Eidolon

Warning (PG18)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Reon set his chopsticks and bowl down on the table, turning fully to her, a slow, predatory smile gracing his lips as his fingers went to the remaining buttons of the shirt. “Kitsu, that’s my shirt,” he stated, his voice a low rumble. She chuckled, a soft, breathy sound, and helped him slide the garment off her shoulders.

“I know, I liked how it smelled like you,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. Underneath, she was completely naked, her skin carrying the clean, subtle scent of his own soap. The intimacy of it, her wearing his perfume, her body marked by his passion, made him pause, his breath catching. He was trying to eternalize this feeling, this perfect, contradictory moment of wild desire and profound peace.

Rei tilted her head, sensing the fire in him, yet puzzled by his sudden, unexpected pause. She decided to shatter it herself. Her hands moved to the obi of his yukata, her fingers deftly untying the sash, done with restrictions. If he had tasted her mouth, her everything, she would taste all of him too. She met his heated gaze, her own filled with a bold, unspoken promise, pulling the fabric apart to reveal the hard, wanting length of him.

Rei didn’t hesitate. With conviction that sent a fresh wave of heat through him, she descended, her mouth finding him with an expertise that was both artful and devastatingly effective. Reon let his head fall back, a low groan escaping his lips as he surrendered to the feeling, curious and utterly captivated by her initiative. Every flick of her tongue, every soft, knowing pressure was a masterclass in pleasure, coiling the tension deep within him until his body was a taut wire.

His hands, which had been braced against the tatami, eventually rose to thread through her vibrant hair, not to guide, but to attach himself as the sensations threatened to overwhelm him. Soon, even that control frayed, and his grip tightened, his hips beginning to move in a shallow, instinctive rhythm, setting a pace that was both a command and a plea.

The world had narrowed to the feel of her hands and mouth on him, a silken, building pressure that threatened to obliterate all thought. Reon’s head was thrown back, his fingers tangled firmly in her hair, his entire being focused on the exquisite sensation; until the sharp, insistent buzz of his comms sliced through the fog of passion. He was teetering on the very edge, the world narrowing to the wet, hot heat of her mouth and the building pressure in his core, when the insistent, sharp buzz continued to cut through the haze.

Damn it.

The sound wasn’t a standard chime. It was a specific, rhythmic pulse of Morse code: Kumi. At the base of the stairs. Ascending rapidly. He froze. A guttural curse ripped from his throat. With immense, agonizing reluctance, he pulled Rei away by her shoulders. Her face was a portrait of dazed, wanting confusion, her lips swollen, her eyes glazed with interrupted desire.

The sight was a cruel twist of the knife. Scrambling through his yukata, he retrieved the comms under a continued, furious stream of curses. A glance at the message and time confirmed his dread, 11:45. He rubbed a hand over his face, the gesture one of complete frustration, the physical craving a painful throbbing.

How had the morning vanished so completely? He exhaled into the hand over his face, his entire body pulsing with unspent need. His breathing was heavy, ragged, as he fought to calm the frantic drum of his heart and the impatient ache that demanded release.

It was a battle of will over instinct, and in that moment, instinct was putting up one hell of a fight. The serene mountain sanctuary now felt like a trap, the approaching footsteps of his subordinate a death knell to the most profound peace and pleasure he had known in years.

Rei watched him, her own body humming with unmet desire. She settled back on her heels, the disappointment a biting pang, but her instincts screamed at her to be still.

Reon’s intensity had shifted from passion to something more volatile. After a long moment during which he seemed to wrestle his own body into submission, his erection subsiding marginally, he dropped his hands and his eyes found her, sitting there so compliantly. A bitter-sweet smile touched his lips, a strange mix of regret and resignation.

“Kumi is arriving shortly,” he said, the words obviously bothering him, “You should get ready.” Rei’s expression was a fleeting journey; shock at the abrupt end, a flicker of eagerness to see Takumi, a wave of trepidation for the confrontation to come, and finally, a quiet resolve.

She rose gracefully, stepping towards the bedroom before pausing, twisting back to look at him cautiously. “Did you mean it,” she asked, “when you said you never wanted to see me in those clothes again? It’s just… I didn’t bring another outfit.” A realization dawned on her, “Or, oh my traini…” Reon interrupted impatiently, rising quickly, “I will bring your gi. Go, wash up. There’s makeup in the second drawer of the vanity next to the sink.”

She offered a small, formal bow, a gesture that felt both fitting and strangely heartbreaking, before turning and moving elegantly toward the bathroom. His eyes traced every movement, a heavy weight settling in his chest.

With a sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the entire mountain, he tightened the obi of his yukata and rose. He strode out of the room and across the wooden bridge, the morning air doing little to cool the heat still simmering under his skin. As he reached the other side, his gaze was drawn downward to the long staircase.

There, already halfway up, was Takumi. Dressed in a severe Bordeaux suit, he was taking two steps at a time with a powerful, driven speed that spoke of barely contained wrath. Just from the aggressive, relentless motion, Reon could feel the other man’s rage. And in that moment, staring down at the man coming to reclaim what was temporarily his, Reon understood the feeling with a painful, newfound clarity. He saw his own frustration, his own growing possessiveness, mirrored perfectly in Kumi’s angry, climbing form.

Reon continued through the silent, stone-pillared hallways, the echo of his own footsteps a solemn drumbeat. In the ceremonial hall, he found the vibrant red gi, a splash of color in the austere tea table setting and tucked it into the shopping bag. Walking back to the bathroom, he found the door slightly ajar. He nudged it open with the bag, placing it softly on the tiled floor.

His eyes found her reflection in the mirror, hunched slightly forward as she applied a line of smoky kohl with a steady, expert hand. She paused, catching his gaze in the reflection, and offered a grateful smile, “Thank you Reon.”

A strange warmth curled through his chest; something entirely separate from desire, something more foreign and unsettling in its simplicity. He grunted a non-committal response and retreated, needing to armor himself. Hurriedly he changed into one of his formal, dark kimonos, the heavy silk a familiar weight.

When he returned to the bathroom, she was already dressed in the red gi. The effect was striking: the crisp, martial lines of the uniform contrasted wildly with the sensual, smoky allure of her makeup, creating a vision that was both lethally elegant and disarmingly spry; like a prodigy at a dojo who held a dangerous secret.

“Kitsu, you look like my perfect idea of a martial arts pupil,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he stepped closer. Allowing himself a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and placed a steady hand on the nape of her neck, his lips hovering dangerously close to the crimson curve of hers. Rei laughed, a light, airy sound that quickly faded into something more serious. She met his gaze, her dark eyes earnest, “I’m hoping to become your favorite.”

Reon froze, the words striking a chord deeper than he expected. The immediate, unbidden thought echoed in his mind with the force of truth: you already are. He didn’t say it. Instead, he pulled away from her as if stung, shocked by the sincerity of his own internal admission. The warmth was instantly doused by a wave of cold reality.

“Kumi should be arriving any time now,” Reon stated, his voice purposely flat, a stark contrast to the warmth of the moments before. The reluctance in his tone was barely audible beneath the layer of ice, “We should go greet him.” He turned and walked out, leaving her standing before the mirror, the moment shattered by the impending arrival of her other master.

Reon set an impressively fast pace, his long legs eating up the stone floor and forcing Rei into a half-run behind him. As they exited the Japanese house, she snatched up her color-block sneakers but had no time to put them on, hurrying after him with the shoes clutched in her hand. From the wooden bridge, they both caught a glimpse of a figure in a Bordeaux suit, Takumi, just a handful of steps from the plateau.

They flew through the hallways, their footsteps a frantic rhythm. Bursting into the ceremonial hall, Reon barely broke stride. “Clear away the cold tea and brew some more,” he ordered, gesturing quickly toward a corner of the room where a small tea kitchen was hidden behind rice-paper dividers.

Rei halted for a second, she had never fully noticed it before. Then she got to work, first setting her shoes neatly near the central table before moving to the hidden nook speedily. Reon didn’t wait, continuing to intercept Takumi. He arrived at the shrine’s grand entrance just as Takumi stepped onto the plateau, his breathing elevated from the climb, his expression a mask of contained turbulence.

Their eyes locked. A silent, potent exchange of anger, anticipation, envy and reluctant respect passed between them in the cool mountain air before Takumi executed a perfect, deep bow, his upper body folding to a sharp horizontal. “Honored Ceremonial Master,” he greeted, the words impeccably formal but stained by a glacial undertone.