Work Text:
Bullet & Blade
A Jack Casey & Kiiryon x Yakuza and Mafia AU Fiction.
Kiiryon had been standing on the bridge, leaning against the wood of the great and grand structure that spanned over the beautiful Jinsan river, a bundle swathed in cloth appearing light as it rested to his back, held a great burden, and he tried to make sense of his position--of how and why he had been set up--with him. The Hisuino-o-kai was a predominant family in Yohtoko. With great respect and power as well, the loyalty of their most humble men, they kept an odd sort of peace in society. Law dared not interfere and be made an example once more; and Kiiryon rather liked it that way. They proved themselves to be mature and with their great power--showed they were to be respected and kept to a silent peace treaty. One that the law dared to not break for the threads of their serenity were thin and never to be crossed.
Each man proved himself, proved his worth--and yet, his brothers dared to nominate him to be the charge of that foreigner. And just like that, his boss with a proud smile, decreed Kiiryon to be the caretaker, of him.
How many times had he sighed. Looked at his reflection even and wonder what evil spirit possessed his family to condemn him to such a fate.
Your heart is too harsh Kiiryon. Enjoy the beauty of living in another world. Echoed the words of his boss.
No. This world is too simple and dense.
But Kiiryon had been wrong. Another scowl at his reflection in the murmuring river interrupted with a ripple by a skating bug. And much like the foreigners invasion in his life--his solace ruined by vivacious ripples and skips till--it was swallowed up by a fatty koi.
He snorted and withdrew with fingers caressing the smooth red wood.
That world is too complex with density.
Kiiryon’s feet carried him towards it. The whirring of cicadas and the ripe perfume of jasmine mixed with the tender warmth of a coming summer was interrupted. He should have turned and walked away, he knew what he was walking to, and yet there was a gravitating pull to that horrendously strong musk of western incense. Or perhaps, it was the desire to negate whatever troubles the scent usually brought with it.
A foreigner didn’t know their culture well enough to offer proper respect, or in most cases, said man did not know how to keep his loins fastened to himself.
He heard a woman's giggle followed by a guffaw that seemed rather beastly than charming. And as Kiiryon rounded the stone corner, he felt his eyes narrow at the sight of the man--his charge--nestled comfortably with his head on a woman's lap. Their smiles shaded by the cherry hue of her delicate, paper umbrella.
“Jack Casey.” he announced in a tone far colder than he intended. How the man's name rolled off his tongue in an unfamiliar speech--yet he tried nonetheless with intimidation.
To his glee, the woman gasped in surprise and with flushed shame, bowed her head with a swift turn away.
This did not sit well with the man.
His deep chestnut eyes pinched with concern, thick brows furrowed, and his lips pulled down into a frown from which his nostrils flared in a huff. Collecting himself, and sitting up with a nervous chuckle of his own, Jack Casey gave in when the cold and firm gaze of golden pools of his caretaker, failed to waver. A broad hand brushed through coffee coloured locks of hair held in a messy bun, and lips pulled back with a hissing inhale as the man shuffled forwards with a cat-like laziness. A yawn added in with defiance to being interrupted, and the western man sighed with arms crossing over his chest.
“Dere’s no need ta’ be so uptight all da’ time Kii.” he whined with that estranged dialect and fond use of that nickname. Kiiryon scoffed and gave a roll of his eyes.
The quick sound of shuffling broke the pout expression on Jack Casey’s face and swiftly, the man turned catching the faint blur of orange and blue flowers being swallowed up in the crowd.
“Ah! And dere’ she goes…” a forlorn sigh following.
“She’s smart to leave quickly. She should be ashamed for what she had done.” corrected Kiiryon with a glare and ever present scowl. And for a moment, Kiiryon was surprised and rather proud with Jack Casey’s rebuttal being a deep sigh and hushed, yeah. “I get it--foreigner and da’ bizness’.”
And with that, the swift admiration for Jack Casey’s understanding, like the tender breeze--was swept away and replaced with a sigh and shake of his head. “You should be careful foreigner-- you are no ordinary citizen.”
“Yeah? An’ wat-abou’-you?” quipped Casey with a smirk of challenge.
He could not respond.
Jack Casey was an obvious transplant into their society, his voice and manner of speech excluded. His flesh was fair, his eyes an odd shape, his build was strong and his clothes… While the man had tried to accept their culture in the form of fashions, he still so stubbornly kept to his leather jacket, and evergreen--woolen hat. A hat in which the man claimed to have been a symbol of historical appreciation; an era of true western society. He was however, proud to be engraved with a beastly art upon his back, a wolf. Perhaps in homage to his lone wolf tendencies that he had so recently inflicted upon himself.
But Kiiryon, Kiiryon was a man of the culture and society, dressed in the influential western aesthetic mixed with their fashion of the blessed rising moon and tenacious winds. He bore the life-long markings of his family. His fair--though olive--flesh was forever engraved and covered with colourful and vivid tattoos that spanned over his arms and back--and to further damn him--upon his forehead. However, it was the tattoo of the intricate eye upon his forehead that was neither of his will or his family. It was of a curse, and one he was both proud and ashamed of. Nevertheless, Kiiryon tried to respect the civility of society, and brandished himself in suits and sleeved attire to keep as much attention away from him, his golden eyes, and his ruddish hair.
Jack Casey had won this little argument. “Come along.” was Kiiryon’s only response, and he dared not to stare any longer at that smug smile of victory on Casey’s face.
Off they went, side by side. They had an appointment after all, and it was such meetings that were the cause and reason for Jack Casey’s existence in their territory, and the sole reason why he was playing baby-sitter to the man. Despite his disdain for the westerner, Kiiryon was to keep the man protected at all costs, even using his own life as a shield.
Down the busy sidewalks they went. Ignoring the tantalizing scents of meats soaked in seed oil, or the tickling waft of sweet pastries filled with mashed red beans--cautious of the heavy foot drivers that zipped by in their cars, or the stares of fear and possible disgust as they traversed on in the city.
Yohtoko, was a bustling modern metropolis that was still stuck in a bubble of the past. The buildings though made of modern materials, still held the fond design of an era long gone-- red lanterns still swayed with pride, clutching to the rafters, and hither and thither. Shrines were protected by their stone statues or bamboo walls, and always welcomed guests with large red mouths. The fluttering sounds of people merged with nature and the tender wailing of violins, prancing flutes, and the occasional chirp of bells.
Visitors often came with wonderment and romantic ideas of the city. After all, it was a historical town, and it was stubborn in keeping tradition alive. Yet it was not tourism where the city found its financial support.
With great hesitation and silent acknowledgement, it was through efforts and donations from the esteemed Hisuino-o-kai that the city was still the bustling hub that it was.
It was also with thanks to the Hisuino-o-kai, that the city had opened foreign trade.
However, it was with such gates opened that Jack Casey was not invited, but rather he stumbled into with a passion--a passion of running away.
Kiiryon snorted with a faint and almost fond smile of how the foreigner essentially crashed into all of their lives--but clutched onto his. Not that he had a choice for the past five years.
Jack Casey was a gunrunner--a man whom knew what weapons were the best, successful, and most importantly, how to transport them. A man with that knowledge was deemed important to his brothers and boss. Such knowledge was important in staying a formidable foe to the foolish who dared to rise against them. A fool was simply that--but a gang of them had the potential to cause chaos, a chaos that the Hisuino-o-kai wanted no part of in their territory. So whilst the threat of up-rise was present, the need for Casey remained--and the need for him to remain begrudgingly at the man's side would too remain steadfast.
“Hey-uh...Kii”
Here it comes, Kiiryon exhaled silently through his nose, his eyes sharp at the crosswalk for any stray vehicle or person. “When dis’-er…transaction, is ovah’. Let’s get sumthin’ good ta eat.” Perhaps, it was nerves; the man hesitant in being seen again by his own--as he called it--famiglia. But, Jack Casey always had an affinity for wanting a warm bowl of ramen to, chase the distaste away as he explained once before--and doubtlessly, accompanied with bottles of sake.
“With extra chashu and and bamboo I presume.” was Kiiryon’s response knowing full well that Casey had a proud grin of his own and a sudden pep in his step to the inadvertent agreement to his indulgence.
The city was vast, but there was a point in which technology seemed to fade away just a bit and give in to more traditional structures. Soon, the bustling vibe of ones city-dwelling life morphed into the old and weathered ways of fishing. The scents of food replaced with rust and the tinge of salt; an ocean breeze was always refreshing but always very potent.
The soothing trickle of music spilling from cafes or shoppes became the cries of hungry and curious seagulls, and the humming of people talking or car motors warped into the tender groans of boats and waves purring before their crash against the piers.
Beauty was everywhere--or so Kiiryon believed-- in their home, his home.
“Think ‘dere here?” interrupted Casey, breaking the romanticized thoughts Kiiryon had about their ocean harbor.
A quick tug as his sleeve to gaze upon the face of his watch showed that they had been on time, despite their little hiccup prior. But as the foreigner had raised curiosities of--their guest had yet to arrive, or be seen.
The dust was heavy in the air despite walls missing in the fisherman's warehouse. Warfs had many nooks and crannies, plenty of hiding places--but they had nothing to hide really, no shame to be held.
This was their city, and they had their rules and properties that others were expected to respect. However, they did have to make this meeting a brief and secretive one. Unfortunately, the trade of weapons, and foreign ones were something the law would greatly involve themselves in--and a great treason in their deal was the fact they gave tradition away. It ate uneasily at Kiiryon, having to take the finely smith-ed and well crafted art of a forged blade as payment and trade for these set of highly sophisticated guns. Blades were a treasure, an art, a mistress to be loved and a daughter to grow and raise with--not a lady from the whore house or a concubine to be taken into a dismissed and forgotten harem.
But--if this is what it took to keep his family safe, Kiiryon would swallow a part of his pride and look the other way. And pray to all the gods above and below that Jack Casey--did not--screw this up.
“We arrived a bit early, so we may breathe easy for now.”
Simpler said than done, and Casey seemed to reflect those same sentiments with a lopsided grin and raise of his brow tossed towards Kiiryon.
He sighed through his nostrils and gave a weakened smile of his own, at his own foolishness for giving advice that they both knew was currently difficult.
“Oh! Mi dispiace-- I didn’ mean ta’ arrive late!” exclaimed a rather cheerful fellow.
Casey whom gasped in surprise to the greeting, didn’t turn to greet their guest, but rather observed with a small frown that gave way into a sigh and a light smile. Kiiryon hardened his expression and again with habit, pinched at his eyes to narrow with great distrust and already an air of being--holier than thou--wafted from him.
Kiiryon had gone mute.
“Nah! Welcome-welcome, dis’ here is my companion, Kii. Don’t mind ‘im.” exclaimed Casey with a somewhat graceful turn, clap and flourish of his hands. Something that Kiiryon had noticed the other man had in common with his charge.
Actions that seemed to have the strange man sighing at ease and expressing his own warm though nervous smile.
All westerners dressed so oddly. Their style was a taste that the people of Yohtoko seemed to admire and want to emulate. But this particular middle man, had an odd and eclectic style of his own. For one, his blond hair seemed unkempt and yet, it was tamed and pulled into a fortified pompadour of sorts. His eyes were a deep blue that the yawning rays of sunlight hit and caused an odd tinge of violet to appear--or perhaps it was due to his rather reflective and colourful sunglasses that slipped down his nose. The man--much like Casey, was rather clumsy, if not in his posture than in his manner of speech. Taller than his charge but seemingly younger, They must take men from their mothers. He surmised with a small grunt.
“A good evening gentlemen,” the flippant man attempted his greeting once more with a clear of his throat. His hand clutching to a case whilst the other reached out to shake hands with Casey, whom obliged. “My name is Dedrick! A pleasure to meet you--” and Kiiryon, who did not and turned aside to glare at the setting sun, “--both.”
Nervously, Casey chuckled as he clapped a hand on Dedrick’s shoulder, to which the man jumped with his own startled laugh and turned to guide him away with hushed whispers.
He’s a bit of’a ded fish--if-ya-know-wat-I’mean. Kiiryon snorted with a click of his tongue at being called such a thing. And simply crossed his arms over his chest whilst following the men further inside the rather spacious warehouse.
“Th’names Casey--as much as my pahtna’ an’ I enjoy pleasantries. I t’nk we should get dis show on da road.”
“Right-o!” upon this cheerful response from Dedrick, Kiiryon grimaced at the odd jargon of westerners.
Perhaps it was wise to have Jack Casey, he surmised. However, it was time for business to begin, and as they approached a work bench, Dedrick swept his violet eyes over the men with a curious beckoning and sudden distrust. He wanted to see their shared effort in the bargain. The manner of their meeting already debriefed and spoken to them individually, called for no more delay or need for further discussion lest either party reveal more than necessary.
The simple glance over his shoulder was all Kiiryon needed to see from Casey to know that he would reveal their end of the deal. Weight shifting, Kiiryon slipped the rope that embraced the swaddled object with a tender gentleness and with a sensual brush of fingers to the ribbon, unbound a sheathed sword. Deep and sultry tones of lacquered wood was embellished at the kojiri--the scabbards end--with a finely pressed gold. Red rope was tied and knotted with care, upon the hilt, fastened and secure between the woven braid was a jade ornament, carved with fine artistry a waning moon caressed by gentle winds. Indeed, a treasure known only to Yohtoko.
A treasure that was being appraised by the strange man, Dedrick. A treasure that said man would take with him in exchange for a demo case that contained a gun. One that would soon be shared among his brothers as a first resort. But he would use it as his last.
Casey however found the gun to be quite enticing and emitted a whistle of approval. Brows drawn up and eyes alight with great delight to the smithing of the gun. The barrel peeked faintly from the slide, and how the metal was dull but was bent and shaped with a sleekness that even Kiiryon had to admit was admirable. Wood with a stained and treated hue embellished the grip, and in the palm would sit an emblem cast from silver, the companies own logo.
Whilst Dedrick took careful hold of the sword, treating it as a fragile gift. Casey grasped the gun with an eagerness and well practiced hand, making sure the safety was on with a few tested clicks, ejecting the stock, making sure the barrel was empty, and pulled the hammer back to give the trigger a gentle teasing squeeze.
“It’s perfect!” announced Casey with a delightful shiver.
“Treat her well.” demanded Kiiryon. “I-I shall.” hiccuped Dedrick with surprise that the fellow man had finally spoken and even acknowledged him. But Kiiryon was sure the man had suspicion that he acknowledged only the sword, a longing in his amber eyes.
“I must admit gentlemen,” spoke the guest as he wrapped the fabric around the sword and knotted it securely in place. The sun glistening off his reflective lenses that still hung low on the bridge of his nose, “I am rather surprised that there are two of you--and not simply, him.” he gestured of course to Casey.
There was a choice--either let Jack Casey speak and whittle his way out, or step in and hope to the gods that this guest of their accept it simply as is and go.
“I represent the Hisuino-o-kai. Jack Casey as you know--is more skilled in the manners of such craftsmanship, and we strive to not be dealt a short hand. That is all.” Kiiryon concluded with a tone that held little emotion or care to be disregarded.
Another nervous laugh, and Dedrick cleared his throat with a cough that Casey winced at--he could sympathize. “What my pahtna’ is sayin’ is, dese’ streets ain’t safe.” Casey shrugged with a finish, placing the gun reassembled back into its padded case and locking it up.
“In fact, da suns almost set. Best you get along ta your hot’l an’ enjoy da city before your return.” A charming smile and a clap to Kiiryon’s shoulder and Casey gave a tip of his hat turning with a strut towards the exit, case in hand, “Nice doin’ business wit’ ya. Welcome ta Yohtoko.”
Flushed as the man was for not knowing the cities personality at night, Dedrick gave a faint smile and ‘he-he’ of his own before fastening the secured sword to his back.
“Keep in contact.” Kiiryon commanded before bowing respectfully to their guest whom, in turn smiled rather shyly and offered his own befuddled bow.
“Nice doin’ business wit’ ya too! A presto! ”
The nights were always so cool. The lower temperatures a welcoming touch to his heated flesh due to the layers of his attire. Mechanically, he and Casey walked in silence. There was nothing to be shared between the two and what joyous things the man wanted to say, he wasn’t allowed to. They could not talk business on the streets--a golden rule when concerning such illicit trade. But there were other things, things they could discuss with little care or bother, one topic of Casey’s being his guardian.
“So Kiimurai--” a terrible nickname Casey had bestowed onto him, meant solely for him, “when are we going to go to the shrines again?”
“I didn’t know you had an affinity for religion.” Kiiryon quipped with a smirk. “Ah--c’mon! You know why ah’m askin’!”
“Yes--so you can stuff yourself with grilled dango and takoyaki. The city street-vendors have them too you know.”
“But dey aren’t as good!”whined Casey with a slouch and tilt of his head back.
“Hey Kii--” his tone going soft. “--da wind feels especially cold against our backs, doesn’ it?”
Kiiryon abruptly stopped.
His charge held an expectant expression, a hesitant grin. Casey was watching, and waiting--waiting for that tattoo of a sleeping eye on Kiiryon’s forehead to wink sleepily open. The ink on his flesh warped, and the restful eye now was at half mast, and how the air seemed to change and indeed grow colder against their backs. An odd sensation prickling against their skin, and one that Jack Casey spoke fondly of once, saying, ‘it was like the arrival of an old friend.’
They were followed-- the shared phrase between them a code to being targeted, and Casey had noticed it first.
Nevertheless, they would make it through. And with a smug smile of his own, sun-kissed eyes met with coffee. The amethyst that hung so innocently upon his wrist, tethered by a coil of metal and rope, shattered against Kiiryons palm, and grew into the length of his own finely honed and dearest blade. There was a reason to Jack Casey’s terrible nickname after all.
With sudden ferocity they were struck from sides, ambushed in the junction between harbor and city--just the outskirts. Where they wouldn’t be missed if dead, or helped if attacked as they had been.
Casey jumped just out of harms way with a tuck and roll before bracing himself to the wall of an abandoned florist shoppe. His hands now gloved with fine black leather, and goggles slipped over his eyes as he was sure to be safe from any gunfire, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, ebony marble.
Tossed in the direction of the initial ambush and gunfire, Casey’s seemingly harmless marble expanded with a beckoning whistle from his lips, and grew to an intricate node of metal and technology, radiating red and scanning the vicinity; a scribbled ‘Procione I ’ of silver on it. Swiftly, he brandished an odd gun that looked more like a hand-cannon, versus a simple pistol.
Kiiryon had taken residence to a wall to cover, waiting for the erratic gunfire to cease. A glare thrown Casey’s way and the western man knew all to well his role in this.
Lips pulled in to moisten and a shove from the wall in silent countdown and Kiiryon watched as his companion charged out with a rolling dive to another alley-way and along mid roll fire his gun.
He clutched his eyes shut as a sudden burst of pure white and glittering light, covered the area. Casey whose sight was protected by his goggles shouted out coordinates to Kiiryon who squinted at the ready.
Out he burst from cover and advanced towards the first immobilized man shielding his now burned eyes with his arm. With a graceful roll of his wrist and lean of the shoulder to counter the weight, Kiiryon pierced through the man and with agile ease turned his blade up to slice up, thus ending his foe’s life. In the midst of battle, Casey had changed his blinding rounds to piercing shots. Clip loaded and ready, Kiiryon was confident in his charges ability to aim and not miss and hit him.
Down their foolish attackers went till their screams and flailing died down.
Backs pressed to one another, Casey still clutching to the case and hand steadfast with his gun that took practiced strength to keep so firm. Kiiryon breathing harshly through his nostrils with blade harmlessly poised to his side, though his muscles screamed at the ready to react.
And react they did.
Quickly with a shove, Kiiryon forced Casey into an enclave.
Bang!
“Kiiryon!” cried Casey in his stumble and scramble to get himself back up. Panic seeping through him and clutching to the erratic beating of his heart.
Knelt on one knee panting and blade submerged into the nape of a mans neck, Kiiryon flinched with his left arm hanging limp to his side. His ruddish hair kept in a pristine braid was now disheveled with locks poking out. But their now dead assailant missed their mark and hit him instead. Yet the pain was strong.
The worried look on Casey’s face as he approached warping in to a hesitant smile before once more he cried out--and oh, how his voice seemed to lose its charm and in place a muffled howl. Yes, Kiiryon felt he was drowning--a sudden exhaustion overcoming him, and how he wondered why that man’s terrible voice echoed in his mind as it all faded to black.
C x K
Indeed the nights were so cool in Yohtoko, how the cool air already caressed his cold flesh and how he shuddered, but delighted in the crisp sensation. In the darkness, he swore he saw a glimmering orb--was it a firefly? Perhaps a spirit.
Kiiryon recalled as a child in the mist covered mountains, the stories of mischievous spirits tempting children to play with them, beckoning them off the footpath and to the mountains edge where they fell and were spirited away to a place, never return to their grieving family.
A heaviness consumed him--was it disappointment?
After all, he had been one of those foolish children, he had strayed from the beaten path--following with giggles and laughter a taunting orb of light and fell. The fear that consumed him and dread of not knowing what to expect tickled his stomach with the wonderment of a brief flying, floating, sensation. It all became a haze--and often filled in, amended by his father. But he lived...by luck, Kiiryon had fallen into a hedge of trees and the eventual tent of his now ‘father’ figure and boss--his new family.
What horror and luck to endure as a child. echoed the voice of his ‘father’, the image of his boss patting his cheek as a child enough to rouse consciousness into him.
He felt that same heaviness now, with a groan, he attempted to sit up with arms quivering beneath him. His deep blood red hair trickled down his shoulder, loose and free, to which he promptly noticed a bandage pressed with tentative care to his wound. Sleeping yukata wound gently to his body, he pulled the fabric down exposing the image of proud and fluttering crows with a tengu of sorts playing his flute. Petals and wind wrapping around his body in a sensual embrace as if Kiiryon had the very tender winds of Yohtoko watching over him.
“Glad ta see you awake.” Casey spoke with a tenderness in his voice, hushed almost and whilst he wore a kind smile, there was a small bit of pain in his dark eyes.
Knocking back the cup of sake he had tenderly cradled, Jack Casey reached for the clay bottle and poured not only himself another, but one for Kiiryon as well.
He observed his charge, how comfortable he sat on the tatami mat, hat removed and settled aside, how despite the chilly evening winds, he wore his yukata down; tied to his waist with his obi to keep the fabric up and supported with knots. His tattoo that he demanded with great fervor to be a beast, a wolf and a peculiar one, but one that Kiiyon supposed was really him. And he recalled with suddenness, that the western man had often a hotter bodily temperature, one he had selfishly sought comfort from in the winter days and even more so, the winter nights.
Suddenly, he was quite parched.
“Boss was pleased wit da gun. Says dat we’ll be busy da next few weeks, so, ya betta’ hurry an’ recovah’.” added Casey coolly before offering the drink. Looking down into his ceramic cup, Kiiryon nodded a bit distantly--perhaps a bit too slowly for his companion but, he was after all still induced with medicine for pain. The tender glow of lanterns mixed with the silver of the moon that was exposed by the shoji door let open. After all, Casey remembered his fondness for nature and the cool, crisp, air.
“He uh--he sends his regards too. “ Casey continued on nervously. “And--uh..I--thanks Kii.”
“There is no thanks to give Jack Casey--it is my job.”
“Yeah--yeah. I know, but I don’ ‘tink it fair ta not give my thanks--” the man paused with a warm hand to pluck the drink, untouched from Kiiryon. That same warm and rough hand caressed his sleeping amethyst against his wrist and grasped his hand to squeeze. The other reaching to push silken locks of red behind his ear and caress his cheek, to which Kiiryon felt his own cheeks fever and lean into the warm and open palm. Hesitantly, his eyes rose to search and find that of Casey’s which again held a sad but tender emotion--how deep and dark, and endless they were. Much like the sensation of that free fall that changed his life. Perhaps it was that abyss that he found himself a fondness for or perhaps it was the spirit of the mans existence that seemed otherworldly. “--or share my opinion of not wantin’ ya ta leave me behind. “
“I know.” Kiiryon replied with a hushed response of his own before inhaling slowly and curling his fingers within that warm hand.
A broken chuckle laced with shyness and those warm fingers traced the apple of his cheeks, an action that admittedly, Kiiryon was fond of. “Good, ‘deres only one pahtna’ I need here. --”
“You.” interrupted Kiiryon with a cocky smile of his own.
Casey was at a loss of words, and it always tickled Kiiryon, how his forward nature at times, seemed to stump the western man, that spoke his mind too often than needed.
“Wha-Well, ah’mean ya but, you too Kii.” stuttered Casey, a subtle scoot closer to his companion with a flush to grow on his cheeks. A rosy tinge that Kiiryon found himself smiling at and brushing fingers along in a mimicry of his charge. His touch unlike Casey’s however, was cold. Though it was a touch that the foreign man seemed to rather enjoy.
The release of his own cheek to have his cool palm further pressed against Casey’s and supported by the man he had been assigned to protect--a man whom his boss told to venture the world with a new perspective, and to break his cold tendencies. However, it was this new world that they kept to themselves; it was a silent agreement. A shared world of their own, for only the two of them to venture and experience together.
Again, Kiiryon found himself wondering what possessed his brothers, and also, what had possessed him over time.
However, none of that had mattered-- he and Casey had lived on another day.
And he felt it was time, that he collected his reward for having done his sworn duty. So, with a soft snort of his own, Kiiryon beckoned the man closer into his embrace, one that Casey was mindful of in a fragile encircling of arms and support to his broad chest. An embrace that had Kiiryon bowing his head to hush any protest that the man may give to his injuries with a tender press of their lips. Of course, his charge smiled against the kiss as he did, and as always, there was a hushed promise of vengeance to making the other so flustered.
The End.