The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

The Morning After


Mikoto stood in the doorway to the bar, and Kusanagi just looked at him for a long moment before Mikoto shrugged and dropped onto his usual seat at the front.

It wasn’t his way to apologize. Kusanagi had been the one to tell him that ages ago.

“You’ve had that in your system for years,” Kusanagi commented. His voice was just slightly sharper than usual, more disappointed.

Mikoto leaned his head back. Kusanagi was too close to this, too close to Mikoto’s inability to protect Totsuka, and he’d be the first hit when Mikoto left him holding all the pieces. There wouldn’t have been comfort in Kusanagi’s bed.

Munakata should know this was the only warning he was going to get.

“Did you find the gun?” Mikoto asked.

Kusanagi studied him for a long moment, seeming to pack up his pain, his disappointment, his face and tone smoothing out to something both casual and dangerous. “Yes.”

Pain and the Promise


Mikoto could take a lot of punishment, harsh hands, hard surfaces under his body as Munakata slammed him into wall, street, even ground if he could manage it. Pain and the promise of it, rough and the bite of bright aura that wasn’t Mikoto’s.

He laughed, eyes alight with power and pleasure.

Munakata’s smug face was just right as he wrought actual pain and bruises on a nearly untouchable king. It didn’t feel like the rush of power or the nightmares and regrets that plagued him. It felt like something he didn’t have to think or worry about. Something real.