Chapter Text
It resembles honey. Unbearably sweet and intoxicating—he could potentially be addicted to this. He could feel himself floating, without anything weighing him down. Yet, on the other hand, it felt like he walked through molasses—sticky pulling him deeper, under the depth of his intoxication.
Fingers tightened around his wrist, breath came out ragged between his lips. Half-lidded eyes looking up to him intensely, that couldn't be mistaken as anything else beside pure hatred. It made his body shudder, knowing it was fully directed at him. His other hand quickly wrapped on the other man's throat, tightening his grasp—just enough to make the man beneath him fumbled around to pull his hand away.
A hiss of pain slipped between his lips; as the gnawing sensation made his movement stutter into a halt for a fleeting moment. Which just ignited his feelings to torment the man further—he wouldn't stop even if he heard the man's pleas—it wouldn't happen, the man was too proud to admit it—he loosened his hold slightly, the response was immediate. The man beneath him inhales oxygen greedily, deprived of it with how much his hand obstructed the man's breathing.
"Tired yet?" he grunted out, hand continued to obstruct his breathing, "fighting me is meaningless, Hanzo," he hissed out the man's name while his eyes narrowed at the pathetic display. How low the wretched older man had fallen, at his mercy.
Ah, how exhilarating.
Of course, he didn't expect any response. He just revelled at the sight—no matter how much the older man tried to fight him. He could drag him back right here, back to where he deserved to be, under his mercy. Which just made it more delightful, to crush Hanzo's will. He wants to see the entirety of it—when his will crumbles from his might. The image of it would be etched on the back of his mind. Nevertheless, he supposes the sight of Hanzo's chest contracting sharply under him, could appease him for now. For it seems the older man still tried to keep his pride intact.
Even if currently he was in a compromised position. He wonders, where does exactly the old man get the strength to keep his stubbornness? When he already destroyed everything he had—the Shirai Ryu was no more, his family: wife and child already perished by his hands.
It certainly piqued his interest—he wanted to pick apart every crevice of the man named Hanzo Hasashi. His fingers traced the man's face contorted with nothing but hostility towards him. Amusement washed over him, his hand still on Hanzo's throat albeit a bit loose; he still wanted him to be alive after all.
Losing him quickly would be such a waste. With how much the man entertained him. Hand splayed on Hanzo's chest, feeling the muscle beneath contracting erratically, while his other hand tightened on the man's throat. Making the man under him wheeze, gasping for air. Eyes pooled with tears, fingers roughly scratching against his hand—a cruel smile curled on his lips while Hanzo's face drained of its color. How amusing.
Abruptly, he loosened his grip again—watching color rushed back to the man's face, mouth opened widely as he tried to breathe. The sight of it certainly stirred something inside him; it didn't help with how pathetic he looked under him. His fingers gently brushed the hair away—getting a clear look of his artwork.
A small laughter escapes between his lips, sweat droplets trailed down from his forehead to his neck as he continues to consume, taking Hanzo apart between his fingers. Every cries only fueled him further to hear more of it. How intoxicating—it sent him reeling and continued his torment just enough to see tears being spilled.
"How delightful," he remarked in between his consumption, fingers dabbed against the wet cheek, "cry more," his action only became more sadistic as he dragged his nails down the man's bare chest. Blood gradually stained his hand red with how deep his fingers dug into Hanzo's flesh. He saw Hanzo bite his lips until it bleeds, trying to prevent letting out pathetic sounds.
Nevertheless, he doesn't intend to stop now. Within a few seconds, he enveloped the man's lips with his own, fingers dug deeper into the open wound—that in turn made Hanzo groan in pain, just enough for him to slip his tongue in. It was utterly delectable, the man's despair and hatred, made him groan. Hanzo's hands tried to push him weakly—strength seeping away from his hands as blood continued to pool on his chest, staining their body red.
Head jerked away while his hand wiped his lips, only to find blood—Hanzo certainly still had the willpower to continue struggling in his grasp. Unfortunately, it would end in vain as once again his hand tightened its grasp on the man's throat, choking the life of the older man. Eyes turned crescent-shaped, staring down the man beneath him as his hands flailed around, body shaking while attempting to kick him off.
All of those ended in vain; he had no intention to let him free. He was here to stay. Until he said otherwise. He already could see the effect slowly washed over Hanzo—his hands slowly went limp and motionless, his breathing wasn't ragged as earlier. Presumably realizing, it was useless—his attempt wouldn't amount to anything.
The thought of it brought immense pleasure and fuels his action further. Seeing how Hanzo succumbed to his powerlessness. The fire he had gradually flickered—dying—he was certain, if he loosened his grasp. Hanzo wouldn't do anything foolish, like reaching for the knife within his arms reach.
Unfortunately it seems that Hanzo still clung to the idea of it. As he quickly took notice of it, and thwarted it easily. Even then blood was still being spilled, he could feel it—his cheek was slashed open. The pain made him grimace, as his fingers touched his face.
"Bi—han!" the man growled, features contorted with pure loathe. Chest heaving, eyes glaring at him—somehow Hanzo recovered. It intrigues him, to the point he almost forgot about the gnawing pain on the side of his face.
He clicked his tongue, fingers trailed beneath Hanzo's jaw, "A foolish choice," he breathed out close to the man's ear, "you shouldn't have done that," fingers hooked under his chin, forcibly lifting Hanzo's face, "why couldn't you just yield?"
The man beneath him spit, instead of responding to his question; just like he predicted. "Never," Hanzo spits out, eyes narrowed menacingly—as if it threatened him. It just made him smirk smugly, hand wiped away the spit. Fingers trailed lower, rested on the man's throat; Hanzo's breath hitched fleetingly.
Certainly, Bihan's action left a lasting impression. Whether it was in distaste or, presumably in his enjoyment. The sight of it certainly stirred something—added with those long hair framed the man's pathetic expression.
"Suit yourself," with those words, his hips bucked into the tight heat of Hanzo's body. In response, he saw how Hanzo's head tossed and turned, lips being clamped shut. Seemingly afraid to let out those pathetic sounds—resembling music to his ears.
His hand loosely rested on the older man's throat; just in case Hanzo tried to do something drastic. He couldn't have the man die quickly—the decision rested on his hand. Well, he could see thoughts in those eyes. He tightened his grip and saw how those eyes—formerly filled with vitriol glazed over. Can't let the man think clear enough, to figure out how to escape from his grasp.
It would be a shame to let this suitable toy slip from his grasp. After all, with this the Lin Kuei would prosper. There would be no more opposition, or at least from anyone that matters.