Oriya lifted his eyes from the completed task of sharpening his katana, a ritual he often found more calming than his early morning katas within the dispersing mists of his garden. He could not help but smile at how deeply Muraki slept, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic scrape of stone on steel. The man was beautiful whether soaked in the blood of one of his victims (although he would never tell the doctor this) or lying completely cleansed and relaxed upon his back, seemingly without a care in the world. Tilting his head slightly to the side, Oriya intently studied the pale, lean form, bathed in moonlight that was streaming in from the bedroom window. He easily resembled one of his porcelain dolls, although anatomically correct. Most of Muraki's face was veiled in silvery hair while the rest of his lightly muscled body was exposed to the elements save for his left hip, to which clung the edge of a rumpled bed sheet. Oriya thought the sheet detracted from the physical perfection of the man it touched, and therefore required vanquishing.

Smiling deeper, perhaps a touch sinister, Oriya lifted his blade and reached across the bed, flicking the encroaching opponent from his friend's body with silent flourish. Better. Much better, he decided.

Muraki emitted a small noise, sensing a shift in his environment, something ephemeral affecting his slumber, but not enough to draw him from sleep. Several moments later, his chest rose and fell regularly once more.

Curiously, Oriya returned the flat tip of his katana to Muraki's body, carefully sliding the blade over the bony angle and plane of flesh at his friend's hip; glimmering steel on white marble skin.

Muraki softly sucked in his breath, and Oriya paused, leaving the blade to warm itself from the doctor's body heat, eventually becoming indistinguishable from the skin lovingly caressed. Curiosity segued into desire and Oriya ran his tongue tip along his upper lip, aching to feel Muraki beneath his mouth, to taste of flesh he intimately knew, and prayed that he would never cease knowing. However, that particular fate was in the doctor's dichotomous hands.

When the katana's temperature matched that of Muraki's skin, Oriya guided the blade purposefully across his friend's belly, studiously avoiding the man's soft cock that only several hours before he had worshipped with his mouth before fucking the blond to exhaustion. Oriya warmed at the recent memory; the feel of Muraki's erection at the back of this throat as he sucked as well as any of the whores in his employ. How he loved to hear every pleasure-filled gasp and imperceptible moan Muraki made, for the man endeavoured to remain silent during these intimate moments. How he yearned to make Muraki scream. Oriya slid the side of his katana up and over his lover's chest, mapping perfect, pale flesh with steel. Triumph was his when the blade tip gently kissed a nipple and Muraki's cock stirred with life.

Oriya shifted slightly so as not to tire his arm, for he fully intended on exploring this intriguing game. He circled Muraki's nipple before rocking the blade over the hardening blushed nub. A quick survey of Muraki's equally hardening cock was all that he required to focus his efforts on the other nipple, stimulating the erectile tissue with the edge of his blade, calling to memory how those nipples felt beneath his mouth; like smooth pebbles. When he heard a sharp breath catch in Muraki's throat, Oriya felt his lips lift into an exultant smirk.

Boldly now, Oriya caressed the katana down Muraki's sternum towards the man's groin. When he lifted the blade towards a new objective, Oriya started at Muraki's voice.

"Don't even think about it, Oriya." Muraki opened his left eye and stared down at his friend, otherwise unmoving.

"Well you seemed to be enjoying it. At least your body was." Oriya dropped his gaze to Muraki's erection, as proud and beautiful as the man himself.

"That is hardly the point."

"Please don't tell me that you doubt my skill. I'll be rather annoyed if that's the case," Oriya narrowed his eyes.

Muraki sighed as a parent might with a pouting child, "I do not doubt your skill, Oriya."

"That's good to know then." Oriya could see no other excuses and carefully lowered the flat of his blade to Muraki's prick, actually feeling the other man's erection twitch hungrily against his katana. The body never lied.

Muraki forcibly transformed his responsive groan into a growl, as though attempting to obfuscate desire for Oriya's instigated perversion, "Oriya!"

"You were doing so well before, Muraki. Just close your eyes and relax. Trust me." As Muraki was about to move despite the precarious position he was in, Oriya continued, but this time dangling a bargaining chip before his friend. "Afterwards, I'll let you fuck me raw until the sun rises." They had a curious relationship, he and Muraki. Oriya seldom spread his legs for Muraki, as much as he admired the man who he knew felt safe in Oriya's embrace, thereby allowing for required moments of relinquishing control. He preferred to spread Muraki, and suck, lick, probe and fuck every stretch of his friend's desirable, ivory flesh, to see Muraki as undone as possible, to see the doctor embrace life rather than death -- even if for a moment. Whenever Muraki tried to turn the tables on their bedroom games, Oriya skilfully turned them back, giving another reason for Muraki to visit -- so he could attempt to usurp control again. Now Oriya offered himself completely in exchange for this decadent opportunity to use his katana on Muraki in ways he never dreamed possible, hopeful that he might make a difference, no matter how slight, for even a moment in Muraki's life.

Muraki's cock twitched again, suggesting that the doctor was more than amenable to Oriya's suggestion. Oriya took the resulting silence as consent and fixed his focus to the delicate task at hand.

Carefully gliding the blade along Muraki's cock, Oriya coaxed the flesh to harden as stiff as the caressing katana. Oriya rocked the blade, his supple wrist moving elegantly, the steel soon glistening with precome. Grinning, Oriya lifted the blade and moved closer, guiding the katana's tip to Muraki's lips. "Taste yourself, Muraki." Taste your desire, Oriya thought, and dispense with your hate driven need just for once.

Evidently enjoying this brand of foreplay far more than previously confessed, Muraki's entire body arched in an elegant wave, tilting his head back as he slipped his pink tongue from between his lips. Oriya hardened immeasurably as Muraki's tongue tip lapped at the katana blade eagerly, licking his own sticky fluid, his resultant arousal, from the caressing blade that he had protested.

Katana cleansed, Oriya watched curiously as Muraki quickly and deliberately curled his tongue along the edge of the sword, nicking himself purposely. Muraki's soft moan was very informative... he enjoyed a little bit of pain, and even a little bit of his own blood. This should not have been surprising to Oriya, who knew Muraki could never immerse himself in pure pleasure. Pity.

Without drawing attention to the sensual self-inflicted pain he had just witnessed, Oriya returned the blade to stroke once more along Muraki's fine flesh. There was a moment of desire where he thought he'd like to try cutting his lover, to see what reaction would arise, but instinct informed Oriya that this would be going too far... for now. Perhaps another time, and hopefully at Muraki's instigation as the doctor always needed to feel in control.

Kneeling between Muraki's splayed legs, Oriya held the flat of steel straight along the full length of his friend's painfully hard prick. "Rock your hips, Muraki," he whispered, his request hanging in the air, thick with desire and lust. "Fuck yourself along my blade."

A protest died on Muraki's lips, and after several agonizing moments, he obeyed. His thighs quivered slightly as he tilted his pelvis up and then down. Muraki's mouth parted in a soundless moan as he slowly stroked himself against Oriya's katana, each pass of his cock along steel exciting them further.

Oriya debated tossing his sword aside and burying himself to the hilt inside Muraki's body, but he also yearned to see this through, explore and perhaps, just perhaps, make his friend finally scream. When Oriya lifted his eyes and gazed directly into Muraki's face, he saw a playful lilt form on the man's pert mouth that spoke volumes. Muraki was just as intent on teasing his lover, knowing the intensely arousing effect this moment was having on Oriya. Nothing could ever be simple with Muraki.

Grinning, Oriya lifted his blade from between Muraki's legs and settled back on his haunches. "Turn over on your hands and knees, and spread yourself for me," he instructed, his free hand reaching behind him and searching for the jar of lubricant that had rolled onto the floor earlier.

Despite the seemingly submissive position Muraki was slipping into, he maintained an air of superiority and control as he gracefully rolled onto his front and then reared up on his hands and knees, slowly spreading his legs to tantalize Oriya. Oriya, however, was feeling far more aggressive than usual and dispensed with his customary oral treatment of Muraki's ass. He did wish, however, to lull Muraki into a false sense of security and anticipation, so he latched his mouth onto the curve of Muraki's slender hip, nibbling and laving hungrily while his fingers worked thick slippery fluid over their target.

Oriya whispered against Muraki's warm skin as his fingers caressed a circular path inside the tight ring of muscle he longed to penetrate, "Relax... I don't want to wait much longer."

"You can be so delightfully impatient, Oriya." Muraki teased and then breathed deeply several times, each out-breath relaxing his muscles further, his ass becoming more pliant against Oriya's probing fingers.

Oriya withdrew his fingers, replacing his digits with something much harder and larger. He ached to fill Muraki and yearned to feel his lover quiver beneath him. With a guiding hand at Muraki's ass, he fluidly slipped the cap and then the handle of his katana through the puckered entrance, and deep into his lover's body.

"Ohhh fuck!" Muraki arched, fingernails gouging into the mattress, losing his composure delightfully.

Before Muraki could slide forward and dislodge the katana's handle from his ass, Oriya curled his arm around Muraki's hips, fingers grazing an impossibly hard cock with a very moist tip. Oriya straddled Muraki's left leg, his groin pressed against his lover's thigh, the heat of skin on skin almost dizzying. Once he felt Muraki's ass had acclimated to the invasion of slippery steel and braid, Oriya slowly drew his arm back, withdrawing the handle not quite to the cap and then slid the katana forward.

Muraki shivered, and surprisingly held firm, subjecting himself to Oriya's wicked ministrations. His breaths grew laboured as Oriya stroked his katana rhythmically in and out of Muraki's tight ass.

Oriya, likewise, felt the euphoric effects of this sensuous indulgence and rocked his erection against Muraki. He tilted the angle of the katana, intentionally stroking along the doctor's prostate, and sucked his breath inwards in anticipation. He smiled in relief when Muraki began to keen with need and even thrust himself hungrily back against the handle.

Muraki clawed the mattress with finely manicured nails, a growl working its way from his throat; slowly, by inches, losing the last vestiges of his tightly held self-control. He fucked himself harder against the impaling katana, and much to Oriya's marvel, took even more of the braided handle into his yielding body.

If Muraki didn't come soon, Oriya was convinced that he would explode. He redoubled his efforts, stroking his fingers tightly around Muraki's prick, using the added motion of his thrusting arm to push his friend harder through his fist. Panting, Oriya was struck at how Muraki's skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, decorated with beads perspiration, and moving rapidly beneath his perverse ministrations. When Muraki began to mutter a litany of obscenities that grew ever louder, Oriya knew that he would soon have one more thing that he wanted.

"Harder! Faster!" Muraki demanded between barely there breaths, the man's voice alone was enough to cause Oriya's balls to tighten inexorably towards a predictable release.

Mustering the last of his focus and strength, Oriya threw his entire body, and likely his soul, into the licentious moment. He hoped to last long enough for Muraki; and with the speed and agility of a master swordsman, Oriya thrust his slippery katana a little deeper, a lot harder and much faster. There was no resistance from the doctor except a slight tug, desiring the handle to return to his body with increasing fervour.

Moments before Oriya thought that he would surrender to unconsciousness, Muraki finally screamed. Loud. Shattering. Anger, frustration, hate, pain, insanity, and other sundry emotions that Oriya knew consumed the doctor vented in this one climactic moment; although he knew better than to presume that these sentiments were utterly vanquished. Nevertheless, if Oriya could give Muraki a moment's respite, then every discomfort he had ever endured on his friend's behalf would be worth any amount of suffering. As the victory cry reverberated between paper walls, Muraki's entire body tensed, the katana handle buried deep while Oriya's hand grew sticky with Muraki's come.

After milking Muraki through his climax, Oriya brought his hand to his cock and with his lover's fluid as lubrication, stroked himself to completion, their seed mingling in his shaking palm. He gasped for air, his lungs burning and every muscle within his body feeling as though he had experienced a forge firsthand -- melted, cooled and stretched.

Slowly and carefully, Muraki shifted forward, dislodging the katana from his pleasure-wracked body. When the doctor turned his elegant head over his shoulder and gazed at Oriya voraciously, the katana master knew that this was only the beginning. Not yet out of the forge, he required folding and pummelling into perfection for a specific use.

Oriya would not be able to walk for a week, but the agony would be worthwhile. He had made Muraki scream. He had made Muraki forget -- for just a moment.