The Blazing Tempest

DISCLAIMER: This story is a non-commercial work of fiction based on the anime/manga Samurai 7. Original copyright of Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto, Hideo Oguni, MICO, GDH, GONZO. Absolutely no monetary gain has been made with this work.


THE BLAZING TEMPEST
By Rory V. Pascual (Edited by Saiyukihana)
© Original Version 2001; Samurai 7 Version June 20, 2006

Chapter Six

"Are you insane? I'm not climbing up there! It weaves worse than a drunk! The damned thing might fall with me in it! Why can't I just ride my horse?"

Shichiroji was trying in vain to hold back his laughter, seeing Shinno arguing with an equally fuming Tessai. The object of the whoremaster's dubious attention was the conveyance the adviser had ordered the servants to construct on top of a camel. The Samurai had to agree with Shinno's assessment. The rickety structure looked like it would collapse at any minute. It certainly would not be able to hold three people inside it. Then, there was also the poor camel to consider. A stubborn, irritable creature to begin with, the camel looked like it was ready to bolt from the two noisy humans.

Turning to an equally amused Gorobei, the Warrior asked, "Is Tessai serious about the three of them riding in that thing?"

"Actually, it's only he and Shinno who will be riding it," the moor answered. Gesturing to another conveyance behind him, he said, "Masamune and Takeru are already settled in." As Shichiroji granted it a critical eye, Gorobei beamed, "I designed it myself."

"At least that looks stable enough to me. Why doesn't Tessai allow Shinno to ride his horse? There's no way that he could escape from us."

A grin formed on Gorobei's face. "You only say that because you haven't seen how Shinno rides. He's a natural horseman and trainer of steeds. Tessai would be a fool to trust him with a horse. That's how he nearly escaped in Japan. You saw Denko. He was just a sickly colt when Shinno begged the Amanushi to give it to him. Look at Denko now -- a fierce war steed, with the speed of its namesake, the lightning bolt."

"Well," Shichiroji began, snickering at the hilarious sight of a struggling, protesting Shinno being hauled bodily through the window of the conveyance, "better Denko than that thing."

At the urging of the scribe, the driver moved the second conveyance towards the two samurai. Masamune slid the window open, a rosy glow on his cheeks.

"I am willing to bet five pieces of gold that Tessai's transport will last four hours in the desert," the scribe declared, his voice a bit slurred.

"Four hours?" Gorobei sputtered out. "That's like admitting you're Tessai's lackey, because you believe in his fiendish contraptions."

Masamune ignored the comment. "If he believes in the design of his mode of transport, I see no reason why I should doubt him. After all, he is the Amanushi's adviser."

"Who doesn't know a single thing about the desert! Ah, let the simoom come and it will blow off said mode of transport from the camel's back before we could even blink!" Gorobei eyed the scribe with suspicion. "Masamune, have you been brewing your vile concoctions again?"

"Concoctions?" Shichiroji asked curiously.

The moor explained, "Unlike other scholars who have lofty ambitions for higher education and knowledge, our friend Masamune here dreams of having his own tavern someday, wherein he could serve exotic drinks that he himself created."

"I wanted a better occupation! I was getting sick and tired of being a junk man. I used to be a samurai myself in my youth!" Masamune blustered.

"A tavern owner is not a bad thing," the Samurai commented in defense of the old scholar's dream.

"But his concoctions are potent stuff. You better not be giving Takeru a cupful of your fiendish brew..."

"Cupful?" Masamune exclaimed. "He already consumed a whole bottle! Our precious concubine is sleeping like a baby."

Before Gorobei could scold the scribe, Masamune slid the window shut.

"Allah, why did you surround me with imbeciles!" the moor raised his hands to the heavens.

"Relax, Gorobei!" Shichiroji reassured his fellow warrior. "I'm sure Takeru will be fine. It's Shinno I'm worried about." A wicked grin quirked up a corner of his mouth. "But since we're in a betting mood, let me throw in a wager as well. I say that Tessai's conveyance won't last more than an hour in the desert."

Noting the smugness in the Samurai's words, Gorobei remarked, "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

Shichiroji stole a glance at the conveyance, where Shinno's booted feet dangled out the window. "Let's just say I have a nose for impending catastrophe."

~~~~~~~~~~

True to his prediction, disaster struck at exactly thirty-seven minutes into the desert. The driver was negotiating the camel up a sand dune when the beast slipped and started to slide down. Although the camel was able to get its footing, that sudden jostling caused the conveyance to topple over its side. Shichiroji and Gorobei watched in horror as Shinno flew out the window. Tessai, on the other hand, remained trapped inside the conveyance as it rolled down the dune.

The two warriors brought their steeds alongside Tessai, who all but stumbled out of the makeshift transport.

"Forget about me! I'm all right!" the Indian exclaimed, waving a hand in dismissal. "See to Shinno!"

"I'll go!" Shichiroji patted Gorobei's shoulder and headed off in the direction where the whoremaster took a swan dive. When he arrived at the spot, however, the sight that greeted him caused him to burst into hearty laughter.

Shinno had landed on a smaller sand dune. But his landing had not been a good one. The whoremaster had fallen head first into the dune that his whole head was buried in the sand. To Shichiroji, Shinno looked like an ostrich in silk, that luscious rump raised high in the air.

"Shinno, Shinno, Shinno! Oh, the mess you get into!" the Samurai exclaimed, clucking his tongue, as he got down from Thanatos. Even his trusty steed was snickering. Shichiroji patted that upraised buttock several times, eliciting a menacing growl from the trapped man. "You know, I just realized how advantageous your current predicament is for me. I could finally get the retribution that is due me." Saying this, the Warrior gave Shinno a fierce wallop on the buttocks. The whoremaster howled in pain and outrage.

As Shichiroji giggled once more, he said, "Naaah! I prefer to have you on my lap when I lay the strap to you." While he dug the whoremaster out, he did not notice that a sizeable crowd had gathered on top of the dune, watching the proceedings. With a pop, Shichiroji got Shinno freed, who hastily covered his flushed face with the tail of his turban, which was tilted askew on his head.

The comical appearance of the poor man caused everyone to erupt into gales of laughter.

Shinno stared in increasing horror and shame at the people laughing at him. At once, it brought back painful memories of the past – of an opulent palace in the East, enemy soldiers jeering and laughing as they took turns in abusing, mocking him with the name "Little Taisho! Little Taisho!" Already accustomed to being accorded with respect and deference, Shinno found this humiliation too much to bear.

Expecting the whoremaster to let loose with vile expletives, Shichiroji was shocked to stunned silence when Shinno lowered his head, his hands clenched into tight fists, dark, wet drops forming on the sand between his fists. Everyone immediately lapsed into silence, seeing their weeping master.

Getting down to his knees before the crying figure, the Samurai whispered, "Shinno..."

"Leave me alone!" the whoremaster exclaimed, his whole body hitching from the force of his sobs. "I don't want to be laughed at!"

Shichiroji gestured to everyone to walk away. The servants and guards hastened to obey, disturbed at the sight of their beloved concubine crying like a child.

"What is happening down there?" the Warrior heard Tessai demand at the top of the dune. "What's wrong with Shinno?"

"Not now, Tessai," Shichiroji growled in warning. "You and the caravan go ahead! I'll take care of Shinno."

"Are you sure you can handle him?" the Amanushi's adviser queried. "He might escape from you."

"Believe me, Tessai, the last thing he has on his mind right now is to escape. Please! Leave us alone for a few minutes."

Tessai gave the Samurai a dubious, almost hostile, glance for a moment. Then, with a resigned shrug, he walked away, shouting to the servants, "Move out!"

When they were finally alone, Shichiroji whistled to his horse, who trotted to their side. The Warrior carefully lifted the weeping man and seated him, sidesaddle, on his steed. Shichiroji himself got on behind Shinno, his arms on either side of the distraught whoremaster. Taking the reins, he clicked his tongue and urged the stallion to move onwards.

In the next few hours or so, Shichiroji lagged a distance behind the caravan, talking nonsense stuff, waiting patiently for Shinno to calm down. At some point during their ride, the whoremaster had laid his head on the Warrior's chest, his tears wetting Shichiroji's shirt. Eventually, Shinno's sobs were nothing more than soft hiccups.

"I want to go down, please." The man's voice was hoarse from his crying.

Without saying a word, Shichiroji brought his horse to a halt. Shinno slid down from the saddle and walked a short distance away. He then plopped down, his long legs stretched out before him, and stared out into the desert. Following him, the Samurai sat down beside the whoremaster.

"What happened back there, Shinno?" Shichiroji queried softly.

"A moment of weakness. The laughter...it brought back very painful memories," Shinno replied, his voice bitter. "It should never have happened. I swore to myself I would never cry again."

"I'm sorry," the Samurai put in. "It was my fault for laughing at you."

"I should've gotten used to it by now. They always laugh...whenever they take me. I thought I had hardened my heart to the humiliation."

"This is a different situation, Shinno. They were not jeering you. They just found it amusing...your position in the sand."

"I know that, but... I don't want people laughing at me. I've been laughed and jeered at all my life. I don't like it."

"Well, this is the last time," Shichiroji swore to the whoremaster. "I won't laugh at you ever again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Shichiroji," said Shinno, unable to hide the deep hurt in his voice. "Whether it be your laughter, your hatred, your...lust, you will always find a way to hurt my feelings. I've had enough of the tears that fall from my eyes because of you."

"There is no reason for you to weep because of me."

"How could you be so sure? Have you looked inside your heart? Tell me, Shichiroji. Do you not remember people whom you have caused tears to fall from their eyes?"

Shichiroji fell silent. He did remember Yukino crying in anger when he had told her about his desire for revenge. Then, there was the man he had abandoned...

Stealing a quick glance at the man at his side, Shichiroji realized that it was not Yukino who Shinno reminded him of. It was that man, that samurai he had once loved, so much so that he had agreed to become his spouse on and off the battlefield. Before the whoremaster could pull away, the Warrior embraced him tenderly.

"You're right," he admitted to the whoremaster. "I have given pain to the people I have loved and to so many others."

"And you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"With some of them, yes."

"Including me and Takeru."

The Warrior could not reply at first. Seeing that there was no use denying it, he whispered, "Yes."

"Do you want to hurt me now?"

"NO!"

Shinno shook his head. "Maybe not now. Maybe later." The whoremaster broke away from the Samurai's embrace. "Let's go!"

Shichiroji watched as Shinno got on Thanatos. The man's back was straight, head cocked up proudly. But Shichiroji could see the turmoil in his brown eyes. With a sigh, the Samurai went towards the stallion and got on the saddle behind Shinno. The caravan was already gone from sight, but their tracks were visible in the sand.

"Don't hurry, Shichiroji," the whoremaster requested. "For once, let me find some peace in the desert."

Although he knew that no peace could be found for Shinno except when he was finally free, Shichiroji acquiesced, "Take all the time you need. I won't rush you."

In the next hour or two, the Samurai led the horse on a simple walk. Shinno had removed his turban, leaving only the scarf around his face, his long brown hair fluttering in the breeze.

Suddenly, Shichiroji noticed Shinno fidgeting in his seat. Before the Warrior could ask if he wanted to take a little rest, the whoremaster had loosened his trousers enough that it fell around his thighs, leaving his rump bared.

"Shinno..." Shichiroji exclaimed in surprise.

"I know you want this, Shichiroji. You may take me. Just this once, let it not be rape."

Swallowing hard, the Samurai freed his aching cock from within his trousers. Bending the whoremaster forward a bit, he plunged his member into the tight channel. As the two men moved, their thighs tightening on the horse's slick sides, Thanatos thought it was a silent command for him to go on a faster pace. That graceful lope only helped the Warrior in driving himself deeper and deeper into the whoremaster. When he came, he saw stars twinkling before his eyes. Shinno himself spurted his fluids onto Shichiroji's tight grip around his cock.

When it was over, the Samurai willed the whoremaster to turn around in the saddle to face him. Shinno wiped the sweat from Shichiroji's brow.

"Are you thirsty, Shichiroji?" the whoremaster asked, baring his milk-laden chest.

Shichiroji did not have to answer. He simply bent down and enveloped that taut nipple with his lips, taking a long draught of the sweet essence within.

But then, the Warrior raised his head to gaze into those tender brown eyes. "I want to kiss you, Shinno."

"But you can't...my face..."

"I swear I won't look, and I want to give you a little drink as well."

Saying this, Shichiroji lowered his face once more to the whoremaster's tit and suckled deeply. Despite his hesitation, Shinno removed the scarf from his face. True to his word, as the Warrior lifted his head, his eyes were closed, lips pursed in readiness.

Taking the Samurai's trembling hands, Shinno laid Shichiroji's fingertips on his face. When their lips met, sweet milk flooded inside his mouth that he gasped in surprise at the taste of his own essence. They kissed long and hard, neither man opening their eyes.

Unknown to Shinno, however, Shichiroji was trying to memorize every inch of his face with his fingertips -- the shape of those full lips, the height of those cheekbones, the shape of his nose, the length of his lashes.

When at last they parted, the Warrior kept his eyes shut until the whoremaster told him that he was ready. When he opened his eyes at last, he saw Shinno peering at him, tears misting his brown orbs.

"You're right, Shichiroji," said Shinno with deepest regret. "Why couldn't we always be like this?"

It was nightfall when the two men arrived at the caravan.

Bowing graciously, Shinno said, "Thank you, Shichiroji, for a nice time."

Shichiroji bent down and, taking the whoremaster's hand, bestowed a kiss upon his fingertips. "Lessons tomorrow evening then."

"Yes, please." At these words, Shinno headed straight for his tent.

Unknown to the two men, a pair of dark eyes observed their every move, glinting with hatred and malevolence.

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