Caution. This Story contains spoilers all the way up through OAV series 2, and a little bit borrowed from the Manga. Do Not read if you intend to watch or read Fushigi Yuugi and do not wish to have secrets revealed. Also, This Story Contains YAOI, that is sex between two males as in graphic sex. If this is not your thing. Go away! If you are not 18 or older then leave. If it is illegal in your state or country to be viewing this content, don't view it. You have been warned. You shouldn't have gotten this far already. The rest of you, ENJOY!
Fushigi Yuugi is not owned by me or any of the characters form it. Do not post my stories in any archives or other sites. I do not make or ever intend to make money on fan fiction stories.
Pairings: Hotohori x Tamahome, Nakago x Tomo
The Never Ending Story of Fushigi Yuugi: Part 1 Hotohori
Updated: October November 2002 thanks to my to avery kind beta reader, you know who you are. If there are still mistakes, be assurred it is my own fault for missing the corrections given to me.
Tamahome looked out over the green rolling hills as the sun began to rise. Tamahome. It had been a long time since he had gone by that name. Well, a long time in Taka’s world, not here. Taka, Tamahome, they were one in the same but still it was difficult getting used to. He and Miaka were together, had been together in the Universe of the Four Gods, and in Miaka’s world. Now, he could feel her warmth inside him, the beating of her heart, their souls entwined in the greatest love affair two beings could ever know.
So why was he here clenching his fist and cursing the sunrise?
Because Miaka had run off, again and perhaps to spare his own endangerment. It was an act that had never worked for either of them, but one replayed over and over again in the game of life.
They were summoned here, into the world of fiction yet not fiction, again. This time by the four gods in a desperate plea for help against a force they could locate but not attack, a force that was draining them of their powers, a source that was either a person or a thing, or perhaps a thing used by a person, none of them knew. All that they knew, Miaka, Yui, and himself, was that they had to gather all the god’s seishi’s they could find, regardless of the god they served, in an effort to breach the maze that surrounded this source and destroy it before it drained the gods and became a god itself. He shook his head and began walking, following the hoof-prints that the girls’ horse had left. If the girls both thought he should be left behind for the first seishi, then it only brought to mind one being. A dark power who’s soul he had a glimpse into just before his death.
The very idea of the two girls facing him alone sent shiver’s down his back...
A soft neigh interrupted him of this thoughts. Tamahome whirled around, his braided dark blue hair swishing through the air with a light whistle while his eyes widened at what he beheld.
A powerful white horse with a strange long dark mane and tail ran towards him. The creature was magnificent with golden hooves that shown bright as it tore through the grass kicking dirt up behind as it went. A half worn harness and loose saddle adorned its smooth, muscular body. Not far behind were three mounted figures on dark brown mounts with black manes came tearing down the same path, whirling lassos and trying to catch the best.
Tamahome stepped out in front of the animal, speaking softly as he brought it to a halt and grabbed the harness, noticing the bit was not in its mouth. “Easy boy,” he whispered quietly.
The three men dropped from their horses and ran over to him. "Many thanks stranger. This beast has given us hell since we acquired him," one of them nodded to him. This man then took out a piece of black leather and flogged the horse repeatedly while the other two took hold of the reins, keeping the creature from bolting.
“Hey!” Tamahome objected angrily. “You don’t treat living creatures like that.”
“Mind your own business stranger. We thank you for your help but don’t take kind to you meddling in our affair.” This time the man struck the horse in the head and hard, causing the creature to falter.
Tamahome narrowed his eyes. “I said back off.” He raised his fist slowly ready for a fight when the three of them moved forward and surrounded him. They came at him as a unison but were slow and awkward of their own weight. He punched the lead man once in the head and twice in the stomach before sending him down to the ground with a sweeping kick. The other two ran, and so did the third when he was able to stand and hobble off.
“Ha, barely broke a sweat he bragged.” He rubbed his hands together and was surprised to see that the other horse had remained.
“Easy boy,” he cooed as he tightened the saddle. Nice. He then worked on the harness but found that the mount would nearly bite his fingers off if he came near him with the bit. Frowning, Tamahome removed the bit and made a makeshift knot to put around the muzzle. It wasn’t perfect but at least it would work till they could get another. Damn, he had forgotten. He had no money for here. Hmmm but he did know how to make money. With one smooth motion he mounted his new horse and was pleasantly surprised to find no resistance. After a few moments they were gliding over the ground and following the tracks at speeds that one could not help but wonder if they were flying.
After several hours, they were walking though it was all he could do to keep the horse at the fast pace they began. Miaka was near, he could feel their bond pulling at them, telling him where to go and traveling over but a short distance to comfort him. It was strange, electric even and... he paused. Suddenly he felt distress. “No!” He exclaimed. “Come on boy, you can do it.” He whispered to the soft large ears as he urged his mount into another full gallop. After only a few minutes, he could make out a few figures down below, getting into a row boat.
“Miaka!” He cried out.
He clenched his teeth as he pressed his horse onward and over the cliff. “Come on,” he growled and prayed in one. They could make it. He could feel the powerful body beneath him lunge and heave as the hooves pounded into the dirt and rock towards the boat that was rowing away with each passing second. Then, a strange whirling sound fluttered through the air followed by a wet twang. And... then they were falling ...
Tamahome awoke with a headache and pain in his sides. He stood slowly on shaky legs and peered down the large gapping river. “Miaka,” he whispered. His only and greatest solace was that their bond was strong and warm. She was alive and well enough. His fingers glided through his hair slowly as he brushed his clothing off. Damn his mount. He had spared the animal from its torturous master just to plummet the creature to its death. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Tamahome blinked a few times to clear the dirt from his eyes.
“Oohhh,” came a weak voice from the bushes nearby.
A survivor. His eyes narrowed as he rushed over to get answers from the captor. “Where is she! Who took her! Why!?” His voice echoed in the darkness. He peered down at the figure and found gentle golden eyes peering back at him. The long dark hair, the smooth and bare light skin and the black long lashes. “Hotohori...?” His blue grey eyes widened as he saw the ugly arrow erect in the seishi’s chest.
Hotohori lifted his hand weakly. “I tried Tamahome...” He whispered and then laid his head back, turning to the side as his body went limp.
Tamahome searched for a pulse quickly, his two front fingers gliding along the side of the pale neck, and was rewarded with a rather strong one. It had to be the pain that had blacked out the emperor. Gritting his teeth, he clasped the arrow tightly and broke the shaft. Rolling his friend over carefully, he removed the rest, discarding the remains to the side. He gathered mud and grass to cover both sides of the wound, and using his own cloak, he covered Hotohori and carried him gently in his arms. His search to find a town of the riverbank then began.
It took what seemed like hours to find someone who would take them in and bind Hotohori’s wounds. He paced back in forth in the kitchen, after downing some food and drink from the man’s wife. Miaka and Yui were taken and Hotohori had been shot. Oh, but how could that be unless he had been the mount, and if that were so, how was it possible. Tamahome tried to hold his throbbing head. “Please be okay,” he murmured, not really sure who he was talking about the most.
“Tamahome...?” the soft voice breathed.
Tamahome went to the out stretched hand of his fellow seishi and once emperor. “Hotohori...”
The long black haired warrior tried to sit up but winced and could not fight Tamahome’s actions to get him back down. “No emperor, you must rest.”
Hotohori’s golden eyes closed in pain though he managed a smile. “No longer emperor Tamahome. A seishi, just a man.”
Tamahome smiled briefly as well. Ah yes, the promise, the promise that they would fight over Miaka. Except she was not here and so much had happened since then. Hadn’t it, he wondered. He spoke quietly. “Rest Hotohori. You were badly wounded.”
“I saw the red light, the light that Miaka used to talk about. Then I was... in a strange place.” The voice was gentle and strong, as it always had been. “Things are fuzzy. I remember the others... and Chichiri. He was yelling at me to move, but I couldn’t... We were at the mountain again and Taiitsu-kun... it all it...” His breathing became labored.
Tamahome dipped a nearby rag in the bucket and applied it to his hot forehead. “It is all right now. Miaka, Yui and I have been returned. We are now in a home in a Konan Village. You have been tended to.”
Hotohori suddenly sat forward. “Miaka!”
Tamahome sighed inwardly. The feelings, were they still so strong for her? “She is all right. I can... I can feel it.”
Hotohori pushed the blanket aside as his feet gently touched the floor. “My sword... clothes.” He held his head briefly. “I don’t have those do I?” The dark mane moved as he shook his head. “I had cruel masters... I just, I just cannot remember Tamahome. Things, they are not as they should be. We must find Miaka. We were so close...”
Tamahome frowned as he picked up the peasant garbs the married couple here had managed to find. “They are a little big Hotohori but should be okay.” Tamahome paused as he stood and turned to give him privacy. “You will always be emperor to us Hotohori.”
Hotohori gave a half laugh as he dressed, breathing deeply whenever he disturbed his wound. “We will have to find a sword. My powers are not as grand as your own without my weapon.”
Tamahome turned as the former emperor finished. “Do you... do you remember being a horse?”
The golden eyes widened. “A horse? Really Tamahome it is so unlike you to dream up...”
Tamahome touched his chest gently, his grey eyes steadily gazing into the golden. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to stand still as the golden eyes returned the gaze. Even for but a breath, there seemed to be heat between them. It was odd and yet... “Your wound. How did you get it Hotohori?”
The Konan Emperor hesitated. “I do not... I do not know. But I remember Miaka being there. My mind, my memories Tamahome, they are blurred... so vague.” Hotohori whispered the remaining part as he stepped away. “We must go find and protect Miaka, our Suzaku no Miko.”
Tamahome scratched his head as he took a pen and wrote a kind thank you letter to the couple on the table. By the time they returned, the two seishi would be gone. “We will need to go get a horse if we are going to make anytime. In the village, I bet I can make some silver for it, maybe find a horse that is a bit unwilling...”
“I can merely demand...”
Tamahome laughed though he regretted it the moment he saw the shock in the golden globes behind him. “Hotohori, even if you were the emperor, who will believe you? You are suppose to be dead...” It hurt to say those words, almost as much as it hurt to see those memories glide behind his friend’s gaze.
“Yes... I guess you are right. Nakago...” His eyes widened. “We must get to the palace. We must... Miaka.” Clearly the master swordsman was confused on what action he wished to take most.
Tamahome, without thinking, pulled Hotohori into a warm embrace. “Slow down. You are taking it in too fast. You have to let it come. For now, just follow me, we will get a horse.”
Hotohori squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, obediently following. “My son,” Tamahome thought he heard him whisper as they headed down the road.
Yui-chan rubbed her bruised wrists as they were pulled off the wagon. “Miaka, that was Tamahome. Are you sure we should have left him, I mean now look at this. We are in the same ugly situation we were in the first time we entered the book, but now we are avoiding Tamahome.”
Miaka shook her determined head. “Suzaku said that the seishi would be drawn to us and us to them. You felt it right, we are heading to one of yours. It is a strong feeling. The strongest Seiryuu Seishi we knew is...”
“Nakago,” Yui voiced softly. “I was such a fool Miaka. We cannot trust him. What will we do when we see him. Ask for his help, beg for it?”
Miaka frowned. “I don’t really know, but these guys were talking about a fallen angel up in the mountains near here right. We will find out more and escape. Tamahome said that Nakago...” Her eyes blazed and her fists clenched. “There is good in Nakago. I know it. We have to work together Yui. This is our chance to end these wars here, these conflicts.. these.”
“Oh Miaka, get of your high horse. This isn’t world peace we are talking about here, and this isn’t some lost child. Whatever Nakago may have been is not who he is now.”
Miaka and Yui stepped into the slave pens, the door slamming behind them. “Maybe not, but we don’t know who he is now. All we know is that there is some blonde angel guarding a ruin at the top of those moutains, and it just might be Nakago.”
Yui’s blue gaze followed her finger, watching the smoke spiral out of the range she was pointing at. “Don’t you mean Volcano?”
Hotohori waited at the side of the road, sitting under a large willow tree for Tamahome to return. The hot pain in his chest did not even compare to the ache of his heart or the images that swam through his mind. His son, his empress... Slowly, he touched his own cheek and hands, forcing himself to realize he was alive, whole, and able to touch. This was no host body he was in, it was his own flesh and blood.
He stood smoothly, wincing from the pain in his chest. A light tingling sensation entered Hotohori’s mind, as if a light chilling breeze somehow had entered his body, the words carried on the draft faint but audible.
“Hotohori, come. Come quick. Trouble,” it was male but too soft to identify.
“I am coming. I just need...” A moment. His words ended as he slumped forward, spiraling into darkness.
Tamahome whirled around in the center of the road, pilling up the endless stream of thugs that had accosted him into one large heap. True, he was looking to find such beings to defeat for silver but not exactly in this fashion and certainly not this many. He rubbed his hands together as he kicked the last one to the side, his eyes widening as he noted more coming down from a nearby hill. “What the hell?” He voiced unhappily. It was time to run but to leave the purses on them after all this fighting. It was tragedy beyond reason. Then he heard a soft familiar neigh as the great white horse trotted down the road, the white patch on its chest holding securely. Tamahome smiled widely and shook his head. “Hotohori, whoever thought you would be so useful for me.”
He went through and grabbed three purses of coin before hoping on the back of the sturdy mount and urging him onward. His fingers stroked the white and held onto the dark mane tightly. “Easy boy, you are wounded. Just get us out of sight.” The horse stomped and turned a few times before galloping down the road, leaving the angry mob behind.
It took a great deal of encouraging before the animal slowed down. It was as if something other than its current rider were goading it onward.
“Hotohori,” Tamahome voiced softly to the large white ears. “Ease down. She is fine for now. Don’t push yourself to fast.”
The animal snorted and began to walk, breathing heavily. It gave Tamahome a few minutes of peace to rejoice in their acquisition of money and realize that this mount was defiantly Hotohori. The gods never mentioned anything like this and obviously not to the emperor either. Well at least that meant they only need one horse, one they could share when Hotohori was a man. Gods, how did he ever get himself into such a mess, again. No matter, the road was long regardless of how they traveled it. For now, his heart knew which direction Miaka traveled, and that too was their path.
It was not until late in the evening did Tamahome finally dismount the great white steed and lead them far off the road to make camp. This time, the bare fisted warrior beheld the transformation, almost. A blinding red light forced him to turn away from the animal; he looked back, there was Hotohori, bandage and all, laying face down on the grass, unconscious. Sighing, Tamahome moved the once emperor closer to the fire, bathing his forehead with a bit of their water until he awoke.
The gold eyes gazed up at him, cloudy as if not recognizing not only him but their situation. Then, clarity returned, and Hotohori fully sat up. “It happened again didn’t it?”
Tamahome hesitated as he added wood to the fire. “You don’t know?”
Hotohori ran his fingers through his dark hair, his own uncertainty clear in his shining eyes and posture, the slight way his fingers traveled over his body as if checking to make sure he was real. “I know something happened... but the details... They are not there Tamahome.”
He nodded as he kneeled nearby. “Yes, you transformed. You don't' remember being a horse at all, not the bandits or anything?”
“Bandits? What bandits?” The dark mane danced as Hotohori shook hi head. “It doesn’t matter. No I don’t remember the bandits. I remember you calling my name and then darkness.” He paused, thoughtful and graceful as he stood. “It was darkness but not blackness. I cannot, cannot explain it well.”
Tamahome frowned. “But I didn’t call you name. You are sure you heard me?”
Hotohori kneeled and picked up their water skin and drank deeply, a small droplet rolling down his chin and then vulnerable neck. “No, I am not sure. I do know I was called to you, drawn to...” His voice trailed off as he regarded Tamahome quietly.
The golden eyes again, were so focused and yet distant. Tamahome shifted as he realized he had been starring. Who knew what was going through the emperor’s mind now. And why did his throat feel so dry suddenly. It was almost as if he were... But it couldn’t be. Such a feeling would have come out of no where. He and Hotohori were rivals at best. Right?
Hotohori stood, his legs shaky. “It feels as if I have been walking all day but...” His eyes widened as his knees buckled and he began to fall. In moments, Tamahome was there, offering his support.
Tamahome turned to speak to Hotohori only to find his lips accidentally pressed against the others. They both froze. Tamahome’s blue grey eyes widened as he gazed into the golden depths of his companion. It was then he knew he was lost to them.
"Tamahome, I..." The one-time emperor inhaled deeply, silenced by his lips, by his fingers lifting and stroking Hotohori’s long, dark, silky hair..
Oddly, he was drawn to Hotohori, a desire that swelled from inside and grew as he saw the little droplets glistened from beneath the closed lashes before him. Gentling it away with tender kisses to the lids, Tamahome spoke quietly.
“Shhh,” he whispered as his fingers stroked the lightly damp cheeks. The martial artists kneeled, bringing Hotohori down with him. His lips pressed against the warm forehead lightly, relishing the light tremble he received.
Hotohori breathed deeply, his own hands hesitantly resting on Tamahome’s knees. He seemed to lean forward into the gentle caresses, both their bodies relaxed despite the unique situation they fond themselves in.
Tamahome allowed his fingers to see Hotohori’s body beyond what sight alone could give him. The strength, the pride that he had always witnessed in this Seishi could be felt by the smooth hardness of his body, the soft flawless skin, and the slight motions of desire the great swordsman made, too small for anything but the most intimate touch to witness.
With a couple of graceful motions, Tamahome relieved him of the peasant tunic, far too plain for such a figure, for a such a person. Without knowing what drove him, without realizing the passion and unimaginable relief he felt for seeing his old rival alive and well again, he went to the refined shoulders, kissing the gradual sloops found there. The pulse that raced beneath his cool lips encouraged his own body, his exploration more bold as they dipped down to the hard chest, circling the tiny nipples now exposed. The blue grey eyes lifted to watch the turmoil over his would be lover’s face, the desire mixed with confusion clear even with the golden eyes still hidden. It was beautiful, too tempting to resist.
“Miaka,” Hotohori whispered breathlessly in light protest though he did not back away. His golden eyes opened and displayed the naked loneliness Miaka had spoke of in passing not long ago. They both knew that if it were not for Tamahome, the woman in question would have been his.
As his fingers worked carefully to free the emperor of the rest of his garments, Tamahome spoke soothingly. “You are beautiful Hotohori, to anyone that beholds you. She could be nothing less than pleased to see us both waiting for her, together.”
A light rouge blush tinted Hotohori’s cheeks. “But she does not love me Tamahome, you do not...”
He was silenced by a single finger.
“I have grown to love you and did not realize it. Miaka has always loved you Hotohori. Her heart broke to hear of your death,” Tamahome murmured as his palm pressed firmly against the slightly hidden hot groin.
Hotohori tilted his head back and gasped lowly, his own desire clearly rising. “Not as you, never as strong as you.”
Tamahome stroked him slowly, his forefingers gliding over the moistening tip as he moved closer, taking in the other Seishi’s scent. The fragrance was nearly as intoxicating as the warriors appearance, just as refined, royal and demanding. A smile pulled at the corner of his lips as the older man lifted his hips in wanton desire. The strong thighs parted shamelessly, revealing his hardness nestled in dark silky hair as a low moan sounded from the usually proper lips. “I’ve a passion for you Hotohori. Is it not enough to be wanted by me?”
“Oh,” was all the other managed to reply as he arched gracefully beneath the increasing pressure of Tamahome’s caresses.
“Lie back Hotohori,” came the whispered command.
There was light conflict in the golden globes as he registered the order, but the emperor finally complied and laid down, his head resting gently on the moist grass.
Tamahome, still fully clothed, had his lover lift his knees and then part his legs slowly. With a feathery touch, he grasped the weeping member and leaned down, taking the sweetness into his mouth gradually, drawing a low moan from its owner. His tongue twirled around the tip, tasting the delicate liquid and feeling the organ come alive in this mouth. His blue grey eyes lifted as he bobbed on the tempting treasure, noting that Hotohori had his head turned to the side slightly, the back of his hand resting on his forehead with his eyes squeezed shut, trying to control his body’s reaction to the rush of sensations.
Tamahome took pity upon the moaning emperor and worked the shaft hard, his grip tight as he sucked strongly. He could feel Hotohori’s resistance, sense the master swordsman refuse to let go, to let loose. His free hand moved down to the two dangling sacs, rolling them around in his palm as his tongue pressed against the tiny slit.
The golden eyes shot open, wide in disbelief and passion as Hotohori found release, his seed spilling forth from his trembling body and into the seeking mouth of Tamahome. The tall body jerked lightly, a movement that would have looked strange and unpleasant on anyone else, but Hotohori remained graceful, delicate and strong even in the throws of passion.
Tamahome sat back on his haunches, his fingers gently stroking the relaxed thighs of his lover as he licked his lips, watching the beautiful lashes close and hide their golden treasure. Hotohori looked exhausted yet satisfied, a bared gem. Although desire stirred in his own loins, Tamahome ignored it, moving beside the naked Seishi and pulling him into a warm embrace. He located a plain blanket nearby, one he had acquired from the villagers, and covered the strong pale body. Hotohori’s head rested gently against his chest, strong fingers pressed against him. They were relaxed and for a few moments, any perils that lay ahead and the pains of their pasts were but shadows of a distant dream. Tamahome’s fingers glided through the dark strands of the silky mane long after the soft breathing of sleep reached his ear. His eyes turned to the stars finding them pleasing and a tranquil sanctuary. Much was uncertain about their future, about what would be demanded of them this time and the consequences if they were to fail. One thing was certain, what he had just done, what he had just initiated had been not been foreseen. What it could lead to was as just uncertain as trying to figure out what it was in the first place. Though he felt no real regret or dread, he could only wonder what Hotohori would say in he morning, assuming he was still human when he awoke.
Suzaku entered the dark caverns of the sleeping dragon god. His form glowed a patient flame, the red of his hair docile in comparison to the bright symbol blazing from his forehead. The Konan Empire’s god was adorned in silken ceremonial garments that fluttered briefly to the light breeze his shifting wings created. He paused as he beheld Seiryuu lying upon the stone floor of their makeshift lair. The god of blue and green appearances with delicate long fanned ears he enjoyed tantalizing so much. These ears would not be pleased with the information about to be relayed.
Suzaku paused a moment, hesitant as he recalled but briefly some of their more violent encounters. As quickly as the images came, they vanished and the phoenix beast god took heart and spoke.
“Seiryuu,” he voiced quietly.
That soft calm sound was enough to awaken his rival easily and he stood, facing the god of his own favored kingdom, Kutou’s, enemy. “They’ve arrived.”
“Yes,” Suzaku turned away from him, looking at unseen faces and lands. “But he approaches Byakko. The Seishi, they’ve just begun to gather. Still we need to face him now...”
“No,” Seiryuu voiced firmly. “Byakko summoned the ones he could. They will aid the rest when found. If we face this demon now, all of us, we will loose.”
Suzaku was quiet for a moment, knowing the wisdom of the words and observing the anger in which they were spoken. “If we do not face him now Seiryuu, we will not have the strength to even put up a fight.”
Seiryuu approached him, his strong hands heavy on Suzaku’s shoulder, his presence close and wanted. “Then in the end, we may not fight. The longer we are free, the more we can help the mortals succeed. Their success is ours.”
Suzaku hesitated. The very idea of lying in wait for one’s capture was appalling and even a bit frightening, each emotion a bit unfamiliar to him. The other god’s cool calm did nothing to ease his uncertainties. “And Byakko? Even now as we speak...”
“We all knew one had to be first. This demon does not want our destruction, he wants our enslavement. Byakko will exist, just apart from us.”
“And at the hands of that monster,” Suzaku’s own anger arose. They were no bartering chips nor were the mortals they called upon. Byakko was their fellow god, a power to be worshipped, viewed in awe, not captured.
Sorrow entered his heart for he knew that Seiryuu, of all the gods, new this, and that the dragon god new the pain of loss far more than the others. He simply bore it well and had the mind of a warrior of a strategist looking into a future he was molding and would not let go of easily. Even with that in mind, Suzaku was unprepared for the sudden grab, of the hand that clasped his shoulder tightly and spun him around to face Seiryuu.
“Even if the Seishi are successful Suzaku, we will all fall to this demon for a time. I will make certain you are the last to stand.”
Suzaku said nothing as Seiryuu departed, turning into the long sleek dragon form the mortals feared the most. They were fools really, for it was the passionate seductive voice of the human warrior that held the most strength.
To Be Continued...
-Please let me Know what you think- Paladin
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