattler when Tsukasa steps into the courtyard, sending Ryusui away to clean himself and dress while Thalos focuses on Tsukasa’s training. Tsukasa takes the moment to recenter himself. What did it matter what the sea captain did, as long as it didn't interfere with Tsukasa's own training? Let him smile, let him talk, let him flirt. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Ryusui seems to be prepared to settle in and again watch Tsukasa’s full training session, but blessedly a servant arrives requesting Ryusui's presence in Mr Alliard's rooms. The sea captain stands dutifully, if a little reluctantly, and offers a salute in Tsukasa and Thalos's direction. Thalos salutes back, with the slightest smile.

Tsukasa goes extra hard in sparring that day.

Tsukasa doesn't see Ryusui again until the midday meal. The merchant arrives in their room shortly after the food.

They exchange greetings and Ryusui asks about Tsukasa’s morning, to which Tsukasa makes a terse reply. Tsukasa braces himself for further questions about Phorcys, but instead Ryusui falls uncharacteristically silent, applying himself to his food.

Tsukasa begins to eat also. This bowl is as tasty as his breakfast but in a different combination of flavours, while still obeying Phorcys’s strictures. Tsukasa briefly wonders how long it will take Phorcys to realise this and order a change. Better enjoy these flavours while they last.

But Tsukasa finds his eyes wandering in Ryusui's direction. The merchant is wearing a new linen shirt. Tailoring is not an artform Tsukasa's an expert in, but he finds his eyes flowing across the lines from Ryusui’s broad shoulders to his tapered waist. His cock tries to swell within its cage.

Damn it, he's never denied that the rapacious bandit is beautiful physically, if nothing else.

“Why do you do it?” Tsukasa impulsively asks Ryusui, mainly in order to distract himself. Before Phorcys, he'd never thought of himself as particularly sexually driven, but two years of being unable to take himself in hand had meant he'd learnt to grasp at any distraction.

“Why do what?” Ryusui looks puzzled.

It occurs to Tsukasa that there's several whys he could be asking. Why is Ryusui so eager to please? Why is he so eager to spread his legs? Why is he so, so confident?

But all of those seem too intimate for how matters are between them now.

“Why pursue money like you do? Or at least used to do? Why didn't you use your talents to build actual things? Useful things?”

Just after he asks this, Tsukasa remembers it was a similar question that had led to their final fight, nine years ago. Perhaps Ryusui remembers too, because before answering, he takes a mouthful of food, chews it then swallows.

“You mean why I trade, not craft or farm?”

Tsukasa nods.

“When I was ten,” Ryusui replies, “my family sent me on a Kitamaebune trip, the northern-bound shipping route, for the summer.”

That would have been a long trip for a ten-year-old. His family must have been delighted by the months of peace and quiet.

“We came with our hulls full of medicines, rice straw, and farming tools. Sailed into Matsumae, Otaru, Hakodate, and Esashi, and more. In each place, the city magistrates came down to meet our boats. It had been a long winter and people were going hungry waiting for harvest, and we brought them essential supplies for the next winter and their next harvest. The joy of the people at the sight of our boats stays with me still.”

Ryusui smiles softly. “I remember one of the apothecaries at Otaru crying with joy when we restocked her shelves. Though that was only after she'd bargained with us with all the ruthlessness of a fishwife.”

“I don’t deny you brought relief,” Tsukasa replies. “I’ve seen that kind of desperation. A single ship can mean survival.”

Tsukasa pauses, searching Ryusui’s expression.

“But tell me this, when you saw their faces, was your first thought how to help them again, or how well this would pay next season?”

“Why split the two?” Ryusui asks. “The more we help them, the more they have to trade the next year, if the weather gods are agreeable. Starving peasants are not good customers. I didn't go on the Kitamaebune route the next year but I saw the figures. Our trade was up by a fifth and our profits by a quarter.”

“At what expense? What of the people?”

Ryusui gives a wry smile. “You wished to know why I pursue profit rather than build something tangible. I answered. If my answer is not to your liking …” Ryusui doesn't complete the sentence. Instead, he takes another mouthful of his meal, choosing silence.

Tsukasa shifts slightly. He wants to argue more, to force Ryusui to confront the consequences of his pursuit of profits as part of the broader system. But the words won’t quite form. The facts are what they are, tools and medicines delivered, and a ledger grown fatter, and not just once but repeatedly.

Tsukasa knows in his inner heart that there must be a better way, but perhaps it is understandable that Ryusui would not share his conviction. "There are many ways of seeing the world, and as many opinions as there are people" as Yamamoto Tsunetomo had said.

“My apologies,” he makes himself say. “You’re right. I asked. And you answered, honestly.”

Immediately after he says that, Tsukasa wonders if Ryusui is going to demand another ‘gift’ from him, but instead Ryusui lifts his coffee cup towards Tsukasa in a brief toast. “Twice in two days, Shishio! Apology accepted, with interest,” he says instead.

“Don’t get used to it,” Tsukasa mutters. Though maybe the merchant will. Tsukasa knows that for all his determination to keep true to his principles, what he has been through these last two years can't not but affect his mind.

“But since we’re speaking plainly,” Tsukasa continues, “you speak of rising profits and grateful port towns, but what happens when your trade depends on men who have no gratitude? On people who have caused harm, or profited off the misery of others?”

“When has it ever been otherwise?” Ryusui replies. “Civilisation is but compromise after compromise between flawed human beings.”

“Some enemies don't deserve civility,” Tsukasa replies sharply. “When someone destroys lives, spreads cruelty like mold through grain, you don’t strike a deal. You stop them. You don’t smile and drink tea with corrupt magistrates or violent daimyo, you make an example. Even if it costs something of yourself.”

“But what if the cost isn't solely to yourself? I've smiled and drunk tea with corrupt magistrates, and thus Nanami ships delivered bales of rice to villages whose harvests had failed.”

“And why did you make deals, rather than report the corrupt magistrate to the shogun?”

“Becau—”

Tsukasa doesn't let him finish. “You know, don't you? Because the shogun wouldn't do anything! Some important family's political support is needed. And so the corruption continues! Nothing ever changes! It just—”

“Nothing ever changes!” Ryusui interrupts incredulously. “Are you crazy! We've had over 170 years of peace! I know you've seen the census reports, the population is growing!”

“What does it matter if more children are born just to bow their heads, break their backs, and feed a system built to grind them down?”

“It mat—”

Tsukasa cuts Ryusui off. “Compromise is just surrender dressed up in finer words. The moment you ignore injustice because it’s easier or more convenient, you let the rot in. Justice is the foundation. Sacrifice ensures it stands.”

“And mercy ensures it lasts.” Ryusui leans forward now, expression vivid with conviction.
“Do you think I don’t know how cruel men and women can be? I do business with them. But I’ve seen more change after signing one clever contract than you could force with ten broken fists. Trade makes people behave, because the consequences are baked in. There’s profit in peace.”

Ryusui tilts his head. “You call compromise weakness. I call it leverage.”

“Your way breeds traitors and thieves. Mine warns them there’s a price for hurting the weak.” Tsukasa replies.

“Then make the weak stronger. Give them tools, not threats,” Ryusui gestures strongly, his former quiet fully gone, passion again beneath his words. “What’s worth more, a world where people obey because they’re afraid, or one where they cooperate because they believe they have something to gain?”

“A world where people cooperate because they understand harmony and the way!” Tsukasa replies. “Your way means the weak must live seeing the men who wounded them walk in the streets unharmed! Where is the justice in that?”

““Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule,’” Ryusui quotes and Tsukasa loses control.

“You smug, gilded hypocrite,” he snarls. “What have you ever suffered of injustice in life? You grew up in unearned luxury, you charm your way through deals and profits and alliances, every hardship you've endured has been at your own choosing, and yet you preach to me of forgiveness? You dare to quote Buddha to me? You know nothing of suffering!”

Ryusui flinches. Just barely. But Tsukasa sees it.

With brutal timing, there is a knock at the door and then immediately a footman enters.

“Captain Nanami, Lady Phorcys requests your presence,” the footman announces.

Tsukasa sneers at Ryusui. “Phorcys may lavish you with jewels and fine foods, but survive a month here and then see if you can speak to me of forgiveness!”

Ryusui stands up from his meal, his back straight. “It's true I've never suffered like you have. But many others have, and have yet found their way to forgiveness.”

Ryusui sweeps an arm out, grandly.

“Think of the titans of thought, Buddha, Confucius, even in these strange seas they have their teachers who preached of forgiveness, Mohammed, Jesus Christ. Whether east, west, or anywhere in between, humans keep returning to that lesson. Again and again. Are they all fools?”

I don't know what a month, a year, even ten here will do to me. But if I can walk their path, even a little… if I can earn the right to stand among those who chose mercy over might,” Ryusui's eyes blaze. “Well, that would be a legacy even I would be proud to trade upon.”

Captain Nanami, Lady Phorcys is waiting,” the footman repeats, with some intensity in his voice.

Ryusui turns from Tsukasa without another word, and leaves the room, footman trailing behind.

Tsukasa storms, furious. That sanctimonious scoundrel! Pretending to wrap himself in ancient sages and saints! Oh Tsukasa would prefer an honest profit grubber over that, that … Ryusui deserves everything Phorcys will do to him!

There is no point in staying in the room. Tsukasa departs for the boxing room, where he knows he can find a punching bag with Ryusui's face.

Chapter Text

Two hours and five punching bags later, Tsukasa is interrupted by another footman, directing him to Phorcys’s bedroom. Even through his anger, Tsukasa knows not to delay; Phorcys is well capable of punishing the footman for Tsukasa’s tardiness.

Even before Tsukasa opens the door to Phorcys’s bedroom, he smells sex. Hers and Ryusui's. When he enters the grand room, the two of them are there, lying together not on the bed but on one of the couches. There's no sign of Ortiga.

Phorcys’s dress is rucked up around her thighs, and Ryusui is naked as he lies beside her, his right hand tracing designs across her inhuman skin. Fully naked, even the bandages on his chest have been removed, and his burn mark is garish, the skin still swollen and blistered.

Three gold rings glint on Ryusui's fingers, clearly new acquisitions. His eyes flick to the door as Tsukasa enters, and then he leans forward and kisses Phorcys’s earlobe, as if in an attempt to distract her. Did the money-grubbing jackal regard Tsukasa as competition for the gifts Phorcys might dispense?

Despite the filthy lucre-hound's efforts, Phorcys's focus shifts to Tsukasa, though she does pause to place a hand lightly over Ryusui's mouth.

“Dog,” she greets Tsukasa. “Strip,” she then immediately orders. Tsukasa begins to remove his clothes, there is no point in delaying.

Ryusui's tongue laps at Phorcys’s fingers and he lifts a hand to caress her breast. Phorcys slaps at him, though lightly, playfully.

“I'm going to have to keep you occupied, aren't I?” she says to Ryusui. “Stay there.”

She stands and goes to a chest of drawers by the wall that Tsukasa knows all too well, though the contents in there keep changing. She draws from it this time an ankle shackle, and a ball gag, which she brings back to the couch and places on the table, beside a large box already placed there, from which she also draws a large dildo with a flared base and a bottle full of oil.

“Gag on and shackle yourself to the couch,” she orders Ryusui.

Ryusui grins lazily and raises an eyebrow. “Now that’s quite the request, my lady. Must I do all the work and look fabulous doing it?”

Even as he speaks, he obediently reaches for the shackle and snaps it around his ankle, then loops the chain through a ring already affixed to the frame of the couch, locking the loop back on itself, without the smallest hesitation. Ryusu then picks up the gag, and, gazing right at Phorcys, runs his tongue over the wooden ball, he moans softly as he wets the ball.

“A gag to silence my words, but not my desires,” he says, teasingly, once the ball is gleaming with his spit. “You think depriving me of my tongue means I cannot bring you pleasure? Let me show you what I can do with my hands alone.”

Ryusui then slowly inserts the ball into his mouth. His hands gracefully affix the straps around his head, he then reaches out and embraces Phorcys.

Phorcys runs her fingers around Ryusui's mouth where his lips are stretched around the gag, drool already starting to form at the corners of his mouth, and then across the straps that go round at the back of his head, checking its security. He moans softly, shifting his body into her, arching against her shamelessly. Tsukasa realises Ryusui's trying to seduce Phorcys right in front of him, has the man no sense of propriety?

Phorcys however ignores the lascivious philanderer's charms. She simply tugs one last time on the gag, then disentangles herself from his hands, returns to the table and hands Ryusui the bottle and the dildo.

“Take this within yourself,” she instructs.

Ryusui inclines his head in acknowledgement, then pours a generous amount of oil into his palm, keeping his gaze fixed on Phorcys. With deliberately sensual movements, he massages the oil into the length of the dildo, then uses more oil to run his fingers around the entrance to his hole.

Tsukasa is by now not only naked but his cock is trying to swell against its cage. As he sets aside his braies, the last piece of clothing he had removed, Phorcys commands him to stand straight. She then approaches him and runs her hands over his caged cock and round to cup his balls.

He feels her within his mind too, feels his pleasure at his aching need.

“How long has it been since your last release?” she says, verbally. “Answer me aloud. Answer so Captain Nanami can hear.”

“Thirty-five days,” Tsukasa replies. He knows by “release” she doesn't mean an orgasm, she means milking out his semen.

Phorcys smiles cruelly, then squeezes his balls, not yet painfully. “They're so full,” she says. “But they could be fuller.”

Tsukasa can't stop a shudder.

“Keep going,” she orders Ryusui over her shoulder. “I didn't give you permission to stop.” Ryusui nods his head and then touches the tip of the dildo to his entrance.

Phorcys turns her attention back to Tsukasa. She reaches into the box on the table and removes a set of handcuffs, which she uses to secure Tsukasa's hands behind him. Tsukasa flinches a little at the pressure on his cut hand as she roughly pulls him into the restraints.

Next from the box, she removes a key, and something in a velvet bag. Not just a key, the key to his cage, Tsukasa has seen it many times before and by now, instead of any flicker of hope for release at the sight, he braces himself to endure more suffering.

Phorcys unlocks and removes the cock cage from Tsukasa, discarding it on the table. His freed cock immediately starts to swell.

Ryusui has by now inserted the first inch of the dildo in his body and his rim is strained around it. He gives a small moan around the gag, and Tsukasa's cock twitches in response.

Phorcys smiles dangerously and caresses Tsukasa's cock with one hand, running her palm up and down his shaft, while her other strokes his balls. Tsukasa clenches his hands into fists in their shackles, he knows, knows this is going to go nowhere good, but his body mindlessly yearns for release.

Phorcys's touches, well Phorcys’s touches and the sight of Ryusui slowly impaling himself, brings Tsukasa to the edge, his body trembling, and then, suddenly, impossibly, though all too familiarly, the deity's hands turn ice-cold and he can't stop a yell escaping him as his cock constricts under the sudden assault.

Once he's flaccid again, Phorcys opens the velvet bag and brings out its contents. Tsukasa recognises them at once, and he feels Phorcys's pleasure at his dismay though he does his best to keep his face impassive. They're a larger cock cage along with a matching penis plug.

“It has been some time, has it not?” Phorcys asks him, as she oils the length of the plug, then picks up his cock and slides the device in. Tsukasa shudders at the feeling of invasion and helplessness, still as alien as the first time she did this to him. His eyes flicker to Ryusui, who is looking away from the two of them, up at the ceiling, apparently disinterested, his hands still working to insert that dildo further into him. Ryusui's own cock is still soft, Tsukasa notes.

Phorcys then applies the larger cock cage, locks it and then locks the plug to it. The cage is heavier than his normal one and drags down on his groin. Tsukasa braces himself to endure.

“Kneel,” Phorcys commands, “then lean over the table.”

Tsukasa obeys, resting his chest on the table, his hands still bound behind him. His cheeks burn at what he must look like. Phorcys draws another large dildo from her box.

“Captain Nanami, oil this for me, while I prepare this lowly cur.”

From the corner of his right eye Tsukasa can see Ryusui move obediently, if rather stiffly, to take the referred dildo, twin to the one Ryusui has just inserted inside himself up to its flared base.

Phorcys meanwhile drips cold oil upon Tsukasa's crack, then uses her fingers to open him, making sure to rub against his prostate. Tsukasa feels his cock growing again, he flushes and tries to think of other things, he starts to list every fighting strike and counterstrike he knows. But Phorcys's fingers are violating deep inside him and she keeps pressing on that nerve centre that sends spikes of unwanted pleasure through his body and his cock swells until it hits the bars. He moans into the wood of the table.

Phorcys laughs and pulls his head up by his hair.

“So responsive today,” she says, teasingly. “Are you finally growing accustomed to being taken? Or is it today's audience?”

Tsukasa feels Phorcys force herself deeper into his mind. He tries instinctively to resist her, despite knowing from brutal experience that's impossible. She of course continues ruthlessly, flicking through his memories of Ryusui from all those years ago. Ryusui laughing, Ryusui undoing his hair from its bun, the sleeves of his summer kimono sliding down to reveal the lean muscles of Ryusui's arms. Ryusui feeding Tsukasa fresh, lush peaches, cutting them up into slices with his own knife, then feeding each to Tsukasa individually, the juices dripping from Ryusui’s fingers, each bite a burst of sweetness within Tsukasa's mouth. In his memory, Tsukasa deliberately eats one messily and some of the juice runs over his jaw and Ryusui wipes it away with his fingers, tracing Tsukasa's jaw before reaching in for a kiss.

He tries to turn away from the memory, to push down the ache of longing, those brief days where, for the first time since his mother had died, someone had pampered him. But Phorcys is merciless. She drags the memory forward, holding it in the forefront of his mind for both of them to experience, greedy for the taste of his long-buried desire. Tsukasa feels his hands flex uselessly in their restraints, throat tight. He wants to cry out, to sweep the vision away, but all he can do is clench his jaw as the pressure in his chest builds, feeling that old hunger he thought he'd long buried.

For just a heartbeat, Phorcys goes still behind him. The mocking thrill in her mind flickers, replaced by something else - a cold, involuntary shiver of regret, as if the sweetness of his memory stings her. For a moment, even inside Tsukasa’s mind, she seems caught off-guard by what she’s stolen: the taste of ripe fruit and simple care. Her grip on his thoughts stills, not with hunger, but with a strange, almost envious hesitation.

Then, like a mask snapping back into place, the moment's gone. Phorcys’s breath is hot at his ear, her laughter curling inside him. “So that’s what you lock away,” she murmurs mockingly, “sweetness and summer and his touch. Something you still want, even after everything.”

Tsukasa's whole body flushes with humiliation, he's robbed not only of any control of the present but of the privacy of that memory as well. And he's reminded of the dreadful temptation that Ryusui's sheer existence was, that he'd recognised even at age sixteen, that it would be so easy to give in and seek those luxuries, to let himself be pampered.

He feels Phorcys’s power grow from his feelings, well from his and Ryusui's, the air in the room seems to almost throb.

And despite it all, Tsukasa's cock aches.

From the corner of Tsukasa's eye, he sees Ryusui handing Phorcys the dildo, its length now gleaming with oil. And shortly he feels Phorcys start to push it slowly into Tsukasa. Despite Phorcys’s stretching and Ryusui's oiling, it hurts, it's been ten days since Tsukasa last was penetrated like that. But the pain doesn't ease the pressure in his cock at all. And gradually, gradually, his body gives way around the intrusion, the tip of the dildo reaches Tsukasa's prostate and presses against it, a throb there that only increases further as Phorcys pushes the dildo deeper within him. He tries to close his eyes but Phorcys feels that, orders him to keep them open, and then orders Ryusui to look at Tsukasa too.

Tsukasa doesn't know what he expects to see on Ryusui's face. Lust? Contempt? Pity? But instead Ryusui looks grave. His hand twitches at his side as if he yearns to reach out to Tsukasa.

Tsukasa takes a deep breath. This too shall pass, he reminds himself.

“This too shall pass, but how long?” Phorcys says mockingly in his ear. She brutally pushes the dildo in all the final distance, until Tsukasa can feel its flared base pushing against the curve of his arse. He groans despite himself.

Phorcys pulls him upright, then directs him to the couch across from where Ryusui is shackled. She next undoes his wrists, only to chain them again to the couch, up above his head, and she then chains his ankles to the opposite end of the couch. Tsukasa watches as she similarly chains Ryusui's wrists and the ankle he'd left free, Ryusui's muscles tensing under the restraints.

Physical chains, Tsukasa thinks. Like how she'd had Ryusui physically gag himself rather than just taking his voice. That must mean what she was planning would take a long time and she didn't want to maintain the concentration to keep a magical binding.

Tsukasa therefore is braced when she next takes from her box two rings of horn, which she places around their cocks, and then she places enchanted stones on each ring and the base of each dildo. Ryusui maybe also recognises the device's uses, he moans as Phorcys slides the ring onto his cock and tries to arch into her, in what must have been one last attempt at seduction. But Phorcys maintains her focus.

She utters the brief incantation to trigger the stone's spells, and everything begins to vibrate.

The first surge is almost bearable. The sensation is familiar. Yet Tsukasa’s muscles still lock against the cuffs, he barely manages to stop his hips from bucking futilely against the restraints. He bites down on every sound, wrangling his breath into even counts. Control is possible, suffering is to be endured patiently and with dignity.

Tsukasa forces his focus onto other matters, the stiff feel of the brocade of the couch underneath his body, the cool metal of the links of chain that his fingers can twist round, marking where the light from the window hits the wall. The techniques of control that have held him through this particular hell before.

But then Ryusui gives a gasp and Tsukasa's eyes drift over to him. Ryusui's cock has finally hardened, his body responding to the magical stimulation. His chest heaves with each breath, his abs contracting as he tries to control his reactions. A sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, highlighting the definition of his muscles as he strains against the chains. Tsukasa forces himself to look away.

Phorcys smiles gaily and claps her hands. “The trader who sold these stones promised a long lasting effect.” Tsukasa groans internally, the last time she had teased him this way, it had been an hour by the room's clock, and that alone had felt an eternity.

“You two boys enjoy yourself.” Then Phorcys leaves the room.

For a while, Tsukasa manages to half-distract himself, shifting his fingers every now and then to a new link on the chains, for the refreshing cool, watching the light creep across the wallpaper. Proof that time is real and passing, that the stones cannot burn forever.

But the vibrations gnaw at him, relentless and sly, slipping past all barriers. Each pulse clenches around his cock, trapped tight, and the ache begins to colour his thoughts. He tries all the tricks: breathing deep and slow, visualising fighting forms in his mind, open hand, closed fist, pivot, parry, anything to keep sensation at bay. Yet every new gasp from Ryusui breaks the rhythm, a jolt of forbidden heat and humiliating longing.

No comfort is available. When Tsukasa open his eyes, he can't stop his gaze from settling on Ryusui’s writhing frame. When he closes his eyes, each rack of sensation from his body is more intense, and each gasp or groan from his companion pierces through his ears, pulsating in his skull.

The sight stirs a pang Tsukasa doesn’t know how to outrun. Envy flares, at least Ryusui will break and be done with it. Tsukasa has only this: a body wracked by pleasure and denied every mercy.

After what feels like an eternity, Ryusui's body finally gives in, his back arching off the couch as he comes with a guttural moan around his gag that echoes through the room. His hips buck wildly, his cock pulses and his cum spills across his lower body. Ryusui's face is a mask of ecstasy and relief, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth opens wider around the gag, in a wordless scream of pleasure.

Tsukasa can't tear his eyes from the sight, even though Ryusui's release is agony for himself. His own cock strains against its cage even harder. Each pulse of the vibration is a tease, a promise of pleasure that is cruelly denied, leaving Tsukasa in a state of aching, unfulfilled desire.

As Ryusui's orgasm passes, he sags in his chains for a moment, then lifts his eyes to Tsukasa's. Ryusui holds the look for a long moment, his eyes anxious.

“Where is your compromise now, Nanami?” Tsukasa can't help but ask him, though he has to gasp the words out between the waves of tension surging through his own body.

The chains clink as Ryusui straightens just enough to meet Tsukasa’s gaze head-on. His wrists flex against the cuffs, and he tips his chin, somehow still confident.

But the unceasing vibrations on Ryusui's own body soon pull the man's attention away, inwardly focused again.

For Tsukasa, time grows strange. Ryusui comes a second time, then a third. Each time, Tsukasa swears he will not respond, will not let his own groin clench or his hips buck against the restraints. But his cock aches, swollen and purple, caged uncompromisingly. The pain blends into pleasure until the difference ceases to matter.

Frustration scrapes at his nerves. He chastises himself, curses his own weakness. He should be able to swallow down this need. But in the haze of his body's unfilled needs, Phorcys’s words echo: “Still you want, even after everything.” He’s furious at her for knowing, and at himself for proving it true.

After Ryusui’s fourth orgasm, Tsukasa’s endurance begins to fracture. What if it never stops? What if he breaks, cries out, begs? The brocade, the chains, the passage of light on the wall, all are gone, all there is is throbbing aching need and the sights and sounds of Ryusui's own personal heaven/hell.

Ryusui comes a fifth time, or maybe it was a fiftieth, but this time he is weeping as he comes and no more cum spurts from his cock, his body emptied.

By the time the magic in the stones fade, Tsukasa is all but burned out, each breath ragged, skin sticky with sweat. He clings desperately to the knowledge he never wept, never begged. But the relief is cold, mixed with self-disgust. The ache remains, and so does the shame that not just his body yearns but his heart yearns for that cocky upstart, the pleasure he never should have let himself have.

As the maddening vibrations finally fade, Tsukasa realises Phorcys is back in the room with them, glowing with power. He didn't even feel her come in.

Across from Tsukasa, Ryusui's body is spent and trembling, no longer tense and writhing but collapsed against the couch.

Phorcys steps first towards Ryusui and undoes first his chains and then undoes the straps of his gag and removes the ball from his mouth. When Ryusui's mouth is freed, he swallows a couple of times and flexes his jaw.

“So, my Sea-Dragon, have you finally come to the end of your desire?”

Ryusui’s face is tear-stained but his chest still shakes with a low, exhausted laugh. “End? There is always more to desire. You might wring me dry, Lady Phorcys, but you’ll never drain me empty.”

Why does Ryusui always work so hard to charm her? Even now, all but broken, he’d still play her game? For whose sake?

“Speaking of emptying, there is someone who must truly need it by now.” Phorcys turns to Tsukasa and touches his swollen cock, cups his balls in her hand, Tsukasa refuses to beg verbally but she is in his mind, feeling his desperation.

Across from them, Ryusui removes the cock ring and dildo from himself, his exhaustion evident in his slow movements.

Phorcys undoes Tsukasa's chains, then orders him to kneel and lean forward on the low table again, cuffing his wrists behind him, again. At Phorcys’ orders, Ryusui fetches a large bowl from the sideboard and places it underneath Tsukasa's groin, while Phorcys withdraws the dildo from his body. She then unlocks his penis plug from the cage and withdraws it from him through the bars of the cage. Tsukasa's cock immediately begins to leak pre-cum, drops falling through the bars of his cage and into the bowl.

‘Shall I,’ she asks in his mind, as she runs a finger around his hole, and then gives a dangerous laugh. “No, that will be even worse,” she says aloud.

Tsukasa has a terrible feeling he knows what the worse is, and that's confirmed when Phorcys turns to Ryusui.

“Milk him, my sea captain. Drain his balls for me.”

“My lady, I cannot…” Phorcys turns her attention on Ryusui, she is gone from Tsukasa's mind, at least for a while, he doesn't know what passes between her and Ryusui, but the merchant's face whitens, and though he shakes his head, he's already moving, albeit slowly, pouring oil onto his fingers, Tsukasa feels him at his back even once he loses sight of him. One of Ryusui's hands comes to rest on Tsukasa’s waist, the other is at his hole, Ryusui's fingers entering him, moving with certainty straight for his prostate, which is already so, so tender. Tsukasa can't help but whimper.

Phorcys is then back in his mind, experiencing it as Ryusui rubs against his nerve centre, Tsukasa's unplugged cock trying to harden yet more against his cage, cum starts to leak from it in squirts and pulses, easing the pressure but not Tsukasa's aching need for a true release. When his balls are at last truly empty, the bowl is half full.

Phorcys lifts the bowl from the floor, orders Tsukasa to sit up, and places it in front of him. Tsukasa knows immediately her intent. But
he's too exhausted to fight more tonight. He bows his head and drinks from the bowl, lapping it up like a cat, his cheeks burning from this final humiliation.

Ryusui's hand brushes against Tsukasa’s back, in a light touch, and Tsukasa senses it's meant not as a lover's caress but as a friend's comfort.

Phorcys must sense their exhaustion. She wants them suffering, not broken.

“Enough, to your room! Tsukasa you can use the furniture for this night. Even sleep on the bed. If Ryusui wills it.”

Even when offering comfort, Phorcys finds a way. Tsukasa wearily forces himself to his feet.

“Tsukasa's hands?” Ryusui asks, with a gesture at Tsukasa's wrists still bound behind his back.

“He'll manage. You may decide to assist him, you may not. The choice is yours.”

Ryusui sighs, and reaches for Tsukasa’s discarded clothes.

“No,” Phorcys orders. “As you both are. Unless you wish to spend the night here with me.”

There's no need for communication on that one. Ryusui opens the door to the hallway for them both, walks in front of Tsukasa, without the slightest attempt to hide or apologise for his nakedness. At least the walk to their room is brief, merely past the family rooms and the landing to the main guest room. Well, what was the main guest room. Tsukasa isn’t fully up on all the nuances of the English language but he's under the impression that guests can leave.

Their evening meals are already there, on a tray, with no sign of Mrs Smith or either of the maids. Ryusui, though clearly exhausted, cleans Tsukasa using water from the pitcher. He doesn't speak except to direct Tsukasa how to move. The water is lukewarm, Ryusui's touch is gentle, though his hands tremble with fatigue. Each pass of the cloth reminds Tsukasa he can’t even scrub his own skin. Still, the cloth is soft, and they are not Phorcys’s hands. That counts for something.

Ryusui then cleans himself, finds them both clothes, dresses himself and helps Tsukasa steps into some trousers, his hands slip several times though as he does the buttons up for Tsukasa. He then gestures to Tsukasa to sit at the table, and begins to feed them both, alternating bites.

Despite Tsukasa's own exhaustion and underlying aching frustration, there's something he needs to know.

“What did Phorcys threaten, that you agreed to … you know?”

“She said otherwise she'd re-insert the penis plug so you couldn't even piss. And then leave me with the key, with secret instructions about the conditions of when to unlock you.” Ryusui looks at Tsukasa and despite his fatigue, manages to give a rueful grin. “Is that a compromise you were willing for me to make?”

Tsukasa already knows what it is like to lose all control over that most basic body function. He imagines having to ask Ryusui for release, never knowing what answer he'd get.

“Yes that, that compromise, I'm grateful you made that one. Thank you.” He takes another bite that Ryusui offers to him.

“It's not that I'm against compromise all together,” Tsukasa continues, once he's swallowed. “I've made compromise after compromise myself.”

“But, there's this thing we can't comprise on.” Tsukasa looks directly at Ryusui, challenging him. “We have to destroy Phorcys.”

Ryusui abruptly looks boneshatteringly exhausted. “That's not something I can afford to think about.”

“Nana–”

“No. Shishio no!”

Tsukasa backs off. It's not so much the words but the pain in Ryusui's voice. He gives the sea captain a small nod.

They finish the meal in silence. Ryusui then brings over the chamber pot for Tsukasa to release into, then relieves and cleans himself.

“So, bed?” he finally asks Tsukasa.

Tsukasa hesitates. Life is suffering. We must endure patiently and with dignity. But this night is going to be painful enough with his hands cuffed behind him, let alone on the floor. He despises himself for his weakness but he can't make himself say he'll take the floor.

Ryusui looks a bit impatient. “Sit,” he orders, pulling back the bed cover on one side. Tsukasa obeys despite himself. He lowers himself to the bed, carefully. The cuffs rub low on his back, the short chain just above his waistband. There was still no easy way to lie down. He couldn’t use his hands for balance and the cuffs threatened to dig into bone if he shifted the wrong way.

Ryusui sits beside him. “Lean into me,” he says.

Tsukasa glares, but there isn’t much pride to defend, not tonight. He let Ryusui slide an arm gently around his back, the other bracing his bent knees, steadying him. With a slow, practiced movement, Ryusui guides him sideways, tilting Tsukasa until his hips and chest meet the mattress in one muted motion. With Tsukasa fully down, Ryusui tucks a soft pillow between the cuffs and Tsukasa’s lower back to keep the metal from pressing too sharply. He then adds another pillow by the front of Tsukasa's groin, supporting the cock cage so the weight of that doesn't drag on Tsukasa’s groin.

The gestures, so deliberate and focused, send a thread of warmth through Tsukasa. This is pampering, and he knows it. Desires it. Life is suffering, but this is a moment of comfort he can't resist.

Ryusui stands, moves around to the other side of the bed, then lies down himself. He pulls the cover up over both of them.

“If you snore, I’ll kill you,” Tsukasa mutters, half-heartedly.

“You can try,” Ryusui replies, his voice thick with fatigue, “but you’ll have to use your feet.”

Tsukasa’s lips twitch in a half-smile. The cuffs still bite at his skin, his cock still aches uselessly, but after months and months on the floor, the mattress is a deep comfort for his body. He lets himself drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Ryusui only wakes the next morning when the door opens and Mrs Smith enters, accompanied by their normal pair of maids. She doesn't seem surprised by finding them sharing a bed. Ryusui manages to sit himself upright. Tsukasa, beside him, is awake but doesn't try to move, even for the experienced athlete, wrists bound behind him must greatly restrict his mobility.

“Morning, Lady of the Keys,” Ryusui greets Mrs Smith and gives her his most charming grin. In his experience it has about a fifty-fifty success rate with middle-aged women.

“Morning, captain who doesn’t bandage his own injuries,” she shoots back, crossing to Tsukasa’s side.

Clearly Mrs Smith is in the other fifty.

Mrs Smith pulls back the cover and takes Tsukasa's bound wrists in a firm grip, working the key into the lock. Metal clicks free and Tsukasa immediately flexes his fingers, rolling his shoulders, deliberately restoring blood circulation. He gravely thanks her for the release.

Ryusui looks down at his chest. Phorcys's burnmark is visible through the night shirt he'd flung on yesterday evening. He had forgotten about his chest, the downside of Phorcys removing his experience of the burn's pain. He huffs. “I had other priorities last night.”

Tsukasa flinches and Ryusui instantly regrets saying that. Damn it, why couldn't the man accept even the smallest bit of care without guilt?

Mrs Smith’s eyes narrow. “Priorities that didn’t involve protecting your own skin. No breakfast for you until I've dressed that myself.” She activates the cleansing spell on the water pitcher.

Tsukasa, presumably satisfied by his preliminary movements, sits himself upright, then stands up from the bed, and starts to properly stretch out his arms, wrists and shoulders. Under other circumstances, Ryusui expects he'd enjoy the view. But right now, despite the long sleep he'd had, he still feels drained.

“Shirt off,” Mrs Smith orders Ryusui. He obeys, peeling the linen over his head. The skin on his chest is red and irritated looking, with some raw patches. Mrs Smith looks disapprovingly at it, then leans closer and gives a deep sniff.

“Sarah,” she addresses one of the maids. “Go and tell Thalos that Captain Nanami will not be attending him for the next three days. At least. Due to his own stupidity.”

She cleans his burn with cool water, then applies the salve she'd already brought with her. “I think there's an infection setting in,” she tells Ryusui. Tsukasa pauses in his stretching, his gaze focusing on Ryusui's chest.

“You're young and healthy, with rest you should be able to fight it off,” Mrs Smith continues. But her voice is lower now, the kind Ryusui's mother used when she didn’t want any passing servants to catch it.

“The rest part is not exactly within my control,” Ryusui replies, wryly. But he's watching her face.

“Her Ladyship will be away several days. She has gone to the west, to put down a revolt that has broken out there, taking Miss Ortiga with her,” Mrs Smith tells him. She starts to rebandage Ryusui's chest.

Ryusui has a momentary sense of relief, then the implications set in and he flinches. That explains yesterday afternoon. Phorcys had tormented Tsukasa and him to build up the power to continue her oppression. How many people were going to die now? Power that could be used to protect, to build, to free people to pursue their desires, would be used to instead destroy.

“A revolt,” Tsukasa says, a quiet weight in his voice. “And now she’s armed with enough power to burn whole villages to ash.”

His gaze shifts to Mrs Smith. “I assume you don’t intend to lose sleep over them.”

“When you reach my age, you'll realise that sleep is a precious commodity. My duty is elsewhere. And right now that's to this fool.”

She leans in a fraction. “And we are all clear on this - Lady Phorcys ordered no healing, isn’t that right?”

Ryusui nods.

“If I go against her orders, she'll make me pay for it. If you die, she’ll make me pay for that too. And we’ve no way to reach her to force a decision. You, boy, had better stay alive.” Mission set, she nods her head. “You are to stay in bed,” she orders him grimly.

“You make bed rest sound like punishment,” Ryusui replies, testing the give of the fresh wrap as she ties off the bandage.

“There will be real punishment if you get up,” she says crisply, fingers brisk. “Your body’s already spending strength to fight the infection. Don’t squander more proving you can swagger about.”

The remaining maid brings a tray over with Ryusui's breakfast on it and settles it on his lap.

“Eat,” Mrs Smith orders. “I'll have the kitchen send up some healing tea. Which you will drink and there will be no discussion.” She looks at Tsukasa. “Since you’re presently mobile, you can see to that. Five mugs a day, at least.”

Tsukasa’s eyes narrow.

“Don't give me that look, you lunkhead. You might not care what happens to an old bird like me, but you know Phorcys’s anger won't stop there.” Her eyes flicker to the young maid.

Tsukasa gives a short, reluctant nod. “Will do,” he replies.

Ryusui lets his driest smile surface. “Delegating my care to my cellmate. How very efficient.”

“I'd delegate a lot more to him if I could. Now less talking, more eating.”

Mrs Smith’s healing tea tastes vile. Before Tsukasa leaves for his training session with Thalos, he insists Ryusui drinks all of his first mug.

Ryusui dozes away most of the rest of the day, Tsukasa waking him to eat and for more doses of the tea. By dinnertime, Ryusui's been made to drink way more than five mugs of the vile stuff. He doesn't know if Tsukasa is insisting out of a belief that it will promote faster healing or because he likes the faces Ryusui makes when drinking it.

The apothecary arrives shortly before dinner to change Ryusui's bandages and re-apply the salve. The burn is now more obviously swollen and reddened.

The European-style dinners Ryusui's been served since he's arrived have tonight been replaced by a bowl of rice pudding, that Ryusui instantly recognises as okayu, the traditional Japanese meal for patients. There's a small bowl of chawanmushi, an egg custard, to the side and even a preserved quince, as a substitute for the traditional pickled plum. Francois's doing, he's sure.

Tsukasa, who was in the room during the wound cleaning and rebandaging, insists on feeding Ryusui by hand so as to minimise chest movement. The okayu is warm and comforting, the quince an acceptable plum substitute, and between that meal and having spent the day resting, Ryusui has energy enough to nag Tsukasa into a game of cards.

But as the evening continues he feels the first chills of a developing fever and eventually pushes the cards away. Tsukasa checks Ryusui's forehead with the back of his hand and then without comment gathers up the cards, rings for a servant, and insists on Ryusui drinking another cup of that cursed tea. Ryusui's protests are met with an unsympathetic “life is suffering.” Ryusui muses to himself that maybe Mrs Smith's medical theory comes from having inverted “life is suffering” to “suffering is life” and thus reasoned the more she makes her patients suffer, the more likely they'll live.

A serving boy shortly arrives and Tsukasa issues instructions. He then returns to Ryusui's side. Ryusui, determined to avoid another cup of Mrs Smith's tea, asks him to explain the differences between jujitsu and the European sport of boxing. The tactic is successful, though Ryusui retains little of the resulting information.

Luckily, before Tsukasa decides to quiz Ryusui on his comprehension, a couple of servants appear with clean cloths and more water pitchers. Tsukasa dampens a cloth and places it on Ryusui's forehead. His eyes flick towards the tea pot but Ryusui has had a chance to prepare so immediately proposes that European sword techniques are better than Japanese ones. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Mrs Smith appears later in the evening, checks Ryusui's temperature with the back of her hand and a pragmatic eye.

“Keep him drinking,” she tells Tsukasa. “Sweats the fever out. Change the bandages whenever they are soaked, call one of the maids to help you. I'll be back in the morning.”

When she leaves, Ryusui clutches at Tsukasa.

“No matter what happens, please keep Francois out of it. No messages to Francois. If Francois sends messages, don't reply. If they come to the door, keep them away. Please, promise me that.”

Tsukasa stills, looking down at him. “You should be resting,” Tsukasa says at last, voice low but not dismissive.

“If Phorcys learns what Francois is to me …. what will happen? I need your word,” Ryusui presses.

A breath. Then Tsukasa inclines his head, the movement deliberate. “If that is what you want, I’ll see to it. No messages. No visits.”

Ryusui loosens his grip. “Thank you,” he says.

“Rest now,” Tsukasa replies. He pulls a blanket up around Ryusui, who gives into the feverish pull of sleep.

Ryusui wakes a couple of times in the night. Tsukasa is lying on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. This feels wrong but Ryusui doesn't have time to contemplate it more before sleep drags him back down.

The next morning, the apothecary arrives early and with Mrs Smith. The infected burn is now starting to weep pus and radiate heat. Luckily Phorcys’s pain removal means Ryusui can't feel anything from the cleaning process.

When breakfast arrives, Ryusui has no appetite, not even for okayu. Tsukasa has a conversation with the maid and after a little time some broth arrives, which he bullies Ryusui into drinking.

When the bowl is empty, Tsukasa lingers by the bed instead of walking away. His arms fold loosely, but his gaze stays fixed on the blankets rather than Ryusui’s face.

“You wouldn’t be like this,” he says at last, “if you’d re-bandaged that burn instead of…” He breaks off, a muscle shifting in his jaw. “Instead of looking after me.”

Ryusui smiles wearily. “That won't play. This one's on Phorcys. Whatever Mrs Smith may affect to believe, I doubt even she could have stopped an infection after Phorcys had me spend a whole afternoon with it uncovered, and me sweating profusely. And what's more, Phorcys is the one who barred healing and the one who marked me in the first place. If there’s blame to pass around, it starts and ends with Phorcys.”

Tsukasa gives a brief, pained nod.

Then he looks determined. Ryusui hopes he's alleviated the man's guilt. But “Drink more tea,” is all he says, and reaches for the damn pot.

Ryusui's not left alone that day. When Tsukasa goes to train, a maid sits with him and takes over fetching water and changing his bandages. He has visitors, luckily not Francois. Mr Alliard comes and brings a small stack of fashion journals, old and worn, with nearly every page having annotations in his neatly written French. Thalos arrives later with books on Ancient Greece, bound in worn leather.

By the time Tsukasa returns, Ryusui's head and shoulders are propped against the pillows, the heat in his chest dulled for now, a fashion journal open before him. The maid sits at the edge of the mattress, holding the pages just so, sparing him the strain of leaning forward.

On the page, something that purports to be intended as a sailing coat suffers an attack of swirling embroidery, the kind of thing fit for a theatre costume or the most self‑important admiral alive. And that's not the worst of it.

“So,” Ryusui says, his voice rough, “either they decided epaulettes should look like sea anemones… or the designer was very tired that day.”

The maid laughs. “It does look like something out of a dream, or a bad wager.” She turns the page to another questionable fashion plate.

Ryusui smiles. The maid is maybe a couple of years older than Suika and the exchange reminds him of the occasional quiet hour spent entertaining her. A pocket of ordinary life, away from the fraughtness of Phorcys's captivity and the hidden shoals of any conversation with Tsukasa.

Then the maid’s eyes lift, Ryusui follows her glance and sees Tsukasa in the doorway. She rises at once, stepping aside with a polite nod.

Ryusui can foresee an afternoon of volatile conversations or icy silences, in between being force-fed more of the disgusting tea. He looks around for a better possibility. Ah the books.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says to Tsukasa. “I’ll choke down more of that cursed liquid without complaints, if you read to me from Thalos’s books. You choose which one.”

Tsukasa nods his acceptance and then immediately goes fetches the tea. Of course.

Once Tsukasa has settled Ryusui with the mug, he picks up the top volume from the books. "Lives & Teachings of the Ancient Philosophers" he reads. He doesn’t sit at the bedside, only braces one palm lightly on the frame as he reads.

His voice is low, even, a voice that gives nothing away. But occasional passages still stand out in Ryusui's head as he dutifully drinks his tea.

“Socrates, known for his relentless questioning, believed wisdom was knowing one’s own ignorance.”

Ryusui chuckles. “Ah, the master of turning all answers into another question. Imagine him in a guild meeting: ‘I don’t have a clue, but let’s talk for an hour about why.’”

Tsukasa reads on, paper whispering in his hands.

“Diogenes, the Cynic, was famous for living in a large ceramic jar and roaming the streets with a lantern in daylight, claiming to search for an honest man.”

“Living in a jar? Better than this bed, I’m sure. And wandering about hollering for honesty? Athens’ original drunk uncle.”

“He was called ‘the Dog’ for a reason,” Tsukasa says.

“Better manners than some magistrates I know,” Ryusui mutters, shifting under the blankets.

There’s the faintest tug at the corner of Tsukasa’s mouth before the next page turns.

“Aristotle believed everything in nature strove toward its highest form and purpose.”

Ryusui blinks. “What that implies about Yo's highest form is … concerning.”

Tsukasa smiles faintly. “True. Maybe if ever Aristotle met Yo, he might’ve revised that to ‘striving mostly to avoid work and looking busy while doing it.’”

He reads on.

“Epicurus taught that pleasure was the greatest good, but urged moderation to avoid pain.”

“Ah, so Epicurus would say sleep in silk, but not too much. Tragic. I was certainly on track to be a philosopher until that last rule.”

“If you had been a Greek philosopher, Ryusui, the Athenians would have had you executed within a month.”

“But what a month it would have been.”

As the afternoon wears on, though, Ryusui starts to lose track of the meaning and then of the words themselves, there is just Tsukasa's voice and then even that is lost to sleep.

He wakes when Tsukasa makes him drink again and more fully wakes when the apothecary treats his chest. The pus is worse and he can feel the fever is higher, his head aches, his bones ache, even his teeth ache. His skin is hot all over, not just his chest, and he sweats freely. There’s no pain from the burn itself, the magic still holds, but he feels the pull in his skin as the bandages are unwrapped, the sticky smell of infection in the air. He catches the brief tightening of the apothecary’s mouth before the man schools his features.

As the apothecary finishes his bandages, the room begins to darken, unnaturally early. A tropical storm, Ryusui thinks he must truly be ill to not have noticed the signs earlier.

Tsukasa also notices the change and goes to the window to look out. “It's from the west,” he announces.

Ryusui's mind flies to Phorcys’s journey and its purpose.

Tsukasa must be on similar lines because he grimaces and says “She doesn’t leave survivors when she calls it a revolt. I’ve seen the ash after.”

“And here I am with half the fort fussing over me.”

“It’s her doing,” Tsukasa replies. “She’d sooner burn three villages than let anyone think defiance is safe.”

Ryusui sighs. “Leadership through fear, not through joy. My uncle would approve.”

“Leadership through fear works. What matters is the ethics of the leader.”

“It works, for a time.” Ryusui coughs. “But it rots the ground you stand on. Ask Oda Nobunga. Or… Aristotle.”

But he doesn't have energy to debate with Tsukasa now, particularly given any philosophical debate with him requires careful navigation to avoid a shipwreck. Time to deflect. “Can you call a servant? I might be able to eat some okayu.”

Tsukasa hesitates, as if weighing whether to press the point, then goes to the bell.

Ryusui does manage a few bites of his meal, and drinks the broth sent along with it. After both him and Tsukasa have eaten, Tsukasa reads aloud some Greek poetry, in translation, until Ryusui drifts off into fitful sleep.

The night passes slowly. But whenever Ryusui wakes, Tsukasa is there with a fresh cloth or cooling drink - Ryusui can't see that he sleeps at all. Shortly after dawn, both Mrs Smith and the apothecary arrive together to inspect and clean his burn. The smell is worse and the redness has spread but Mrs Smith notes that the pus can still be drained. After some consultation, the apothecary and Mrs Smith agreed it's best to keep the wound as still as possible so Ryusui is now ordered to lie almost flat, only head and shoulders supported.

Despite her assurances, Tsukasa looks grim, and grimmer yet when at breakfast time Ryusui can't stomach even the broth. He forgoes Thalos's training for once.

From Ryusui’s perspective, the day mainly passes in a haze, people come and go, cloths are changed, he drinks, his sense of taste is gone, he doesn't know if he's drinking cooled water or Mrs Smith’s revolting concoction. As the day draws on, the fever rises. His breathing speeds up. He sweats through his bandages again and again, Tsukasa changing them patiently each time.

By evening, every breath is an effort. The blankets feel like an intolerable weight on his skin but if anyone lifts them, even the Caribbean air bites cold enough to make his teeth chatter. The room tilts and sways, his thoughts skid restlessly, all the matters he must not think about twist together in his mind and every thought is dangerous, the flames of the candles are Phorcys’s gold threads, the shadows in the corners of the room are her tendrils, any sound echoes with her laughter.

Then the sweat comes, first a mist, then rolling freely, dampening his hair and soaking the linen. His heartbeat slows, the room steadies. The pounding in his skull eases, as if someone has opened a window in his head. He's won.

Ryusui blinks, surprised to find Tsukasa’s face so close, brows drawn, eyes fixed on him with a focus sharp enough to cut. He is holding a cool cloth to Ryusui's forehead.

“Welcome back, captain. Sounds like you had some dark dreams.”

Ryusui exhales, a long slow sound, every muscle slackening into the damp sheets.

“I kept seeing her - Lady Phorcys - in every shadow. I thought I might never wake. Her voice echoed in the fever. Yours is better, for the record.” Ryusui's aware he's rambling.

“Then I’ll keep talking, since it seems I’m better company than nightmares. Let’s start with fresh sheets and a drink.”

Tsukasa calls for maids, and he himself sponges the sweat off Ryusui's body while they wait, commenting that it's an easier job than cleaning the Augean Stables. Ryusui lets himself be cared for, hoping Tsukasa can learn from his example.

The maids arrive, Mrs Smith with them despite the late hour. The housekeeper goes directly to Ryusui on the couch, and holds her hand to Ryusui's forehead.

“It’s dropping,” she comments. “You made it, Captain Nanami.” For once her tone is soft and she lingers a moment, watching his face as if for any signs of discomfort. Ryusui suddenly wonders how many people she's seen die of fevers that a little magic could have healed.

The maids have brought fresh bedding and between them and Tsukasa, Ryusui's spongebathed, bandages changed, and manoeuvred into clean sheets.

The maid and Mrs Smith leave, but as the housekeeper goes, she turns in the doorway. With a nod to Tsukasa she says:

“Keep an eye on him, and don’t let him talk his way out of rest. I’m counting on you.”

Tsukasa nods, quietly but willingly.

Mrs Smith closes the door and Tsukasa turns to Ryusui.

“Rest now,” he instructs.

“Phorcys never ordered you back to the floor, did she?” Ryusui asks, sleepily. “Sleep beside me.” He pats the other side of the bed.

Tsukasa looks stubborn. Ryusui sighs.

“I’d rest easier with you close. Just in case the fever comes back. Or those Phorcys nightmares decide to try me again.”

Tsukasa hesitates, then takes the offer and lies down, an arm's length from Ryusui.

Ryusui closes his eyes. The fever is broken, but his limbs still ache and his fatigue is real. But he takes comfort that Tsukasa is there, beside him.

Chapter Text

The next morning, when Mrs Smith and the apothecary return, the wound is starting to look healthier to Tsukasa's eyes. The centre is still red and inflamed but the edges are turning pink again and the pus is less voluminous. Mrs Smith permits Ryusui to reduce his consumption of her noxious brew to three mugs a day but he's still ordered to stay on bed rest.

Maybe the tea did have special healing properties, because Ryusui recovers quickly. On the first day post-fever he mainly sleeps and in his brief periods of wakefulness attempts to entertain Tsukasa with remembered snatches of dirty poems. Exclusively in Japanese, to Tsukasa's gratitude, so he doesn't need to explain anything to the maids.

On the second day, Ryusui eats a little of the rice pudding and, in between naps, makes Tsukasa tell him old Japanese folktales. Which Ryusui then interrupts whenever he remembers another dirty poem. This day the bawdy raconteur generally remembers the whole, including the punchlines. Tsukasa is not sure if that is an improvement. But a couple are outrageous enough to pull unexpected chuckles from Tsukasa and when he does, Ryusui's eyes gleam with satisfaction.

On the third day post-fever, with the wound continuing to look healthier and healthier, and Ryusui having eaten his entire breakfast, Tsukasa resumes his normal exercises, entrusting Ryusui's care to the maids while he is away. When Tsukasa returns, Ryusui is sleeping but he soon wakes and requests that Tsukasa resume his reading of Thalos's books. Ryusui listens with interest and makes the occasional joke.

On the fourth day, the meals supplied by the kitchen are double their normal quantities, and yet Ryusui demolishes them. Clearly Francois anticipated a convalescent's appetite. Tsukasa's promise to Ryusui had been easily kept, the diminutive butler had never tried to contact him or Ryusui, but the servants must gossip.

That day, Mrs Smith approves Ryusui sitting up by the window for an hour, carefully propped up by cushions. Tsukasa carries him there and back again but the stimulation still tires Ryusui. Although the chair is only a few steps from the bed, on the way back, he rests his head in the curve of Tsukasa's shoulder, and closes his eyes. Even after Tsukasa has deposited the dozy captain in bed, and pulled up the bedding around him, the memory of that blond head on Tsukasa’s own shoulder lingers.

Post-fever, Ryusui is a surprisingly good patient, apart from his numerous complaints about Mrs Smith's teas. He tolerates the indignities of nursing with humour, suggests diversions to his caretakers well suited to their natures (Tsukasa didn't know Mr Alliard had a good singing voice), and obeys, with relatively few grumbles, the limits on his movements.

From the fourth day onwards the unabashed epicure does keep the maids busy with finicky requests to the kitchen but Tsukasa soon realises that is Ryusui communicating in the only way he dares to Francois that he's recovering - anyone on death's door would not be expressing opinions on the exact thickness of the lemon slices for his black tea and which vegetables be sauteed and which steamed.

On the fifth day, Mrs Smith permits Ryusui to walk around the room. Once. He manages it, rather unsteadily, then retreats to bed and tries to dictate his 'scandalous memoirs' to Tsukasa. Tsukasa indulges the ribald historian to the extent of fetching brush and paper and eventually shows Ryusui the one sentence he's written. “Ryusui complained a lot.”

Ryusui laughs briefly, until the effort pulls on the scab over his burn.

Tsukasa continues to sleep in the bed, an arm's reach away from Ryusui. Neither of them discuss this. Indeed, by tacit agreement, they avoid all conversations on topics that are any closer to their actual lives than the Ancient Greek philosophers’ metaphysics and how that compares to those of the Asian philosophers that they're both more familiar with.

On the eve of the seventh day post-fever, it occurs to Tsukasa that only three days remain of their original fifteen days' deal. The thought of returning to silence is … not attractive. Tsukasa notes the feeling and determines to examine it rigorously, sparing himself no mercy. Yes, Ryusui is intelligent and witty, and, yes, Tsukasa has been more intellectually stimulated in the last twelve days than in the previous two years in total. And yet, Ryusui remains Ryusui. Greedy, undisciplined, unrepentant. Temptation crystallised. A danger.

But, Tsukasa had acknowledged Ryusui deserved an apology. He had agreed to the fifteen days of the gift. Was Ryusui's intervening illness truly within the terms? Yes, Ryusui could have negotiated that but he'd suddenly been awoken from sleep. Tsukasa was no grasping merchant, willing to ruthlessly exploit every little weakness of his negotiating partner. It would be ungenerous, no worse than that, unfair, for Tsukasa to keep to the strict terms of their initial deal. The count can, no should, restart from when Ryusui was fully recovered.

Tsukasa's duty is now clear. From the original fifteen days, there are thirteen left to go. Once Ryusui is fully recovered. The correct moral course defined, regardless of personal cost, Tsukasa gratefully falls asleep.

Overall this period is a holiday from reality. And, like all holidays, it ends.

At mid morning on the ninth day, after Ryusui has walked a circuit of the courtyard in front of the governor's mansion, Phorcys's ship is spotted on the horizon as it comes round the coast. Phorcys actually arrives mid afternoon.

Mrs Smith advises Ryusui to wait in their room, and that she'll speak to Phorcys about the necessity of his slow recovery. Tsukasa waits with him, and they play cards half-heartedly.

After their dinners, a footman comes with instructions for Ryusui to attend Phorcys in the drawing room.

Ryusui stands slowly. “Guess I’m about to make Phorcys’s day, again. But no need to fret, I’ve sailed these seas before.”

Tsukasa looks at him. “Be safe. And remember, the mountain does not tremble because of passing clouds.”

For a breath, Ryusui’s hand tightens on the chair back. His brown eyes flicker. Then, with a bright but thin laugh, he straightens his shoulders and snaps his fingers.

“Hah, hah… spoken like a sage as always, Shishio. A touch of poetry, it almost makes me look forward to the storm.”

Mask firmly on, Ryusui leaves.

After Ryusui is gone, Tsukasa paces the room. He longs to visit the boxing room, to dispose of all the energy, but dares not go in case Ryusui returns while he is away and needs care. Eventually he forces himself to work through some exercises.

Finally, two hours later, Ryusui returns. His face is pale, and his clothes are rumpled. His left hand is holding his shirt closed.

Tsukasa leaps forward. “Nanami, what happened, your wound …”

Ryusui falls to his knees and lets his shirt fall open, revealing the burn on his chest, still in the shape of Phorcys’s hand, but now the pinkness of the new skin Tsukasa had seen that morning had been replaced by pale, silvery skin, as if Ryusui's wound had been there for years.

“She healed it, Tsukasa. Just like nothing. All those days, all that effort, all we went through. And she just healed it. A touch of her choker and it was done. To her, it was nothing. Just another exercise of power, no more no less than the lives she's stubbed out. And do you know why she chose to heal it? What argument worked? It wasn't anything Mrs Smith said. It was Ortiga saying I was behind on Thalos's exercise programme.”

There’s something off, something that isn't just shock. Ryusui’s usual sharp gaze is flickering, his breath comes a little quicker, shallower. A bead of sweat forms at Ryusui’s temple. Tsukasa sees Ryusui’s jaw clench, and then he swallows rapidly.

Tsukasa moves fast. He grabs for the chamberpot, getting it in front of Ryusui as he leans forward, the first heave racking his body. Just in time to catch the contents as Ryusui empties out his stomach.

“Shh, it’s all right,” Tsukasa says soothingly, steadying Ryusui’s trembling frame with a hand on his shoulder. Once the first violent throes are over, he slides that hand down to Ryusui’s back, rubbing slow circles, offering what comfort he can.

The heaving eventually lessens, and Ryusui’s breathing slows back to something like its normal rate.

He swallows hard, looks up and gives Tsukasa a weak smile. “Who knew healing could be such a gut-wrenching experience?”

Tsukasa snorts. “Ginger tea?” he offers. Ryusui nods, still shaky. His colour is improving now.

Tsukasa rings for a servant, and a footman comes quickly, despite the late hour. The man takes away the chamberpot and returns in a bit with the tea, and also a fresh pitcher of water.

Tsukasa pours them both cups, and hands one to Ryusui. “For your stomach,” he says, in Japanese, well aware of the irony.

Ryusui takes the cup and lifts it in Tsukasa's direction in a brief recognition of where they had started in this room. He sips.

“What else happened, with Phorcys?” Tsukasa asks.

Ryusui shrugs. “The usual. We had sex. No torture, this time.”

The blunt language makes Tsukasa flinch. “How do you stand it? How can you desire her?” he asks. Tsukasa endures what Phorcys does, but he knows Ryusui participates. Participates with every appearance of enthusiasm, up until Tsukasa is involved. And with Phorcys’ mind reading skills, that enthusiasm must go beyond simple acting.

Ryusui tosses his head back, proudly. Defiantly. “What would you have me do? Mope and tear my hair out? Mourn for past freedoms?”

“She hurts you!”

“Do you resent an opponent who lands a hard hit on you in the ring? Or do you bow and drink tea afterwards?”

“That's a fight we both choose! Nanami, you just threw up over Phorcys healing you. That's not the reaction of someone who is fine with it all!”

“That, that was different,” Ryusui looks uncomfortable. “I know, she's hurt me, she's hurt you, she's killed thousands. But –”

“Don't give me your pitch about forgiveness again,” Tsukasa cuts him off. “Whatever your ideals, however you imagine Phorcys might change, right now you're just trying to pretend you have some scrap of control.”

Ryusui flinches. Tsukasa narrows his eyes. He feels like his brain is catching up on itself. When does Ryusui ever look uncomfortable? Ryusui is always self-confident, proud. Open. There's something wrong here.

“You're hiding something,” he says.

“How can I hide anything?” Ryusui replies.

Answering with a question is a classic way of dissembling, of hiding one's true feelings.

“You were always honest about your desires. ‘Desire is noble’. Now you're lying about them. Is this what your compromise is costing you?” Tsukasa continues.

Ryusui's face tenses and his eyes flicker rapidly side to side, like he's trapped. This makes no sense to Tsukasa. But the look is only momentary, then Ryusui's face relaxes and he snaps his fingers.

“You've long despised me as a craven merchant, forever at the bottom of the social order, why now pretend to be surprised that I'm lying too? Isn't that what you think of all merchants?”

A sharp retort springs to Tsukasa's tongue. But his brain steps in. Aggression. Another classic way of dissembling.

“Ryusui, what's really going on beneath what you’re saying?”

Ryusui looks at him, bravado gone. “There's nothing more to say.” He doesn't sound proud.

“No,” Tsukasa breathes, shaking his head slowly. “You’re not telling me because you think you have to carry this burden alone. But what if you don’t? What if I’m willing to bear it, if you’ll only trust me enough to share?”

Ryusui doesn't answer, his face set. After a moment, he instead stands up, with his tea, and goes to the table, where he picks up the cards and starts to build them into a castle.

Silence. The last way of dissembling. And the unanswerable one. Tsukasa knows there is no point in trying to question Ryusui further, all he'll receive is steady silence.

Tsukasa’s chest hurts. The pain surprises him. He tells himself he’s angry, maybe disappointed, but the ache twisting through him is sharper than that.

Is it Ryusui’s refusal to confide in him? That makes no sense. Tsukasa has no right to expect Ryusui's confidence, not since their explosive fight nine years earlier. But when did emotions have to make sense? Ryusui's illness and Tsukasa's caretaking had led to a kind of intimacy between them, even though Tsukasa fully knew the last nine days had been shadowed by silences.

And then there's the pain of knowing Ryusui is losing, maybe, has already lost, one of the few moral strengths Tsukasa had admired about him. Through his choice to compromise.

Ryusui's card castle collapses on the third storey. The sea captain curses and begins to rebuild. An activity that means nothing. Accomplishes nothing. Except distraction.

Distraction. How about Ryusui's complaint about Tsukasa's view of merchants? Tsukasa knows that Ryusui threw that out to distract Tsukasa - just before Ryusui had said it, he had looked like a disarmed man in a battle who had suddenly stumbled across a shield. But the choice of distraction still came from somewhere. If not from Ryusui himself then from other merchants Ryusui had known.

“The samurai cultivates virtue; the merchant chases profit.” Tsukasa was familiar with his teachers’ views of merchants, but what were the merchants’ views of said teachings? Had he ever thought to ask?

Of course, the position of samurai was amply justified by their situation - as moral exemplars, trained in virtue, loyalty and duty.

Not that every samurai ever was a perfect illustration of said virtues, Tsukasa must ruefully admit as he remembers his and Ryusui's discussion of corrupt magistrates. Perhaps, to a merchant, the exceptions were much more vivid than they were to his teachers.

Ryusui's latest attempt at a card castle collapses the moment the captain tries to begin the second storey. This time he curses in three different languages.

That night, Tsukasa sleeps on the floor. Ryusui doesn't attempt to persuade Tsukasa otherwise. Judging by the sound of Ryusui's breathing, he stays awake nearly as long as Tsukasa.

Chapter Text

Ryusui leaves the room early, as soon as it is light enough to do so, well before breakfast. He moves as quietly as possible but he's pretty sure Tsukasa wakes. Tsukasa doesn't call out to Ryusui, though it wouldn't make a difference if he did. How dare someone be so strong, so beautiful, and also so perceptive?

Luckily, the post-fever fatigue Ryusui had felt is now gone, clearly included in Phorcys’s healing. The tightness in his heart is new. But perhaps this is something he can heal himself.

Ryusui finds his way to the soldiers’ mess and cadges a breakfast from the cooks there, then does his best to repay them by sharing risqúe anecdotes. After half an hour he can feel his mood rising, back towards normality. He eventually has to leave, when the guard changes, but now he feels the energy for the next step. Training with Thalos.

The training session with Thalos is tough, to Ryusui's delight, after two weeks of enforced inactivity, and two years where he may as well have been turned to stone. Not as brutal as Tsukasa's sessions, but by the end, Ryusui's exchanged mental pain for physical. In an ideal world he'd stay to flirt with Thalos, but that risks encountering Tsukasa. So the moment Ryusui is clean and dressed, he goes to Mr Alliard's offices. Two days ago, Mr Alliard had confirmed that the kimonos would be ready!

When Ryusui eventually returns to their room, followed by two servants carrying the completed kimonos, Tsukasa is there, just finishing his midday meal.

“Nanami,” Tsukasa guardedly greets Ryusui when he enters.

“Shishio,” Ryusui replies a little distractedly. From the fort’s gossip, Phorcys would be busy all afternoon with matters of business that had been delayed by her absence putting down the revolt, which would give Ryusui ample time to set his desired scene. He directs the servants to leave the kimonos on the bed and then begins to issue further instructions.

After considering countless ways to unveil the kimonos, Ryusui had settled on the simplest: a short message sent by a footman, asking Phorcys to his room in the evening, after dinner, inviting her to bring Ortiga if she desires. He makes sure to instruct the footman so Tsukasa can hear, Tsukasa immediately departs. One danger removed, at least for now. Though the look Tsukasa gives Ryusui as he leaves is, well, unpleasant, and Ryusui’s a bit surprised to feel it so. He had known Tsukasa would disapprove of his actions, but other people’s disapproval had never bothered him before.

Not that he has much time to dwell on the feeling. He has a seduction to plan.

Ryusui arranges the scene, with the help of one of the maids. A bottle of dark red wine and sparkling crystal glasses on the bedside table. A bouquet of jasmine flowers on the sideboard by the door, where their enticing scent will reach Phorcys as he enters. On the dining table to the side, a selection of savoury hors d'oeuvres and sweet pastries, under a fine muslin cloth cover to protect against insects.

Several of Mr Alliard's kimonos were carefully spread over the end of the bed, displaying their luxurious beauty. Ryusui himself lounges on the bed, lying on his side, wearing the necklace and rings Phorcys has already granted him. Ryusui has picked a dark red kimono to wear. The fabric is desirable in multiple ways, the pattern a tangle of acanthus leaves and vines, gold threads glinting amongst the dark reds, the silk is cool and soft under his fingers. Under it, he wears another silk kimono, this one a deep emerald, its edges visible under the red, the effect hinting at unwrapping. The obi around his waist is a richly textured gold, a vivid contrast with the deep red and emerald green. He's deliberately tied the sash underneath the obi slightly more loosely than would be practical for daily wear.

All the setting lacks is a musician in the corner playing a seductive tune. Well, he's sure that if the charming courtesan Yoshino could see this, she would have conniptions at a thousand different details, starting with wine rather than sake. But Ryusui's confident he's done a good job under the circumstances.

The maid holds a mirror for Ryusui as he adjusts his position, finding a location where both the candlelight best catches the glints of the brocade, and where he's sure that, from the doorway, Phorcys will get the best view of the sweep of his shoulders and the strong lines of his jaw. Ryusui then dismisses the maid and rearranges his kimono to reveal more of the curve of his chest, and the scar of Phorcys's hand. Then he waits, entertaining himself by imagining what other jewellery would be desirable with the red kimono, emeralds? Or pearls? Perhaps a pearl earring in his left ear?

Soon enough he hears footsteps along the hallway and then the door opens to admit Phorcys and Ortiga. Phorcys pauses in the doorway. Ryusui sees Phorcys’s eyes widen, his gaze focusing on himself, following the lines of Ryusui's body. Ryusui uses his free hand to trace the outline of his kimono as it spills across the bed. He gives Phorcys a deep smile.

“Lady Phorcys, it may be a time before I can bring you to the pleasure districts of my home country. So let me bring the pleasure districts to you.”

In his mind he pictures Phorcys wearing the midnight-blue kimono, the colour a striking contrast against his marble white and gold threaded skin, and Ryusui projects the image at him as hard as he can. He feels Phorcys’s interest in the image, but he decides to demur.

“You think the fashion of my lands are less desirable than your own?” he challenges.

Ryusui laughs at that, both internally and externally. “Hah, hah, what do you think of me, that I'd ever place limits on your desires?” He snaps his fingers. “If you wish, I would be honoured to adopt your traditional mode of dress, in return. I would request the favour, though, of your, or Mlle Ortiga's, assistance in undressing myself, to adopt the new form.” He pulls slightly on the neckline of his kimono and due to the loosely tied sash, it easily moves, exposing slightly more of the emerald green layer beneath it.

Phorcys steps forward from the doorway and Ryusui knows he has him.

Ortiga follows, eagerly. The two move to the bed, hands instinctively reaching out to touch the beautiful fabrics. Ryusui's not surprised. Tsukasa has perhaps the brutal discipline to ignore their beauty, and Senku and Chrome would barely notice, but he doubts anyone else could resist the urge.

“Oh, stars above, look at those, so pretty, so soft,” Ortiga exclaims, as she touches the cream-coloured one embroidered with spring blossoms. “Your taste, Ryusui, it’s… extravagant! Oh Phorcys, you must try them on, I must see you in that midnight blue, like the depths of the ocean! And may I try one on, my Captain?”

“Sweet mademoiselle, the decision is our Lady's,” Ryusui replies. “I do think the cream would look most desirable on you.”

Ortiga turns to Phorcys and begs. Phorcys gracefully smiles. “You may, my sweet, but my rule stands, no touching.”

“May I touch the kimono as I lay it on her skin?” Ryusui asks.

Phorcys nods. He serves herself a glass of wine and settles on a couch.

Ryusui has Ortiga undress herself. She does so slowly, sensually, shedding her silk Grecian style dress in a manner aimed as much at himself as at Phorcys. She lingers over uncovering her breasts, playing with them teasingly.

“Captain, dearest, are you quite distracted by the sight? Or perhaps I ought to turn the other way, would you like that better? Oh, I do love to be looked at!”

“Mlle Ortiga, you are desirable from any perspective.”

She is naked beneath her silk Grecian style robe.

Ryusui picks up the cream-coloured kimono, letting it fall full length so the brocade catches the light and holds out the sleeves so Ortiga can slip each lithe arm in, her warm skin a mere inch or so away from his. As she slips her arms into the sleeves, the silk caresses her skin, and Ryusui's hands hover just above her shoulders, the heat of her skin almost tangible.

He pulls up the kimono by its collar, standing behind her, watching Phorcys the whole time, when the kimono is just at the right height he opens his hands theatrically and lets it fall an inch onto the grateful line of her neck. Ortiga moans softly. Ryusui kisses the air a featherwidth above her throat. He can feel the warmth of her body, the rise and fall of her breath, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to touch her directly.

Phorcys leans forward, almost imperceptibly. But Ryusui notices from the corner of his eyes.

Ryusui then deftly folds the kimono around Ortiga's waist, molding the silk to her body, and ties the sash, then picks up the obi and wraps it around Ortiga's waist.

“Pray, is this the customary manner by which one wears these strange, flowing robes, these... what do you call them?” Ortiga asks.

“Kimono,” Ryusui says, drawing the word out sensually. “And traditionally one would wear a soft undergown. But I find this rich silk directly on skin has its … advantages.”

He finishes his simple tie of the obi and runs his hand over her waist and up to her left breast, he can feel her pert nipple through the silk. His eyes are on Phorcys but the deity makes no move to intervene.

So Ryusui continues, pulling Ortiga into him, feeling the silk of her kimono against the bare skin of his chest, caressing her breast with his left hand and then bringing his right around her waist and down to rub her cunt through the fine silk. Ortiga's body reacts instantly, her hips bucking slightly against his touch, her breath hitching in her throat. He can feel her wetness, the silk growing damp beneath his fingers, a testament to her arousal.

Ryusui continues to touch. Ortiga leans into him, her body molding to his, as she lifts her left leg slightly, granting him better access. He takes advantage, rubbing and teasing, bringing her closer to the edge.

Ortiga's moans grow louder, her body trembling with anticipation. Ryusui can feel her muscles tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He knows she is close, and with a final touch, he sends her over the precipice. Her orgasm crashes through her in waves, her body convulsing with pleasure, the silk of the kimono clinging to her sweat-slick skin. Ryusui holds her close, suddenly intently aware of his own arousal.

The air is thick with the mingled scents of sweat, sex and the jasmine flowers. Phorcys is now openly leaning forward, cheeks blushing, clearly aroused.

‘Step one achieved', Ryusui thinks to himself, and then suddenly realises what he's let himself think.

Phorcys narrows his eyes at Ryusui. “You've gone to a lot of effort for this, my sea Dragon. What is your desire?”

Ryusui smiles. “Your pleasure, milady, and that can only be of benefit to me.” In his mind, there come the images he was musing on before, fine gems and gold, himself adorned with extravagant jewellery.

Phorcys shakes his head. “No, that's not it.” He touches his choker and he's suddenly fully in Ryusui's mind and Ryusui gasps and lets go of Ortiga, stumbling back. Phorcys goes deeper into his head, searching for Ryusui's desire. Ryusui's mind fills with his longing for the sea, for the deck of Persus, for the junk he'd left in Japan, hell for his first one-handed sailing boat. The longing is so bad tears well in his eyes. A desire he'd deliberately suppressed ever since he'd walked the ramparts and watched the ship disappear over the horizon.

Phorcys though is not satisfied. He forces himself even yet further into Ryusui’s mind and Ryusui can't control anything, is suddenly terrified, if his suppressed longing for the sea isn't enough then what will Phorcys draw from him, what will Phorcys find, and then suddenly Phorcys is drawing out from Ryusui’s mind memories of Tsukasa. Tsukasa’s face as they quarrel about the Battle of Sekigahara. Tsukasa's passionate condemnation of corruption. Tsukasa's energetic discussion of comparative swordfighting techniques. Tsukasa laughing at Ryusui’s dirty poems. Tsukasa's care.

The pain of Tsukasa's disapproval.

As Phorcys pulls away from Ryusui’s mind, Ryusui realises he's shaking. Ryusui has long known he desired Tsukasa not just for his beauty but his intelligence and courage. But this is a new level of vulnerability. He had not realised how much he had grown to desire Tsukasa's mind, Tsukasa's goodwill. Tsukasa's affection.

He had known Phorcys might uncover his longing for the sea and that that would hurt. He had braced himself for that. He had not braced himself for this because it had never occurred to him that this was something he must protect.

Phorcys smiles cruelly. “So, my Sea-Dragon is growing attached to a mere mortal. Ortiga, instruct a servant to summon the cur.”

Ryusui tenses. Phorcys has already proven himself amply willing to hurt Ryusui by hurting Tsukasa. And now Ryusui has a vulnerability he did not defend because he hadn't known about it.

“My lady, I have prepared this evening for you and Mlle Ortiga, alone. I fear you may be distracted.”

“I have every faith in you, my Sea-Dragon. Ortiga, the footman! And tell him to bring the box from my room.”

Ryusui's fingers tremble slightly as he carefully assists Phorcys into her kimono, the dark midnight blue fabric a stark contrast against her unearthly white skin with its continually shifting gold threads. He can feel the coolness of the silk against his own skin as he adjusts the sleeves, ensuring they fall perfectly over her arms.

Phorcys turns to face him, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and desire. Ryusui's breath catches as he takes in the sight of her, the untied kimono falling open. Ryusui's gaze roams over her, taking in every detail, the twisted harsh lines of her choker contrasting with the soft curves of her throat, breasts and stomach, the dark triangle of hair between her thighs. He feels her inside his head and feels her pleasure at how she looks.

With slow, deliberate motions, Ryusui guides Phorcys to the sofa beside Ortiga. He kneels before her and takes the time to look up, at Amaryllis's, no at Phorcys’s beautiful face.

His eyes fall down then to her feet, which are now naked, her sandals abandoned to the side when she had removed her dress. He notes the delicate arch, the smooth soles, and the perfectly manicured nails, each a work of art.

Ryusui takes her left foot in his hands, his thumbs pressing into the arch with a firm, yet soothing pressure. He can feel the tension in her muscles, the slight tremble of her leg as he works his way up to her ankle, his touch both firm and tender. Phorcys sighs, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans back, surrendering to the sensation.

Ryusui's attention then turns to her toes, each one receiving individual attention. He takes his time, his fingers tracing the lines of her feet, his touch light and teasing. He can feel her response, the way her toes curl slightly, the way her breath catches as he strokes the sensitive skin between her toes.

Moving to her right foot, Ryusui repeats the process, unhurriedly. He can feel the heat building between them, the air thick with desire. The silk of her kimono rustles softly as she shifts, her body responding to his touch.

As he finishes the massage, Ryusui's hands travel up her calves, his touch lingering, teasing. He leans in, his lips brushing the inside of her left ankle, a soft, sensual kiss that draws a soft moan from her.

Ortiga, still seated on the couch, responds to the moan by leaning in and kissing Phorcys, one of her hands going to Phorcys’s breast, caressingly.

Ryusui then kisses his way up the elegant line of Phorcys’s legs, scattering kisses equally between each, slowing as he reaches her upper thighs, where he then huffs on her cunt, and looks up, giving her his most mischievous smile, before dropping his head and using his tongue to bring her to climax. The first of many he plans this evening.

By the time that Tsukasa arrives, they have moved onto the bed, all three of them, a tangle of limbs and untied kimonos falling loosely around their bodies. Ortiga has her face buried between Phorcys’s thighs, while Ryusui is behind Phorcys, her body arching back against his while he massages her breasts.

Tsukasa stands just inside the doorway, eyes fixated on the three of them. Ryusui wonders exactly what they look like from Tsukasa's angle. From Ryusui’s perspective, they are beautiful, tangled rich silks sliding over bare skin, glinting in the flickering candlelight. Phorcys's body is pressed against Ryusui's, every curve and line of her form, his own arousal is a throbbing ache, his cock hard and pressing against Phorcys's back. His fingers are rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, teasing and tweaking at those hard peaks of desire.

Phorcys's moans fill the room, a melody of pleasure that sends shivers down Ryusui's spine. He can see the way Ortiga's head moves, the way her hands grip Phorcys's hips, holding her in place as she brings her to the brink of ecstasy. And beyond.

Phorcys comes, comes achingly, beautifully. her body convulsing with the force of her third orgasm of the evening, Ryusui holds her through it, wrapping his arms around her, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck. Ortiga continues her own kisses and touches, moaning herself as she draws out every last shudder of ecstasy. Between the two, they leave the deity for once breathless and spent, her body slack against Ryusui.

Ryusui relaxes his grasp on Phorcys, leaning back himself on the cushions behind him, his hands lightly cupping her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples in a soothing, yet stimulating rhythm. Ortiga lifts herself up from between Phorcys’s legs, rising up and leaning over to kiss her on the mouth, just avoiding touching Ryusui.

“What delightful mischief shall we get up to with Tsukasa, do you think, my lady?” she asks, her voice sultry.

Ryusui is surprised at her timing.

But maybe Ortiga has good judgement because Phorcys, clearly in a post-orgasmic haze, merely blinks lazily and says to her “Tie my pet up, one of your rope projects. Kneeling. Where he can see us.” That, that is fairly mild, for Phorcys.

Ortiga's eyes sparkle at those words. She kisses Phorcys again then stands up, and bounces over to the box.

Phorcys leans an arm back, languidly, and pulls Ryusui in for a long kiss. Her mind slides into Ryusui’s, she's half-sleepy, but still desiring. And also half hungry. He fetches food for her, feeds her morsels, focusing his attention solely on her. Her comfort. Her arousal.

His attention is drawn away when Ortiga rejoins them, wine glass in her hand.

“Look, my lady, I do say I did a very pretty job.”

Phorcys looks and Ryusui finds himself looking too. Tsukasa is now kneeling in a wide straddle at the side of the room, bound by a dark red cotton rope wrapped around his near-naked body.

Tsukasa's wrists are bound tightly in front of him, the ropes pulling his arms into a curved position, his elbows bent and his hands resting on his thighs. The ropes crisscross his chest decoratively, accentuating the definition of his muscles, and wrap around his waist and hips, securing him in place. His legs are bound at the thighs and calves, his knees apart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. In an act of small mercy, Ortiga has placed a thin cushion underneath him.

Despite the restraints, Tsukasa maintains a posture of stoic discipline, his back straight and his head held high. But Ryusui can see his muscles shifting slightly as he adjusts within the restraints, needing to keep his balance.

“Beautiful indeed,” Phorcys says, a tone of awe in her voice. She draws Ortiga in to her for a kiss, one hand going to Ortiga's cunt. Phorcys then looks over her shoulder at Ryusui. “You may look. You will touch yourself. But you must not come.”

Ryusui bows his head obediently and shifts his hand to the silk over his hard cock, and begins to stroke himself through that, slowly, agonisingly. His gaze slides back to Tsukasa, to the bare, exposed skin trapped in artful restraint, to the subtle tension in Tsukasa’s posture. Ryusui wrenches his eyes away, feeling like his gaze is a further violation, but a few moments later they wander back.

Ryusui feels Phorcys’s pleasure in his mind, then she withdraws, turning her attention back to Ortiga, caressing her body, running her hands across her, before dipping her mouth to Ortiga's cunt. Ortiga is slower this time to come to completion, and by the time she does, softly, almost languidly, Ryusui is aching with need, sweating, each stroke a battle.

Ortiga, sated after her orgasm, falls back into the pillows and almost immediately drifts to sleep. Phorcys turns finally to Ryusui.

“Make love to me,” she demands. “And don't you dare come before I do.”

Tsukasa endured a full afternoon of this, Ryusui remembers. On top of two years of denial.

He moves Phorcys onto her back, enters her, the folds of his kimonos spilling out around her, red and green against the midnight blue, delicate gold threads glinting faintly in the candlelight. Despite the heat of the evening and her numerous activities, Phorcys's skin is still inhumanly cold, and thus, despite the throbbing in his veins, Ryusui manages to avoid coming instantly.

He forces himself to move with painstaking slowness, his body obeying a will honed by self-control and restraint. Every movement must be deliberate, languid, as if savoring the soft brush of fabric and flesh, the sure grounding of her heartbeat under his palm.

Inside him, frustration builds like a tempest barely contained, his arousal sharp and blistering, a tide held back by sheer will. His breath catches and falters, muscles tense with the effort to deny the faster rhythm his body demands, but still, he shifts with slow precision, tracing out a rhythm that stretches pleasure instead of spilling it. He feels her respond beneath/around him, the subtle shivers, the arching of her back, her subtle amusement at his choice to take her slowly, to draw out his own agony.

The world narrows to softness and heat, silk and skin, the heavy scent of jasmine curling in the air, mingling with Phorcys’s quiet sighs. And when at last she shudders to a long-awaited climax, Ryusui holds himself together, every nerve screaming, until he finally lets go, releasing deep inside her, slowness replaced by a sharp fire of pleasure that radiates out from his inner core.

Then he lies down beside her, pulling her lazily in towards his shoulder and Phorcys sighs and drifts off to sleep.

And finally, finally, Ryusui lets himself think the thought that he has not thought for the eighteen days that have passed since he made his deal with Phorcys in the parade grounds. The thought he'd buried even deeper than his fears for Francois. The thought that his subconscious had somehow managed to protect from Phorcys's earlier mindprobe by offering up his desire for Tsukasa. The thought that Tsukasa's probing last night had very nearly forced into his conscious mind.

He lifts up his hand and grasps the choker around Phorcys's neck and crushes it.

Ryusui braces for a backlash, energy or collapse, but the air remains unruffled, thick with the scent of jasmine and candle smoke. The world paid no heed to the drama.

Phorcys awakes, glances down at the shattered choker, then meets Ryusui’s gaze. Her eyes dance with mockery. “How sweet,” she murmurs, “but my power never sat in trinkets.”

Her smile then turns cold and predatory. “You grasp at symbols,” she says, “never power. Now feel my power, Sea-Dragon, feel the power of endless drowning.”

With a languid motion, she lifts her hand and flicks her fingers in Ryusui’s direction. The room feels suddenly drenched in silence, air thickening, the edge of every breath growing precarious. Ryusui tries to inhale, but the sense of water fills his lungs, a rushing, weightless cold and the raw panic of suffocation. His vision narrows to watery blurs, and every instinct screams to struggle upward, yet there’s no surface, no air, only endless, crushing depths pressing against his body and mind.

His hands claw at nothing, chest burning, heartbeat frantic as the terror grows, this drowning has no end, no reprieve, no possibility of escape. Frigid water threads through his senses, swallowing sound, sight, memory; even the taste of air becomes only a memory twisted by agony. Phorcys watches, impassive, while Ryusui’s terror drowns him over and over, helpless in a world of unyielding, silent water.

Only her voice, clear and merciless, breaks through: “Let this remind you, no shattered ornament can save you, Sea Dragon.”

Chapter Text

Tsukasa is shaking in his bonds as he watches Ryusui writhing on the bed, his jaw clenching, his lips parting in silent gasps. The muscles in Ryusui's neck tense violently as if fighting an invisible current. His hands twitch, fingers clawing at shadows, as if grasping at water that isn’t there. A sheen of sweat glistens on his temple. His brow furrows deep, eyes dark with terror, all the primal fear of drowning etched raw across his features. His breath hitches in strained, uneven gasps, throat tight and trembling.

Tsukasa knows from personal experience that to endure the feeling of pain is one thing, to endure the feeling of suffocation is another. And Ryusui is trapped in that hell indefinitely.

Phorcys stands up from the bed.

“Dress yourself,” she commands Ortiga, who is awake now, staring in horror at the man convulsing beside her. The woman scrambles to obey, her normal inebriation gone in sheer terror.

Phorcys walks over to Tsukasa in his bonds and grasps his jaw, painfully tight. “How did Ryusui keep this from me?” she demands to know. She's suddenly in Tsukasa's mind. Tsukasa gasps at the intrusion. But the memories surge in regardless. Ryusui had never said, had never acted, he'd been convinced he could seduce Phorcys to the way of good. The fool. The poor, sweet fool.

“You didn't know…” Phorcys says, aloud. “And I never saw it in him.”

He feels her sudden sense of certainty in his head. Her contempt, for their mortal limitations, for all humans’ limitations. And her contempt for Tsukasa’s feelings for Ryusui.

“A momentary impulse,” Phorcys declares aloud, dismissively.

Phorcys’s attention then turns to Tsukasa’s aching body, bound and helpless beneath Ortiga’s brutal knots. A cruel smile twists her lips. “I could release you, you know,” she murmured, voice heavy with dark amusement, “before these restraints gnaw away at your nerves, before the damage becomes permanent. But why spoil the fun?”

She leans closer, eyes gleaming with merciless delight. “Think of the possibilities. Maybe your precious sea-captain will recover in time to save you. Maybe I'll order the dutiful Mrs Smith to release you. Maybe you’ll stay here all night, broken and battered, and I’ll patch you up tomorrow… or maybe I won’t. Savour torment, my pet. Enjoy it, truly enjoy it.”

Tsukasa's heart sinks. He feels the cords biting into his flesh, numbness is already beginning in his legs. He could be bound here for hours. The length of time Phorcys’s spells last varies. From past observations, Tsukasa thinks it depends on at least three factors, on how long it has been since the spell was cast, how much energy Phorcys put into the casting, and how distracted Phorcys is by other matters later on. Even when the spell on Ryusui eventually ends, the sea-captain may be in no state to untie Tsukasa.

He forces himself to focus on his breath, refusing to let the pain rule him.

Phorcys smiles cruelly. “Ortiga, my dear, to me,” The two women leave.

When the door shuts behind them, Tsukasa draws a calming breath. No help coming? ’Ame futte chikatamaru When it rains, earth hardens,’ as the proverb says. What can he do himself? Kneeling on the thin cushion, Tsukasa assesses the cotton rope binding his body. The cords dig into his skin, but the knots are only human, set by hands far weaker than his own. And inebriated hands at that. Ortiga knows something of knots but she is no sailor with thirty years experience to tie knots perfectly however much rum he'd drunk that day.

Tsukasa rolls his shoulders once, calculating the exact locations of pressure and tension. At first, he exhales slowly, letting his body relax, softening his muscles and searching for any slack. There, at his ribs, a hitch not quite perfect.

With a controlled inhalation, Tsukasa begins to expand his chest, pulling his shoulders back, arms straining outward, making his body as broad as he can. The ropes tighten a fraction, but this only serves his purpose: as he suddenly contracts, he snaps his shoulders forward and pulls with all his strength, focused on that weak point in the knotwork.

The knot shudders but does not give.
A tremor runs through him - failure. His breath catches; his vision flickers white at the edges. Pain sharpens to something like panic. For a heartbeat, he feels Ryusui’s ghost at the back of his throat, the image of a man drowning and still fighting to breathe.

He forces his breath to steady. Again. Ame futte chikatamaru. The proverb beats through him like a drum. When the storm passes, the ground must harden.

He exhales. Relaxes. Waits. Then, with a subtle shift of his shoulders, he pulls once more. Relentless, disciplined force concentrated on that weak point in the knotwork.

The knot trembles, a single loop slides, not breaking but surrendering, and with that movement the entire harness shifts out of balance.

Tsukasa seizes the moment. A sharp twist of his shoulders and the weakened structure collapses, rope slipping free in loose coils. From there it's a minute's work to disentangle the rope from the rest of his body. He rises to his feet with a soft grunt, breathing hard, sweat stinging the abrasions on his skin, but he's now free. In Phorcys's contempt for mortal limitations, she'd not even considered the possibility he might escape the bonds himself. The rain had fallen, the earth had hardened.

But no time to waste in self-admiration. Tsukasa's legs ache from the prolonged kneeling but he pushes that aside and crosses to the bed, to Ryusui, still writhing in the sensations of drowning under the spell.

What can Tsukasa do? He's not even sure Ryusui can see him, the man's eyes are unfocused, turned inward. So, other senses. Tsukasa reaches out his hand to one of Ryusui's, who, the moment he feels the touch, grabs onto it with all the strength of a drowning man, strong enough to draw a sharp breath from Tsukasa. Tsukasa sits on the bed and with his free arm pulls Ryusui's body into his own.

What else? Voice. After his fever had broken, Ryusui had asked him to talk, Tsukasa remembers. He starts to talk again, retelling the old Japanese folk stories that he'd told back in the early days of Ryusui's post-fever recovery, keeping his voice slow and steady. He thinks he feels a slight relaxation in Ryusui's muscles, though Ryusui's body still writhes against Tsukasa.

After an hour, the spell fades. Ryusui stills somewhat, then his muscles begin to relax though his body still trembles. He releases his grip on Tsukasa’s hand. Finally his eyes open fully, at first blindly and then he focuses. He blinks, confusion flickering a moment before recognition settles. Ryusui's breathing is erratic and his body still shakes against Tsukasa.

“Breathe with me,” Tsukasa murmurs, voice calm and slow, trying to steady his own shaking hands as well. He draws a slow, deep breath and encourages Ryusui to mirror it, fingers tightening just a fraction on his friend’s arm. In contrast to the chaos Ryusui just endured, Tsukasa focuses on the simplicity of ‘air in, air out’.

Ryusui follows his pace with his own breath, eyes focused on Tsukasa. His colour is beginning to improve, the sweat is drying on his skin. Tsukasa brushes a damp lock from Ryusui’s brow. “It's over,” he tells Ryusui. “You survived it.”

They rest there in silence for a time, Ryusui's body still leaning against Tsukasa’s, he can feel the damp of Ryusui's sweat through the kimonos.

After a few minutes, Ryusui, with a hoarse breath, whispers, “Tsukasa… you’re here. I thought I heard you.” Then, with concern, “Where is … Phorcys?”

“Gone, for now,” Tsukasa says. Ryusui exhales with relief.

After a little thought, Tsukasa rings for a servant and requests soup for Ryusui and a refill of water for the pitcher. He then returns to Ryusui's side, cleans the sweat from Ryusui's skin and helps him out of the kimonos and into a clean nightshirt.

The footman soon returns with both requests. Tsukasa lets him deliver the soup directly to Ryusui, meaning the man has plenty of time to take in the room, and Ryusui’s state of health. Ryusui pulls himself together sufficiently to not only sit up and take the bowl of soup but also to give a weary smile. Subtle communications.

There is no question that Tsukasa will be sleeping beside Ryusui on the bed tonight, whatever subsequent punishment Phorcys may choose to deliver. Tsukasa's aware Phorcys had not yet ordered him to return to the floor, but she's quite capable of deciding to punish him for not anticipating her order. But it doesn't matter. Ryusui needs him.

Once Ryusui's drunk the soup and Tsukasa's cleaned himself, Tsukasa goes to lie down his now-standard arms-length apart but Ryusui, still shaky, moves in towards Tsukasa, drags Tsukasa’s arm around himself, and requests a story. Tsukasa tells an old childhood one, the tale of Kintaro, the child who befriended animals, until Ryusui's breathing settles into sleep.

Tsukasa lies awake longer, thinking over his own feelings towards Ryusui. He couldn't deny his first act once free from the rope had been to comfort Ryusui. He remembers his earlier musing on the two-days-left of their initial deal and his decision to extend it, that he'd been oh-so-certain was motivated by duty.

And yet, Ryusui was still Ryusui. The same flamboyant brat he'd fallen in love with nine years ago. And the same flamboyant brat he'd had that terrible, devastating fight with. A fight that was almost doomed to happen again. Except here, there was no opportunity for Tsukasa to escape, to throw himself into training and fighting, to never see Ryusui again. Instead, Phorcys would take delight in forcing them together. An endless spiral of agony for Tsukasa.

And for Ryusui too. Tsukasa's well aware that the cocky upstart would have undoubtedly quickly shaken off any pain from their fight nine years, but clearly Ryusui didn't want to see Tsukasa hurt. And Phorcys has proved herself fully willing to exploit that weakness.

If only Phorcys could be destroyed. Then Tsukasa could flee from Ryusui, flee from his feelings. Maybe to another continent. He'd seen world maps, the Siberian plains looked sufficiently remote from both seas and cities that he was hardly likely to encounter Ryusui there.

If only Phorcys could be destroyed. But after two years, Tsukasa was no closer to figuring out a way to destroy Phorcys. His best hope was lying beside him.

The man who had already broken his heart.

Ryusui stirs, in his arms, his breathing speeding up, clearly caught in some dark dreams. Tsukasa pulls him in gently, murmurs in his ear that he's not alone and Ryusui's breathing slows again.

It is going to be a long night.

The next morning, when Tsukasa wakes with the dawn, Ryusui is still sheltered within his arms. Tsukasa tries to unwrap himself without disturbing the sea-captain, but when he tries to shift his lower arm, Ryusui's eyes open.

“Tsukasa,” Ryusui says, tiredly, and holds onto Tsukasa’s upper arm.

After a pause, “Tsukasa … what happened last night?”

Tsukasa has seen this before, torture disrupting memories. He knows better than to try to soften the account for Ryusui. “You were caught in Phorcys’s spell. It made you think you were drowning, for over an hour. After that, you didn't want to be alone.”

Ryusui sighs, muscles taut, letting go of Tsukasa’s arm only after a shaky breath. He shifts away, rolling over on the bed, restless as if testing the air for its weight. His gaze flickers to Tsukasa’s face, not for comfort, but to make sure he’s anchored to reality.

“So destroying her choker, that did nothing at all?” he asks, with a kind of desperate hope.

Last night, Tsukasa had barely thought about Ryusui's earlier action, the one that had triggered Phorcys’s punishment.

“You were expecting it to?” Tsukasa asks, sitting himself up on the bed, keeping his tone simple, careful.

“Yes,” Ryusui breathes, with an attempt at a smile. “Maybe I was thinking of this … this like a children's fairytale. Destroy the source of the evil witch’s power. She, well Amaryllis, was wearing that choker when the ritual happened. I thought … well I didn’t dare think. Every thought was dangerous. My captain's instincts … for the sea, for men and women, not for magic.”

“You were planning this?” Tsukasa asks. “Somehow? And yet Phorcys didn't read your plan?”

Tsukasa's mind jumps back to when Phorcys had asked him ‘How did Ryusui keep this from me?’ That was a tactic Phorcys had used before, to ask a question aloud so she could steal the answer from his brain. It seemed to save her effort from searching through endless memories. But in this case, his immediate thoughts had been of their painful arguments, of Ryusui's reckless optimism about Phorcys, and desire.

Now other memories surface in Tsukasa's head. Ryusui, during that breakfast discussion, saying ‘What else dare I think of now?’ Ryusui, pausing in the act of feeding Tsukasa, to say ‘That's not something I can afford to think about.’ And the pain in his voice when Tsukasa had tried to push him further.

Then, just now ‘I didn’t dare think.’

That word: ‘think’.

“You avoided even thinking about your plan,” Tsukasa says, slowly. “For how long? Since the first day?”

Ryusui nods, eyes shadowed, movements slow and guarded, as if the flow of oxygen still isn’t safe.

“So, yesterday evening, no, now the evening of the day before, that's why you didn't want to talk about your desires?”

It made sense, the more Ryusui talked about how he felt towards Phorcys, the greater the risk he'd think of his plan, and thus think of the choker. Despite the situation, Tsukasa feels a knot loosen in his chest. Ryusui's rejection had not been a rejection of him.

Ryusui tries for another smile, but it barely forms.

“You got it right, Shishio. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to share with you. It was that I couldn’t even let myself think about it. Every thought was dangerous.” Ryusui sighs. “I may as well have shouted my plan from the roof tops.”

Tsukasa notes the change of address. He was back to being called ‘Shishio’ instead of ‘Tsukasa’. Which, Tsukasa reminds himself, is for the best. He cannot afford Ryusui's intimacy.

Another, more practical, thought comes to Tsukasa's mind. “You were there, when Phorcys arrived back in the mortal realm?” Tsukasa asks. It occurs to him that they'd never compared their histories, not even in all those quiet days of Phorcys’s absence.

Ryusui frowns and rubs his head. “I was, I think I was, I just said I was, but the memories, it's like ropes slipping through my hands.” He looks distressed. “Did Phorcys steal that from me?”

Tsukasa sighs. “I am no doctor, Namami. But if Phorcys had broken your leg, would you expect to walk on it again after just a night's rest? If not, why expect your mind to be healed without respite?”

“Spoken as logically as Senku could. I had best trust in your words.” Ryusui gives a weak smile. “And it won't … won't be the first time I've crossed a sea in a leaky boat.”

Despite Ryusui's tone, Tsukasa can see how Ryusui is still circling pain and panic. He lets the silence settle. Probing now would only push Ryusui deeper into that suffocating trauma. For both their sakes, Tsukasa chooses to let him breathe.

For something to do, Tsukasa stands up, intending to call for a servant and send for more soup for Ryusui.

But before he can ring the bell, the door slams open and Mrs Smith enters, eyes blazing.

“You damned fool!” she snaps at Ryusui.

Ryusui's body had tensed at the sharp slam of the door, and for a moment he looks panicked, fingers twitching like he's struggling to find something to hold onto in invisible waves. Then, his eyes sharpen, a flicker of his normal fire sparking through the panic. He straightens slowly but deliberately, drawing himself up with a controlled breath, fighting off the creeping shadows.

He meets Mrs Smith's blazing gaze with a proud look of his own, edged in weary defiance. His voice is low but steady. “Maybe so, but I’m still here.”

“Do you think I care about you?” Mrs Smith snaps back angrily. “You're lucky, we're all lucky, Phorcys didn't decide to take revenge on the entire staff.”

Tsukasa glares at her, and steps between her and Ryusui. “So what then? We just accept being crushed? Bow under her shadow and let fear cage us forever?”

“You idiotic young man! I lost three of my children because of foolish ideals like yours. I'd rather, I'd rather … I'd choose to live in a cage of fear all my life if I could have five more minutes with each of them.” She turns away from them, her voice choked. Tsukasa feels like she's stabbed knives into his heart.

Mrs Smith's moment of vulnerability is brief. She snaps her attention back to Ryusui, who is looking at her with a deep sorrow.

“Three children, that is a wound no one should have to bear,” he says. “I thought there was, there might have been, a way to end this. I failed.”

“Yes, well, we can't afford you to have such a failure again,” Mrs Smith snaps back. “Phorcys holds all the power, we live under her shadow. You're not the first to try to defeat her, and all of those failed too. As this numskull here knows personally,” she continues, with an angry jerk of her chin towards Tsukasa.

Ryusui’s body twitches involuntarily at Mrs. Smith’s words, a sudden shudder running through him as if unseen cold fingers gripped his spine. His shoulders slump briefly, weighed down by exhaustion and the invisible chains of the night’s ordeal.

The lines of Mrs Smith's shoulders soften slightly.

“You're intelligent, and charming, and skilled,” she continues. “You can find space here, some comforts, some enjoyments. What more can we hope for from life?”

Before either Tsukasa or Ryusui can respond, the door opens again and their normal pair of maids enter, bringing the breakfast tray. Tsukasa bites back the response he'd been about to make to Mrs Smith's philosophical embrace of complicity - too many ears here spoke several languages, and secrets traveled fast in these seas.

Neither Ryusui nor Mrs Smith say anything more either. Mrs Smith gestures to one of the maids to bring Ryusui's breakfast to him in bed, while Tsukasa collects his bowl and dutifully sits himself on the floor. The maids tidy up the room, including the kimonos and the now-drooping jasmine flowers.

Ryusui eats little of his meal.

Chapter Text

Phorcys heals Ryusui's mind. It is amazing. One moment his thoughts are scattered, frantic, each one crashing against another, unable to settle, it is as if he is awash at sea in a storm, clinging frantically to an overturned boat, aware that at any moment a wave could swallow him whole. Then suddenly it is as if the boat rights itself and he's at the tiller again, the stays in his hand and he's giving a roar at an audacious tack through the surging sea, at one with the boat, the sea, and the wind. Ryusui falls back on his heels and laughs in sudden joy.

Phorcys is looking at him, her lips curled into a slow, cruel smile, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “Joy, Sea-Dragon? Such a fragile thing, and so easily broken.” Her voice is steel. “Do not mistake this healing for kindness or mercy. Your fractured mind was… irritating to share. Too loud. Too jagged. I restored it only because its chaos was intolerable.”

Ryusui blinks, startled, then gives a breathless laugh.

“My lady, your power exceeds my expectations. To heal such an injury, as simply as if it was a broken leg, or a fever? Hah, hah, I desire such skills!”

Phorcys slides into Ryusui’s mind, he feels the deity feeling his joy, his genuine joy and desire, he feels the other's surprise. Ryusui grins and pulls his goddess in for a deep kiss.

Phorcys releases Ryusui shortly before dinner. Still high on his sudden restoration, Ryusui almost dances back to his room. The door yields to his hand, and he bursts in.

Tsukasa is already there, at the little writing table, mending a pen with his knife. For a heartbeat, Ryusui thinks Tsukasa won’t look up, but then he does, his knife slipping a little on the pen's nib.

“Nanami?” Tsukasa’s voice is raw, as if he can’t trust his own senses.

Ryusui grins, unable to contain it. He sweeps into the room, energy swirling through his limbs.

“Good afternoon!” The words come out brighter than he intends, bouncing straight off the walls.

He can feel Tsukasa’s gaze, searching him for cracks. Ryusui turns, lets Tsukasa see him from every angle, no haunted flinches, no twitching nerves. Even the air tastes different.

“Phorcys did it. She took the storm from my head. I feel …” He gives a reckless, breathless laugh. “Like I’ve won back the wind and the tiller both.”

Tsukasa places the knife and pen aside with careful hands, saying nothing for a moment. His jaw is tense, but there’s something softer around his eyes.

“You seem… whole,” Tsukasa says at last.

“I am. It was incredible, I've never heard of the like.” He snaps his fingers, feeling his face splitting with a grin. “Skills like hers? I want them for myself! Healing on that level… just imagine the possibilities. We could change the world!”

Tsukasa’s eyes narrow, the momentary softness gone.

“You actually believe that? That Phorcys, the same one responsible for countless deaths, will use her power to heal rather than destroy?”

Ryusui takes a breath, steadying himself. “She is powerful, yes. But that power can be wielded. If we learn from her, harness what she knows, we could save lives we never thought possible.”

“Save lives?” Tsukasa scoffs, his voice as hard as his eyes. “How many has she butchered already? You’re blinded by her gifts, forgetting the blood that stains her hands.”

A quick retort springs to Ryusui's tongue, and seven years ago, he'd have said it. Hell, three years ago, he'd have said it. Since then, he'd met Gen. This year's Ryusui sighs, and flops down on the couch.

“Point taken.”

Tsukasa looks surprised. Like a warrior who finds his rival lowering the sword and smiling. Something flickers across his face - relief? hope? - before his expression shutters closed again, jaw tight. The tension doesn't leave his shoulders; if anything, it increases, as though Ryusui's concession is somehow worse than argument would have been.

Ryusui frowns slightly. He'd expected his concession to ease things, but Tsukasa looks almost... cornered.

“Where do we go, Shishio?” Ryusui continues. “My plan failed. Is Mrs Smith right? Are some comforts, some enjoyments, the best we can hope for?” Ryusui had intended the question as rhetorical, but to his surprise, he finds himself feeling it. Tsukasa had had a point earlier, in that argument they'd had, all those days ago before Ryusui got ill - Ryusui hadn't suffered like Tsukasa had.

Tsukasa's face twists. “That's the way with you, isn't it? It always comes back to greed. Your plan failed, so you'll content yourself with luxuries?”

Ryusui is surprised by the sudden attack. “That's not what —” he starts to say.

“She tortures you and you come back boasting!” Tsukasa’s voice is pained.

“Boasting?”

“‘I’ve won back the wind and the tiller’”, Tsukasa quotes at him, furiously. “I've won. You didn't do jack.”

Ryusui blinks, genuinely confused. "I wasn't claiming credit for … Tsukasa, I was just describing how it felt. The relief of —"

"Relief?" Tsukasa's voice cracks slightly. "You're relieved? She breaks you and you're grateful when she puts you back together?" His hands clench into fists at his sides. "How can you not see what that makes you?"

Ryusui has no idea how this conversation has spiralled so badly, and so fast. The contrast with Tsukasa's calmness and support of the last few days is jarring. He pinches the bridge of his nose. What would Gen say? Gen’s voice echoes in his head: When someone's anger is disproportionate, look for what they're not saying’. It's not Ryusui's word choice, something else is driving Tsukasa's fury, something Ryusui can't quite see the edges of.

“You're right. I am at Phorcys's mercy,” he offers. “I should have remembered.”

“How did you ever forget?” Tsukasa replies, bitterly, but Ryusui notes some of the tension has gone from his voice.

Ryusui lets out a breath, nodding faintly. “Fair question,” he admits, voice quiet. “Maybe I did forget because for a short time, it felt like I could breathe again. Pretend she didn’t own every current around us.” He glances up at Tsukasa. “You’re right to call me out on that. I got careless.”

Ryusui leans back, and lets his hands fall open, making himself look as non-defensive as possible. “So, what do we do next? Because I don’t want to stay at her mercy. If there’s a better way forward, I’m listening.”

Tsukasa frowns. “We need to destroy her.”

Ryusui sighs. “Where's that gotten you? Or me? Destroy a deity who can read our minds? Who may decide to read ours in the next moment?”

Tsukasa paces, openly frustrated.

“You know, Tsukasa, ever since you became an adult, you’ve looked to strength as your answer for almost everything,” Ryusui says, thinking aloud. “You use your brain to figure out where to direct it, but strength’s always been the tool you trust most.”

Tsukasa snorts. “You do remember Senku defeated me … and I was powerless against Mirai's curse.”

“True,” Ryusui notes. “But even there, your strength kept Mirai alive long enough for Senku and Chrome to save her. But now, you are, we are, stuck in a situation where strength just… isn’t enough.” Ryusui touches his chest, over his scar. “Meanwhile, Gen and I, we both grew up without any hope of relying on physical strength. No merchant dares to strike a samurai.”

Tsukasa frowns. “And that gets us where?”

“We need another approach. Phorcys can hardly object to us seeking to better fulfill his desires.”

“You destroyed her choker thinking that would destroy her power.”

Ryusui shrugs. “I could see merit in improving my negotiating position.”

“Merit? Negotiating with her? You treat everything like a bargain, like a game to be won.” Tsukasa's voice is angry again.

Ryusui almost responds that that's better than treating life as a battlefield. Almost. But he's pushed Tsukasa enough today over his use of strength. Ryusui forces his mouth closed, gropes for another phrase, to disarm the growing fury he can see in Tsukasa's face. Whatever is going on here between them, it's not about Phorcys, or not just about Phorcys. There's something older here, something from nine years ago when everything between them had shattered. Are they going to go down that route again?

But then Tsukasa stops himself. He draws in a deep, deliberately slow breath.

“…No. That isn’t fair,” he says.

The admission is low, grudging, but real. His shoulders stay taut, yet his next words are slower, more controlled. “I shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off before the apology can fully form, pride snapping the door shut again. But, it had been open for a moment, truly open, Ryusui's captain instincts tell him so.

So Ryusui reaches out, metaphorically sliding open a window. “Maybe you're right. We don’t need to decide this now.”

“Then when will we decide it?” Tsukasa demands.

“Right now, we don't even have an idea of what we might try next.”

Tsukasa still looks unhappy.

“Let's not lose sight of the end goal, here,” Ryusui continues. “Neither of us want the world to be at her mercy.”

Tsukasa gives a reluctant nod of agreement. “Fine. We had best share information.”

“How did Phorcys capture you?” Ryusui asks.
“After Senku and Chrome saved your sister from that curse, I heard you swore off from fighting Senku any further. Then Hyoga attacked both of you, and the Kingdom had to leave you to heal, right?”

Tsukasa nods in confirmation.

“There's not much to say. I was working my passage on a ship that sailed into Port Royal shortly after Phorcys conquered here. The captain didn't know until we had docked and were boarded. Her soldiers tried to round up the passengers for sacrifice, I fought them off. Then Phorcys came, and offered their lives, in exchange for my own.” Tsukasa’s voice sounds bitter. “Maybe I should have set the ship afire and seen if I could have buried her in the flames.”

Ryusui frowns. “You've tried to kill her,” he offers, remembering Mrs Smith’s words.

Tsukasa nods. “Tried to snap her neck, her body flowed around my blow like water. I may as well have punched the ocean.”

He continues. “I tried to throttle her, she forced my hands from her throat. Then she broke my thigh bone and left it unhealed for three days. Another time I trapped her in a well, in the east courtyard. She drew on the currents of the sea and rose from it.”

Tsukasa's jaw clenches. “That one earned me five days, dawn to dusk, in the stocks in the central courtyard.”

Ryusui looks at Tsukasa, sees the tension in his body at the memory. He visualises Tsukasa there, in stocks, with no way to defend himself and with no way of knowing who had touched him, who had taken him.

Ryusui puts his hands together, palms pressed into each other, as a mark of respect for what Tsukasa had been through. He wants to say something comforting but fears that anything he says, Tsukasa will take as pity. So instead, after a pause, he focuses on Tsukasa’s words.

“So Phorcys commands the sea itself? He would revel in steering the restless currents to his whim, am I right?”

“What good does that do you?” Tsukasa replies bitterly. “We're right by the ocean, her desires for currents must be amply satisfied.”

Ryusui shrugs. “Little by little, the bird makes its nest,” he quotes in French.

There's a knock at the door and the maids enter with their dinners. They are gossiping about Phorcys calling her advisors together.

When they are both settled with the meal, to Ryusui's surprise, Tsukasa is the first to restart their conversation.

“So, Nanami, How did you wind up here? Don't spare any details.” His voice is sharp, his expression probing.

Ryusui recounts his experiences: Ibara's failed ritual, the two years of stasis (interrupted briefly by that interrogation in the warehouse) and then finding himself kneeling on the patrol ground, with the rest of the crew of the Persus, chained.

Tsukasa asks him to repeat that section, frowning. “You were chained? All of you, chained?”

"Yes, neck chains secured to the ground. Why?"

But Tsukasa doesn't answer, his eyes distant, clearly thinking something through. Ryusui watches him, recognizing the expression from years ago. Tsukasa working through a problem, turning it over from every angle. It's one of the things Ryusui had found so compelling about him, that fierce intelligence applied with such focus. Still finds compelling. But there is no point in thinking on that.

Ryusui wishes he could speak to Tsukasa openly, even if only for a time. But for now, best not to think on that either. Phorcys manipulate currents, does she? There may be a desire there.

Tsukasa also makes no further comment on that detail. Instead he asks what happened next. Ryusui has just finished recounting the sequence of events between awaking in the parade ground and him arriving in Tsukasa's room when a footman knocks on the door and requests Tsukasa’s attendance on Phorcys.

Tsukasa stands, his shoulders set. Ryusui sets aside the remains of his meal and starts to rise but the footman tells him that only Mr Shishio was requested.

Ryusui sits down again, unhappily.

“Stay strong,” he tells Tsukasa, trying to offer some comfort. “Pain is temporary; survival is what matters.”

Tsukasa’s face twists and just for a moment Ryusui sees a look of anguish, before it's replaced by stoicism. “Your words carry a merchant’s hope,” he murmurs quietly, voice guarded. He departs from the room, his back rigid with tension.

Ryusui sits as the maids clear up the room and the remains of dinner, thinking on that strange, pained expression. He can't shake the feeling that Tsukasa is fighting some battle that has nothing to do with Phorcys, and everything to do with what had happened between them nine years ago.

They connect; then Tsukasa recoils, as if burned. Ryusui had always assumed it was simple disgust - merchants, compromises, Ryusui himself. But that flicker of anguish… that was something else entirely. Something personal.

Ryusui touches his chest where Phorcys's scar sits beneath his shirt. He knows about wounds that never quite heal, about damage that shapes everything that comes after. But he can't force Tsukasa to explain something the man clearly doesn't want to name.

He feels a familiar hollowness opening up under his own ribs. He's managing Phorcys, managing every word he speaks and every thought he allows himself to think, playing a game where one mistake means drowning or worse. And now managing Tsukasa too, navigating around old resentments and new hostilities, never certain which words will strike safely and which will detonate.

No man can carry such weight without something to balance it. Companionship, real companionship, not carefully rationed conversations, that's the ballast he needs to stay upright. He needs connection, genuine connection, not this careful dance around old wounds and unspoken accusations.

Well, if one door’s stuck fast, time to try another - someone in this fort must be willing to talk to him. Ryusui has an idea of who.

Chapter Text

Phorcys had not made any orders to Ryusui about the evening so, now having formulated a plan, his first impulse is to put it into action. But before his hand reaches the doorknob he thinks of Tsukasa there in Phorcys’s room, enduring whatever torture, and then coming back to an empty room. He tries to tell himself that Tsukasa has endured two years without him, that Tsukasa likely would prefer Ryusui doesn’t see the aftermath, but Ryusui still finds himself staying.

Damn it, he'll wait, he decides. He tries to settle down with a book, but he can’t concentrate. After a few minutes he abandons it and paces the room, but the room begins to feel unbearable in its emptiness, the walls press in, the air feels like it's suffocating.

For a time he endures but the feelings just build, his thoughts start to spiral. A captain who sails like this doesn’t make it out of harbour. Ryusui needs ballast. Not another plan, not another grim vow, but weight of a different kind. Warm light, ordinary voices, a few hours of being simply Nanami Ryusui, who laughs too loud and desires too boldly, so that when Tsukasa comes back he’ll have something solid under his feet.

Decision made, he straightens his clothes, smooths his expression into something easy. The fears don’t vanish; they simply step into his line of sight, demanding to be named. Ryusui obliges.

“All right,” he thinks. “You’re afraid she’ll break him. You’re afraid you’ll be too late. You’re afraid you’ll say the wrong thing when he comes back.” He gathers each fear as if it were a coil of slick, dangerous rope and, in his mind, stows it: first into a crate, then lashed down below decks. Not thrown overboard - he’s not foolish enough to pretend it isn’t there - but secured where it won’t trip him every time he moves.

“When I return, I’ll open the crates,” he promises silently. “I’ll look at every ugly piece. But if I want to be any use to him when that door opens, I need to be standing upright, not shaking apart.”

Ryusui draws a long breath, feeling his heartbeat ease. Then he walks through the door and towards the stairs, toward light and noise and other people’s worries. “Stability first,” he thinks, letting a wry half‑smile tug at his mouth. “Then I’ll be ready for whatever Phorcys brings next.”

After making enquiries of some servants, Ryusui finds his way to the fort's officer mess, where Thalos is indeed playing cards with several officers. Ryusui has brought with him a bottle of fine wine, which buys him entrance into the game once he's negotiated a suitable exchange rate for the gaming tokens.

Ryusui lets himself relax into the rhythm of it all, the thrum of voices, the clatter of tokens, the occasional crack of laughter that feels like it shakes loose the tension lodged under his ribs. Several hours pass enjoyably, even though, despite Gen's past tutoring, Ryusui's tokens show a marked tendency to migrate away from him and towards Thalos. As do most of the other players’ tokens, about which there is much good natured grumbling.

Between hands, the conversation drifts toward strategy and ambition. Plans, it seems, are already forming for Phorcys’s next conquest. The officers debate with the casual enthusiasm of men discussing holiday destinations.

“Martinique would fall in a week,” one claims.

“Saint-Domingue is the real prize,” another counters. “We could break it before they even understand who we are.”

Thalos folds early, uncharacteristic for the night's sharpest player. Ryusui catches his jaw tightening, gaze flicking to the doorway like a man scenting storm winds.

“Hispaniola,” a third muses, fanning his cards. “Too divided to defend itself.”

A younger officer argues instead for the Yucatán Coast, describing its harbours and the ease of resupply. They speak of invasions the way merchants discuss trade routes: profit, expedience, opportunity. But where trade brings mutual benefit, these men will just take. Ryusui listens, smiling when expected, but his pulse beats harder with each new suggestion. Each new target. Each new reminder of the machine he and Tsukasa are caught in.

Thalos stays silent through the discussion, and Ryusui notes that he avoids looking at the eager speakers, focusing on his cards. Thalos's fingers remain relaxed but they stroke the edges of the cards in a way they didn’t when Ryusui first joined the game.

Ryusui forces his own hands to remain steady as he plays too. The room is warm, the wine rich, the company welcoming. And none of these men demand he measure every breath, every syllable. After a few hands the conversation drifts onto other topics and he feels his mood improving.

His luck however remains poor. As the clock chimes 11, Ryusui is out of tokens, and wagers his cravat for the final hand, only to lose yet again, to much ribbing from the officers. When the officers finally rise, grumbling about dawn manoeuvres, Ryusui lingers to help Thalos tidy up the cards.

The room feels different now that the officers have gone, quieter, the last lamp burning low, the air still holding a faint warmth from the bodies and laughter that filled it minutes before. Ryusui lets his hands brush against Thalos as they tidy the deck. For a heartbeat, Thalos doesn’t move, eyes flicking briefly toward their touching hands before he resumes stacking the cards with practiced efficiency.

Ryusui bends to retrieve his former cravat, letting the soft fabric slide through his fingertips. It’s still warm from his skin. He straightens and offers Thalos his warmest, most disarming smile.

“You play a ruthless hand, Thalos. I ought to be smarting from defeat, yet somehow I don’t mind losing if you’re the one taking the spoils.”

“Are you trying to make the case to retain your cravat, Captain Nanami?” Thalos asks, but there's no reprimand in his voice, just amusement. “Do you fear Mr Alliard's wrath?”

“I'd rather brave a thousand angry tailors than renege on a debt of honour.” Ryusui replies. He smiles, and folds the cravat, as he does so he notices Thalos's gaze watching Ryusui's motion, no, watching his fingers. The awareness sends a small, electric coil of boldness through him. Ryusui steps a little closer and presses the folded cravat into Thalos’s waiting palm, taking the moment to run his thumb along the back of Thalos's hand.

“Keep it as a trophy, or return it in person when you’re ready for the rematch. Or,” he glances up, catching Thalos’s gaze, “forgive a bold man, but I’d far sooner see you tie it for me, just here.”

Ryusui touches his own throat, invitingly, not breaking eye contact. “After all, a wise man learns from those who’ve bested him, at the table, or on the sparring pitch …” His smile deepens, slow and dangerous. “…or elsewhere, should the lesson interest him.”

Thalos smiles, faintly in reply, the kind that doesn’t quite meet the eyes.

“Ryusui,” he says, voice low and even, “your words strike bright, but they are like arrows loosed by Eros himself, too golden for an ordinary man to catch without being burned.” He pulls his hand away from Ryusui’s.

“Under other skies, I might welcome arrows like those. But here…” His gaze flicks, just once, toward the doorway, the way a sailor glances at the horizon without realizing he’s done it, and then flicks back to Ryusui.

“Some games,” he goes on, lightly, “cost more than they appear. And I would hate to see you wager yourself by mistake.”

The words carry no accusation, yet Ryusui reads the warning underneath them.

“Play me again tomorrow, or the next evening you are free,” Thalos adds, voice turning lighter. “You may yet win me fairly, over cards, at least.”

At that gentle rejection, Ryusui stands quiet for a beat, for a moment feeling loneliness clutching again at his heart. He had hoped, fleetingly, that tonight might feel different, but he knows better now. The warmth of their brief touch lingers, yet Thalos’s careful restraint is a wall he cannot cross.

He draws a slow breath, letting the sting settle into something he can acknowledge. Then he rises, lifting his hands in a gesture of open surrender, offering rather than pursuing.

“You’ve no reason to fear the fire; I’ll learn contentment from the warmth instead of chasing the blaze.” Ryusui then gestures, open-palmed, offering rather than pursuing.

“Socrates said friends draw each other toward wisdom, didn’t he? May I hope for that?”

Thalos smiles more genuinely. “The poets said philia steadies the heart where eros unsettles it. Perhaps that steadiness is what we both need.”

He lifts the cravat and re-ties it loosely around Ryusui’s neck. The brief contact lingers just longer than formality allows, before he steps back with the faintest smile.

“There,” he says quietly. “A friend should not leave the table half-dressed.”

Ryusui inhales, feeling the warmth of that contact linger like an ember. He bows slightly, carefully, choosing respect over eagerness.
“Until tomorrow then, my friend,” he replies, letting the words carry the weight of both gratitude and the subtle closeness they share. He picks up a lantern, but pauses for a heartbeat, noting the small steadiness in Thalos’s expression, the quiet watchfulness that mirrors his own.

As he walks toward his room, the lantern casting long shadows across the courtyards and corridors, a golden glow settles in his chest - not just from the warmth of the flame, but from the fragile thread of connection that persists even in the shadow of Phorcys’s dominion. He knows the danger remains, yet, for this moment, he carries a small, defiant sense of comfort and trust.

As Ryusui climbs the stairs in the governor's mansion, he still feels that glow. He's smiling faintly to himself, at the smooth conversation, the soft laughter. The feeling that, for once, he’s found steadiness in someone else’s company. His boots echo with quiet confidence down the hall.

Yet a faint draft brushes the back of his neck, carrying a chill that makes him pause mid-step. Unnatural, out of place in the heavy Caribbean heat. He shakes it off, telling himself it is only a trick of the corridors, the open windows, the sea wind. Still, a shadow seems to flicker at the corner of his vision as he reaches the door.

He opens it.

The warmth shatters.

The first thing Ryusui feels is the cold in the air, undeniable now. The air smells like iron and the ocean depths. The room is dark, no candles burning, but when Ryusui lifts his lantern, his eyes catch first on a glint of metal, and then on Tsukasa’s naked body, collapsed on the bed on top of the covers, shivering.

For a heartbeat, his brain refuses to make sense of it. Everything in him, still warm from soft candlelight and laughter, stalls in disbelief. Then, as the shock catches up, panic spears through the moment.

“Tsukasa?” The name tears from him, hoarse and urgent.

He crosses the distance in a heartbeat, touches Tsukasa’s shoulder. Cold floods upward into his palms; the skin beneath his fingers is like marble.

“By the tides, what’s happened?” he breathes, all his earlier fears returning full blast.

Tsukasa shakes, “Cold, …. oh so cold.” His eyes briefly focus on Ryusui, anguishedly.

Ryusui takes in the full situation. He can now see that Tsukasa is not just naked but chained. A chain connects one of his ankles to the centre of the foot of the bed, and Tsukasa's wrists are cuffed in front of him, connected together by a length of chain, long enough to offer Tsukasa some mobility, maybe feed himself, but still cruelly restrictive. The unnatural chill curling around Tsukasa seems to leech the warmth from the very air.

Ryusui swallows hard. Anger and dread coil in his chest, but so does something quieter: a lingering ache for steadiness, the warmth of connection he had glimpsed earlier with Thalos. That calm certainty feels impossibly distant now.

But still there is scope for action here. Ryusui grabs the free half of the bed cover and wraps it around the top of Tsukasa’s body, kneeling close enough that his own breath can lend heat.

Tsukasa's still shaking. “Don’t… touch me.” Ryusui instantly removes his hands.

“It’s cursed.” Tsukasa continues. “There’s a …. cold… inside … it burns.”

"How long?" Ryusui demands, already scanning for the source, his hands moving over Tsukasa's arms, checking for injury, for the curse's anchor point.

"Hour... maybe..." Tsukasa's jaw clenches, fighting for control he doesn't have. "She... three hours with her... then this... then you..."

Four hours total. Three hours of whatever Phorcys did, then possibly an hour alone, freezing, unable to even pull the covers over himself with his hands chained. Rage flares hot in Ryusui's chest, burning away the last pleasant warmth from his evening.

Ryusui now thinks he feels the magic, nearby, not a spell entangling Tsukasa's whole body, but localised.

“I think I can feel it, the cause of the chill,” he says to Tsukasa. “Can I touch you to remove it?”

Tsukasa makes a stifled sound, half frustration, half surrender. “Just get it… out,” he whispers, the normal deliberateness in his tone stripped down to something fragile. “It doesn't belong.”

Ryusui notices the contradiction to Tsukasa’s earlier objection to being touched, he's seen this kind of confusion before in sailors pulled from icy waters.

So Ryusui proceeds. He places his hand on Tsukasa’s shoulder, as a neutral starting point, then runs his hand down Tsukasa’s back to his butt, where he does find, nestled within Tsukasa's cheeks, the base of a plug. When he touches it, it sucks in heat from his own fingers, numbing them almost instantly. Ryusui curses, and grabs a towel to protect his hand. Then with a warning to Tsukasa, he pulls, gently but steadily, and soon Tsukasa’s hole relents, allowing Ryusui to withdraw the enchanted plug. It is not particularly thick but it is long and when Ryusui runs his hand above the length he feels the heat being sucked away. How long was that in Tsukasa, chilling him from the inside? Ryusui has no idea if Tsukasa’s time estimate was right, that plug was freezing and deep inside Tsukasa, was that slower or faster than being plunged into a mid-winter sea? What does it matter?

Behind him, Tsukasa makes a sound, not quite a sob, but close. When Ryusui glances back, Tsukasa has turned his face into the pillow, shoulders tight with something that isn't just cold.

"Shishio—"

"Don't." The word is muffled, shaking. "Don't... say anything."

Ryusui's chest aches. He wants to say it's not weakness, that anyone would break under such conditions, that there's no shame in what Phorcys has done to him. But Tsukasa has asked for silence, and Ryusui can give him that much.

So Ryusui wraps the foul object of torment in the towel and leaves it on the floor in a far corner. He rings for a footman and then lights candles to drive away the dark. When the footman appears, Ryusui orders hot lemon and honey tea. He almost requests the footman take the plug away with him but he has no idea what magical properties it might have, or how Phorcys might react if it goes missing.

Once the footman has left, Ryusui returns to Tsukasa’s side. Tsukasa is still cold, despite the object's removal. Ryusui sees the shallowness of Tsukasa’s breaths, a pale-blue shadow clinging to his lips. An old sailor once told him the real danger from cold was when the body stopped shivering. Ryusui fears Tsukasa's body has run out of energy to rewarm itself.

So Ryusui sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jar the ankle chain, and speaks softly, like coaxing a wild animal from the edge of flight.

“Listen to me, Tsukasa. You’ve got to let me help you. The tea will take time, and I don’t know if you have that right now. You need to share my heat, skin to skin.”

Tsukasa shakes his head, weakly. “You’ll ... you'll freeze too.”

“This is Jamaica, not a crows nest in a midwinter storm. The tea will be here soon and then we can warm you from the inside. Warm us both.”

Ryusui removes his cravat and begins to unbutton his shirt.

“This is how we'll do it. I'll lie behind you, my chest to your back. No sudden movements. All right?”

While Tsukasa still hesitates, Ryusui continues to undress himself, down to his underclothes.

“You’re not surrendering anything by letting me do this,” he says quietly. “This is survival. You can glare at me for it in the morning. Deal?”

Tsukasa huffs, and then nods. Ryusui crawls into the bed beside Tsukasa, under the blanket. The first touch of skin is shocking, cold enough to make him gasp, but he presses in regardless, wrapping his arms over Tsukasa’s chest, his thighs aligning along the backs of Tsukasa’s legs.

The minutes stretch. Gradually, slowly, warmth creeps back, first at the points of contact, then spreading.

As Tsukasa's skin warms, his body back from the brink, he presses back against Ryusui, instinct overriding pride, seeking heat with the single-minded desperation of someone who's been truly cold. There's nothing sensual about it, it's pure survival, animal need.

Ryusui tightens his arms slightly, protectively, and feels the moment Tsukasa recognizes what he's done. His body goes rigid for a heartbeat, mortified.

"Don't," Ryusui says quietly, mouth near Tsukasa's ear so the words don't have to carry far. "There's no shame in needing warmth. Even the greatest trees bend before the storm; there's no dishonor in seeking shelter." He remembers Francois saying that to him, when Ryusui as a wakashu had gotten himself truly in trouble that he … he couldn't negotiate his way out of.

Tsukasa's tension doesn't entirely release, but after a moment, he stops trying to pull away. The shivers gradually ease further. By the time the footman's knock sounds at the door, color has begun to return to Tsukasa's lips, and his breathing has steadied to something closer to normal.

The footman places the tray on the bedside table, his face neutral, then departs.

Ryusui disentangles himself from Tsukasa, sits himself up, and checks the temperature of the tea. As he'd expected, the passage from the kitchen has let it cool to a suitable level, enough to warm, not to scald. He pours for Tsukasa, and mixes in a generous amount of honey.

He turns back to Tsukasa, coaxes him to sit up against the pillows, and helps him drink. After half the cup, Tsukasa is recovered enough to sit up properly and take the cup from Ryusui’s hands to drink himself, the chain between his wrists clicking softly.

Ryusui then pours himself a cup and enjoys the gentle warmth spreading through his own body, after the chill of Tsukasa’s skin.

Once Tsukasa has finished his cup, and Ryusui's is half empty, Ryusui decides it's time for some conversation.

“Phorcys?” he asks, gesturing in the direction of that cursed plug in the corner of the room.

“She knew I'd been sleeping on the bed. She was not pleased. The cold was punishment.”

Ryusui winces. “And the chains?”

“She has ordered I be chained here each night until she says otherwise,” Tsukasa replies wearily. The chain between his ankle and the frame has some length but insufficient to allow Tsukasa to reach the floor.

“An abrupt change of course from Phorcys there,” Ryusui notes. “Sleep on the bed without specific orders, so then he chains you to it.” He remembers some of the stories in Thalos's books. “Well, I suppose Greek gods aren't noticed for their consistency,” he adds.

Internally, Ryusui thinks ‘of course’. Nothing like a god to make the punishment sting just enough to remind you who’s really in charge. Phorcys had decided Tsukasa would suffer more sleeping by his side than he would on the floor. And this evening, it's safe to say that Phorcys arranged the timing of Tsukasa's torture for her purposes. Long enough alone, suffering to punish, not enough to cause permanent damage. Just enough to be truly terrified. And Ryusui arriving exactly when needed to prevent disaster but late enough to see Tsukasa at his most vulnerable. Phorcys arranged this. Every element calculated: the punishment for Tsukasa's "transgression" of sleeping in the bed, the humiliation of being found helpless, the forced intimacy of the rescue. And now the forced intimacy going forward.

“I could sleep on the floor myself, if it pleases," Ryusui offers. "A fitting lesson, perhaps, for a pampered son of fortune such as I.” He gives a rueful smile.

Tsukasa shakes his head. “Phorcys will know. You'll … get punished again.”

He sounds exhausted, and Ryusui feels his own weariness. It must be after midnight.

“Then time to sleep,” Ryusui decides. “We'll face the evil in the morning when we come to it. As the English used to say at the chapel here ‘Suffice unto the day is the evil thereof.’ Though I prefer my old nanny's saying,
Asu wa asu no kaze ga fuku. Tomorrow, tomorrow's wind will blow."

Tsukasa huffs, it might even be the ghost of a laugh. "Your nanny was wise."

"She'd have liked you," Ryusui says without thinking, then feels the weight of that admission. But Tsukasa doesn't respond, and Ryusui doesn't elaborate.

Ryusui insists Tsukasa drink another cup of the warming tea, while Ryusui finds himself a night shirt. There's no way to pull any clothing on Tsukasa over his chains but Ryusui can bring him the chamberpot, and then cloths and water to clean himself. The two of them manoeuvre the bed covers out from under Tsukasa, and Ryusui then uses handkerchiefs and cushions to pad around Tsukasa’s cuffs and cock cage. Tsukasa tolerates the fussing. Finally Ryusui settles himself down on the bed, an arm's length away, no touching. He pulls the covers over both of them.

“Thank you,” Tsukasa murmurs.

Despite Tsukasa’s situation, and the uncertainties of Phorcys's plans, Ryusui feels hopeful as he drifts off to sleep. His brain is whole again, he's found a friend, and he's even managed to have a whole conversation with Tsukasa, albeit a frustratingly limited one.

And, on that last point, he now has an idea.

Chapter Text

Tsukasa wakes to the scent of Ryusui, his familiar aroma an initially comforting presence in the morning air. His eyes open, and he finds himself pressed against Ryusui, his hair just inches from Tsukasa's nose. The warmth of the golden beguiler's body seeps into him. Tsukasa notices Ryusui is still lying roughly where he laid down last night, Tsukasa must have migrated towards him in his sleep. This is not good.

Then Tsukasa becomes aware of Phorcys standing by the door, a sly smile playing on her lips. This is even less good.

She puts a finger to her mouth, signaling him to remain quiet, and then approaches the bed, on Ryusui's side. She places her hand on Ryusui's forehead. Tsukasa feels her magic going into him.

“What did you do to him?” he whispers.

“Not to fret, my pet. Just a spell to ensure he remains asleep. I have plans for him, and for you.”

Tsukasa regards Ryusui doubtfully, but his sleep looks to be peaceful and his breathing is slow and even.

Phorcys then pulls the covers off Ryusui and stands there for a moment, looking down, admiringly. Then, she leans over him and kisses him on the mouth deeply, her lips lingering on his. Tsukasa watches, a mix of apprehension and curiosity stirring within him.

Phorcys next offers Tsukasa a bottle of oil, her eyes gleaming. "Open him up for me. I want to take him while he's dreaming."

Tsukasa hesitates. To touch Ryusui like this, so intimately, without Ryusui even being aware?

“I can always take him as he is, if you prefer,” Phorcys adds. She pushes up Ryusui's night shirt and pulls his brais off, leaving his legs apart slightly. She then sits back on the bed, leaning against the headboard, watching.

Tsukasa sighs, there was never any choice at all. He takes the bottle, his hands trembling slightly as he uncaps it. The oil is cool to the touch. He pours a generous amount onto his palm, the slick liquid glistening in the dawn light, and then rubs it with his fingers to warm it up. With a deep breath, he begins to prepare the slumbering captain. For the first time in nine years.

To Tsukasa’s mind comes the memory of the first time he did this for Ryusui, the first time he'd done this for anyone. Ryusui had been happy, joyful, making bad puns as he'd talked Tsukasa through each step. “Why so serious? Not every problem requires a battle strategy,” Ryusui had laughed at him.

Here and now, no puns, no laughter. Instead Ryusui lies unconscious and helpless under Phorcys's eyes. Tsukasa slides his hands down Ryusui's body, his hands shaking and he accidentally lets the chain between his wrists rub briefly against Ryusui's skin, but Ryusui doesn't stir at the touch of the harsh metal.

Tsukasa starts with his index finger, the tip slick with oil, and gently presses it against Ryusui's entrance, just feeling the tight ring of muscle for a little, then with a slow, steady pressure, he eases his finger past the initial barrier, feeling the heat and the tightness envelop him. Ryusui, under Phorcys's spell, remains asleep but his body clenches around the finger, a reflexive response that sends a jolt of sensation through Tsukasa.

Tsukasa, remembering Ryusui's long-ago lesson, pauses, allows Ryusui's body to adjust to the intrusion, his own breath quickening as he feels the tight, velvety pressure. Then he begins to move his finger, a slow, gentle in-and-out motion, coating the inner walls with oil, preparing the way for more. Ryusui's body responds, the muscles slowly relaxing, the tension easing as Tsukasa continues his ministrations.

At a gesture from Phorcys, Tsukasa adds a second finger, the two digits pressing together as they enter. Ryusui moans for the first time, in his sleep. The sensation must be intense, a mix of pressure and pleasure, Tsukasa thinks, as he feels the tight channel stretch to accommodate him. He moves both fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching and preparing, ensuring that Ryusui is ready for more.

Then Tsukasa adds a third finger, the three digits now filling Ryusui. Ryusui's breath is still smooth, but his body is now tensing and relaxing in rhythm with Tsukasa's movements. Tsukasa can feel the heat building, the pressure increasing as he continues to stretch and probe. Ryusui's cock is beginning to fill out.

Phorcys doesn't signal a stop, so Tsukasa adds his fourth finger. He moves them in a slow, steady rhythm, stretching and massaging, hoping this will be sufficient for whatever Phorcys plans. The room is filled with the sound of Ryusui and his own breaths, the occasional moan from Ryusui, and the wet sounds of Tsukasa's fingers moving against Ryusui's sensitive flesh.

Phorcys watches, her eyes never leaving Tsukasa's face, taking pleasure in his discomfort and arousal. Eventually she holds up a palm for him to stop.

“Rub some oil on his cock,” Phorcys orders. Tsukasa withdraws his fingers and obeys the order, Ryusui's cock hardens fully under his stimulation, he moans again in his sleep, and Tsukasa nearly groans himself at the feeling of the expanding flesh.

When Tsukasa withdraws his fingers, Phorcys gestures to him to lie back on his side of the bed, then she moves Ryusui's still-sleeping body with her inhuman strength, positioning him on top of Tsukasa's. Tsukasa manages to lift his arms in time to let her place Ryusui underneath them so he's not dragging the chain across Ryusui's front, between them, where the links might nip. Their chests are pressed together, Ryusui's head is nestled in Tsukasa's shoulder, his face turned towards Tsukasa so Tsukasa can feel Ryusui's breath mingling with his own. Ryusui's full, hard cock presses against Tsukasa's thigh through his night shirt, the oil means that it slides slightly with each breath Ryusui takes. And with each breath Tsukasa takes, too. He's not been this close to Ryusui for nine long years, it is bliss. And it is hell.

Phorcys looks down at them, checking her pose. “Bring your hands down, around him,” she orders Tsukasa. “Touch him, caress him.” Tsukasa shakes but obeys.

From Phorcys's back then comes one of her tentacles, for once she's chosen to make it visible, a black fog that seems to twist and roll within the shape of a tube. It is wide, but not noticeably wider than Tsukasa’s four fingers, joined. The tentacle reaches out, and while Tsukasa's angle of view is limited, he feels Ryusui’s hips press into him as it must start to penetrate his body. Through his sleep, Ryusui groans at the breach. Then Ryusui squirms slightly against Tsukasa, Tsukasa guesses the tentacle is rubbing at Ryusui’s prostate.

Phorcys begins to move the tentacle in and out, slowly and deliberately. Tsukasa can feel every shift, every thrust, the sensation of Ryusui's body moving against his own, the heat and the pressure building between them. The lust within Tsukasa is intense, a burning need that aches to be satisfied, but the cock cage prevents him from hardening, leaving him in a state of frustrating, unfulfilled desire. He finds himself caressing Ryusui's back as best he can, his hands tracing the lines of muscle and bone, feeling the curves of his back.

Ryusui is now moaning continuously, almost whimpering, a sound of pleasure and pain, his body responding to the stimulation even in his sleep. His cock is fully hard as it rubs against Tsukasa’s thigh. Phorcys increases her pace, her tentacle moving faster, deeper, the wet sounds of their coupling filling the room. Tsukasa can feel the tension building in Ryusui's body, the muscles coiling tight, the breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

And then the tension breaks, Ryusui's body convulses against Tsukasa’s, his seed spilling between their bodies as he comes with a soft cry. Tsukasa's body convulses back against Ryusui's, desperately, futilely.

As the intensity subsides, Phorcys slowly dissolves her tentacle, Tsukasa feels Ryusui’s body relax as the intrusion ends. Phorcys then stands up from the bed, Tsukasa immediately rolls Ryusui off him, back to the centre of the bed, and shakily, clumsily, disentangles his cuffed arms from Ryusui’s body, then moves away as far as he can, though he dares not turn his back on the deadly deity.

Phorcys looks down on them, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she surveys her handiwork. Tsukasa sees the gold threads moving fast over her pale skin and he wonders what horrors she'll commit with this new energy.

She leans in once more, her voice a low, sensual whisper as she murmurs, "Feel that, Tsukasa? Feel the power I hold over you? You are mine to command, mine to pleasure, mine to pain. And you will endure it all. For me.”

And with that, she turns and leaves the room.

‘Suffice unto the day’ Ryusui had said last night, and this day had revealed the evil.

Despite their physical separation, Tsukasa can still feel the lingering sensations of Ryusui's body against his, the heat and the pressure that had built between them. His movements have made him even more aware of the cage pressing against his sensitive flesh. The metal is solid and unyielding, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Tsukasa takes a deep breath, trying to focus his mind, to find some semblance of control amidst the chaos of his senses.

His hands, trembling with a mix of frustration and need, move to his body, tracing the lines of muscle and bone, seeking any form of relief. He presses his fingers into his thighs, applying pressure, trying to distract himself from the throbbing ache in his groin. But the pressure simply reminds him of Ryusui's hard cock against his thigh.

Tsukasa rolls onto his side, his body curling in on itself, as if he can contain the desire that threatens to overwhelm him. He clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the relentless throb of his caged cock. Blood roars in his ears, he feels his ragged breaths and the creaks of the bed as he shifts.

He tries to think of other things, to focus his mind on anything but the frustration that consumes him. But the memories of Phorcys's cruel pleasure, of Ryusui's moans, and the movements of Ryusui's body against him, are fresh and vivid, taunting him with what he cannot have. If anything, his frustration and pain are mounting, not diminishing.

Tsukasa doesn't know how much time passes before the spell fades and Ryusui wakes with a lazy smile. He pulls himself up into a sitting position and the motion must have made him aware of the mess on his groin, because the shameless hedonist looks down, with a raised eyebrow.

“Hah, a wet dream, haven't had one of those in…” Then he looks at Tsukasa's face and suddenly looks serious. “It was Phorcys, I take it?”

Tsukasa nods, miserably.

Ryusui's eyes flick to the chains on Tsukasa's wrists. To the rumpled sheets between them. His eyes widen, his breath catches, shallow and quick. Tsukasa sees the moment Ryusui understands, as if the realization lands on him like a cold wave. His hand moves reflexively to his abdomen, pressing there as if checking for injury. Then his expression is gone, masked by resolve.

“And a bad one,” Ryusui says, sounding grim.

Tsukasa’s responding nod trembles into a half-swallowed sound. Ryusui reaches out to him instinctively, maybe to wipe the sweat from Tsukasa's temple, but the motion makes Tsukasa flinch so hard the chains rasp against the bedframe.

“Don’t…” The word tears out before he can stop it. His breath comes in ragged bursts; he pulls back as far as the restraints allow. “Don’t touch me.”

Ryusui freezes mid-motion. “Shishio—”

“Don’t!” His voice cracks, harsh, desperate. The sudden noise startles even him. Tsukasa grips the chain between his wrists, fingers white with strain. Metal bites into his skin.

“Not when I’m like this… just … stay there.” The silence presses down, thick as humidity before a storm. Ryusui must see Tsukasa's chest heaving, the muscle in his throat fluttering like a trapped bird, must see his desperation.

Ryusui takes a slow, hesitant breath. “Shishio, easy—”

“Easy?” The word comes out dripping with venom. He tugs at the restraints as if he could tear them free by will alone. “You think this is easy? Watching you look at me like that, pitying me like I’m some poorly seasoned mast ready to snap?”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Tsukasa slams the backs of his hands into the iron, the rattle echoing wildly. His breath comes in short bursts; heat rises under his skin until every line of muscle stands out sharp. “You don’t understand what she does, what she had me do to you!”

Ryusui takes a cautious breath. “Shishio, it doesn't matter to me what happened just now, what Phorcys did, what she made you do. I've already had sex with Phorcys in every way I know of.” Ryusui's attempting his usual rakish confidence, even manages to quirk one corner of his mouth up. "And you know that's a lot."

Tsukasa wants to scream. Ryusui shouldn't have to pretend this doesn't matter. Shouldn't be trying to comfort Tsukasa when Ryusui's the one who was violated while unconscious, who woke to find his body had been used, who's sitting there covered in evidence of what was done to him while he jokes about it because the alternative is acknowledging how much power Phorcys has over them both.

Tsukasa turns away from Ryusui, fisting his hands into the sheets, unable to bear watching him perform being fine when they both know he's not.

Behind him, Ryusui speaks again, his voice completely serious now. “It doesn't matter, let me help, damn it…”

“Help?” Tsukasa can't stop himself from giving a harsh, bitter laugh, half a broken growl. “You’ll help by staying the hell away! Before I…” He finally stops himself, aware of the edge of panic in his voice, aware that his control on his fury is paper-thin, of what he might do if he can't get Ryusui away from him.

Ryusui must sense the danger, because the next thing Tsukasa hears is the sound of Ryusui sliding himself back across the bed, then Tsukasa feels his own body move slightly deeper into the mattress from the rebound as Ryusui must be standing up from the bed.

“All right. I’m leaving,” Tsukasa hears Ryusui say. “I can stay in the next room, if you—”

“Go!” The word comes out as a shout, ringing off the walls. “I said go!”

From the subsequent sounds, Tsukasa guesses Ryusui is gathering some clothes and footwear. Tsukasa hears Ryusui open the door and can't resist the urge to look. Ryusui is there, by the door, still in his nightshirt with his arms full of clothing and a pair of boots. He looks back at Tsukasa. Infuriatingly, he looks not scared, but concerned. And, to make it worse, he looks like he's about to speak yet again.

“Go! I don’t want your kindness. I don’t want…” Tsukasa hears his own voice wavering, he recovers, forces the next words out cold and hard. “I don’t want you here.”

Ryusui bows, silent, but uncowed, and turns and goes. The door shuts with a low click. The silence that follows leaves Tsukasa trembling in its aftermath. Ryusui's absence does not alleviate the pain in his body.

For a time, Tsukasa simply suffers, the world narrowed to the fire inside his groin, the ache in his muscles, the useless rattle of chains against the bed. His breath still comes too fast, yet also catches in his throat as his thoughts scramble for escape. It feels as though his body might explode, shattering out into a million pieces, or, maybe, might implode, concentrating down into a tiny weighty point that would fall through the bed, the floor, the fort, down to the centre of the Earth.

But slowly, something shifts. Panic can only go so far. Tsukasa forces himself to take a deep breath. Then another one, attempting the controlled inhales and exhales that should coax relief. He clenches and unclenches his shoulder muscles, that normally brings relief but this time his muscles refuse to yield. All his practiced techniques fail. He must relax but how?

For some reason Ryusui's words come to him “The trick to winning someone over is fulfilling their desires”. Absurd. How can that be useful? But the words echo still in his mind. Yet his body craves tension. Maybe, just maybe, he can give it that. And give it good and hard.

Tsukasa starts with his toes, screws them up as tight as possible, then the muscles in his feet, his ankles, his calves, moves up through his body, forcing tension into every fibre, even his fingers and the muscles on his face, he holds it there for a full slow count of thirty, pushing his stamina to the limit, until his muscles are screaming under the tension. Then, finally, he lets them release.

The impact is immediate. His body sags back onto the bed in relief. His breath, held tight during the strain, flows out in a rapid huff.

Tsukasa repeats the exercise twice, forcing his muscles again to rigid tension. By the time he finishes the third round, Tsukasa’s body feels fluid, the recoil creating a buoyant suppleness that is both grounding and freeing.

It is hardly what the decadent libertine would have meant by those words, but it has worked.

Which leaves, finally, his cock. Still aching. A passage comes to mind from a book of plays he'd read here in his captivity. ‘There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.’ Can he reframe this? What could be good about this entrapment? He turns the question over in his mind. The cage, that stops him acting on his desires, is safety. The hard steel is brutal protection from falling full-heartedly into his desire for the golden-haired libertine.

The merchant is fundamentally shallow, always flitting from desire to desire. Tsukasa's confident Ryusui still desires him, he's been aware of Ryusui's gaze, though throughout all their long days and nights together, Ryusui has never otherwise hinted at anything more.
But Ryusui desires everyone. Ryusui can share his body without sharing his heart - his behaviour with Phorcys is proof of that - Tsukasa cannot.

And what would happen if Tsukasa gives into his desires? He's seen how greed corrupts men, how the shallow chase of luxury goes. Would Tsukasa become another corrupt magistrate? The cage is physically frustrating. But it is a mental protection. Tsukasa is grateful for it.

Tsukasa is still telling himself that when Mrs Smith comes to unchain him.

Chapter Text

As the door closes behind Ryusui, he is addressed by a footman, who directs him to Phorcys’s room. For the normal reason. Phorcys is impatient to see him, power glowing around her, normally someone Ryusui could adore. But this particular morning, he can't find his way to desire, at least not in a timeframe acceptable to the goddess. Ryusui's mind keeps reverting to thoughts of Tsukasa's distress, and what might have happened while he slept. Both his mind and his body are uncooperative. Phorcys is displeased and her reaction is unforgiving. Whatever she does, the pain is brief, total, and precise, gone before his body can understand it’s over.

Phorcys leaves the room while Ryusui is still lying on the bed. Somewhere a clock chimes seven. Only seven am. That was … a concentrated hour.

It takes a minute or so for Ryusui to risk moving. To his surprise, his muscles obey his orders, his joints move as freely as they did half an hour ago. Nothing even hurts. Now.

Ryusui pulls himself up from the bed, his body still subconsciously tensing in anticipation of a pain that never comes. He makes use of Phorcys's room's water pitcher to wash himself and then dresses. Just as he finishes, a maid knocks at the door and informs him that his morning meal is served in the mansion's breakfast room. Unsurprisingly. Even without Francois's normal genius in anticipating his needs, the footman would have heard Tsukasa's furious words. The breakfast room is otherwise unoccupied. Ryusui manages to force down a few bites before the clock chimes for the half hour and he must depart for Thalos's training.

Thalos greets him with cheer and an affectionate insult, but Ryusui can't quite summon the energy to return the emotions. He starts the exercises stiffly, forcing his body through each step, always feeling slightly off. Thalos appears not to notice, stays calm, unwavering.

Slowly, Ryusui's body starts to move more smoothly, as his blood warms in his muscles. Ryusui feels a spark rekindle inside him. With every counted breath, the tightness in his chest loosens a fraction and the weight pressing on his shoulders lightens. He gradually becomes aware of the air on his skin, the faint camaraderie pulsing beneath the rigorous routine, the unspoken encouragement in Thalos’s measured gaze.

By the session’s end, Ryusui’s movements flow with renewed energy, or at least a convincing approximation of it. His mind has recovered the ability to focus on the present, to push everything else into those crates below decks where they can't trip him. He finishes the last drill with a flourish and a snap of his fingers, the gesture feeling almost genuine by the time he completes it.

Good enough, he thinks. This is good enough to work with.

Ryusui desires conversation with Thalos, but before he can exchange more than a few brief words, a serving boy interrupts with an urgent message calling Thalos away.

Ryusui therefore is cleaning himself when Tsukasa arrives. Clearly Mrs Smith had performed her new daily duty of unchaining him from the bed. Ryusui notes that Tsukasa's body moves fluidly, the wracked tension from earlier this morning gone, to his captain's eyes, Tsukasa's found his own way to renewal, of some kind. Or at least his own version of Ryusui's crates.

Tsukasa pauses by the entrance, then steps forward into the courtyard, voice low. “Ryusui…About earlier… the way I drove you away, I didn’t mean to… I was overwhelmed. Scared of what I might do to you.” He hesitates, eyes flickering away for a moment before looking back to meet Ryusui’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Ryusui dips his head into his bucket of water briefly, then tosses it back, flipping his wet hair back over his head simply for the sheer joy of the movement.

“Third apology, Shishio! Before you know it, I will have gotten used to this!”

Tsukasa gives a flicker of a smile, then looks serious again. “Would you like me to tell you what happened while you slept?”

Ryusui grins at him. “Hah, when I told you it didn't matter to me what Phorcys made you do, I meant it.” He pauses, his mood shifting serious for a moment. “If knowing becomes a coping mechanism, for either of us, Phorcys will just torture us both by banning you from telling me.”

Tsukasa’s face tightens for a moment, then he nods slightly, but he still looks unhappy. Ryusui casts around for a distraction.

“How about you teach me to spar? Teach me jujitsu?”

Tsukasa's eyes narrow sharply. “Do you even understand what that means? Fighting is an art of honor and discipline. Not something you’re born to, nor deserving of.”

The words should sting, but instead Ryusui feels a rush of something almost like relief. Anger he can work with. Anger is clean and directional and requires response rather than reflection.

He grins at Tsukasa, and this time the expression feels more real.

Anger is better than guilt-ridden misery. For both of them.

"You're right," Ryusui says, and watches Tsukasa's expression flicker with surprise. “I'm not deserving. But this morning I was deserving of having my body used as Phorcys's entertainment, so clearly the universe has stopped consulting the Confucian social order about what I'm owed."

He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "And I've also watched you, Shishio. The way you think, the way you solve problems - it's all through this lens I don't have. When you assess a situation, you're seeing angles and weaknesses and leverage points I can't even perceive because I've never learned that language."

He tilts his head slightly. "Besides, having something structured between us seems better than just..." He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air: better than just waiting for the next horror in that room where we're forced together at night.

"This is a terrible idea," Tsukasa says flatly.

Ryusui blinks. "Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes." Tsukasa runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly exhausted. "It's a yes because you're right, and I hate that you're right, and I'm going to teach you anyway because apparently I've given up on maintaining any principles that actually mattered."

"That's... possibly the least enthusiastic agreement I've ever received."

"You want enthusiasm?" Tsukasa's laugh is harsh. "You're asking me to violate every rule I was raised to believe made society function. Forgive me if I'm not celebrating."

"I'm not asking you to celebrate. I'm asking you to teach me." Ryusui keeps his voice even, though something in Tsukasa's bitterness stings more than he wants to acknowledge.

Tsukasa closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, some of the sharpness has dulled into something more like resignation.

"You're right that we need structure. You're right that I think through combat. You're right that sharing a room and... everything else... without some defined framework between us is untenable."

He crosses his arms. "So fine. I'll teach you jujutsu. Basic forms, basic principles. Enough that you understand how I see leverage and balance and reading an opponent's intent. But," he points a finger at Ryusui, "you don't get to use this against me later. Don't expect softness just because we're teacher and student. Don't expect me to go easy on you.”

"I don't want you to go easy on me."

"Good. Because I won't." Tsukasa's expression hardens into something more familiar, more controlled. "We start with the stance.”

“Now? Right after Thalos's training?”

"You wanted this. You said you didn't want me to soften anything." Tsukasa's tone carries zero sympathy. "So we start now, while your body is tired and your mind can't rely on strength to compensate. You'll learn proper form or you'll learn nothing.”

Ryusui recognizes that particular brand of pitiless discipline, the same energy that had made Ryusui drink cup after cup of Mrs Smith's foul tea despite all his complaints

He huffs a laugh that's half resignation, half genuine amusement. "Wonderful. I'll remember this moment fondly when I can't walk tomorrow."

But he's already moving toward the middle of the training ground, because backing down now would prove every samurai prejudice about merchants lacking discipline. "Though if I collapse entirely, let's call it 'studying the ground position' so I can salvage some dignity."

"There's no dignity in jujutsu," Tsukasa says, but something in his eyes suggests he appreciates the commitment. "Only technique and its absence. Now, watch.”

Even though Thalos returns within twenty minutes, and immediately calls Tsukasa away for his own training, Ryusui's legs are already aching, trembling. Tsukasa hadn't even shown him any strikes. Just stance. Once Ryusui's dressed himself again, he decides against returning to their room to recover, being found collapsed halfway up the stairs would be an embarrassment.

Instead, he finds a bench in the covered gallery that runs along the eastern wall, where cross-breeze from the ocean meets shade from the overhanging roof. The stone is cool through his clothes and he rests his head against the wall behind him.

His legs throb with that particular ache that promises worse tomorrow, but his mind feels clearer than it has in days. The gallery offers perfect vantage: he watches a serving girl hurry past with fresh linens, two officers deep in conversation about supply lines, and greets one of the cooks who let him cadge that breakfast from the soldiers’ mess.

After about an hour, his body is recovered enough for his next activity - a conversation with Mrs Smith. Well a negotiation. His plan requires supplies. The timing is promising, mid-morning Mrs Smith will likely have finished her instructions to staff and be checking the kitchens or the linen stores.

Mrs Smith is indeed busy in the linen closet, her capable hands sorting through pressed sheets. She doesn't look up when he enters, though he's certain she heard his approach.

"No," she says.

"I haven't asked yet."

"Don't need to. I can smell trouble on you like smoke from a fire." She snaps a sheet straight with more force than necessary. "Whatever fool notion you've got brewing in that sailor's head of yours, the answer's no."

Ryusui leans against the doorframe, careful to keep his posture relaxed despite the protest from his legs. "I need access to the workshop. Tools, wood, some copper piping if there's any to spare—"

"Absolutely not." Mrs. Smith's jaw sets in a hard line. She finally looks at him, her weathered face stern. "You think I don't know what you're about? Always scheming, always building something. Just like—"

She cuts herself off, turning back to her linens with renewed vigor.

"Just like someone who didn't know when to leave well enough alone," Ryusui finishes quietly.

Her hands still. "Don't you presume to—"

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Mrs. Smith." He stays by the door, giving her space. "But we both know why you're angry with me.”

"I'm angry because you're a damned fool who keeps poking at things best left alone!" She whirls on him, a sheet clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

Ryusui sees the fear beneath the anger. The guilt that eats at people who survive while others don't, who convince themselves there must have been a choice they could have made differently.

“Now you want to go building some contraption that'll catch her attention again?” Mrs Smith continues. “Bring her wrath down on this whole household? I won't be party to it."

"What I'm building is a gift."

Ryusui straightens slightly, though his legs complain again. "A puzzle box. A water maze that can only be opened one specific way. The kind of thing that takes hours to solve."

Mrs. Smith's sharp eyes narrow. "Hours?"

"At least. Possibly days, if I design it well enough." He holds her gaze steadily. "Gods like challenges, don't they? Especially ones that prove their superiority when they solve them."

Understanding flickers across her face, followed quickly by renewed fear.

"And what are you planning to do with those hours, Mr. Nanami? What mischief will you work while she's distracted?"

"Rest," Ryusui says simply. "All of us. Some hours, maybe a few days where she's occupied with something that brings satisfaction rather than cruelty.”

“And for you?” Mrs Smith asks, still suspicious. “Building that contraption will take you more than a few hours. The time trade-off doesn't seem worth it.”

“A full conversation with Tsukasa. One which isn't abruptly interrupted by a summons and one where neither of us are reeling from … “? Ryusui waves a hand, vaguely, betting that the lack of specifics will mean that Mrs Smith will think of whatever she personally finds the most disturbing. “Making a puzzle is something I can put down and pick up again. Conversations aren't so interruptible.”

The argument works.

“You're going to do this regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

"I'd prefer to do it with proper tools rather than improvising with kitchen knives and furniture scraps."

Despite herself, Mrs. Smith's mouth twitches. "Stubborn as a mule. Yes, just like—”, she cuts herself off. “I should say no. I should. And yet…” She glares at him, then shakes her head. “If this ends badly, Nanami, it will be on your head, not hers, not mine. Understand?”

Ryusui nods, taking a step forward. “Understood.”

A long pause. She finally reaches for a key hanging from her belt, holding it out with a reluctant sigh. "Workshop's at the end of the east corridor. Tools are on the wall - you put them back where you found them, understand? And the piping's in the storage room adjacent."

Ryusui took the key she offered, closing his fingers around the cold metal. "Thank you.”