Work Text:
The Inferno and the Maelstrom
"Seishiro Jigoku," he read out loud from the proffered business card, pronouncing the syllables of the young man's name in a precise, if heavily Anglicised, accent, "I think I've heard those words before?"
"Seishiro contains the word for 'Government', so probably on an official correspondence," explained the student. His own grasp of English was impressive, giving Stronghart the impression of a serious, scholarly young man, one with fire in his eyes. The Prosecutor had been drawn to the exchange student because of his tall frame and broad shoulders, unusual compared to the Japanese men he had met before, and his impressively thick black beard, flowing in ringlets but neatly trimmed at the end. His black business suit was perfectly pressed as well. He had clearly read up on how to make a good impression in formal British society but not so far as to look like a desperate-to-please boot-licker, something there was already enough of.
Mael Stronghart saw great potential in a man like this. He wasn't going to let someone else snatch him up as a useful ally.
"Jigoku means, um," he scratched his chin, "How to translate? Like the Christian 'Hell'."
Stronghart raised an eyebrow, "A Government... of Hell? Like the Devil?"
Seishiro shook his head, "Not quite. I'll try to explain."
The young man frowned and reached for another cup of tea. He'd been asked for his opinion on English black tea before and, while the difference took a while to get used to, he found the colour beautiful and appreciated how much stronger it was. Jigoku still had a habit of steeping the tea for far longer than socially normal, despite Stronghart's warnings that it made him look working class.
Mael Stronghart would learn later on just how much Seishiro Jiguko could not resist anything large, strong and impressive.
Between sips, Jigoku explained, as best he could, the Eastern concept of Hell and the figure of Enma, the Infernal Magistrate. Imagining the terrifying blood-red giant with a perpetual scowl and blazing eyes, thumping a desk made of skulls and sentencing the most wicked sinners to countless aeons in a Hell of very specific and gory punishments that Jigoku brought to life with colourful detail, Stronghart couldn't help but envisage the Judge of the Underworld as the man standing before him, that beard of his billowing in the searing heat of eternal flames. Stronghart imagined he would make a terrifying Judge if he pronounced a 'Guilty' verdict with the same enthusiasm that he thumped on the table when his passion was enflamed in a legal debate. He'd nearly broken three tables already.
"No wonder you value discipline so highly, with punishments like that," commented Stronghart.
"With all due respect," replied Jigoku, "I have always believed your Hell to be a lot harsher. Ours is only reserved for the absolute worst crimes. And it isn't eternal."
Before Jigoku could launch into a more detailed account of reincarnation and its impact on celestial law, Stronghart interrupted him with, "I'm afraid I am no Priest, to have any opinion on the fate of an immortal soul. To interfere in this domain would only cause great offence to many here. However, your attitude to law and order will serve you well in a mundane courtroom."
Seishiro smiled and thanked him for the compliment, "I hope to maintain harsh but fair discipline in the courtroom. As well as good relations between our two countries."
His hands were as large and broad as the rest of him, his handshake firm and precisely timed. There was an almost uncomfortable warmth to his grasp, as if he was searing an impression on the other man.
Stronghart would certainly remember him, he thought with a thin, tight smile. However, he would be the one marking the man for his own, laying a claim on his soul. It was only right, after all, with his own Empire being superior and destined to dominate that weary nation from beyond the sea, a power that the sun had already set on.
It only occurred to him later, when he couldn't shake off the flustered feeling in his cheeks, that had begun when he saw the burning passion in the man's eyes as he described the Infernal justice that was his namesake, then gotten worse when Jigoku grasped his hand, that Stronghart realised he was craving the chance to dominate that upstart student in more ways than just the political arena.
Stronghart had dominated many other men, both in the former context and the latter, but none who he had felt so strongly were destined to be dominant themselves. He wasn't sure yet if the two were linked but it was also the first time he'd really felt anything for the other man. So far they'd always been pawns, statistics, temporary means of sating his desires at most. They had been paid, or otherwise bought off with favours, or blackmailed if it came down to it, then forgotten about. With Seishiro it wasn't just the greater challenge that thrilled him, though, it was the thought that, just maybe, there might be some actual meaning in it.
Seishiro would not be an easy man to corrupt. He had a strong conviction in the things he stood for. He appeared quite willing to get his hands dirty when it came to anything else that might interfere with his intended outcome, though. Some kind of shared ambition would probably be the best hook to reel him in with. Another weakness Stronghart noticed in Jigoku was his fixation with things that were grand, impressive and overbearing, maybe in an attempt to emulate his namesake. As a gentleman of the British Empire, Stronghart was no stranger to excessive displays of flamboyance and bombast. If he could begin to draw Jigoku into his private life, little by little, it would be an added bonus. Jigoku was prone to drama when he became excited as well, meaning that he sometimes broke social taboos. This would give Stronghart an opportunity to advise him and subtly cause the other man to accrue social debt with him.
Speaking of breaking taboos, Stronghart realised he hadn’t even confirmed whether Jigoku was interested in men or not. He didn’t seem to be in a relationship with a woman and he mostly congregated with a close-knit group of male friends.
Stronghart thought he’d seen the man look admiringly back at him, the same gaze that he was increasingly having trouble hiding in himself these days, although it may have just been the magnetic pull of two equally strong personalities, or complete wishful thinking on the Prosecutor’s behalf.
Talking of his friends, this would prove to be the key to Stronghart’s first opportunity. Jigoku had come to the country with two other exchange students, Genshin Asogi and Yujin Mikotoba. They had stuck together carefully for protection, aware of the dangers in an unfamiliar land, but Genshin had still managed to get himself into serious trouble. He’d been implicated in the Professor killings, a string of themed serial murders. Jigoku had provided very stirring and forceful testimony, to no avail. In fact, all he’d managed to achieve is to insult the British Empire in public. Stronghart agreed with every word of the man’s damning indictment of corruption, he was just better at keeping it private until the appropriate time. Jigoku apparently had a temper problem.
He’d also managed to destroy the witness stand, cracking the heavy wooden podium down the middle with a karate chop. Stronghart had thought it a rumour that the Japanese had such fearsome powers. All it had really achieved is to put him in contempt of court and get him arrested. Also to make him the subject of national news, which was admittedly helpful in his cause.
He couldn’t stop thinking about how strong Jigoku had to be in body and spirit to break that bench. He’d seen the ripple of serious muscles under that well fitted suit but there wasn’t much he could actually see anything of his flesh under such a stuffy, formal outfit. He found himself imagining that strength in the bedroom, with his own body under those powerful hands. Martial artists had discipline, right? But the fire he’d shown in the courtroom had erupted without warning. Could he lose control again in the heat of passion? The prosecutor was no weakling either but still… He might actually need to let the other man lead in the bedroom. He’d never had someone else on top before and he couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t at least a little excited by the proposition. He could still give the orders from the bottom, of course, and use the excuse that he was afraid of the other man hurting him if he didn’t remain even more firmly in control…
He blushed, looking down at his quite forgotten cup of tea that had grown tepid, the newspaper he had torn from clutching it a little too hard. Maybe he needed to put ice in the tea in order to cool down after all. He was supposed to be thinking about the political implications, of how to appear as an ally at the most crucial time, not… this!
Meanwhile, Jigoku had repeatedly attempted to petition the Government but to no avail, mostly because Asogi himself refused to cooperate with his own defence. Stronghart almost felt guilty, seeing how forcefully Jigoku berated his friend for having apparently taken leave of his senses - he was about to receive the death penalty, for Heaven's sake!
Almost.
(Stronghart wondered which Heaven he had meant, anyway. He was fairly sure Jigoku had nothing to do with either.)
He was, however, relieved when he was able to confess to Jigoku the whole conspiracy, Asogi and Stronghart's part in it, and what he needed from the man. to keep everyone safe. While there'd been an explosive denunciation from Jigoku, who loathed exactly this kind of intrigue, he'd managed to calm the man down once he convinced him that Asogi would be able to return to Japan safely inf everyone played their part, the whole execution would be staged, and that ultimately this would be another step towards weakening the real seedy underbelly of the British criminal justice system, the sort of people whom the real Professor was secretly offing.
It was around that time he'd finally convinced Seishiro Jigoku that they should fuck.
Fucking it was, as well, raw and uncomplicated, except that time that Jigoku had taught him the intricacies of Shibari rope bondage to spice it up a little. The man was as physically strong and in control as Stronghart imagined, as well. Spurred on by the excitement of the clandestine meetings that had gone beyond just a torrid affair and into the kind of secrets that would get the two of them hanged, the sexual dynamics had become mixed in to the politics of who exactly was controlling whom in the entire conspiracy. Vying for dominance had become part of their life in all aspects.
While he’d been clueless at first, Stronghart had underestimated just how wily the man could be now that he was forced into the darker political arena, how many strings he could pull back home, as well as just how good Japan was in general at the intrigue game. Most of all, though, Jigoku refused to be controlled, despite the dirt that Stronghart had on him, or the fact that he’d arranged the whole thing in the first place. By now they even both had assassins at their beck and call, and Jigoku had talked Stronghart into working towards making him the Minister for Foreign Affairs. It would be an apt test of his own political power, for him to be able to put his friends in high places. If he was going to fully control the situation, he realised, he was going to climb much higher than Lord Chief Justice.
There were still so many things that could go wrong, and now there was the added worry that he would be separated from Jigoku (Why was this so important to him now?). He could trust the man – mostly – but he was unsure he could trust the man’s other two friends, who were now so closely intertwined in all of this. (And of whom he definitely wasn’t still jealous or suspicious that they were closer to Jigoku than he was.)
(This wasn’t anything that serious. That would be utterly preposterous.)
(He’d had countless affairs like this before.)
(No, he hadn’t. Not like it was with Jigoku. Nobody was like Jigoku.)
(You couldn’t touch the pure flames of Hell and expect not to be branded, a mark sealed into your soul.)
(Especially when you knew damn well that, as good intentioned as you might be, you were guilty as sin.)