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“Hell is no place I haven’t already known.
But Heaven lives only in your eyes.”
He did not have the eyes of a barbarian.
Anjin.
It was Mariko’s first observation as the Anjin came before Lord Toranaga. He looked the part, covered in filth from head to toe. His matted hair was the color of many of their Portuguese visitors, unknown markings scattered across his sunburnt skin. But the eyes were soulful, almost feminine. There was a softness there that would have proven skillful in a woman but went unappreciated in most men. Still, her instincts told her to trust not; he was impulsive and brash like his masculine counterparts, puffing out his chest with any perceived slight. Unearned haughtiness. Men spanned worlds yet they all remained the same.
The Portuguese had come to spread Christianity. It was unclear the Anjin’s true motive.
Barbarian. Pirate. Traitor.
The Anjin had arrived on a ship as the Portuguese did and had similar strange ways of living. Toranaga’s men laughed openly at how silly he looked in their dress, fumbling through their customs. Mariko had accompanied men long enough to know it was to mask their unease.
He assimilated as quickly as a foreign prisoner could. He spoke out of turn and his dialect was crude, often making a fool of himself and insulting the culture they’d spent thousands of years harvesting. It wasn’t out of stupidity, she later learned. It was the ignorance and arrogance of a foreigner in a strange land.
But with all of his ignorance came a yearning for knowledge, the arrogance laced with courage. There was no one she had met who had as much passion as the large stranger who hated the Portuguese and looked through her like she was the water from the spring that emulated the exact shade of his eyes.
He should have been just another, but the eyes intrigued. They glowed, bright like the moon, yet there was darkness on the side the earth didn’t see.
Translate.
Her duty was straightforward. She had learned the Westerners’ language, their religion, the tales the Fathers told about the lands on the other side of the sea. Perhaps you could see Portugal someday? Father Alvito had suggested. Mariko had nodded out of politeness, Perhaps.
Men spanned worlds yet they all remained the same.
***
When Mariko arrived in front of the Anjin’s door there was nothing left of the night but the earthly servants of the moon, buzzing with life outside their thin walls.
Fuji wanted not; Mariko understood this, maybe even took advantage of it. The solution was simple: let Mariko serve the Anjin. Hatamoto.
Men were easy. They pillowed with all of the technique and grace of a wild boar. This didn’t stop her from sliding open the door to the Anjin’s room. No, she looked forward to lying with him. She would prove what she knew of men and the intrigue would subside. He would be careless with her femininity just as her late husband had their first night and all of the nights after. There would be grunting and nonsensical whispers strung together until he stilled, and the fire—if any at all— coiling through her would retreat like the serpent, lazily deciding now was not the time to strike.
Men spanned worlds yet they all remained the same.
After he spilled the spell would be broken and she could move through her duties once again. Words would be translated, passed through her without so much as a glance. This was what Mariko told herself as she slid the door shut behind her while he slept.
The Anjin lay on the floor, outlined in what little light shone from the candle by the wall and through the doors. The soft inhale-exhale motions of sleep were the only sign of life.
When she made her presence known with the graze of her fingers on his arm, he startled, prepared for an attack even as he lay unconscious. He had not been expecting her, still had yet to learn their ways; that silence was a virtue.
“ M—? “ He made to speak, but even in an attempted whisper he was louder than the trickling of the water from the spigot outside. The crickets chirping did not drown out the heavy rasp of his foreign accent.
The press of her finger to his lips was enough for him to understand, there is more to be learned in what isn’t spoken.
He did not protest. Instead he let his unspoken question hang in the air, and she trusted him to come to his own conclusions as to why she visited so late in the night. A quick learner, he sat up fully as she settled in front of him, waiting for command or permission, she wasn’t sure. The eyes could not be seen in shadows like this. Perhaps it was better this way.
Darkness encapsulated them. They were not Tsuji and Anjin here, they were serpent and wild boar.
His hands did not demand from her. No, in the light he might have been reckless as the wild boar, but in the darkness he did not move until she guided his hand to her cheek, the rough trail of his knuckles sending a shiver through her as they slid down her collarbone, grazed her chest. The serpent stirred awake.
She could not see his eyes as she pulled her kimono from her shoulders, but their presence on her was as known as the moon in the sky, illuminating all it touched below. They pushed her to pull the silk further down, to lower the fence between them as she had at the springs, sitting back to back so she couldn’t be moved by his eyes. Mysterious, like the ocean, yet sensual as the waves lulling back and forth in hypnotic motion.
Mariko’s hands moved to his neck in silent encouragement. She was unsure if she wanted him to take command to prove her point, or because the ways of the barbarians piqued her interest. What was pillowing like on the other side of the sea? In Japan their culture was that of manners and etiquette, but in turn the pillowing was crude and distant. Was his homeland the opposite? she wondered. All of the public grace of wild beasts and the private manners done in gentlemanly fashion? The subject hadn’t come up in their time at the springs.
She didn’t wonder for long.
When their lips finally met the Anjin took his time, eager but holding back. If he needed more encouragement she would give it, pulling his shirt down to expose his torso, remembering the thick hair at his chest, the muscle adorning his body that she’d seen the day before.
Both exposed, she met his lips again and this time he lengthened the kiss that turned from delicate to passionate with the flick of his tongue against Mariko’s. The coarse hair at his jaw brushed against her face but it was a delicious burn that she craved more of. How would it feel between her thighs? Every touch was hesitant until he seemed to decide that this was real; no tricks of the mind or traps had been set.
Rough hand on her cheek, he changed into the confident man she stood beside every day. The Anjin took her by the waist and pulled her to the floor, open-mouthed kisses trailing down her jaw, to the warmth at her neck, lips tracing along her collarbone as he lay over her. The heat of his breath followed his lips in torturous overstimulation, like pressing a cold stone to the skin immediately after a burn. The hands followed, as if he was still convincing himself she was not a figment of the imagination.
It would have made sense that he was so devoid of intimacy that this level of worship he was exacting over her body was justified, the level of care he handled her with just a symptom of sexual deprivation. Pillowing was not what he’d expected to be doing on the island; a delicacy.
Mariko felt herself grasp for his length, already stiff and hot in her hands. Another necessary step in the ritual. She reminded herself to keep stoic as she heard his sharp intake of breath. Tornonaga’s men would not be laughing if they knew what the Anjin had between his legs.
But when she bent to offer her mouth to him he did not allow her to continue.
“No,” he whispered. Gently, he tipped her chin up and away from his groin. She looked up to the silhouette of his face, asking silent questions. Was this not custom in his country? Men quite enjoyed it here.
Instead of allowing Mariko to perform he softly pushed her back and laid her down again, hovering over her with both hands on either side of her.
There was a moment of stillness, like he was studying her or contemplating his next move. An unease crept through Mariko. Did the Anjin have some type of god-like eyesight that allowed him to see in the dark? To see past the eight-fold fence? To look the serpent in the eyes and intimidate it into submission?
Then he continued the trail of heated open-mouthed kisses, starting at her neck again and down to her stomach and lower, looking up to her for the reassurance she wasn’t entirely sure he couldn’t see in the dark. At the same time his fingers skimmed her silhouette as if to remember the shape for when she’d be clothed in the daylight. The serpent, who had remained coiled and dormant for so long, was alive inside of her, awoken fully by his careful examination of her body.
Mariko bit into her lip in anticipation as he slid back and knelt between her legs. Hair fanned around her, she waited for the telltale signs of penetration, but it wasn’t his erection that nudged at her sex, no, he continued the kisses lower still.
The feeling of his tongue on her swollen bud was so unexpected she jolted up, as if lightning had gone through her.
Oh—He meant to perform on her first.
A noise came from him— something of amusement— as he hooked his arms under and around her thighs and lowered back down to her again. The treatment of his tongue was slow and torturous, flicking against her and inside of her, eliciting sounds no man had ever pulled from her. He didn’t stop, didn’t retreat from between her legs and ready himself for his true desires as the husband often did.
If this was tradition in foreign countries then perhaps she’d accept Father Alvito’s offer to set sail with them. Or maybe she’d stow away with the Anjin and his pirate crew.
Mariko breathed through her nose to avoid moaning against him. Women are seen, not heard.
But here she was not seen, either.
“ John, ” His name slipped out in a whisper. She’d heard him say it when they first brought him to Toranaga, and had wondered briefly at the time how it would feel passing between her lips.
He stilled at the use of his name but only for a moment before lowering back down. This time he pushed his fingers into her, moving them in sync with his tongue. The combination of that and his greedy mouth had her grasping his hair and writhing against him. Hebi Tsukai— snake charmer.
The pleasure built up deep down, like the first trembles of the ground turning into an earthquake— uncontrollable, unstoppable, and unrelenting as it went through her. She was utterly powerless against the Anjin. Then she arched against him, quivering around his fingers and letting the serpent squeeze her into release.
The aftereffects left her shattered at the core and struggling to catch her breath. She hardly reacted as he shifted and laid down on his back next to her.
He let out an exhale, something like a chuckle under his breath if Mariko’s ears did not deceive her. He was… laughing?
As she pondered why he found their situation so entertaining he stretched, letting his own breath evened out.
Maybe in his homeland the oral stimulation was only done while the receiving partner lazed?
She went with this conclusion and grasped him, this time pumping slowly. He again removed her hand from his erection and shook his head, outlined in faint glow as he turned his face to her, eyes still masked in shadows.
“You… prefer to only give?” she studied his face in the dark, even more confused.
He leaned closer, their faces inches apart, saying, “I prefer to satisfy my partners.”
”More than one?” She faced the ceiling again, tone too light for what was brewing underneath. The thought of the Anjin pillowing with anyone else brought visions of red, of which Mariko was completely unfamiliar and didn’t wish to entertain.
He chuckled again, mirroring her while explaining, “England isn’t like Japan.”
“And all of the ‘England men’ are like this?” Mariko found herself imagining it again, as she had at the springs. This foreign land that the Anjin knew so much of, where men served women in the bedroom and only showed etiquette in the shadows.
“English men,” he corrected her, “And no. I imagine most are like your men here. Cock first, pride second, rum third, everything else…” he gestured into the dark room.
It was Mariko’s turn to laugh. Just as she suspected, they all remained the same.
Turning back to him, she searched his face in the dark. She wished she could see his eyes, now. His voice had the tinge of sincerity but the eyes never lied.
“And so you don’t wish to…?”
”Oh, no, I wish to. Very much. I just wanted to give you time to recover.”
She didn’t respond immediately, taken aback by the simple delivery of his thought process.
”Unless you don’t…?” He sat up, like he was ready to turn in if Mariko said no, she didn’t want to go another round, that she was tired or was bleeding or wasn’t ready for the Anjin’s impressive—
She sat upright too, cupping his cheek and pressing her lips to his. This wasn’t an occasion where she thought they could afford to wait, to string out whatever it was brewing between them. They’d already narrowly escaped death, and with each day the fate of Toranaga loomed over them.
Mariko would not wait for calmer waters.
When she hooked a leg around him, he pulled her into his lap by the waist. This time his movements were not so delicate. They had made an unspoken agreement; No holding back now.
If he wouldn’t allow her hands to work him over then she’d grind against him until she was slick with need, throwing her head back as he laid into her neck again. If she was only allowed one perfect pillowing she would savor it, meeting his mouth again in sweet desperation, hair falling in a midnight curtain around them.
He met her every move with equal eagerness. They met as one in the dark, tethered together as she lifted up and sank onto him, rousing an ‘English’ curse from him, one she’d heard from him before in different context. She didn’t dare react to his size, too proud to show weakness now. Mariko could take anything given to her, no matter how intimidating .
They moved in unity, skin slicked together as small noises of satisfaction escaped them. He filled her up over and over, until she was poised to crash against the waves again, his name ready on her lips. And just as the serpent threatened to strike a second time, he pulled her in tighter, flipping over so that she lay on the floor underneath him once more. So then he did like taking the dominant role , she noted.
In the commotion he slipped out of her, but he didn’t make to sink back in. She was not disappointed, though. The Anjin did not intend to ignore the rest of her body. He lowered and his tongue lapped at one of her nipples slowly, as if to test the waters. When she arched into his touch, he took that as permission to take it in his mouth and suck on the puckered bud, jolting electricity through her. Her fingers moved into his hair while he paid attention to her other breast, palming first and then sucking at the flesh around until his lips found their way to the middle.
Eventually— seconds? Minutes? An hour later? — he stopped worshiping her breasts and aligned himself with her sex again. Mariko wasn’t any less wanting than before. No, she was primed for him when he slowly sank into her.
“ Fuck, ” The English curse words came out again in a needy whimper as he moved in her, head at the crook of her neck. Her fingers found their way through his hair and held him closer as they moved. They had found a rhythm, like the back and forth of the ocean waves, and the serpent was awake once again, swaying back and forth, choosing the perfect moment.
In this place with him she lost time. Everything felt slowed to an excruciating pace, rocking them both into oblivion. She desperately wanted to hold on, but the serpent wasn’t wise to this type of pillowing– the kind where she was being filled and played with, the Anjin was not selfish in his pillowing, fingers tending to her clitoris while he pumped into her, leaving no part of her rest.
At some point he lifted his head up and regarded her, whispering in his native tongue, “ You are beautiful. ”. Mariko hadn’t heard it from him before, so the words were not entirely clear to her, but she thought she could almost make out his eyes watching her in adoring wonder.
It was intimate; so much so that Mariko wasn’t sure she didn’t prefer the cold, distant thrusting of her husband. At least when she pillowed with Buntaro she wasn’t in jeopardy of the fence crumbling, of the serpent succumbing to the Anjin’s will.
But this wild boar charged straight at the fence, cracking it with each kiss, each thrust of himself into her, each English curse passing over his lips.
She called out his name again in the dark; a surrender to his body and soul, tied to hers now forever.
With her admission he allowed himself release, too, body stilling inside of her on the edge of another curse.
He collapsed into her, warm and spent.
They lay in each other’s arms, neither moving until their breathing became quiet. And then he kissed her again– something delicate and fragile meant for something concrete and solidified.
Mariko hadn’t loved her husband. She didn’t love the Anjin either, but he had come closer to the fence than her late husband ever did.
Perhaps they were destined for Hell now, pillowing outside of marriage, barely a moon’s turn from her husband’s untimely death.
She’d left her cross elsewhere— maybe it wasn’t an accident.
This kind of pleasure, surely it was a sin. But she had been living in Hell for so long that she wasn’t sure how much would change if this was her damning last act.
Mariko dressed hastily in silence, feeling his eyes on her again, asking questions in the dark. What now?
She did not speak, simply bowing her head by way of goodbye and rising to retreat to her own quarters.
“ Mariko-sama, ” he called out, hushed again, as if Fuji might hear them in another room in the house and gasp, utterly shocked at the events that had unfolded. Nearly always one step behind.
She stopped at the door, looking back to him but saying nothing. There is more to be learned in what isn’t spoken.
He didn’t call out again.
And so she left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. In the sun their night would be but a whisper, but the moon would always remember.
If the Anjin was the last to hold her, if they found out in the morning, she would welcome death. If not, she would resume her duties without so much as a glance.
One does not have to look at the moon to see the way it shines over the water.