#love wolf being a little weak to being handled with care + being wildly unfamiliar w/ it

[grandschemed]

@warpaved​ asked: “if anything, i believe that i own you.”

wolf wakes slowly, bleary eyes staring at the ceiling of what must undoubtedly be ashina castle.  events replay in his head in chopped fragments — a grassy field of silver.  lord genichiro standing before him, more god-like than man.  a fever roaring in his blood, sick with moonlight.  a sudden flash of lightning and everything begins to slow.  a sudden flash of silver and then, his - !

wide-eyed, wolf turns his head to look at the bandaged stump of his arm.  gone, just like that.  but he isn’t surprised by this revelation.  after all, it is what warlords do.  what irritates him is the phantom pain, the way he can still feel genichiro’s blade cut him down, the way his fingers want to move that are no longer there.

“if anything, i believe that i own you.”

what irritates him above all is lord genichiro at his bedside.

with stubborn ease, wolf ignores him.  he has more pressing issues than to waste time and debate the nature of ownership.  he is a stray and he has always been a stray — he is too wild to be domesticated now.  “where is my lord?” wolf croaks, lips cracked and throat parched.

genichiro doesn’t answer.  he sits still, turned away from wolf, face cast in grave shadow as he crushes medicinal powder, mixing it into the tea and reaches for wolf’s jaw.  “drink.  … to recover your vitality,” he commands, rough thumb digging possessively into the other’s jaw, crimson eyes boring into him, as cutting as his sword.

like a cornered animal, wolf snaps his teeth, baring his fangs.  genichiro’s lack of reply doesn’t surprise him, but so unused to this show of care is he.  for as long as wolf can remember, he’s always been alone to lick his own wounds.  forced to pick himself up if he breaks his bones and keep walking.  but then again, this isn’t kindness for charity’s sake.  

no, genichiro wants something from him.  

wants him.

wolf can see it in his eyes.

“if i wanted to kill you, i would’ve done it already,” genichiro answers, as if he can read wolf’s mind, but it’s not the question he needs answers to.  he sighs, infinitely tired, easing his grip around wolf’s stubbled chin.  “your little lord is well and alive.  he is safe.  now, drink — if you want to rescue him from me.”

a cheap gambit, wolf thinks, but what other choice does he have?  genichiro is right.  so, wolf reluctantly drinks from the lord’s cup, admittedly grateful for something to sate this thirst and to wet his lips.  he chooses not to think about what genichiro feeds him.  

already, he maps out the layout of the room and commits it to memory, willing his body to take advantage of the opportunity presented to him and make his escape, but his limbs are too heavy.  he is eleven again and he can hear his father’s voice in his head, can feel the sharp clap of his broad hand against his bruising cheek.  

get up, pup.  up before i make you.  

wolf grunts in response, clutching genichiro’s thick wrist to steady himself, to rise, but a big hand pushes him back into bed with a strange gentleness, stronger than any physical force.

“rest for now and gather your strength, shinobi,” genichiro speaks, his fingertips firmly resting atop wolf’s warm chest.  in the quiet of the room, he can feel the tired pulse of his heart.  “we will negotiate the terms of your ownership tomorrow, but know this — from now on, you serve me.”

more exhausted than he realizes, wolf sucks in an audible breath in pitiful response, but his eyelids threaten to fall shut while a gentle warmth worms its way throughout his well-trained body.  how guilty he feels for relishing the soft bed things.  how guilty he feels for his failure.  it claws at him like a dull frenzy, but his need to rest outweighs his regret.

“gen … ichi …” wolf mouths in tender protest, but he slips into the sweetest, dreamless sleep before he can finish sounding out his name.

tomorrow is another day.