This one was betaed by Boni, and darned if I can remember if there was a challenge involved. Probably.

There's a rhythm like the dance of the katana Mibu-san prefers to rattan. He rocks down against hard muscle and silken skin, and Mibu-san arches up. His singing nerves are a warrior's alertness, his beating heart the elation of the fight. Mibu-san's pleasure isn't so different from when they spar.

But this is not practice. Heat jolts through him like a killing blow; wetness spreads. He's never certain which of them strikes and which of them bleeds. He pants against Mibu-san's skin, trapped by strong arms.

"A good match, little brother," Mibu-san purrs into his ear.

Even that feels sharp-edged.

~END~