Ammunition spent, Hyakunosuke tossed his rifle aside and jumped to his feet.
“Fine Tanigaki, I’m right here!” standing, he spread his arms. “How do you plan to fight me without a gun? Are you going to throw rocks at me?”
A crack echoed in the distance followed by a curl of smoke. The weight of a hammer struck his chest and kicked him onto his back. Pain seized his sternum and choked his breath as naked tree limbs framing the sky.
“Superior Private Ogata,” the Matagi’s baritone was close. “I’m all out of rocks today,”
Hyakunosuke lay paralyze by the pain in his chest. Through half-lidded eyes, the limping man appeared with a long Murata rifle under his arm.
“Nothing to say, Sir?” he jabbed Hyakunosuke’s boot with his crutch.
Corporal Tamai’s attraction to the Matagi had been the primary reason for recruiting him; he warned the Corporal multiple times to forget the Akita native. He was too honorable, too sincere.
Too good for this world...
“Then let me do the talking,” he said. "Threatening people I care about is more dangerous than trying to hunt me down to kill me,"
Hyakunosuke’s body trembled.
“You turned on Lieutenant Tsurumi and came here to keep me from revealing it?” Tanigaki’s voice was eerily calm. “I heard you were a smart man, Superior Private Ogata, but coming for me wasn’t very smart,”
Yes, in hindsight fleeing the triage cabin with Nikaidou invited suspicion. But he hadn’t been thinking clearly once on his feet after weeks of being bedridden with his jaw sutured shut.
There was something strange about the Matagi, something he hadn't seen before.
“Don’t try to sit up, Superior Private Ogata,” cheerful eyes contrasted a menacing scowl. “You’ll bleed out before I get a chance to teach you one final lesson before you die,”
The sinister pall upon Tanigaki’s face took him by surprise. All their time in the 7th, the Matagi played a silent and respectful man, minding his business and taking shit like a good sport. Predatory with cruel eyes and a purpose—this wasn’t Tanigaki Genjirou.
He took a knee and setting the rifle upon the snow, aimed the barrel aimed at Hyakunosuke’s ear.
“You allowed that scum Nikadou to put a pistol to that old lady’s head,” his teeth came together. “It seems that you need a lesson in vulnerability, Sir!”
Fingers dug into Hyakunosuke’s cheeks, aggravating his jaw.
“There’s nothing more vulnerable than a felled wildcat,” his voice softened, and his grip relaxed. “Laying here on your back, does it make you feel like your mother?”
Rage bubbled up within Hyakunosuke, but his lack of voice persisted.
“Tell me, Sir,” he asked, eyes bright. “When Lieutenant General Hanazawa stopped sending money to Ibaraki, did your mother whore you out at the local brothel?”
Self-Righteous cunt knew nothing about him, and Hyakunosuke would make him pay.
“You shot at me, you hit me,” he brought his lips in close enough to touch. “But you won’t be scoring a kill today, Superior Private Ogata,”
Tanigaki rose to his knees and hitched the hem of his goatskin vest up before tugging at the clasp on his trousers.
Fear spread through Hyakunosuke like a virus.
Without his voice, he screamed at First Class Private Tanigaki to consider the ramifications of what he was about to do to a superior officer—but the young Matagi was no longer a man bound by the rules of war.
No words would pass from Hyakunosuke’s mouth, so he willed his arms to life and managed to curl them over his chest.
“No embracing,” Tanigaki seethed, taking hold of his elbows. “That’s what lovers do, and we’re not lovers, are we, Sir?”
The tendons in Hyakunosuke’s neck were pinched when the Matagi flipped him over. Hips struck the long barrel of the Murata as his stomach and face confronted the snow. His chest pain lessened as the embedded binoculars shifted.
“—shut your mouth, you bastard!” stout hands made short work of Hyakunosuke’s belt. “And you are a bastard, aren’t you Superior Private Ogata?”
Cold stunk his skin as his pants and fundoshi were wrenched past his knees.
“Too cold for your third arm, Sir?” a course chin scratched Hyakunosuke’s ear. “Let’s get it out of the snow,”
The gun pressed into his hips when craned, bringing his buttocks flush with the Matagi’s thick hairy thigh. Folded over the weapon’s barrel like a discarded robe, the indignity brought tears to his eyes.
“Most men shrivel up in this cold,” the cloud of Tanigaki’s breath seeped past Hyakunosuke’s shoulder. “But you’re standing at attention, aren’t you wildcat?”
Arms too numb to fight, sternum too bruised to protest, Hyakunosuke damned his manhood for siding with the Matagi.
“What was that, Superior Private Ogata?” he demanded. “Are you begging me to teach you a lesson? Are you begging to know what it means to be vulnerable?”
Hyakunosuke whined softly upon hearing the Matagi force up phlegm and hock it. Warm thick spittle crept between his buttocks and slithered down his testicles.
“That’s it, wildcat, beg me for a lesson,” he leered, spitting several more times; each glob bringing warmth his body craved. “It’ll be the last thing you beg for in this life!”
Tanigaki hocked up a couple more times, but Hyakunosuke felt nothing; that spit was reserved for the weapon between his legs. He steadied himself on his knees and used the gun to hoist Hyakunosuke up from the snow.
A hefty phallus planted itself in the cleft between Hyakunosuke’s cheeks as the Matagi rolled his hips to coat it with spit. He tried to protest, but the pressure upon his chest continued to mute him. It pushed into him without a guided hand, its biting sting gave way to an uncomfortable fullness.
Tanigaki remained still a moment, buried deep, allowing Hyakunosuke’s impaled flesh to adjust.
He cursed his body for betraying him as the Matagi pulled back on the gun, forcing his battered insides to do all the work. He whined with each movement, drool falling from his mouth as his dangling fingertips made lines in the snow.
“Concentrate on your cries,” Tanigaki grunted. “It’ll arouse you, wildcat,”
He heard the whores in Otaru, how they’d droned beautifully when he penetrated them like this. The words to their songs were clear now and though he tried not to sing it, he was helpless.
“If I’d known you felt this good, wildcat,” Tanigaki began moving into his own thrusts. “We’d have rutted sooner,”
Hyakunosuke’s mind reeled at the thought; this Matagi was the sort of man he deserved, the sort he desperately needed. Control of his extremities slowly returned; his body’s reward for surrendering.
A mantra of guttural moans quieted as Tanigaki’s arms lost their momentum. Body seized in climax, the Matagi brought him in hard, filling the sniper with a thick hot lesson in vulnerability.
Hyakunosuke fell onto the snow as the gun slipped out from under him. Not nearly a moment passed before the brute pulled at his arm and rolled him onto his back.
Tanigaki’s breath calmed as he refastened his pants. Body gleaming in the midday sun, the blotch of red on his bandana was wet and leaking blood onto his brow.
“I won’t finish you,” he said. “The bullet in your chest will,” he slung the Murata over his arm before limping toward his crutch.
Hyakunosuke didn’t wait for the footsteps to fade. Unable to sit up, he reached between his legs and dipped his fingers into the spill beneath his testicles. A slick hand fisted his erection until his body conceded with enough force to make him cry.
Racked with pain he forced himself up. Under his cloak he extricated the binoculars from his chest and glanced the Murata round stuck in its focus-wheel frame. He sat upon the snow, its chill numbing his tender flesh, until able to pull his pants back over his hips.
On his hands and knees, Hyakunosuke tottered to his feet.
Don’t move Tanigaki!
He snatched up his gun and hastily reloaded. Bayonet in hand, he stabbed it into the trunk of a nearby tree and set the long nose of his rifle upon its spine. Through his scope he spotted an approaching officer, his gun fixed on Tanigaki.
An exchange of words brought the man’s weapon down. Finger curled around the trigger, Hyakunosuke pushed out a long breath and set his sights on Tanigaki Genjirou.