Blood and Water
by Ryan Wong

Water

Beads of water on his cheeks. They feel cool upon his warm skin. There is water in the wet towel on his forehead. A drop of water spills from his moist hair and travels down his neck like liquid silk. With much ease, it caresses his parched throat with its velvet touch before merging with the little pool of water gathering on the hollow of his neck. His dry lips slightly part to release two sandy syllables from his parched throat. Water. A moment of utter silence. Then in a distance, he hears many drops of water softly falling into an empty cup. He needs water. Another moment of cruel silence. Every inch of his dehydrated body screams for a liquid relief. Then, a miracle. A gentle hand guides his moist head to the heavens. His cracked lips meet the cool rim of the water-filled cup. It will quench his thirst. He is so thirsty. Drops of water now fall from the cup and forms a river of silk down his aching throat. Opening his mouth wider to welcome its sacred presence, he swallows every single life-giving drop from the cup of life. As the last drop of water falls past his quenched lips, the gentle hand lays his head up on his moist pillow. He needs water to live.

Drifting off to sleep again, Iori finds himself washed up upon the shores of his subconscious. Tide after tide of forgotten memories wash over him like an ancient cleansing ritual. With his soul finally at peace, the young man relinquishes his untiring hold on his pain and relaxes while the blood on his hands slowly washes away into his sea of dreams. Like the long fingers of a heavenly harpist, the waves lap upon his bloodied hands carrying away the taint of death with the receding tide. His tired hands have never felt so clean in his life as the fingers of his thoughts tenderly strokes his palms. Slowly, like water on a fresh painting, the beach, and the ocean wash away into an approaching light in the horizon of his thoughts. Opening his lucid eyes, to the light overhead, the fallen fighter finds himself back in the safety of his bed. For a moment, he did not remember the events that have brought him to where he is. Then, like the drops of water rolling down his throat, Iori gradually recalls piece by piece of the day into his reeling mind. Struggling to make sense of the pictures of blood and smoke forming in his thoughts, the young man closes his eyes once again convinced that is all, but a dream. Yet somehow, it feels different. He then senses he is not alone.

Bolting up from his bed in terror, Iori feels a sharp pain stabbing into his sides. The light overhead seems to burst into tiny little stars while he tries to maintain his sense of balance. Overwhelmed by wave after wave of pain surging through his arched body, the Orochi descendent collapses into his warm sheets gasping for air. Though it took less than a second for his body to hit his soft bed, the fall seems to last forever in his mind and as his blankets embraces its weakened prisoner, Iori knows that he has finally hit rock bottom. Every bone in his body protests against his sudden activity and bades him to lay still despite his reflex to face his enemy. With his eyes wide open, Iori leans his head to his side and clenches his teeth to prevent a scream from rushing out of his lungs. He then watches the featureless shadow of a man fall over the opposite wall like a dark veil. Terror seizes his heart. He is in no condition to fight. With fear shining brilliantly in his helpless eyes, the young man holds his breath. For once in his life, he is as weak as the common man.

"You should rest," a familiar voice beckons him from behind, "You are in no state to move, let alone fight."

There is a certain tenderness in the words that Iori has never heard addressed to him before. Every syllable rings bright and true in his ears and strangely comforts him. Seeing that the other man means well, Iori lets down his guard and wonders who is this man who brought him to his apartment and laid him down on his bed to recover. Only a few people know where he lives and he doubts anybody is brave enough to save a total stranger from a flaming pile of rubble. Yet, the voice seems so familiar to him; it is almost like his own, tinged with regret and duty. Iori then remembers the sadness in a pair of eyes he can never forget. They too are so much like his own, forced to recall his dark past and foresee his bleak future. He has never meant another pair of eyes like his in all of his travels. He did not pay them much regard when he first saw them until now as he feels their friendly gaze watching over him like a guardian angel. Attaching a name to both voice and eyes, Iori then whispers, "Mamoru."

A soft rustle is heard from across the room as the dark haired man soon comes in the Iori's view. He is still wearing the same pink shirt and nondescript pants as before; Iori still can not believe that he did not leave a single mark on him during the battle. However, it became self-evident that this man is the stronger of the two in more ways than one. The fallen fighter can clearly see from his concerned face that all of the traces of fighter who has defeated him are long gone leaving only the kind stranger he met on the bridge. No longer curled into fists of fury, Mamoru's hands continues to radiate a certain strength as they lift Iori from his bed as if his body is as light as a wax doll and lays him down in a better position. The young man hesitantly holds onto the older fighter's shoulder to lift himself from his bed. Mamoru's shoulders, though soft upon first contact, supported Iori's weight firmly as he leans over the young man's vulnerable body. He never knew the touch of another man before, yet this one seems as gentle and meek as a lamb. A sudden blush then colours his face; this is the first time he has been this close to another man outside of the battlefield. Self conscious about his own appearance, Iori then realizes that he is not in his normal clothes. A thick, comfortable and loose type of fabric now covers like his entire body making him warm and cozy. It is much different from the tight and constraining outfits he usually wears and though he felt a little uncomfortable, he did not mind clothing that do not dig into his wounded sides at the moment. Trailing his fingers over his body, Iori finds the white robe to be tolerable and wonders where did Mamoru managed to find one in his apartment. He has never bought one before.

"Thanks." It is all he can say to the man who has saved his life. For a moment, Iori thinks that he should say more, but he holds back; his nature does not permit him to say more than he already has. Though he is no threat to him, neither is he a friend.

"You are welcomed." the older man replies sincerely while he stands by the bedroom window looking out into the night. "I did not expect you to be conscious so quickly."

Turning his head from Mamoru, Iori finds a pile of scorched clothing lying coldly upon the floor a few feet away from his bed. Aware of their condition, Iori looks down his robe to find his waist wrapped with layers of bandages. In all of his life, he has never sustained such deep wounds as these and does not know what to make out of the spots of crimson marring the whiteness of the bandages. It has been so long since he has seen the colour of his own blood; it reminds that he is mortal after all. Though his body may recover from the wounds of that day, he has to live for the rest of his life with the scar of utter defeat. The idea of being single handed knocked out by another fighter pains him more than his current injuries. He never thought he will ever see the day that his Orochian blood would fail him, or rather, he failed his ancient heritage. A sense of shame descended upon the bed ridden warrior. With one battle, he has disgraced his ancestors and now wonders whether he can ever live up to the destiny he has been fighting against all of his life. Maybe it is better if he was to die on the battlefield.

A moment of silence seems to pass between the two men. One is looking out into the dark of night like a lone watchman while the other is already lost in the darkness of his mind. He could have left me to die where I lay, Iori thinks to himself as he turns again to find Mamoru standing in the same spot with the same pair of introspective eyes. He seems to be distracted by something and conducts himself as if he has been here before, but in a different time with a different person. It is hard not to stare at him while he stands there as still as a statue awaiting for the day when he can finally crumble to the ground and rest. Iori has never seen a man like him before as his eyes travel up and down the older man's firm body. Like before, he senses the power beneath his seemingly normal clothing and the more he looks at him, the more he feels drawn to him. He has never met somebody more powerful than himself and is slightly curious to know how about he received such strength. It will have taken a normal man all of his life to accomplish a tenth of what he has seen him do. Yet, despite his unnatural strength, he does not readily uses his full power during battle; it is as if he is holding back knowing full well the extent of his abilities. Searching deep in his memories, Iori knows that he has not met an opponent like Mamoru before. Every person whom he has defeated would not have thought twice of landing the finishing blow and would have gladly left him there to die. After all, he did the same on numerous occasions. But Mamoru is different. Not only did he spared his life, but he saved it as well from the flames of his own creation. Iori never knew such a person existed before; he always believed that the world is a cold, heartless place where only the strong survive. Standing by the window with his profile facing the young man, Iori shifts uneasily in his bed. He did not like the feeling of being obligated to another man for saving his life. He knows full well that he will not have done the same if the tables were turned.

Mamoru has not spoken another word while Iori remains lost in his thoughts. He wonders whether he can reclaim his reputation if he has another rematch with the older man, but one long look at the figure beside his bedroom window extinguishes any hope of recompensation. Mamoru is out of his league and he knows it. Never once did he make a single attack during the entire battle. Only an experienced fighter can deflect and reflect the blows of his opponents and this man does it with such ease as if he is a seasoned veteran in the martial arts. Iori still remembers how Mamoru spins out of the way of his ground attack. It almost pains him to recollect how the older man then uses his own attacks against him. Even his ultimate super combo attack falls short of landing a single blow against his opponent and it distresses him to think how much training he must go through if he is ever going to measure up to his victor. He never knew how powerful and hot his purple flames can be until they singed his clothes while missing him only by a mere few inches. In fact, Mamoru embodies the teachings behind all martial arts, the best offense is the a good defense. Iori then recalls the words uttered by the older man before he lost consciousness.

"Please, not again." Iori whispers almost inaudibly to himself as he remembers the fear in the other man's eyes when he fell.

However, these three words are enough to get the attention of Mamoru. Detaching himself from his post, the older man steps backwards as if he has woken up from a trance and faces Iori once again. At first, he did not seem to recognize the young man lying in the bed watching him intently. A sweet smile replaces the sad curves of his mouth as he steps forward with misty eyes. Then a look of alarm fills his eyes as they refocus on the defeated warrior. Iori can almost hear the air sucked into the other man's lungs as he visibly gasps for no apparent reason. Turning his head, Mamoru walks away hurriedly and as he is about to leave the room, he says with an unsteady voice, "I have just changed your bandages so you will be fine for next few hours. I will now make some tea while you rest." With that, he closes the door behind him and Iori hears his footsteps disappearing into the direction of his kitchen. Looking at the closed door, Iori wonders why did Mamoru rushed out of the room so quickly. Was it something I said?

Finding himself alone again, Iori stares at his bedroom ceiling. He has not looked at his ceiling for a long time ever since he became a rockstar and a fighter on the side. His busy schedule did not leave much time for rest and whatever opportunity he was given, he would take a nap and try to recover from the previous battle or concert. At first, he did not mind the hours of practice and training; both took his mind off the more serious problems in his life such as his short life span. However, as time went on, he grew dispassionate about his rock concerts and the fans no longer seem to appeal to him like before. Fighting became an mindless slaughter of life after years of winning meaningless battles with people he never knew. For some reason, he did not know why he felt so exhausted after each day. Rather, he felt more empty than tired and wonders what is missing in his life. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he will wake up, dress up, and walk the streets aimlessly. Nobody will notice him then as he walks around the block and stare at the pavement before him. Being surrounded by noise all day, it is a relief to immerse himself with the silence of the night. An unfortunate drunken street thug will once in a while interrupt his thoughts and threaten him as he passes a corner, but he will then quietly disposes of him with one quick snap of his fingers. Lately, however, he has been waking up more often in the middle of the night and sleep is becoming more scarce with each passing day. In fact, the cold silence of the night has become his familiar companion and the news recently announced that his city block is one of the safest in Japan.

Looking at his bedroom window, Iori wonders whether he has ever felt the need of a friend. From his early youth, he is avoided people in general; even then, he knew in his heart that he is different from them. He has never once considered how it would be like to have somebody to talk to instead of stalking the streets at night like a lunatic. Iori has always been his own best friend and worst enemy since he was young and he did not mind it, until now. Looking about his room, Iori then realizes that there is not a single picture in his entire apartment. He was never close to anybody in his life and never considered hanging up a picture of himself on his bare walls; he did not like the eyes of his youthful past to stare at him from a piece of paper. It is already bad enough that his own eyes looks upon him with disgust. Iori has yet to read the few books he kept on his bookshelf, all of which were given to him by his coworkers and fans throughout the years he has been posing as a rockstar. Seeing that he hardly makes a mess of his place, Iori then begins to wonder whether he really needs to hire a housekeeper to tidy up his apartment. The young man then lies his head on his side. The apartment is big enough for two people to live comfortably with each other and until now, he never notice how empty his apartment has been. He has nothing in his house that can entertain Mamoru during his stay at his place. Iori never found any need to buy home movies, fancy digital devices or electronic contraptions, he has too many things to worry about and would rather go to sleep than watch television. Now that he thinks about it, Mamoru has been the first visitor he had in a long time. Fighting and performing do not leave him much time to invite people and throw parties in his apartment. Neither does he has the patience to attend parties unless it was to promote his newest album. To him, leisure is work.

Breathing deeply, Iori's eyelids begin to close. He has not fully recovered from the excitement of the day and it is natural that his body demands rest from its host. The Orochi descendent discovered years ago that unlike normal humans, his body heals faster especially during sleep. It is by this method of recuperation that sustained his battle worn body all of these years and sometimes he wonders whether it is not the blood that sealed his death warrant, but the arduous lifestyle he forced upon himself to live with. If there is any other person either than Mamoru in the apartment with him, he will not sleep a wink the entire night and keep his eyes open until the stranger leaves. However, there is something about Mamoru that made him feel safe in his presence. Maybe it is not raw power that emanates from every pore of the other man's body, but rather, a perfect marriage between body and soul, heaven and earth. Yet, he wonders why would the older man would hide his powers underneath the guise of the common man. Clearly, he can easily challenge any fighter from any part of the world and win as easily as he did with Iori. However, from his looks alone, the young man perceives that it is not fame, money or power that Mamoru desires. It is the way the older man looks into the dark of night that makes him wonder whether they are both searching for the same things in life, solace. It is not merely the fact that the better fighter is never the first to attack his opponents that captivates Iori's imagination, it is the strange karma that surrounds the man that causes him to protect those weaker than he is. Iori has never felt the need to protect those weaker than him; it is something he was never taught. Sighing, the young man slowly slips off to sleep. Though he is not used to being protected by a stronger man, for once in his life he finally felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders. He smiles. It felt nice to be cared for.

Sleep came and left him like patrons of a cheap motel. During moments of pseudo consciousness, Mamoru's face will come into view before leaving again soon afterwards. Sometimes, he will be sitting in an armchair by his bedside watching him intently as if he is observing a cell under a microscope. Other times, he will be leaning against a wall staring off into a corner of space with the same sad look in his eyes. Once in a while, Iori will find Mamoru changing his bloody bandages with the genuine kindness of an experienced nurse. He will then feel the bandages come softly off his body before Mamoru washes his wounds with a damp cloth with the utmost consideration of his patient. It is as if he has done this all of his life and is as natural to him as fighting. While the older man dresses Iori's wounds with fresh, clean bandages, the Orochi descendent will doze off to a light slumber feeling relieved that he is in safe hands. However, drifting in and out of sleep, Iori can no longer tell reality from fantasy as he is thrown between both worlds vying for his complete and utter submission. Memories from his clouded past collide into his unspoken thoughts causing his head to spin each time he awakes only to find Mamoru's ready face nearby. After what seems to be the tenth attempt at a rested sleep, the older man, feeling sympathetic for his young friend, comes to his side and strokes his cheek gently with the balls of his long fingers. As Mamoru's strong hand caresses his warm skin, Iori relaxes upon contact and the chaos raging in his mind gradually calms down into a golden silence. He can barely hear music flowing from the other man's lips as he lovingly sings him to sleep with a simple, yet beautiful lullaby. The notes seem to lead him away from the troubles of his world and into a place where his own blood has no power over him. Once again, he can hear waves lapping upon a shore in the distance. "Go to it," Iori hears Mamoru's kind voice as if his words are carried upon gentle winds, "You will be safe there." Looking back once to see long, soft black hair cradling the older man's serene face, Iori allows himself to fall into the embrace of another world not like his own. The water beckons him once more like a loving father welcoming home a long lost son. It is as if he is no longer trapped in the chaotic confines of his mind anymore, but whisked away into another world, so different and foreign, yet so familiar than the one he left behind. The air smells fresher here while the water tastes as sweet as white honey. I wish I could stay here forever, Iori muses while he collapses onto the sandy beach once again. Like a warm blanket, the tide washes over his limp body before the sweet notes of the lullaby echoing his ears finally lull him into a deep sleep.

After what seems to be a good night's sleep after years of nightmares, Iori wakes up refreshed and more energized than ever before. Stretching his body, the young man feels a dull ache at his sides. His bandages seem to protest against his sudden movements as he rises from his bed leaning against the bed post. Running his fingers over his body, Iori is pleased to see that his last battle left no major scars on his flawless figure and notes that his bandages has been changed quite recently. Though his wounds have not completely recovered yet, the young warrior never felt more ready in his life to fight another battle. Looking out of the window, Iori notices that the sun has not risen yet and frowns. How long have I been asleep, he wonders as he looks about the room checking if Mamoru is still with him. Seeing that he is alone once again, the young man sighs as tosses open his sheets to find himself dressed in the same, white robe; he quietly reminds himself to buy a few more. Groping in the dark for the light switch, Iori soundlessly treads upon his bedroom floor without making a sound. He is surprised that his stealth has returned to him so shortly after his recovery and wonders again whether much time has past since he became bed ridden. A bar of light under the door catches his eyes as he pauses before his bed room door. Putting his ear to the door, Iori can distinctively hear footsteps upon the tiled floors of his kitchen and the deep voice of a man resonating against his bedroom walls. Somebody is still in the house with him.

Not taking any chances, Iori is about to swing upon the door when his sensitive nostrils picked up the scent of food. And it is not just any food. Being a rockstar, the young man has visited many restaurants around the world and tried many types of cuisine. Just by smelling the aroma of a dish, he can immediately tell whether he likes it or not and though he is not a picky eater, he can easily distinguish entrees prepared by a world class chef to food whipped up by the local diner. And from the smell of things, whatever food that is behind this door is going to best prepared meal he had in a long time. Recalling that he hardly ate before his last battle, Iori almost doubled over by the sudden growling of his stomach. His appetite finally returns to him and this time, with a vengeance. Grimacing from the want of food, Iori cautiously opens his bedroom door and is immediately flooded with the bright lights of his apartment. Within moments, Iori gradually gets used to the presence of light and makes his way to his kitchen. With each step, he felt his mouth watering with the heavenly aromas wafting around him and tries to resist the urge to run and eat everything in sight. He has never felt this hungry in a long time.

Pulling himself together, Iori regains his composure before making a cool entrance into the kitchen. What he sees makes his jaw drop. With his composure clearly shattered, Iori finds Mamoru laying down the last of many dishes of food onto the dinner table. There is hardly an empty spot to be seen on the table as heaps of food seem to jump at Iori tormenting his tastebuds with their culinary finery. On one dish is a pile of succulent beef steaks grilled to a tender perfection and marinated in a hot and thick herbal sauce to accentuate its rich juices. Drawing his eyes to another plate, Iori's eyes grew large as they rest upon a mound of Swedish meatballs, each perfectly molded into bite-sized balls and tenderly glazed with pineapple and plum sauce. Iori's heart almost skipped a beat as he notices a row of fat, plump and juicy foot long German sausages garnished with purple onion rings. They are still steaming as if they have been just baking in the oven a moment ago and seem to be almost bursting with juicy flavour if not for their tight, firm outer skin. Smacking his lips, Iori can imagine himself gorging upon the plump roasted chicken trussed up in the center of the table lined with wedges of baked russet potatoes. Its perfectly baked skin glistens seductively under the kitchen light causing his mouth to water continuously like a broken water sprout. Sitting beside the roast chicken is a bowl of the richest brown gravy Iori has ever set his eyes upon and wonders excruciating how it would taste when he adds it to a slice of a moist tender chicken breast. Momentarily distracted, the young man almost lost his self control as a plate of white pork chops on a plate nearest to him seasoned with a touch of fresh oregano and basil. He is in heaven.

"I knew that you will be hungry once you have awaken," Mamoru interrupts Iori's gravy train of thought as he steps away from the dinner table in his pristine white apron, "but I did not expect you to have recovered that quickly." Arousing himself from his appetite, Iori blushes as he tries to maintain his cool attitude with much effort and looks at Mamoru for the first time since he last fell unconscious. Except for the apron, he looks the same as ever. He still had that gentle look in his eyes, but he appears more homely than before. His black, shiny hair is tied back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way while he is preparing the feast before him. Smudges of white baking powder smear the smooth, healthy skin under his eyes as they peer towards the white robed figure aching to indulge himself. Mamoru's bare arms seem to glisten like the roasted fowl sitting upon the dinner table and for a moment, Iori's hunger is replaced by another type of appetite. Even in his apron, the young man can still see the perfect figure underneath it and wonders whether the person before him will look good in anything. His smile seems warmer and richer in the light of his kitchen than anywhere else; it is as if he is truly happy here. Because Mamoru is in his apartment, he has taken off his shoes to reveal a pair of long, white feet standing firmly on the tiled kitchen floor. His toes are perfectly shaped like the rest of his body and unlike the feet of most men, they are clean, spotless and well groomed. Primly cut, his toe nails faintly reflects the light above and not a single hair marrs the smooth texture of his feet. Fit for an Olympic sprinter, Mamoru's feet held such power and agility that makes it possible for him to quickstep all of his most powerful moves, and yet, its perfection is so beautiful to the hungry man. Iori can also tell a lot about a man by looking at his feet.

"You must be hungry by now, so you can talk to me after your meal," Mamoru speaks in a light hearted tone and pulls a chair for the still standing Iori, "here, take a seat and bon appetit." Not knowing whether to trust the man before him, Iori finally relents and takes a well deserved seat before the scrumptious feast before him. Feeling the sharp pangs of hunger tearing away at his empty insides, the young man is about to reach for the nearest drumstick when he instinctively hesitates. Though he did not want to hurt Mamoru's feelings, he always held the sneaking suspicion that his food might be poisoned and looks at it for a moment. He then looks into Mamoru's awaiting eyes and chides himself for being so mistrustful. After all, this man could have easily left him to die on the abandoned docks for the rats to feast upon his burnt flesh. He could have easily left him to die in his apartment and have his housekeepers find his carcass rotting under the midsummer heat. He could have left him alone when he saw that he has recovered and not cooked such a delicious treat to greet his eyes. In fact, this is the first time somebody, let alone an opponent, has cooked him anything. At first, he feels strange to see a home made feast before him, he would have readily accepted a simple meat loaf or a beef patty. Being on the road during his tour and not having a chef to cook for him when he returns to his apartment does not leave him much selection in terms of cuisine. Sometimes, he has to resort to canned foods for nourishment and feels grateful that he finally can enjoy a home cooked meal for a change.

Perceiving his companion's discomfort, Mamoru nods his head with quiet understanding before drawing a pair of wooden chopsticks from a drawer nearby. Sitting down at the table with Iori, the older man regally scoops a potato wedge into a small humble bowl and whispers a short prayer to the heavens above. Opening his eyes, Mamoru then picks up the golden potato wedge and inhales its aroma before putting the tender morsel to his lips. Iori did not know what to think as he watches the chef chew his food softly and slowly with his eyes closed savouring every single bit of it as if it is his last meal on earth. He can almost sense the overhead lights watching to every action Mamoru makes under their watch as the silence in the kitchen almost grew unbearable. Unable to resist the sight of food any longer, Iori snatches up his own fork and begins digging into the nearest dish before the chef can take another bite. Where there is a sense of form and style in Mamoru's table manners, Iori simply grabs anything he can shake his fork at and shovels it noisily into his mouth. In hindsight, he should have taken the time to chew his food and show some appreciation to Mamoru's five star cooking if he is not consumed with such an overbearing hunger, however, everything just tastes so delicious and heavenly that he can not help, but to attack the food around him with a savage bloodlust. The once serene and quiet kitchen is now filled with guttural noises and shameless slurpings from the hungry warrior as plate after plate of food disappears under his reign of culinary terror. Seeing that Iori is currently occupied with his latest masterpiece, Mamoru does not bother to slip in a word of dinner conversation and decides to watch the younger man as he slowly dines on a bowl of plain porridge with a sprinkling of preserved radishes and spring onions. In no time at all, the once white robe of Iori is now stained with pieces of meat and sauces that have managed to escape from his mouth yawning open like the gates of hell. His groping hands mercilessly grab food around him in a mad frenzy like the uncouth claws of an unfed beast.

Upon his first bite, Iori no longer cared how he will look in front of Mamoru and threw his manners and coolness out of the window; the food is the best he has eaten in his life. The texture of the beef is so tender that he can easily cut it with his fork, yet the taste is so full and sensual with the perfect combination of herbs and spices Mamoru used to marinate it with. The Swedish meatballs are not little tight balls of solid clay, but breaks easily after a few chomps of his jaw releasing the succulent and aromatic juices trapped within. The roasted chicken, though irresistibly crispy on the outside, is moist and tender in the inside with the herb seasoning and bread crumbs that Mamoru used for the stuffing. The white meat, which peels off in flakes with a simple nudging of his fork, has a light, playable taste that Iori has never thought could be achieved with any cooked fowl and almost shed tears of joy at its heavenly scent alone. The gravy fittingly compliments the taste of the chicken with its thick and heavy consistency as it coats each piece with an inviting sheen of sinful brown. The pork chops are still steaming with flavour by the time he sinks his teeth into them and it is almost magical how each bite melts into his mouth like Belgian chocolate exciting his taste buds to whole new level of taste sensations each time.

Before the hour is over, the dinner table is completely cleared of its food leaving bits and pieces of broken and gnawed bones scattered grisly over its surface. Mamoru has been watching Iori intently all this time as he quietly eats his bowl of porridge and is only half way through with it by the time the last morsel of meat plunges into the bottomless pit of Iori's stomach. He has never seen anybody eat so much in such a short period of time. What he has prepared can easily have fed a large family reunion and within a matter of minutes, his five star cuisine has disappeared without a trace. It is extraordinary that the panting young man before him did not fall over die from the physical exertion of wolfing down all that food alone. Fortunately, he had enough sense to take short gulps of breaths between each bite or else he will be sent to bed again to recover from something other than battle wounds, compulsive gluttony. Iori then notices that Mamoru prepared something for himself earlier just in case he underestimates Iori's legendary appetite. He only holds the slightest inkling that he has eaten more than his share of food that evening and now wonders whether he should expressed a sign of appreciation to the master chef during the best meal of his life. He failed to see that Mamoru is carefully observing him as he sat there gobbling everything in sight until moments before he has finally finished his dinner. He still had the same gentle and kind look on his face as before, but now a tinge of surprise highlighted his serene expression. It is as if he is reminiscing a distant memory and fancying passing thoughts of days long gone while he sits there with his spoon poised ever so delicately over the rim of his hardly touched bowl of porridge. The young man can almost sense that the smile on his face is not for him, but meant for a special somebody intimate with Mamoru's secret heart. Iori is right, Mamoru is the ever so constant man of mystery to him.

Sighing, the older man finally breaks the spell of silence between them and puts his unfinished bowl of porridge and chopsticks down. "I would have asked you whether you have enjoyed your meal," the words fall light heartedly from his firm lips, "but from the looks of things, there is no need to ask." With that, he begins clearing the empty dishes including his bowl of porridge. "I am not very hungry at the moment."

Sitting there slightly dazed and unbalanced from the scene of strewed bones and table scraps before him, Iori motions his head to face Mamoru's moving figure. There are so many questions he wishes to ask of the older man, but whenever he tries to talk to him, Iori will fall strangely speechless as if his questions are already answered for him by the other man's foreboding aura of silence. It is not as if he is intimidated by the older man. There is nothing about him that appears threatening to him in any way. While Mamoru clears the table with just a smile on his face, Iori continues to look at him with a puzzled look on his face. He is trying to search the man in front of him for anything that might explain his sudden bought of abnormal behaviour. Maybe it is his kind and gentle demeanor that throws him off so easily. Perhaps it is the humble and meek way he carries himself while he walks upright before the world as if he is not afraid of the path before him. Or maybe it is the hidden pain, natural beauty and the surplus of wisdom behind his gentle and loving eyes that has captivated him so. Shaking his head at such foolish notions, Iori almost curses himself out loud. His toughest opponent is towering over him in his own apartment and all he can think about is a pair of eyes? He must be tired from eating.

Raising his head, Iori murmurs a note of appreciation and gratitude as he helps the older man clear the dinner table of the remaining plates. Mamoru simply nods his head as he stacks each plate on top of the other before turning on the faucet and adding soap to a sponge. Still feeling awkward, the young man catches a glimpse of his fridge and wonders how Mamoru can cook so much food. The last time he checked, the fridge did not have much to offer in terms of selection and he always presumed that his oven is broken since he never got around to repairing it himself. Being a rockstar and a part time fighter does not leave him much time to do simple things around the house. Now that he looks at his kitchen carefully, there is not a spot of grease or dirt on the floors, counter tops and cabinets. Everything is neatly in place where he has left it and there is not even a visible trace of dust anywhere to be found. It is as if they have never been used before. Iori is impressed.

Unable to keep his suspense contained any longer, Iori coolly turns to Mamoru and asks, "Where did you get the ingredients to prepare all of this food? And why does the kitchen look so clean?"

Seeing that the young man finally wishes to talk, Mamoru releases the sponge from his hand and gives Iori his complete attention before replying, "A good chef must always be prepared to work with what is available and in this case, it is the stockpile of meat you have in your fridge and in your pantry." Withdrawing from the sink, the older man takes the same seat by the cleared dinner table staring at Iori. "I apologize if you wanted to have a vegetable dish, but there are not enough ingredients to make one. However, I had enough ingredients to make something else and you are just in time to try it out. Just take a seat and I will be with you shortly."

With the last word, the oven timer suddenly springs to life and begins to beep irritably at the male couple. Mamoru slightly adjusts his glasses as he immediately heads to the oven and flourishes a pair of oven mitts from under his apron. Having his back turned to Iori as he bends down to open the oven door, the older man did not see Iori with his mouth open at being spoken to so casually. Most people will have been too intimidated to speak to him like one of their friends, yet this person treats him as if he has known him for a long time. He did not detect a strain of formality in the tone of his voice nor did he find anything pretentious in his manner. Of course, Mamoru is no ordinary man either and he must keep a watchful vigilance over the man of many talents before him. As the older man opens the oven door, the aroma of freshly baked apples and sweet strawberries fills the air like a heavy perfume. Enraptured by the smell of baked pies, Iori watches Mamoru testing the pies with a toothpick from the pocket of his apron. Satisfied with the results, the master chef carefully removes the pies from the inferno of the oven and places them on the counter top before turning the temperature to zero. Smiling, Mamoru turns around with both pies in his hands and places them gently before Iori. Before he can say a word, the raven haired man fishes out a couple of small plates and forks from a nearby cupboard as if he is well acquainted with the kitchen and stands before Iori with a knife in his hand. "Do you like strawberries in your pie or do you prefer apples? I did not know which you like better so I made both while you were asleep." Mamoru's face beams with the warmth of a loving homemaker as he speaks. The man knows how to bake as well!

Iori does not know what to say. Looking at both pies, the young man is stunned by Mamoru's unexpected question. Nobody has ever baked for him before and this kind act caught him completely offguard. "Ummm, the strawberry pie looks alright." Iori murmurs sheepishly as he looks at its nice, shiny crust. He feels strangely comforted that for once in his life, everything before him fits so perfectly from the pie to the man who baked it. There is something about his smile that makes him feel relaxed and yet, makes the blood rush to his face as if he is a blushing bride. He did not notice until now that his shirt sleeves are neatly rolled up to reveal a pair of very strong arms covered with white flour. Iori soon finds himself transfixed on the patch of little black hairs resting on his arms and feels his own hair on his neck rising to the occasion. There is something about his arm hair that makes him look more appealing to him; it gives him an air of quiet maturity and humble wisdom that Iori has never seen before in another man. In fact, Mamoru almost looks good enough to eat.

With a warm smile and a simple wrist gesture, Mamoru nods his head and carves out a slice of strawberry pie for Iori. Like a five star chef, he slides the pie onto his empty and presents before the awaiting young man. Iori can only stare in disbelief at the final product of what seems to be hours of hard work. It is as if the flaky, soft, golden brown crust is enticing him to try its sweet blood red insides as the thick, baked in strawberry juices oozes from its pasty white confines. The sight of the red syrup spilling onto his white plate almost takes his breath away as the aroma of the strawberry pie captivates his sense of smell. While Iori simply sits there dumbfounded at such a culinary rarity, Mamoru simply cuts a slice of apple pie for himself. Unlike the strawberry pie, the insides are held together by the white and sticky syrup of the apples, and yet, it is just as irresistible. Iori can not help, but to look at the other pie and yearn for it as if he is stricken with a thousand hungers. Both of them are just as inviting, but in some unexplainable way, the apple pie suits Mamoru perfectly with its soft and subtle appearance while his own strawberry pie strangely matches the boldness of his red hair. Though they look as different as blood and water, they seem to compliment each other perfectly and Iori yearns to try both at the same time.

Unable to resist any longer, Iori carefully takes his fork in his hand and cuts the tip of the pie with its silver surface. The warmth steaming out of the pie seem to seep into his entire being as he takes a bite of it with uncertainty in his eyes.

His taste buds yield to the rich, fragrant filling of the strawberry pie as it melts in his mouth like warm chocolate. Unlike other desserts he has eaten, this one truly takes the cake; it is not overly sweet with artificial sugar, but it is naturally sweetened by the fresh strawberries and ideal heating conditions. The blood red filling of the pie soothes his throat as it travels down coating his mouth with an exquisite ecstasy. Iori can taste every drop of flavour pillaging and ransacking his mouth and feels a certain warmth coursing through his body and comforting his aching muscles. He never knew that food can make him feel this way. It is as if he has instantly returned to the sea of dreams where wave after wave of sweet relief washes over him lulling him into a sense of security. He then opens his eyes and realizes that Mamoru has been watching him all of this time while he was being overwhelmed by delights he can only dream of. He too seems mesmerized, not by his food, but by Iori's reaction to his cooking. A subtle flame of desire, unquenched by years of celibacy, seems to flare up in his eyes whenever Iori looks into them and finds his body desiring the older man in a way he can never thought he can feel towards another person. All at once, Iori wants more than the pie lying on the plate before him. Even Mamoru's kindly smile takes on more of an erotic twist when the young man takes a deeper look into them, or was it due to the delicious pie he has eaten? What is going through his head? What else can this man do? Iori wonders as he tries to regain his composure in vain; he did not even realize that his face is burning up with a sensation he has never felt for a long time, lust.

"Thanks for the pie," Iori manages to control himself enough to deliver the fitting compliment, "it is the best thing I have eaten in a long time."

In return, Mamoru dips his head and smiles gently, "I hoped that you like it and I know it must taste great from your reaction alone."

But not as great as you. Iori mentally adds to Mamoru's sentence as he watches the older man putting his fork down beside his plate leaving his own slice of pie untouched and unblemished. He did not notice that his own hand is lifting another morsel of heaven into his mouth as he continued to be drawn into the eyes of the man before him. Iori can almost see his reflection dancing in Mamoru's eyes except he can't help, but to get the image of another person, quite like himself, but blonde. Shaking his head a little, the young man tries to get the mental image of the boy out of his thoughts. What am I thinking of? The young man questions himself as he sits there with the pie on his fork. Here I am having a decent meal with somebody and this is how I think of him? Diverting his thoughts on other subjects, Iori finally gets a hold of his thoughts and decides to asks the questions that has been haunting him ever since he found himself in bed. "Mamoru, why did you not just live me there to die?"

Seeing that the younger man has put down his fork for more serious matters at hand, Mamoru sighs as he places his elbows on the table and cups his hands together. "Its simple really. You are in danger and I had to help or else you would have died."

Seeing that the older man is dodging his questions, Iori decides to ask another one. "Why did you not send me to a hospital?"

Shifting his position in his chair, Mamoru slightly looks away before answering rationally, "I knew that you are a rockstar and that the last thing you need is for the world to find out that you are a street fighter as well. A hospital will just attract too much attention to you and people will start asking questions about how you were hurt this badly." Mamoru's hands, clasped together as if in holy supplication, seem to reflect the inner turmoil hidden behind the soft gleam of his spectacles from the kitchen light above. Even the way he angled his face away from the light casts a sharp shadow upon his kind features indicating there is more than meets the eye. Before Iori can find out what is Mamoru's alterior motive, the older man plods on casually leaving his suspicious companion in the dark once again, "I took the liberty of cleaning your apartment for you, I had to tell your housekeepers that you will not be needing them to clean it this week; you do not need them to know that you are badly hurt."

Seeing his point, Iori continues to interrogate the man before him without a blink of an eye, "How did you know where I lived?"

"A girl by the name of Lara followed us to the docks and was watching us all of this time. She rushed to me once I got you safely away from the burning wreckage and cried when she saw you bloodied and hurt. I thought that you were her boyfriend and I asked her where you lived so that I might bring you home and not attract the police." Mamoru closes his eyes for a moment and smiles, "She told me that she is your biggest fan and led me to your apartment building with much haste. I can tell she really cares about you a lot and that she is no ordinary groupie. She looks like a very nice girl and you are very lucky that she was there when you fell. Lara promised me that she will not tell anybody about our fight as long as I took care of you and will not leave you. In fact, she brought flowers the other day to help you feel better; I put them in a vase beside your bed to keep you company."

Remembering the young, pretty girl whom he met on the bridge, Iori gives a silent thanks to her in his thoughts. He will invite her to his next local rock concert and have his secretary give her a backstage pass so that he can thank her personally. Turning his attention back to Mamoru, Iori replies "I could have died."

"No, you would have not," Mamoru firmly replies in his gentle, yet strong voice, "I am a doctor and as long as you are in my care, you are safe and well. That is the reason why you are wearing that white robe; I had to go home for a while to retrieve some medical equipment."

Taken back by the older man's response, Iori momentarily falls silent. This man who cooks like a five star chef and cleans like a machine is a doctor as well. Well, this explains his expertise in bandages and my speedy recovery, Iori thinks to himself while his eyes continue to search Mamoru for any signs that might betray his inner emotions and thoughts. He should have realized this when he takes into account the amount of time he has slept under his faithful care and the manner he treated his fatal wounds, only an experienced and knowledgeable doctor can perform such feats of medical gymnastics. Yet, something still bothers him. Iori has never felt such steady and strong hands administer to his wounds like Mamoru has and did not know what to make of it. It is he is more than a patient to him, more than an enemy who sought to take his life; it is as if he is somebody he has lost in his past.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. The look of longing and regret in his eyes on the bridge, the expression of horror and panic on his face when he collapsed, the fleeting moment of recognition in his bedroom, the ghostly image of the blonde boy in his mind's eye, they all come together now. He reminded the doctor of somebody special to him that he has lost in the past and that is why he stuck with him all of this time. In fact, now that he looks at it, he looks very similar to the boy he saw in Mamoru's eyes; it is as if he is a ghost in his past that finally materialized before him after years of sleepless nights and endless days. He must have been thinking of him while he was standing there on the bridge looking at the ocean waves below him. Iori then felt sorry for the doctor; he must have loved this person very much for him to save and take care of a total stranger who wishes to take his life without hesitation. Why did he not see this earlier? Yet, the younger man wants him more than ever. For some reason, Iori can not help, but to also feel a little jealous of the apple of the doctor's eyes. For once in his life, he wanted to have the same love this blonde had from the doctor. To be taken care of, to be embraced, to be cooked for, to be cleaned after for, to be given another man's unconditional and endless love so freely and effortlessly is something that he has been missing all of his life. Iori did not realize how fulfilling if felt to have somebody touch you like no other man has done before or to look at you with the warmth of love in his eyes until recently. Now, he wants it more than the fame he receives from his fans, more than the glory and pride he feels upon the defeat of a formidable enemy, more than life itself.

Seeing the look of sudden realization in Iori's eyes, Mamoru sighs and closes his own. As if a great weight has been lifted from his back, the older man relaxes his shoulders and raises his eyes once more to meet Iori's inquisitive gaze. "I guess I should be on my way now. You are well enough to take care of yourself now and there is no need for me to be here any longer."

The sudden realization that he will lose Mamoru if he does not act fast stuns Iori as he watches the older man push the apple pie away from him. Iori no longer sees him as a undefeatable foe or a genius at everything he does, but as a man like himself. Both of them have needs unsatisfied by the passage of time and experienced all ranges of hardships and sorrow. Despite of the pain in both of their lives, they managed to survive without another's help and carved out of a niche for themselves in the troubled world they live in. Yet, both of them are lonely and forgotten what it felt like to be loved by another. Truly, nobody wishes to be alone in this world and Iori begins to think why it has to end this way. It occurs to him that he might doing more harm than good if he played with Mamoru's kind heart, but he has never felt a desire to be with another man so deep and intense in his life. He also knows that he will just replacing the empty place in the other man's heart and that Mamoru will always see him as his long lost love, not as Iori Yagami. Yet, despite of this silent realization, he still wants Mamoru to be in his life. He is tired of being alone all the time and it is a change for the better if he lets somebody in his cold, lonesome world. Mamoru will be able to protect himself if his enemies were to try to get to him by attacking his friend and he will be able to help himself when troubles comes knocking on the front door. At the same time, the young fighter needed somebody who can protect him both from his enemies, from himself, and from his blood legacy.

Iori has been waiting all of his life to find somebody who understands him and can not help, but fall in love with the man who saved his life. Now that he has finally found him, he did not wish for the night to end, not yet. Iori could feel a lump forming in his throat as he reaches out and grab Mamoru's hand to prevent him from leaving him all alone again. The moment he touches his arm, Iori can feel a warmth, more pleasant than the one he had with the pie, envelopes him with such urgency and potency unknown to him before. He immediately feels Mamoru's arm muscles tense then relax as the younger man tries to restrain him with his firm grasp and the longing in his desperate eyes. Feeling extremely awkward, Iori absent-minded blurts out without much thought, "Before you leave, I would like to try some of your apple pie if it is as good as the strawberry one."

Dissipating the silence in the room in an instant, Mamoru simply smiles and concedes. The younger man is still too shocked to notice the wave of relief washing over the other man's facial features as he takes his seat once more. While Iori is still questioning himself why he has said such a stupid thing, the doctor picks up his fork and cuts a small piece of the slice of the untouched apple pie in front of him. The young warrior helplessly watches the other man's hand reaching out to him with the little offering of apple pie sitting upon his fork. He can now clearly sense the time to act is now or never as the image of older man with his outstretch fork leaves a permanent impression upon his mind. Without hesitation, Iori leans forward lifting his entire body towards Mamoru. Making direct eye contact with the doctor, the younger man parts his lips and wraps his tongue around the forbidden baked fruit. The light, subtle taste of the apple pie slowly takes possession of Iori's insatiable mouth as the thick apple syrup coats his crimson lips like golden honey. Licking the fork of its remaining crumbs, Iori looks upon Mamoru once again and see that the other man is visible entranced by his reaction. Feeling more confident, the young warrior reaches up with his right hand to grasp the doctor's firm, masculine arm. While his heart palpitated at unnatural speeds, light, sound and time are gradually consumed by the unearthly silence of the kitchen. No single force in the heavens could have broken the line of vision between the eyes of the two men searching one another for answers they can never find within themselves. Like a cherry blossom awakening from a winter of regret and loneliness, a mutual, unspoken understanding magically replaces the fear and mistrust in the hearts of both men. There are no words that can describe how Iori feels as he gazes upon the earth angel standing before him. Mamoru instantly loses his cool exterior by his companion's bold move and drops his fork onto the plate below. As metal contacts porcelain, a sharp sound instantly vibrates through both their bodies crushing any remaining signs of inhibition between the two men. The ice is finally broken.

Both men can now sense the unbridled passion and constant yearning in each other's touch simultaneously and the room suddenly grew ghostly silent. The light above Iori seems to shine brighter and hotter as his fingers felt the warmth of Mamoru seeping into his bones with each unsteady breath he takes. Instinctively, Iori's free hand then clasps onto Mamoru's exposed wrist and begins licking his fingers fervently. They taste as succulent, warm and tender as the food he prepares and Iori suddenly senses his appetite returning to him again for one more meal. Feeling Mamoru's fingers move slightly in his mouth, Iori looks up only to find the other man closing his eyes and sighing in sheer ecstasy. Turned on by the older man's erotic reaction, Iori begins sucking upon his fingers one by one and licking his palms. Without warning, Iori then feels Mamoru's strong fingers massaging the slender muscles of his neck from behind. There is something about his touch that makes his body shiver with anticipation and melt under his gentle touch. Unable to suck upon his fingers any longer, Iori utters a low moan from his parted lips as he feels a surge of pure bliss and relief cascading from his neck and into the rest of his body. He has never felt such pleasure in his life and with an insatiable appetite, he leans forward even more to get more of the man before him. With only one thing in his mind, Mamoru retracts his fingers from Iori's mouth and reaches into his robe instead and pulls it aside exposing the tender skin of his left elbow. Iori, seeing that Mamoru is also filled with the same lust as he is, becomes more excited and with unsteady hands, unbuttons the older man's pink shirt. With a few tugs, the white robe falls from Iori's chiseled body exposing his nakedness to the light of the kitchen. Before it can hit the floor, the younger man's hands are already groping the smooth and hard chest underneath the pink shirt that failed to hide Mamoru's magnificent body. Soon, the pink shirt itself succumbed to Iori's touch and falls to floor along side with the white robe. Mamoru then gently heaves the younger man's body from his seat and onto the table smearing his body with strawberry and apple pie alike. The shattering of the porcelain saucers sent flying in the air by Mamoru sudden burst of energy did not deter Iori from his current obsession as he lays there totally vulnerable and open to impression. He sighs achingly as he felt the crushed apple pie resting under his groin sugar coating his hard, erect member with its warm, baked and moist fillings. Before Mamoru can continue, Iori manages to speak between breaths, "Please, I am still a virgin, please be gentle with me."

Wishing for Iori to see what he has been missing all this time, Mamoru then grabs Iori from underneath with one hand and flips him over his side gently to reveal the second longest pole he has ever seen. Like Iori, it has a large red head swollen from years of abstinence and lonely nights and seems to be as stiff and delicious as hard candy. Its cut, smooth, long and sugar coated shaft is flawless under the kitchen light and throbs with the excitement of the moment and the anticipation of what is to come. Even his balls are plump and perfectly round as they cling ever so tightly below Iori's manhood; they have waited this long for this moment to arrive and soon, they will be emptied. Stepping back in amazement, Mamoru surveys the unexplored patch of human anatomy laying at his mercy before him; he desires to fully absorb such a rare virgin beauty before he partakes a dinner he will never forget. He can clearly see how Iori can unleash such devastating power in his attacks from pivoting his small and rock hard torso and shifting his weight into his upper body. Mamoru's lovely eyes then slowly traces the magnificent lines of Iori's abs and finds himself drawn to their rippling perfection like a bee to honey. Even his belly button looks irresistible as it winks at him with each excited breath Iori takes. Making his way up, Mamoru's eyes watches his smooth, broad chest heaving beautifully from his position as his plump pectorals seem to beg him to suck his rock hard nipples before they explode with all the flavours of lust. He can almost feel his impatient hands reaching out to grab both his pecs and massaging his lover into sheer ecstasy, but resisted, he must wait until later. Licking his lips with sheer anticipation, Mamoru gazes upon Iori's muscular and powerful arms with a smile on his face; they look so similar to the ones his previous lover has, smooth, yet taunt flawless skin pulled over perfectly developed biceps and triceps. However, he wonders how they will feel like when they flex and twist in the throes of forbidden passion. He senses that he will not need to wait long to find out.

Detaching his eyes from Iori's sculptured arms, Mamoru turns his attention further upwards. His Adam's apple quivers ever so slightly under his gaze and feels an immediately desire to wrap his tongue around it and send unimaginable pleasures down Iori's spine; he has a lot to learn on how to pleasure another man. Shifting his eyes to the younger man's strong jawline, Mamoru can almost feel it jumping out at him and vows to cup it with both of his hands when he gives him his first kiss from another man. It is almost unbelievable to think that Iori is still a virgin despite of his good looks. Even his moist ruby red lips matches his crimson hair perfectly as they pout alluringly towards his own mouth. But above his lips lies one of the most handsome features of his face, a sharp and delicate nose. Mamoru can hardly restrain himself as he watches Iori's nostrils flare with such vitality and longing. However, the most beautiful feature of the young man before him are definitely his eyes. There is something mystical about them that he can not seem to describe them with mortal words. He can look into them forever and never tire of their ageless beauty as if they are stars plucked from the heavens above. Like his own, they seem to be filled with a dark past he rather forgets, but can never fully escape. They are the eyes of a desperate man fighting against fate and man alike while searching a way to escape from himself. They are by far the most attractive feature of his face; though they might be strong and piercing, they managed to hide fear and oppression from the eyes of the world and until now, he thought that he will never find another pair of eyes so similar to his last lover. It is almost hauntingly erotic how they would look at him as if asking him to end his miserable life and take him to the heavens on wings of love. He will soon find out for himself that there is such thing as heaven on earth.

Unable to control himself any longer, Mamoru begins to initiate an arousal ritual only known to a few choice people. Undoing the buckle of his pants, the older man slowly and elegantly strips in front of the attentive Iori. His eyes widen with amazement as they feast upon the proportions of the doctor's body. They seem so similar to his own, except bigger and more powerful though subtle and it further eroticizes him to watch Mamoru standing before him with only his boxers clinging to his waist. Iori desires to have his hands stroke the doctor's chest and feel all of his muscles upon his sensitive skin. He wishes to relish in the naked beauty of the male form at its best and cherish every single moment they are together, breast pressing upon breast, hips grinding against hip, lips wrapped against lips. Iori is about to move towards Mamoru when he raises his palm to stop the impatient and inexperienced young man. Slowly, the doctor then pulls his boxers down to his ankles and shakes them off in one fluid motion. Iori almost exploded when he sees the older man's member springing into view. Unlike his own, it still has its foreskin intact and a head that can make any man drool and slobber over for. Its girth and length outstrips his own and it is astounding to see it grow before his very eyes into a work of sacred beauty. The doctor's heavily muscled thighs further accentuates the raw power of his erect manhood as he stands there as beautiful and serene as a statue of a Greek God. Iori immediately feels his own body gravitating towards Mamoru and raises his hips instinctively to meet the doctor's approval. His body has never felt so exquisitely sensitive before; his nipples are as hard as pebbles, his torso twisting and gyrating enticingly upon the table top, his bosom straining against his taunt, moist skin, his aching neck arching eagerly to meet his lover's warmth, and his cherry throbbing and dilating with the sound of his quickened breath. He is no longer in control of his own body; it belongs to Mamoru now.

Closing his eyes as if in meditation, Mamoru stands completely still for a moment. He then raises his head to the ceiling and puts his hands together in a humble prayer. It took all of Iori's strength and will power to resist the urge of lunging at the mortal God before him and savour his juices, he knows that he can't keep this up much longer. Sensing that his lover is soon reaching his peak without physical stimulation, Mamoru immediately opens his eyes and walks calmly over to Iori. The young man can only moan and groan while the older man towers over with his magnificent physique. In one swift and unexpected move, Mamoru jabs Iori's side with two fingers. A wave of relief then overwhelms the young warrior and he finally sinks into the table submissive and vulnerable to the doctor's tender loving care. Without asking, Iori already knows what the other man has done and smiles weakly at him in gratitude; he wants this moment to last forever. Knowing that the effect will not last forever, Mamoru slowly lowers his head to Iori's toes and begins sucking on them softly and slowly. Laying on the table paralyzed with a raging hard on, Iori feels the older man's tongue slithering and licking the small, thin creases of his skin and rolling upon the soles and balls of his feet. Being a skilled and experienced love maker, the young warrior never felt the urge to giggle, but moaned even louder in response to surge after surge of unadulterated pleasure saturating his body. Alternating between both feet, Mamoru's lips and tongue slowly and excruciatingly travel up to Iori's ultra sensitive inner thighs. Iori's hips instantly buckles skyward once his lover's lips grazed his tender flesh with butterfly kisses. He longs for his own erect column to be kissed, licked and suckled upon like his toes, but Mamoru carefully avoids it as if saving it for dessert after a large meal. Iori can not seem to help, but to tense his thigh muscles and raise his hips further upwards as the older man continues to lick them with his warm and moist tongue leaving trails of fragrant saliva all over his legs. Withdrawing his tongue from Iori's skin, Mamoru then focuses his attention on his lover's abdomen and lavishes the same treatment like before. Though the young man wishes his towering manhood to be satiated by the master's tongue, he is steadily excited to new heights of pleasure by his lover's spectacular tongue gymnastics and now craves for it like a vampire thirsting for blood. His cherry now throbs even more as he felt Mamoru's experience tongue flick its way across the multiple hills and valleys of his abs and into his chest. All this time, Mamoru still remains at the table side performing his sexual feats and only other part of his body that is in constant contact with his patient are his strong, adventurous hands. It is impossible to describe the sensations Iori feels when his inner thighs massaged by his lover's hands after being licked clean of all traces of the crushed apple pie. He can feel his muscles contracting and expanding simultaneously each time the doctor kneads them with his large, formidable hands. The young virgin gasps audibly when the doctor gropes his bottom with such fervor and lust and almost came as the doctor's capable fingers massaged them, squeezing them tenderly and molding them into two round hills of perfection. He never knew that such pleasure can flood through him just from these two simple features of the human body and almost fainted from ecstasy when Mamoru rubbed his rock hard nipples gently between his long, slender fingers. There is something about the way he pinches them with the balls of his fingers that absolutely drives him wild with lust and can't help, but to moan between breaths in protest. Once his little knobs of flesh flared a bright, angry red, Mamoru's lips met them with enthusiasm and suckled upon them lovingly with his eyes closed and his hands fondling the slender muscles of Iori's back. The young man, driven wild by the sucking noises beneath his nose, winces slightly as Mamoru's pearly whites intentionally grazes the sensitive peaks of his nipple while playing with the other with his left hand. Iori is trying his best to resist the urge to relieve himself, but he is fighting an uphill battle and it is only a matter of time before he finally lets his guard down to the older man. Seeing that his partner is fast reaching the point of no return, Mamoru slows down and detaches his mouth from Iori's little points of flesh. He too did not wish for this night to end just yet.

Closing his eyes once again, Mamoru stands to his full height and places his hands just a couple of inches above Iori's raging body. The young man did not notice until now that sharp pains are exploding all along his sides as sweat profusely coats his body from head to toe. There is something in Mamoru's eyes that told him something is not quite right and can only guess that the older man did not expect him to reach his sexual peak at such a fast speed and potency. Taking a closer look at himself, Iori then realizes that his body is in shock from the intense love making and that the trauma might kill him if something is not done to calm him down. Looking to Mamoru with fear in his eyes, Iori mentally pleads to the older man to save his life once again. The young doctor slowly moves his hands over Iori's body and clenches his eyebrows as if he is concentrating all of his energy into his fingers. Frowning deeply, he then performs some erratic hand movements over Iori's helpless figure and carefully redirects his patient's life energy into the proper channels. Panic is soon replaced by peace as a kind warmth washes over Iori's body lulling him into a state of temporal relief. Released from his sensory overload, Iori falls flat once again onto the table top with his chest heaving slightly from the excitement. Though his life was in danger and his body weak from pleasure, his eyes sincerely beg to the doctor to continue. It is like water; he can't live without it.

Understanding Iori's need, Mamoru nods his head humbly and proceeds with the next phase of the ritual. Careful not to over burden his lover with more than he can handle, the young doctor bends his head towards one of Iori's armpits and begins licking the beads of sweat off his skin. Iori once again feels his body temperature rising with each passing moment and tries to steady himself unlike before. Finished with the left armpit, Mamoru lustfully devours the other one intoxicated by his lover's scent. Its salty, rich, musky taste heightens the doctor's senses while the soft red hairs and tender skin stimulates his own body to yearn more ravenously for Iori's manhood. With the last drop of sweat resting upon his lips, Mamoru raises his head and gently slides his hand under his lover's neck. Cradling Iori's head in his hand, the young doctor stares into his eyes and immediately, both of their gazes lock onto each other. Each man sees the love the other has for him and perceives the fires of long-suppressed lust burning bright behind the mask each is forced to wear until now. In this moment of truth, they trust each other enough to give their all to the man before them and in a blink of an eye, their lips lock and shared a kiss more passionate than a thousand lonely nights. Mamoru violently plunges his tongue into Iori's open mouth and gives him a taste of the virgin body that he will soon lose forever. Receiving the spoils of his body with open lips, Iori tilts his chin to allow his lover to ravage his mouth at a better angle. Their tongues clash with each, tasting each other saliva with their own, eroticizing them closer and closer to their sexual peaks. Without hesitation, Mamoru mounts his horizontal partner and laid directly on top of him as they continued to kiss unconditionally. Iori momentarily gasps as he felt his lover's tower of power grinding against his own. Unlike the rest of his body, it feels hard and hot against his skin as if ready to explode at any given moment. Reaching up from behind, Iori embraces his lover tightly drawing his body closer to him. The young man has never felt so intimate to anybody before in his life and wishes that he can stay connected to the man of dreams like this forever. However, Mamoru's saliva on his body makes it hard to hold onto his lover and without knowing, his ankles come together and locked their bodies into a lover's knot. This is the first time he has ever felt another man's bosom buried so deeply into his own and the experience of having his hips drilling into his lower abs is more sensual than he can ever imagine. Locked in a tight embrace, Mamoru finds himself unable to maneuver and continues to push his body into Iori's as they kissed the minutes away. Up until now, Iori never dreamt that he can be so turned on by another man's shoulder blades, but as he lies there with his arms wrapped firmly around his back, he can't seem to stop himself from grabbing Mamoru's large, powerful back muscles with zest. The doctor, in response to his lover's boldness, unraveled his right hand from Iori's side and slides it between their bodies fluidly. Still kissing, Mamoru flawlessly takes the foreskin of his powerful sex and draws it over the head of Iori's swollen member. Iori almost breaks away to scream from the pleasure of having his partner's foreskin over him like a warm cloak. It never occurred to him what kind of pleasure he has been missing all of this time until now; it just felt so incredibly earth shattering. The closest thing he can describe it is as a sharp pain that is not painful at all, but the greatest pleasure known to man. Even the slightest movement of his body produces a sensation more powerful and thrilling that the last causing his entire body to be consumed by its sweet pain. With internal fireworks exploding all over his lower body while the extremely sensitive folds of his crown is head to head with another man's tool, the young warrior almost loses himself to the ground ripping sensation of being so connected to another man. Iori knows full well that if he is to keep this up much longer, he will finally free himself. Unable to resist anymore, Iori breaks his oral bonds and turns his head to expose his neck to Mamoru's mouth. Both of them know it is time.

Mamoru once again licks Iori's broad neck, nuzzling it with his smooth chin and blushing cheeks. However, this time, he slowly slides his way down his lover's body detaching his rod from his lover's sex. Gasping for breath, Iori can feel his self control slipping as his lover's mouth nears his rock hard column of human flesh. With the last of his energy, the young man closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down; he does not wish to experience another traumatic episode. Mamoru, seeing that his lover is reaching his sexual peak too soon again, slows down his tempo and massages his pectorals gently while approaching his groin. Careful not to over stimulate, the young doctor lightly trails his tongue between the fold of skin between Iori's thighs and groin. Reaching to the base of his erect manhood, Mamoru is amazed to find it drenched with precum. Never in his life has he seen such a display of focus and virility. Any normal man would have already ejaculated five times and Iori is still holding on as if it is life itself. Pleased with his first lover after many years of solitude, Mamoru carefully flicks his tongue over Iori's ball sacs. With an intake of breath, the young man releases a sharp yelp while the multiple sensations of pleasure overwhelms him like a tsunami. He instinctively spreads his legs open to invite his lover to partake of his forbidden fruit and can only bite his tongue to prevent him from screaming madly from ecstasy. Now, his entire body is drenched with Mamoru's sweat, saliva and apple pie and his own body fluids. Aching for release, Iori watches helplessly as Mamoru slowly consumes his balls with his red hot lips. It is such exquisite pain to feel his tight balls resting in his lover mouth and having his tongue flick them from below simultaneously. The young man's legs are no longer lying flat upon the table, but are bent and propped up with his bottom a few inches up in the air encouraging his lover to continue with haste. Reading his body language loud and clear, Mamoru then gives Iori's sacs one more flick before letting them roll out of his mouth wet and hot. The doctor's tongue slowly cuts a trail along Iori's long, flawless and hard shaft causing it to jump periodically; his lover is almost ready. Enjoying every single drop of precum and apple pie filling soaking his lover's thick pole, Mamoru carefully lets his lips travel its way from the base of it to the base of his crown. Never in his life has he tasted anything so sweet and delicious; he is glad that he kept this part of Iori's body towards the end for dessert. Desiring to wrap his lips around it, the doctor playfully utters a sigh and watches in amazement as Iori's member begins to grow and expand in response. It is so beautiful to see it quiver ever so slightly in the light of the kitchen and gleam like morning dew on a new spring leaf. Iori is already crying out in pain as his hips stabs upwards into the air without warning. It is almost too much for him to handle. With tears streaming down his cheeks, the young man loudly pants while he tosses his head from left to right trying to control himself. Mamoru suddenly feels a sense of guilt and compassion for his young lover; an experienced man would have relieved himself a lot earlier rather than allow his body to be wrecked with such unforgiving pain. However, Iori is different and there is only one other person Mamoru knows that can withstand this much pain in such a short period of time.

Taking a deep breath, Mamoru then cups his lips around Iori's swollen member and savours his precum with a relish; it tastes so much like his previous lover. Wincing sharply in pain, Iori arches his back immediately, but the doctor holds on tightly and continues to deliver the best oral stimulation the young man will ever experience in his life. Lathering the sides of the head with his tongue, Mamoru lets his lips brush over it ever so tenderly and slowly driving his lover over the edge of sanity. Guttural moans and groans can only be heard now as Iori's eyes open wide with pain and pleasure; he can already feel his ball sacs preparing for inevitable. With one last lick, the doctor then swallowed Iori's whole length in a gulp. Instantly, Iori inhales sharply. For a moment, he can not seem to breathe as if his entire body is suddenly submerged into arctic waters. He has never felt the warmth of another man's throat coating the sides of his manhood before and it throws him completely off balance. His groin is immediately engulfed with the warmth of many a warm summer day and soon, it fills his entire body with a sweetness he never dreamt existed. Reacting on its own accord, Iori's hips begin thrusting its engorged member slowly into Mamoru's accommodating pie hole. At first, the younger man takes his time guiding his tool in and out of his lover's mouth and is careful not to injure his throat. However, seeing that Mamoru did not choke once, Iori grows bolder and gradually picks up the pace. Soon, he finds himself ramming his tool deep into his lover's throat without any inhibition and loses himself to the momentum of moment. All this time, the older man remains unaffected and continues to flick his tongue under his balls after each thrust like before. Iori just can not seem to get enough of the way Mamoru's throat cushions and lubricates his thick pole; it exceeds anything he has ever felt before this day and finally understands why men do make love to each other.

Panting like a dog in heat, Iori finally feels his sacs and rod jump involuntarily. Sensing that he is about to explode his virgin juices all over Mamoru, the young man grabs his head from behind and grinds him down into his pelvis below. The doctor then single handedly takes hold of his balls and firmly pulls on them just before he feels fluid flooding Iori's love sac. Letting out a loud roar audible for miles away, Iori arches his back towards the heavens above and finally releases his hold upon his flailing body. Orgasm after orgasm ravages his vulnerable body causing beads of sweat to fly from his skin and into the air like shimmering drops of incandescent light. Torrents of sweet whiteness roars down Mamoru's throat as his closed eyes suddenly enlarge when he realizes how sweet and delicious Iori's seed tastes. It boasts a robust, rich and round flavour and a thick and milky consistency that can never be duplicated even by his own capable hands. It is the most beautiful sensation he has felt in a long time as his lover continues to gush his delicious honey into his mouth. Tears begin to stream down Mamoru's flushed cheeks while he greedily swallows all of Iori's sweet juices. He never thought that anything can taste like heaven until today and will not let a single drop escape his thirsty and sore throat.

However, the doctor did not realize that Iori has just experienced an extended male orgasm and soon finds his lover's liquid ambrosia spilling wastefully from the sides of his mouth. Mamoru is too distracted to notice that every single muscle in Iori's body convulsing from his first true orgasm in his life while the whites of his eyes stare at the ceiling above him as if he has died and finally sees what Heaven looks like. Gradually, Iori's white essence subsides into a trickle leaving his desperate lover scrambling to suck every last drop from his still erect member. Soon, the doctor slumps to the side of the table and rests his head against the kitchen table with a smile on his face. Mamoru's once empty stomach is now finally satiated. However, he quickly becomes startled when he looks up at the spent Iori. Standing upright in an instant, Mamoru finds himself amazed that although there is no more cream in Iori's sac, his hips are still pitching up and down as if his orgasm has yet to end. Looking at his face, the doctor is not surprised to see that his young lover has fallen unconscious from that night's activity. It must be too much for him considering that he barely recovered from his last battle. Smiling to himself, Mamoru resigns himself to clean up the mess he has created and begins by carrying Iori's sleeping body to his bedroom. As he lifted his lover up into his arms, Iori automatically wraps his arms around his neck lovingly and rests his head against the doctor's breast. Smiling, the doctor then slowly lies his patient down upon his soft bed and brushes his wet red hair away from his angelic face. He is so much like him, Mamoru thinks to himself as he gazes upon the sleeping beauty. For a while, the older man stands by his lover's side like a guardian angel and watches his body slowly calm down. It still amazes him how such a young man can handle so much pain being so inexperienced in the art of love making. He will become a king of fighters, Mamoru turns his face away to look out of the window for the last time. And I will just be in the way. Just before he leaves his sleeping lover to his dreams, Mamoru can not help, but to take one last lick of Iori's erect member; the sweetness is still there. Sighing, the doctor then lightly kisses his patient's forehead and closes the bedroom door behind him. He is going to miss Iori.

As dawn breaks over the horizon, Iori slowly rouses himself from his deep slumber. Rising suddenly, he finds himself in his bedroom with the same white robe upon him. Immediately, he can sense a certain weightlessness about him and feels as if he can fly over buildings in one leap. After rubbing his eyes, the young warrior stretches out his arms and yawns simultaneously. He has never felt so free and energetic in his life and for once in his life, looks forward to what the future has to bring. Rising from his bed, the young warrior hops around his bedroom and jabs his imaginary opponents with a certain zeal he never experience before. Laughing out loud, he stands before his full length mirror and strips the white robe off his body. All of the bandages have disappear leaving his same flawless body in optimal shape. However, he does notice several subtle changes. For one thing, there is a smile on his face and he now carries his body with a quiet certainty and a new approach to life. Tracing his large hands over his body, Iori can still feel Mamoru's saliva resting upon his smooth skin and suddenly feels warm all over. The memory of what transpired last night quickly comes flooding back to him and he finds himself blushing. He still remembered how Mamoru looked at him when he fed him his apple pie in which he later crushed with his body. Touching his neck, Iori recalls how his formidable opponent overwhelmed him with sensations unknown to him before and touched his body in ways he can never imagine. The sight of his sex hanging from his groin causes him to blush even deeper; he never knew that he can shoot so much seed and pass out during sex. I guess it must be that great, he thinks to himself as he turns away from the mirror and towards his bedroom door. All in one night, Mamoru has given him faith in his own abilities, hope for the future and most importantly, the love from another lost soul.

Noticing that Mamoru is not in the room, Iori confidently walks naked to his bedroom door and throws it open. At first, he is puzzled that he did not smell warm food wafting from the kitchen. Suddenly, his eyes widens with fear. Running to the kitchen, he finds the sink empty of all of its dirty dishes and all evidence of last night's love making vanished without a trace. In fact, everything looks exactly where it should be except for one major thing. Mamoru is no longer with him. He is once again alone. Iori is about to fall to his knees in despair when he catches a slip of paper lying on the table from the corner of his watering eyes. Without hesitation, he rushes to the table and snatches the letter in one swoop. It reads:

"Dearest Iori,

Thank you so much for everything last night. You helped me remember what I missed most in my life and I am very grateful to have met you on the bridge. To tell you the truth, I have not visited that place for a long time and it is only yesterday that I was ready to bury my past and move on. I did not expect to meet you there however and it seems that the same fate that drew us together will now pull us apart. When we fought at the docks, I immediately knew that you are fated to become the King of Fighters. If I were to stay by your side now, I will only become a distraction and hurt you in the long run. Maybe this is for the best, you and I already know in our hearts that we are not meant to be. The way of the warrior is a lonely one and I hope that one day, you will find somebody who will make you truly happy for the rest of your life. That is why I did not take your virginity, you are meant for someone else. You have your own road to follow and I have mine. However, I sincerely hope that our paths will cross again in the future and I will look forward to that day when we meet again. Before I leave, I would like you to know that you could have defeated me, but you forgot one thing, the martial arts are meant to protect those you love. It took me a long time to figure this out for myself, but I know now this to be true. I do not expect you to avoid battles because they will come to you. However, you must have the spirit to hope for a better future and have faith in the goodness of others and yourself. Just believe in your heart and everything will fall into place. I know this is hard to swallow, but please trust me. This is all I have left to say. Thank for you for everything again. I have forgotten what it was like to love somebody until last night. Farewell.

Sincerely Yours,
Mamoru

P. S. - Look in the oven. "

Turning his head sharply towards the oven, Iori slowly approaches it and opens its door. A pie sitting on the top rack of the oven greets him like a familiar friend and for a moment, the young warrior stands there staring at it in utter silence. Snapping out of his daze, Iori slowly takes the pie out of the oven with a pair of oven mitts and lays it in the center of the dining table. Without making a sound, he slices a piece of pie for himself on a small saucer and takes it into his bedroom. Pausing in front of his open bedroom window, Iori looks out into the city streets and absent mindedly scoops a piece of the pie into his mouth. The young man, finding the taste of the pie to be unusual, looks down at his plate and notices that the filling is a blend of apples and strawberries. At first, he just looks at it with a puzzled frown upon his face. Then, unexpectedly, an understanding smile flashes across his face. With his hand still clutching Mamoru's letter, Iori draws a blanket from his bed nearby towards his collarbone as a cool breeze brushes a few strands of his hair from his face. Instead of looking at the streets below, he now gazes at the golden sun rising triumphantly from the horizon and into the morning sky.

I guess it is true what they say, Iori reflects to himself with sweet realization, blood and water do not mix.

The End